Reckless (Mockingbird Square Book 4)

by Sara Bennett

  “Do you consider me a rake?” He was standing now, and her eyes widened a little.

  “I didn’t mean to suggest the book was about you and me, Dominic. I was merely illustrating what I meant about a racy romance.”

  He began to cross the room. “You do surprise me, Margaret,” he said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. “I would never have imagined you reading books like that.”

  She tilted her head and smiled. So, she was flirting with him. He wanted to take advantage of it, and cursed his earlier promise.

  “What sort of books would you imagine me reading then?” she asked.

  “Heavy tomes about boring things like proper behaviour and how to dust shelves.”

  She laughed. “You mean like Sermons to Young Women?”

  “That sounds perfect.” He’d reached her now and she looked up at him. He didn’t touch her, although he desperately wanted to.

  “I have read that book, by the way,” she said. “I found it terribly pompous. Why would a gentleman writer think he knew more about women’s matters than women themselves? And why would any woman listen to him?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” he said, trying not to grab her and begin manhandling her like the rake they were just discussing.

  She placed her hands on his chest. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. “You would never tell me what was best for me, would you, Dominic? You would never decide you knew better than I?”

  “You mean aside from kidnapping you and whisking you away to a hunting lodge in order to save you from a life of martyrdom? Never!”

  She smiled but she was waiting for him to be serious. All thoughts of seduction faded from his thoughts. The problem was he was struggling to find the right answer. She had set him a trap and it was suddenly very important he answer her correctly.

  “Only because I love you,” he said. “I could see that you were making yourself unwell in your situation and it was so obvious to me what needed to be done. Not because I am a man but because sometimes it is easier for someone who is standing outside your situation to see more clearly.”

  She thought a moment. “I’m not sure I entirely agree with you, but I understand what you’re telling me.” To his disappointment she dropped her hands and stepped away. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, Dominic. But next time, ask me first.”

  “You have my word.”

  She smiled over her shoulder and went to the door, closing it softly behind her.

  17

  Once more Margaret lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling. They had eaten supper before the fire, and retired to their separate rooms, and now she couldn’t sleep.

  She wasn’t sure what she was doing. Today in the library she had made him admit he’d been overbearing in his behaviour, but that did not mean he was wrong. Being here, away from the turmoil of Denwick, she could see how awful her life had become. He was right when he said it was easier to see something once you were removed from it. She understood now how much she had dreaded rising each day at the vicarage, how the hours had weighed upon her shoulders, and how she had felt as if she would never escape.

  Dominic had seen that and he’d helped her escape. She should thank him. She would thank him. He was sometimes irritating and overbearing … Well, often, not sometimes. But he could also be passionate when he wanted something—like her—and secretive too. He was many things and she loved them all.

  She loved him. Did anything else really matter? They were here together and she was holding him at a distance while she continued around in circles. What on earth was she waiting for?

  She loved him. She wanted to be with him. And suddenly it seemed ridiculous that she had denied herself for so long.

  The next moment she was running on bare feet across the cold floor, and then her hand was on the door handle to his bed chamber.

  The curtains were open and there was a moon. It shone upon the bed. As she moved forward, eager and a little afraid, she saw that it was empty. For a moment shock held her still. Had he left? Had he given up on her?

  “Margaret?” She found him standing to one side of the window, as if he had been looking out, and he sounded surprised. “Is something wrong?”

  “I thought … I thought …” she began, stumbling over her words.

  He moved, and in the moonlight she saw that his hair was untidy, as if he had been running his hands through it in frustration or despair. He drew closer and she could see the longing in his dark eyes, and then he held out his hand to her.

  She went to him, feeling her nightdress whisper against her legs, and her dark hair hanging loose down her back. She hadn’t even thought to put on her robe or slippers, she’d been so desperate to get to him.

  “I’ve made up my mind,” she said.

  His fingers closed hard on hers but he didn’t move closer. He was waiting and she hurried through the words she’d come to tell him.

  “I want all that you said. The life together and the travel, and you. I want you, Dominic. Most of all, you. I love you.”

  He let out a held breath and drew her close. His arms went around her, his body hard and warm against hers. He was still dressed in his breeches and his shirt was untied at the throat.

  “I won’t ask you again,” he said firmly. “You’ve said yes and I won’t let you go again. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  This time it was Margaret who reached up to capture his lips with hers, tasting him, letting her tongue slide along the seam. She had dreamed of this over the past two nights and now she was here. He held her head and began kissing her furiously, as if he’d given up any semblance of control. Her heart was pounding and when his hands ran over her body, naked beneath the thin cloth, she felt flushed all over.

  “I can’t be gentle,” he groaned. “Not anymore. I want you too much.”

  And for some reason what he’d said was comforting rather than frightening. He wanted her with the same desperate need that she wanted him.

  He raised her arms and tugged off her nightgown, throwing it to the ground, and she giggled. She went still as he stood and stared at her naked body in the moonlight. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said, his voice husky with desire. Still watching her, he stripped off his shirt and then began to undo his breeches.

  Then it was her turn to stare.

  Margaret was a virgin but she wasn’t such an innocent that she didn’t understand what they were about to do. Trepidation might cause her to hesitate, but when he ran his hands over her curves, it was desire that sent her to him, opening her mouth to his kisses.

  Dominic lifted her in his arms and carried her to his bed.

  In the moonlight her body was pale and beautiful, and every bit as desirable as he’d imagined. He bent to press his lips to her breasts, taking the hard little nub of her nipple into his warm mouth. Playing her with his tongue.

  “Oh,” she gasped.

  “Is that ‘oh’ good?” he asked, licking at her soft skin, tasting her and marking her as his.

  “Very good,” she breathed. “Do it again.”

  He chuckled, and obeyed. Soon he was exploring further, over her stomach and down in the warm, slippery place between her thighs. She writhed and arched her body as he used his tongue and his mouth on her, her fingers tangling in his hair as she sought to hold him where she wanted him.

  She was close, so close, and he teased, holding back, keeping her wanting.

  “Dominic,” she wailed.

  “My love.”

  He sent her over and she cried out. When she was calm again, he set himself against her entrance, and as gently as he could, eased himself deep inside her.

  She was as ready as he could make her but still it took some adjustment. She said ‘oh’ several more times, and made some other sounds he enjoyed hearing very much. Her lips were on his skin, her tongue tasted him, and when he pulled her as close as it was possible for a man and woman to be, she gasped into his mouth.

  “Should I sto
p,” he groaned.

  “Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Please don’t stop.”

  The pleasure burst upon them. He had never felt anything so intense. There was something primal in it. Taking the woman he loved, making her his. Irrevocably and forever.

  Afterwards he cradled her in his arms, stroking her body, kissing her flesh, and that was how they fell asleep.

  Much later

  “My love.”

  Warm lips pressed against her hair, a whisper against her ear. Margaret stirred, momentarily forgetting where she was, only that there was a hard, warm, male body behind her. His tongue slid down her neck and he nibbled at the curve of her shoulder. She turned slightly to give him better access, and felt him smile against her skin.

  “I want you again,” he said.

  She sat up properly to look at him. “Again? Is that possible?”

  He was propped up on one elbow, his unclothed body on full display. Long and muscular and utterly beautiful.

  “I wonder,” she said, her heart beginning to beat faster, “whether that is quite suitable viewing for a vicar’s daughter.”

  Dominic stroked himself. “As it is the vicar’s daughter who has caused the problem, I think it only fair.”

  Her hand covered his and his eyes darkened, his breath quickening. Margaret was aware that she had grown very bold in the last few days, which they had mostly spent in bed.

  “You’re quite right,” she said. “This needs fixing, my lord.”

  She then squealed as he rolled her over on the tangled sheets of the bed, lathing her skin with his tongue, and getting lower and lower until she gasped and writhed and cried out with pleasure.

  “You are very good at this,” she said, when she’d managed to regain her senses, and her breath.

  “I have a willing pupil.” His legs were pressing hers apart, his naked chest rising above her. Her eyes were half closed as she stared up at him, wondering whether she would ever tire of this.

  He slid inside her, making her catch her breath, his deep voice murmuring words of love. There was no discomfort, not after the first time, and even then she had enjoyed herself too much to pay it much heed. The pleasure spiralled higher as he thrust deeper. He bent his head to suck her nipple into his mouth, and his movements became more erratic until finally he cried out, a moment after her.

  When he had caught his breath he kissed her again, his mouth rough on hers, and said, “Don’t ever leave me, Margaret.”

  Surprised, she stroked his hair back from his face. “Why do you think I would? I love you, Dominic. And I do not change my mind once I have made it.”

  He nuzzled against her throat. “I will hold you to that. Even when people might be cruel, or if I am arrogant and irritating, you must never leave me.”

  “I won’t. Besides, I’m used to your arrogant ways now.”

  He lifted his head and smiled, but she could see the seriousness in his eyes. “I’ve been alone. I was empty for so long, but you crept into my heart, and now it is full.”

  This time when she drew his face down to hers, she kissed him with every ounce of love in her heart. “You are mine and I am yours,” she said. “And that can never be undone.”

  Dominic gave a deep sigh of contentment. “Never,” he agreed.

  18

  It was mid-morning when they returned to Denwick. All the way, Margaret had been asking herself if this was a mistake. Even though they would only be staying for a moment, really just to reassure her that everything was all right, she worried. What might she see when they arrived? What if she was once more caught up in the turmoil she had left behind?

  There was music coming from the church, and together they walked to the porch and Dominic opened the door. They peeked in.

  Sibylla was singing. Her voice soared, just as Margaret remembered from that last evening in Mockingbird Square, and the congregation sat listening in rapt silence.

  As the last notes fell there was a hush and then a gasp and cries of pleasure. A moment later, Louis was hurrying toward Sibylla, his blue eyes shining with love and appreciation. Much had happened since their leaving, it seemed.

  “Lady Sibylla, that was glorious, thank you so much! Now, children, are you ready to begin the play?”

  Margaret stepped into the church, staying in the shadows by the door, and saw her father. He was seated in one of the front pews, glaring sullenly as the children began to take their places. Several animals had been brought in for the occasion, and there was laughter as a rooster began to crow.

  Margaret looked about anxiously, then relaxed when she saw her mother. Aunt Lily was seated beside her, and the two sisters were smiling at the children.

  Dominic leaned close and murmured, “All is well. You see?”

  She turned and smiled at him, blinking the tears from her eyes. “Yes, Dominic, all is well.”

  They were about to leave when Sibylla noticed them. She opened her mouth to call out, only to glance over her shoulder toward the vicar, and close it again. Her smile was enough to show them how happy she was for them.

  Outside, the coach was waiting.

  “I think we will go to Italy first,” he said, walking briskly, tugging her along with him, her hand in his. “At least there the sun will be shining.”

  Verona, Italy

  6 months later

  The sun was shining, and Margaret fanned herself languidly, watching as Dominic returned from the bakery that sold the pastries she so adored. He strode along the narrow street as if he owned the world, just as he always did, his dark hair tussled and his white shirt open at the throat. His boots were still shiny but there was a devil may care brashness about him that Margaret found very appealing.

  In Mockingbird Square he had always been so immaculately dressed. Such things did not seem to matter here in Verona.

  The window of their villa faced onto the street, so Margaret had taken to watching life pass her by. She preferred the evenings, when it was cooler, when she and Dominic could stroll to a café. He would hold her hand and kiss her lips, and soon they would return to their villa and he would make love to her until they were both exhausted.

  “My love!”

  The door opened and there he was, pulling her up into his arms, holding her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. His grip seemed particularly tight though and with a worried frown she tried to see his face.

  “What is it?” she demanded. “Dominic!”

  He sat her back down, leaning forward with his hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in. His face was inches from hers, and she was right, his dark eyes were a whirlpool of emotion.

  “There was a message from Sibylla.”

  Sibylla had married Louis Scott two months ago, and they were safely ensconced in a parish of which Dominic held the living. One of the perks, he’d said, of being a wealthy man in a feudal country.

  Margaret’s father had taken up his place in the parish he’d hoped for, but his wife was now in Portobello with her sister. Dominic had tried to persuade Mrs Willoughby to move south and live at the Abbey but her health had deteriorated, and it seemed best to leave her with her sister, where she was happiest.

  “What does she say?” Margaret asked.

  He stared at her a moment longer. “My wife is dead. She died six weeks ago, quietly, as she lived. Sibylla said it was a relief to everyone.”

  “Oh.” Margaret reached up to cup his cheek with her hand, smoothing the rough beginnings of a beard he hadn’t bothered shaving off. “I know being married to her was never your choice, Dominic, but I think you were fond of her.”

  He smiled sadly. “I was fond of her. She made me see life in a way I never had before. She changed me for the better. I hope she knows that now.”

  Margaret leaned up to kiss his lips gently and for a moment they were quiet, thinking of the past.

  Dominic cleared his throat at last. “I am free,” he said, as if to assure himself of the truth of it.

  “You ar
e free?” she repeated.

  “I am. Free as a bird.”

  He straightened up, looking around him, and then found what he was looking for. “Here, put on your shoes, my love. Make haste. We are going to be married at once.”

  “Dominic, no.”

  He stopped and stared at her, and she shook her head at him in exasperation. “I am not saying ‘no’. I am saying ‘no’ to this haste. Why don’t we marry in England?”

  “We can. We will. But we will also marry now, here in Verona.” He was back, caging her in the chair again, and this time he placed one hand gently upon her slightly protruding stomach. “You are carrying my heir and by God he will be born a Frampton.”

  “What if she hadn’t died?” Margaret asked, suddenly chilled by the thought that their child would not have been as important to him then. “If our child had been born a bastard and not a Frampton?”

  He shook his head. “It would merely have complicated matters,” he said, and then noting her stubborn face, went on to explain. “If necessary I would have brought all my powers to bear, to make certain he inherited. But now there will be no need.”

  “How do you know the baby is a ‘he’?” she asked.

  “I don’t. Now up, my love!” he ordered in his arrogant way.

  “Dominic,” she sighed, but she couldn’t resist him. She stood up and let him slide his arm about her waist and hold her close. “Are we really returning to England?” she asked.

  “Yes. Back to the Abbey and back to Mockingbird Square. I am looking forward to seeing the expressions on the faces of our neighbours, aren’t you?”

  She thought about it. Was she? She expected everyone would know, or at least guess, about her ruination. But she had decided when she said yes to running off with him that she would let love be enough. Whether they were married or not, what other people thought and said wasn’t going to interfere with her happiness.

  It had been so easy living here, just the two of them, and Margaret knew things would not be so uncomplicated in England.