Once he might have pressed on without any thought, but with her, it would be enough if it was all she wished. It didn’t matter that the primal part of him demanded that he take her now, branding her as his own. Her pleasure and her feelings were more important than anything of that baser urging.
Inch by slow inch, he let her legs lower to the floor.
She leaned her head back, gazing up at him. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
Nodding, she let her lids half close, and despite his reply, she said, “You were right.”
“Aren’t I usually?” he teased.
She tsked. “Hardly ever.”
“Oh,” he said with exaggerated woundedness. “Then what was I so lucky to be right about?”
“I’ve never felt anything like that,” she marveled. “It was the most remarkable thing.”
A ridiculous dose of pride sent him grinning. Stupidly, no doubt. “If it were up to me, that experience would become quite common.”
“Can it be?” she asked.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “For many? No. But for you and I? Yes.”
She pressed her hands into this chest. “I suppose I should go to my room.”
“Why?” He stepped back, hating the feel of air replacing where her body had been. He longed to make love to her, but they’d taken the first step, and he wished this experience for her to be one of pleasure not pressure. “Stay with me.”
“But—”
“There’s nothing scandalous in it,” he offered, willing her to stretch out these moments when they were together without any rules separating them. “Quite the opposite. You’re my wife, after all.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “I am.”
“Now, then, come to bed.”
She pulled against his hand. “Wait.” Biting her lower lip, she looked askance.
“What is it, Maggie?” He felt his heart tighten, half afraid she was about to insist on leaving.
“You didn’t receive any pleasure.”
He let out a relieved sigh. “Not tonight.”
She squeezed his hand. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
God, how he loved the feel of her palm against his. “Of course you’d be concerned about the fairness of it all.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” she protested.
“No, and it gives me hope.”
“Hope?” she echoed.
“That we will be intimate again and that you wish to touch me.” He leaned down toward her. “Do you?”
“Yes,” she replied simply, honestly.
“Thank God for that.” He tugged her lightly toward his bed. “Tonight it is enough that I hold you in my arms.”
“But . . .”
He paused, turning back to gaze down on her flushed face. “Yes?”
“I don’t wish this to be enough,” she rushed. “I want to see you. To touch you.” Her kiss-swollen lips parted. “I want more. I want to finish what I have started.”
James’s breath froze in his throat. He’d never been asked in such a way, so forthcoming, so beautifully. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
When he reached the bed, he took her hands and lifted them to his robe.
She nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully.
It was fascinating, seeing authoritative Margaret be unsure. But for all her inexperience, she was determined.
She pushed her fingers beneath the fabric and then worked it over his shoulders.
The robe tumbled down to his waist.
A half smile tilted her lips.
“Are you pleased with what you see?”
“I’m sure you know you are very beautiful,” she said factually, her eyes hungrily taking him in.
Was this what it was like to be with a woman? To have them both be honest and open—and dare he say it—loving? “As are you.”
She might not have heard him, her focus was so intense. She took the tie at his waist and gave one firm yank. The robe fell to the ground, leaving him entirely naked.
Her eyes widened but not with shock. And then they heated with clear admiration.
“I forget you’ve seen many men,” he observed, trying to keep himself in check. So long had passed since he’d last been with a woman that he was suddenly nervous. And yet how perfect that his return to this would be with Margaret. It felt as if they were teaching each other so many things.
Stretching out her fingers, she stroked them over the hard planes of his stomach. “I have seen many men. It was entirely clinical. I never wanted a single one of them.”
He tensed as her delicate fingertips flitted over his muscles. “You want me, though?”
“Oh, yes.”
Those simple words filled him with such pride. That was the only word for it. His fierce Miss Maggie wanted him above all others.
“May I?” she asked, her fingers lingering above his cock.
He let out a pained laugh. Even now, there was a reserve in her that was far too ingrained. If he had his way, he would rid her of that at the earliest opportunity. “Please do.”
Her fingers skimmed his length as if she were trying to memorize every vein, every part of the hard shaft. And when her fingertips circled the head, a groan of sheer torture tore from his throat.
“I never really believed men and women could give each other such pleasure,” she marveled.
“I’m glad you’re finding that with me,” he whispered.
“What next?” she asked, her fingers still stroking him, learning him.
“Well.” He swallowed, loving the feel of her smooth hands. “I think it best if your gown came off.”
“Aha.” She removed her hand from him and started to reach for her back.
“Let me,” he protested.
She gave him a curious stare, then turned.
Oh, so slowly, he unlaced and peeled back the fabric of her gown. “You need more gowns,” he said softly.
“No, I don’t.”
“I will buy you as many as you like,” he offered, wishing to give her anything that might bring her joy.
“I have exactly what I need,” she whispered.
“Needs and wants are very different things, love. If you want a new gown, there is nothing wrong with that.”
She laughed softly. “It’s not important to me.”
Well, he would see about that. He wanted her taken care of, her every requirement met and more. If he could, he would eradicate every memory she had in which she’d had to deny herself.
He wound her skirt ties about his fingers and tugged. The slowness of it all was growing too much, and so he bent, pressing a kiss into her shoulder, and made quick work of her corset and underthings.
“You’re rather good at that,” she observed.
“Does that bother you?”
She shook her head and twisted in his arms, facing him. She pressed her lips together, then asked, “Do you like what you see?”
“Maggie,” he breathed. How could he ever explain how perfect she was?
Wordlessly, he picked her up and laid her out on the bed.
He caressed her small, beautiful breasts, teasing the pink nipples, already hardened with her desire.
Leaning over, he kissed her rib cage.
She let out a soft moan.
As he continued to stroke her breasts, he kissed lower and lower, until at last he lightly bit her hip.
She jerked against his mouth. “That is most shocking.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he teased.
“What?” she asked breathlessly.
“This.” And he lowered his mouth between her thighs, tasting the sweet saltiness of her core.
Her hips lifted off the bed.
He looked up, desperate to see the pleasure on her face.
Her mouth was open and her chest strained up.
He flicked his tongue over her folds, then began to circle and tease her in earnest, ensuring he found the exact spot that gave her pleasure. Each little moan helped him drive her further along, until she cried out, her hands seizing his hair, holding his head close.
He raised himself onto his elbows and then crawled up her body.
Her eyes were closed and she was gasping.
Cupping her nape in his palm, he kissed her. Their mouths mingled, tongues teasing and stroking as he adjusted his body over hers.
She parted her legs eagerly, and he slid his cock between her thighs, holding back.
She arched her hips against him. “I want you, James. I want you.”
Those words drove him over the edge, and he eased the head of his cock against her opening. Once, twice he rocked, then thrust deeper.
She tensed. Her fingers digging into his arms.
“Is it too painful?” he asked, his voice rough to his own ears.
Her eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling. “No. It’s simply very strange.” She relaxed her hand and urged him closer. “Please don’t stop.”
He began to move again, thrusting slowly until he’d filled her.
The pure pleasure of it nearly undid him.
But he needed her to enjoy this as much as he did.
He arched his hips, searching for the special spot inside her, and as he did so, he placed his hand between their bodies.
She let out a gasp.
And as he stroked her inside and out, he felt his own climax building. The world coming apart.
“James,” she cried, her body rippling around him. “Oh, James.”
His name on her lips and the tight waves of her pleasure encompassing his cock pushed him beyond any climax he’d ever known. He let out a harsh cry, pumping against her, no longer in control it was so powerful.
The room went dark for a moment, and all he could do was feel. Feel Margaret and the joy she’d brought him.
Carefully, he let his torso rest against hers.
Her arms tightened about him.
He kissed her, and she responded with a soft, contented sigh.
After a moment, he rolled to his side, tucking her against him.
He stared into the dark, sleep calling him. But not yet.
“You’re nothing that I imagined you’d be,” she said suddenly.
He rose up onto his elbow, looking down at her shadowed face. “And exactly what did you imagine?”
She snuggled in closer to him and raised her palm to his cheek. “Someone more forceful, if you must know. More demanding.”
“Did that expectation excite you or frighten you?”
She rolled her head to the side before saying, “Both.”
Her honesty amazed him, and he valued it deeply. So many women and men couldn’t give voice to their desires. He’d been half afraid she’d be too ruled by the sensibilities of the day to give voice to her passions.
He lay back down beside her, pulling her as close as he possibly could. “I have no wish to frighten you. And it’s perfectly acceptable if you wish me to be forceful, as you say, but only because you want it, not because you think that’s how men should be.”
“Thank you.” She stroked her fingers over his arm. “For being so understanding.”
He let his fingers stroke the spot just above her heart. “Thank you for gifting this night to me.”
“Do you think this can be enough?” she whispered.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Never mind,” she replied. “This is more than enough.”
With that, her breathing grew ever more steady, until James was sure she’d faded into sleep.
Enough.
He wondered if there could ever be enough between them. Whether Maggie liked to admit it or not, under her tight control was a very passionate woman, a woman he wanted very much to see free. What would it take to finally break those bonds? Would she ever allow him to? Perhaps not. Perhaps she was as locked in her own prison as he, his.
She did need him, just as he needed her, and for a very similar reason, but could they set each other free?
As he closed his eyes, searching for sleep, he banished his doubts. He wouldn’t think of tomorrow. Instead he would take Maggie’s advice and think of nothing but her carefully tucked in his arms at this very moment. And the fact he could no longer deny. He was falling in love with his Irishwoman.
Chapter 23
James could hardly believe he was holding Margaret in his arms. He hadn’t held a woman in bed, well, since Sophia, and that had never been an entirely easy experience.
His first wife had found it difficult to enjoy the pleasures of the body without guilt. Sometimes he’d wanted to murder her mother and father for raising her to be so ashamed of her body.
Margaret was entirely different. Reserved, yes, but no shame. She’d embraced passion and asked for more. He circled his arms around her, cupping her hips into his groin and pressing her back into his chest.
It was the most at peace he had felt in years.
She was completely relaxed in the shelter of his arms, under the down covers. He would not be silly enough to say it was as if their bodies had been made to fit together, but surely not everyone enjoyed such a unique and remarkable joining.
He’d always been a master of sex, but with Margaret it had become something more. It truly had become the act of worship that he’d imagined.
Smiling in the darkness, thankful for this precious moment, James pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck.
How had he become so lucky?
How had a woman as wonderful as Margaret seen fit to give him a chance? For surely that’s what this was. Tonight had changed everything. This was no arrangement now.
They were husband and wife, and he was going to do everything in his ability to be a good husband to her.
Her back jerked against his chest, and she mumbled in her sleep.
Concerned at her sudden unease, James tucked her closer, but her breathing grew sharp.
He held still, waiting to see if it would pass quickly.
But Maggie twitched against him, a low cry of sadness emitting from her throat. Suddenly, she shook and sobbed.
James stroked his hand over her arm and whispered. “You’re safe, darling. Shhh, now.”
She tensed, then sat up quickly, pulling out of his arms. “W-where?”
He reached out to her, stroking his hand along her bare back. “You’re here with me.”
She let out a slow breath and then turned to him in the darkness, her silhouette barely visible. “What happened?”
“I think you were having a nightmare.”
She shuddered. “I have them, but no one knows.”
Except he knew now. He was seeing a fragile part of Maggie. Carefully, he pulled her down to his chest, longing to comfort her. “Tell me.”
“Oh, James.”
The plaintive note in her voice nearly undid him. His strong Maggie, who never let anyone see her pain, was suffering. “It’s all right, my love. Nothing can harm you.”
“Why do I have to dream about it?” she said, her tone verging on begging.
“The war?”
She shook her head. “Of course, I do think of the men I tended, their limbs blown to pieces and the horrors of that war, but that’s not what haunts me.”
“What then?” he asked patiently.
“When I was very small, I was such a happy child. I had a happy family.”
“I can imagine,” he urged.
“But then it happened.” She pressed her hands against him, then pulled herself tighter to his chest, as if fortifying herself. “The f
og rolled in off the coast and stayed. It was a shocking experience, but none of us could know what it would mean.”
He waited, wondering what horrors little Maggie had seen, fearing they would be too great in number.
“And then when the potatoes were supposed to come in, they were rotting in the fields.”
The famine. Of course. He’d seen his fair share of soul-breaking things, but he had never had to look such a thing as that god-awful sorrow in the face.
Maggie began to shake. “I see their faces.”
“Whose faces?” he asked, wishing he could take all her fear and pain away.
“The men and women who lived all over Galway and the Claddagh. I saw their flesh shrink off the bone in degrees. Children I had played with in the fields diminished and fell to the earth when they no longer had the strength to walk.”
He couldn’t even imagine, but as she spoke, he received the distinct impression that this was something she never talked about. That this was the first time she had allowed such memories to pass her lips.
“It grew worse and worse. My father tried to help. He purchased food to be distributed. He arranged for passages on ships to the Americas. He tried with every last fiber of his being. And when we finally received word of the mass deaths on the ships so many of our people were escaping on and the rigid stance of parliament on assistance, my father gave up. He withered away . . . just like . . .”
James stroked his fingers over hair, soothing her as best he could. “Just like?”
“Just like my mother,” she said so quietly it was almost inaudible. “I lost them both and then . . .” She sucked in a breath and let out a sob. “I saw it. I saw the hole in the earth and the bodies piled in. I’ve never seen so many women and children and men all in one great pit.”
Tears stung his eyes. How old could she have been? A child. That’s all that mattered. She had been a child and she had seen hell on earth.
“I was terrified I’d fall in and n-never get out. In my dream . . .” Another sob tore out of her. “In my dream, I fall in and I am trapped amid the dead, my arms and legs tangled with their lifeless limbs, their unseeing eyes staring at me.”
The Dark Affair Page 20