by Merry Farmer
A shiver passed through her, swirling down to the parts of her that felt neglected. A fair-sized bed was tucked into the corner of the room. Its coverlet and pillows looked a bit dusty, but in good condition. The rest of the bedroom furniture had a thin film of dust on it, but she barely had time to look at any of it before Alex swept her into his arms again.
His kiss was far more powerful this time. The energy that coursed through him as he explored her lips and mouth was captivating. It occurred to Marigold that he had missed making love to her as much as she’d missed it, perhaps more so. Already, she could feel heat radiating from him, and the thick firmness of his staff pressed against her hip.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, breaking away from her lips to kiss her cheek and her jaw. His hands moved restlessly along her back, as if searching for the fastenings of her bodice.
“I’ve missed you too,” she sighed in reply, boldly undoing the buttons of his jacket and waistcoat to unfasten his shirt. She glanced up at him. “You didn’t have to wait so long, you know.”
His hands circled down to her waist as he leaned back a bit. “I wanted to be sure you were ready,” he said. “I didn’t know…that is, I wasn’t sure if you felt…whole enough.” His brow creased in concern.
She laid her palms flat against his chest with just the cotton of his shirt separating her from his skin. “I will only feel whole with you inside of me,” she whispered.
His breath rushed out in a triumphant growl, and he surged forward to kiss her once more. His hands moved to the buttons running down the front of her bodice, and with swift, not entirely graceful movements, he popped each one free.
Undressing with Alex in the cottage bedroom, the hint of naughtiness that went along with their actions swirling through her, was irresistible. They were clumsy with each other’s clothes, more interested in getting them off than in folding anything or being tidy at all. Each piece that came off was tossed aside, puffing up dust where it landed. At last, as Marigold sat on the end of the bed to undo the laces of her boots, Alex stripped off his drawers and pulled back the bedcovers.
It was the most glorious thing in the world to slide between the sheets with him, their bodies fitting together perfectly.
“I love the feel of your body touching mine,” Marigold sighed. She was sure she sounded like a ninny, but she couldn’t help it. She arched her hips into him, reveling in the hot spear of his erection between them.
He jerked his hips in imitation of what she was so hungry for, sighing loudly at whatever sensations the friction caused in him. “I love everything about you,” he said before rolling her to her back and dipping down to kiss her.
The pleasure of his kiss combined with his hand cupping her breast was nothing to the swelling of affection in her heart. If he loved everything about her, perhaps he loved her as well. Just the thought of Alex loving her sent prickles of pleasure across her skin, heightening every sensation his body caused. Especially when his hand brushed its way down her abdomen and his fingers delved into the curls between her legs. She gasped at the shock of pleasure as he stroked her.
“I want to spend my whole afternoon making you come,” he rumbled, nibbling on her earlobe. “My whole life.”
She couldn’t think of a reply—she couldn’t think at all—so she sighed and arched into his touch.
He drew in a breath at her eagerness. “Do you like this?” he asked, reaching to circle her wet opening, then to slowly thrust a finger inside of her.
A brief moment of panic hit her. After everything her body had been through, she wasn’t sure how intimacy would feel. What if everything had changed down there and the sort of pain she’d felt their first time returned?
He must have sensed her hesitation, because his touch slowed and grew more tender. “Are you certain you’re ready?” he asked.
Her lips twitched, and for a moment she worried she’d let panic get the best of her. But with a quick breath, she forced herself to be as honest with him as possible. “I’m worried. I don’t know if it will feel the same.”
He nodded, kissing her lips lightly. “We’ll take things slow until we know for sure.” Even as he spoke, he continued to stroke her lightly, moving his finger in and out of her. “How does this feel?”
“Good,” she sighed, relaxing and raising one arm to brush his side.
“And how about this?” He added a second finger to his ministrations, stretching her just a bit more.
“Lovely,” she answered, closing her eyes.
“And this?” He shifted to stroke her clitoris again.
She responded with a rush of breath that turned into a moan. She hadn’t realized how much she’d craved this intimacy between them until she had it back. It was glorious, and she let herself go to the pleasure of it as Alex patiently stroked her until she was quivering on the edge of release.
“Come for me,” he whispered, his voice tense with desire. “Let me feel you come.”
Her breath came in shorter and shorter gasps until the coil of pleasure building inside of her burst into waves of throbbing pleasure. It was so good and so pure, and came as such a relief that she could still feel pleasure as she once had, especially when Alex slipped his fingers back inside of her. She squeezed around them, wanting more, wanting all of him.
He must have heard her heart’s cry. He shifted atop her once more, nudging her legs apart as he guided himself to her still tender and throbbing entrance. With the gentlest movement possible, he pressed inside of her. It felt so good to take him in, to feel him stretch and invade her, that she sighed aloud.
He paused. “It’s not too much, is it?”
She could have laughed. “It’s wonderful,” she mewled instead. “More.”
A deep, hungry sound rumbled up from his chest as he pushed deeper. He circled a hand around her backside, squeezing and lifting her to meet a second, gentle thrust.
It felt different to join with him in slow, careful strokes. She wasn’t sure how, but it went far beyond her body’s reaction to being filled by him. His caution quickly drove her mad, and she bore down on him, urging him to move faster, to go deeper. He responded with a gentle increase in speed and intensity, still driving her to distraction. His control was astounding and far beyond her own.
“More,” she whispered when her body reached the point where it was ready to shatter with pleasure once more.
He seemed to have reached the limit of his patience as well, and once given permission, his thrusts became less controlled, more urgent. Within minutes, they were rocking together in a powerful rhythm, bodies entwined and sweating, their sounds of pleasure forming the sweetest song Marigold could imagine. She wanted him to enjoy himself to the fullest and moved and sighed with his thrusts to encourage him. At the same time, she felt as though he were waiting for her to climax yet again.
That feeling of working together with him for both of their pleasure was what pushed her over the edge, sending her into another tremor of release, harder and more potent this time. He tensed as she did, and within moments, his love sounds pitched to cries of release. His body was hot and heavy against hers as he spilled his seed into her, and even though part of her mourned that nothing would come of it, the communion between them was magical. Every part of her belonged to him, and him to her.
The deep, heated glow was so overpowering, that as they both floated down from climax, Marigold could hardly move. She didn’t want to break away from Alex, didn’t want him to disengage himself from her. When he rolled to the side, she clung to him, moving with him, reveling in the feeling of him still inside of her. She wanted to be with him that way forever.
Chapter 18
Alex hadn’t slept so well since returning to Wiltshire. The strain of his falling out with Marigold was gone, and the last bit of fear for her health and well-being had melted away at her sighs of pleasure as they made love. It was more than the feeling that he’d gotten his wife back that sent languid warmth through every part of his bod
y as the two of them lay tangled up in sleep. It was the feeling that he’d gotten his life back. He could conquer the world.
Marigold stirred as she napped with her back pressed against his chest. He hoped she wouldn’t wake up, not yet. He loved the sensation of sheltering her naked body with his, of the two of them being lazy together. And his cock was already getting ideas about making love to her again, perhaps in the position they lay in now. But he wasn’t in a hurry. They had their whole lives to make love.
He was just falling back to sleep, working out ways to explain that the cottage they hid out in had been Violetta’s home without upsetting Marigold, but a distant shout kept him from drifting off.
Marigold drew in a breath, proving that she wasn’t as asleep as he’d thought. Her body stretched along his, her soft, round backside rubbing against him in the best possible way, as she twisted to face him. “What’s that?” Her voice was groggy and adorable.
“Nothing we need to worry about,” he told her, sliding a hand over her stomach and up. He caught her breast and kneaded it.
Marigold hummed with pleasure, wriggling against him and encouraging him to do more. He nudged his knee between her legs and traced his fingers down from her breast to tease between her legs. Her soft gasp and the way she pressed against his hand, taking her pleasure as he stroked her, was so powerfully erotic that he was hard in no time.
“James? James, where are you?”
His arousal hit a bump, and he lifted his head. His pulse sped up, but he shook his head slightly and reminded himself that James was a common name.
“James? James!”
“Is that Ada?” Marigold asked, her body losing its liquid feel.
“Why would Ada be looking for him here?” Alex asked. “He’s with Ruby and Miss Goode.”
“James!”
The call came from just outside of the cottage. There was no mistaking Ada’s voice. Alex barely had time to frown before the maid pressed her hands and face against the window just above the bed, peering in.
She instantly pulled back with a yelp as Marigold gasped in shock. The bedclothes were bunched around Marigold’s hips, and no doubt Ada had seen much more of her master and mistress than she’d ever cared to see.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m so sorry,” Ada’s muffled voice came from the other side of the window.
Alex would have roared with laughter at their unfortunate discovery if not for the panic that edged Ada’s voice.
“Something must be wrong,” Marigold said, slipping out of bed and searching for her clothes.
With a sigh, Alex climbed out of bed himself. But the discomfort of his erection was the least of his problems.
“Have you seen James?” Ada called from the cottage’s front door, sounding upset. “Is he here?”
“He’s not,” Marigold called back. The bedroom door stood half open, though she kept well on the side of the room hidden from view as she dressed.
Alex spotted Ada standing in the main room with her back to the bedroom as he pulled on his drawers and trousers. “He’s with Ruby and Miss Goode,” he told her.
“No, he’s not,” Ada replied. She was facing determinedly away, but he could tell from the stiffness in her back and the set of her shoulders that she was beside herself with worry. “Ruby went to check on Master James after she finished cleaning up tea, but he wasn’t in his bed. Ben never saw him come back into the house. Neither did Mary or Martha.”
“He was with Miss Goode,” Alex repeated, though the more he thought about it the more alarming that prospect was. Miss Goode wasn’t one of their own. He didn’t know her from a hole in the wall.
“Did you check at Mr. Turnbridge’s school?” Marigold asked, frantically hooking her corset.
“Why would she take him there if he was supposed to be having his nap?” Ada asked.
Alex rushed to put himself together enough to step out into the main room, his waistcoat and jacket in hand. “Where have you searched?”
Gingerly, Ada turned to face him. When she saw he was mostly dressed, one kind of embarrassment left her face to be replaced by a far more worrying fear. “We’ve checked all over the house, inside and out, sir. He wasn’t in any of the gardens. Ruby is beside herself. She thinks she should have kept a closer eye on the lad.”
Alex wasn’t about to upset Ada even more by agreeing with that statement. “Has anyone called on Rev. Fallon and his wife? James might have wandered down to their house.”
Ada nodded. “Ben was on his way to check there. I thought I’d come here, seeing as it was his mother’s house.”
“What?” Marigold emerged from the bedroom at that moment, her eyes round with concern.
Dread nipped at Alex’s insides, but Marigold seemed more concerned about James than whose bed they had just made love in.
“This was Violetta’s cottage,” Alex admitted. “No one’s lived here for years, but I have the staff clean it quarterly.” There wasn’t time for more. He turned back to Ada. “James hasn’t been here. But he does have a habit of wandering off. He was at the train station when we arrived in July.”
“We should go to Clara and Arthur first,” Marigold said, marching for the door. If she was angry with him for failing to mention the cottage belonged to Violetta, it didn’t show. Her only outward emotion was deep, motherly concern.
“Head back up to the house to see if they’ve found him there,” Alex instructed Ada as he followed Marigold to the door. “Then send someone to Mr. Turnbridge’s school.”
“Yes, sir.” Ada curtsied, then bolted along the river path toward Winterberry Park.
Alex paused only long enough to close and lock the cottage, then to hide the key. “Are you angry with me for not telling you whose house this was?” he asked as he and Marigold rushed down the path toward Lanhill. His hand twitched to grab hers, but he held back.
“You did tell me,” she answered, her expression all business. “You said that you owned the cottage. It’s irrelevant who once lived there.”
The burst of relief Alex felt at her words was quickly swallowed by an even greater fear. James was missing. And while he was the sort to wander off on an adventure, the fact that Miss Goode was very likely involved didn’t sit well with him. Even if she were as innocent as a saint, the distant cry of a train whistle brought to mind a thousand dangers a toddler of James’s age could find himself in. He tried not to think of his son crushed beneath a train or drown in the river or worse.
“We’ll find him,” Marigold said, grasping his hand as they reached a set of stone stairs leading from the valley of the river up to one of the larger streets that lead into the village. “It’s only a matter of time.”
But when they reached the vicarage, Alex’s hopes were dashed.
“I heard James is missing,” Arthur greeted them before they could even set foot in the vicarage’s garden. He was putting on his coat, looking as though he were ready to join the hunt.
“He’s not here?” Alex’s chest squeezed. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have given a second thought to a child, trusting in others to watch out for him. Now, however, he felt as though a part of himself were missing.
Arthur shook his head. “Your footman, Ben, was here not five minutes ago asking if we’d seen him.”
“Did they find him?” Clara came rushing out of the house, an infant in each arm. Her face was drawn with worry, and her cheeks were pink. “Is he home?”
“No,” Marigold answered. “We were hoping he was here.”
“Oh dear.” Clara’s voice shook, and her eyes were round. “We have to find him. He could be anywhere.”
“Who was the last person to see him?” Arthur asked, stepping forward as if to take charge of the situation.
That show of strength inspired Alex to keep a cool head himself. “Miss Goode took him for a run around the house to get him to settle down for his nap.”
“Miss Goode?” Arthur blinked. “Who’s that?”
“Mr. Turnbridge’s
new assistant,” Marigold answered.
Both Arthur and Clara looked confused.
“She came up to the house two weeks ago with the children when they performed for us,” Alex explained. “Apparently, she just came from London to help at the school.”
“I haven’t heard of her.” Arthur shook his head. “Although I know Timothy has been desperate for help.”
Anxiety crawled down Alex’s spine. It seemed to be reflected in the uneasy way Marigold glanced to him. All they really knew about Miss Goode was what Ruby had told them. He thought back to the day of the concert, wracking his brain to remember whether he’d seen Mr. Turnbridge speaking to Miss Goode directly. He hadn’t chased the woman off or questioned her presence, but he’d had his hands full.
“Has Ruby said anything more about Miss Goode to you?” he asked Marigold.
She shook her head and shrugged. “Only that they’d become fast friends, and that they were from the same neighborhood in Limehouse.”
It didn’t seem right all of a sudden. “We need to go to the school.” He took Marigold’s hand and started off down the path that led deeper into town.
“I’ll come with you,” Arthur said, nodding to his wife.
The three of them marched swiftly across the tiny village of Lanhill to the unassuming schoolhouse bordering a field on the other side. Children ran through the yard, screaming and playing, which may have indicated some sort of recess, or perhaps simply Mr. Turnbridge’s inability to discipline his students. The only supervision for the younger students were a trio of distracted older girls who were making eyes at a young man with a sweat-soaked shirt unloading crates from a wagon across the street.
Mr. Turnbridge himself was inside, attempting to explain what looked like algebraic equations to a group of older boys while a small pack of younger students practiced drawing numbers on slates.
“Heavens, this is a surprise,” he said, glancing up as though he’d been caught handing out candy and firecrackers to the children instead of teaching them.