Falling in Love Again

by Cathy Maxwell

  He stared at the point between the pony’s ears, too startled by this new knowledge to truly understand it.

  When had it happened? What change had been wrought inside him to turn a man who had once been so cynical into a moon-eyed fool in love?

  He felt as if the earth trembled beneath him. His hands shook, his heart beat rapidly. Slowly, he turned and drank in the sight of Mallory as a thirsty man gulps down water.

  She shifted, as if sensing his gaze upon her, and looked over her shoulder at him, her expression quizzical. “What is it?” she asked.

  John couldn’t answer. No words would pass his lips. Here he was, a man who had made love to camp followers, married women, even a foreign countess…and he couldn’t speak to his own wife!

  She smiled and shook her head. “When I met you at Lady Ramsgate’s house, I thought you were the most jaded Corinthian in all of England. But look at you now.” She reached across to cover his hand with hers. “John, you’ve given the people of Tunleah Mews something to look forward to. I don’t know how you’ll persuade Lord Woodruff to sponsor the harvest home, but you’ll think of a way.”

  She squeezed his hand and then stood to climb out the back of the cart. She jumped easily to the ground.

  Confused by her actions, John looked around and realized they’d arrived home. The cart was halted in the barnyard. That was how powerful love was…it had robbed him of all sense of time and place.

  Mallory took a deep breath of fresh night air and closed her eyes. Spreading her arms, she spun around. “This is a beautiful night,” she said again. She opened her eyes and smiled at John. “And a fitting end to a perfect day. Thank you.” She lifted the hamper from the cart and ran toward the path, pausing at the edge of the barnyard and waving at him. “Goodnight,” she whispered.

  John just stared at her—dumbfounded by another new and amazing thought: She didn’t feel what he felt. He, John Barron, military officer, peer of the realm, and infamous lover, had fallen in love with a woman who didn’t love him back.

  And she was his wife!

  The pony turned and looked at John, then impatiently stamped its foot. Slowly, he climbed out of the cart and settled the animal for the night, all the while talking to himself.

  What kind of a man was he to meekly accept a pat on the hand and a whispered good night? She seemed to consider him more a brother or cousin than a husband—and could he blame her? In every confrontation they’d had, she’d ended with the upper hand! Well, the time had come, he told himself, to show her that he wasn’t some eunuch to be pacified with dreamy smiles. When he told her she was beautiful, he expected her to believe him and be properly appreciative of the compliment.

  Tossing aside the grain bucket, John marched out of the barn and headed down the path toward the cottage. His long legs ate up the ground and he was before the door in no time at all. No candle burned in the window, which further fueled his anger. She’d assumed he knew his place and would sleep in the barn.

  Well, she’d soon find out differently.

  He pounded his fist on the door. He had to knock a second time before he heard her sleepy voice. “Who’s there?”

  “John.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I need to see you, Mallory.”

  He had to cool his heels a full two minutes before he heard the scrape of the bar being lifted. The door opened. She hadn’t lit a candle, but John could see in the moonlight that she stood before him in her brown dress. Her long braid hung over one shoulder, and the expression in her eyes was full of concern. John didn’t think she’d ever looked so lovely as she did at this moment bathed in silver light.

  She pushed a loose lock of hair from her face. “What is it, John?”

  He stared down at her, words escaping him.

  “John, are you all right?” She placed her hand against his cheek. “You feel hot and your complexion is slightly flushed. Are you coming down with a summer cold or some other ailment?”

  John couldn’t answer her. The words he’d rehearsed in the barn would not pass his lips. Instead, he placed a hand on each of her arms, pulled her up to him, and brought his lips down on her mouth.

  Caught off guard, she tensed and tried to push him away. John pressed her closer, enjoying the sensation of her body against his.

  To his delighted surprise, the back of her dress was unbuttoned, as if she’d hurriedly thrown it on to answer the door. He slid his hand through the opening, his fingers brushing the soft cotton of her undergarments, feeling the curve of her waist beneath them.

  Her resistance faded and her lips parted. He was quick to take advantage, stroking her bottom lip with his tongue, urging her to open to him.

  With a soft sigh, she submitted to him.

  Her arms relaxed and came up around his neck. Her hands pulled his head down to her. But it was her low moan that took him over the edge.

  John hugged her even closer, feeling the tight buds of her nipples through the layers of fabric. Kissing her was as natural as breathing. He could lose himself in the feel of her. The stroke of his tongue no longer surprised her. She accepted it, invited it…stroked him back. She tasted of sweet cider and woman. Her kisses, timid and shy at first, became more demanding.

  And she felt so good in his arms. She was soft where he was hard, submissive to his need to dominate. No longer afraid to let her feel his need for her, he pulled at the layers of her petticoat and skirt and lifted her up off the floor.

  But he was caught in a web of his own making. Her legs pressed against either side of his body, cradling him to her. He marveled at her unpracticed response to him.

  He wanted to bury himself in her, to take her right now, this moment, in the doorway, on the floor, wherever.

  Her heart pounded against his chest. She strained against him, unconsciously begging for more.

  It took all the strength in John’s character to set her feet down on the ground and break off the kiss. A shudder ran through her. He placed his hands on her shoulder to steady her while she leaned against the door frame.

  He looked down into her wide, dazed eyes and said distinctly, “I’m getting tired of sleeping in the barn.”

  Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked off into the night.

  Mallory slid slowly to the floor, her legs too weak to support her. Her head against the door frame, she watched him climb the path to the barn.

  Every inch of her flesh quivered with emotions she hadn’t known existed. She raised a hand to her face. His whiskers had been rough, burning her skin. Her lips felt swollen; they tingled.

  Slowly, she rose to her feet and shut the door. Her dress had slipped off one shoulder. She shrugged and let it fall to the floor. Stumbling like a drunkard, Mallory made her way over to the bed and fell face down on it.

  She struggled for common sense, but all she could think about was that incredible kiss. Who would have thought a kiss could have such an effect on a person?

  She rolled on her back and stared at the rafters. It was going to be another sleepless night, full of restless dreams and mysterious longings….

  I’m getting tired of sleeping in the barn.

  His words ran around and around in her head. Would it be so bad if he slept with her? After all, they were married.

  This evening had been the best night of her life, dancing with John the highlight. She hadn’t wanted to admit it to him. She’d tried hard to keep her distance, to ignore his flirtations, and the fluttery way he made her feel. When he’d called her beautiful, it had taken all her willpower to remember that he’d probably said those words to many women.

  Mallory flopped over on her stomach and rested her chin on her hands. Wouldn’t it be lovely to make believe even for a few moments that John loved her?

  The idea stole her breath away…and it was then that she realized she’d fallen in love with him.

  Mallory sat bolt upright in bed. She spoke the words aloud, testing them: “I’ve fallen in love with
John.”

  They rang true.

  She leaned back in the bed, her mind replaying the events of the last week. When had it happened? At what moment?

  And, dear Lord, why?

  Hal would be a much better husband to her. Hal was steady and reliable. He’d even kissed her once…but his kiss hadn’t turned her inside out.

  And then she had the forbidden thought…

  Before Mallory could question her sanity, she rose from the bed, picked up her dress, tugged it on over her head, and let herself out the door.

  Outside, all was still and quiet. Not even a breeze stirred through the trees. John was gone. She could see no sign of him on the path leading to the barn.

  Lifting her skirts, she went after him.

  She was several yards from the cottage when a dark shadow stepped out from behind a tree into her path. A man’s hands came down around her arms.

  Mallory gave a scream of alarm.

  Then John’s distinctive, raspy voice said to her, “What took you so long?”

  Without another word, he swung her up in his arms, carried her back to the cottage, and kicked the door shut.

  Chapter 13

  I kiss’d her lips like rubies red,

  Fair maid is a lily, O!

  She blush’d; then tenderly she said:

  Come to me quietly,

  Do not do me injury;

  Gently, Johnny, my Jingalo.

  “Gently, Johnny, My Jingalo”

  The white coverlet on the bed seemed to shine in the silver moonlight streaming in from the window. John let her body slide slowly down his until her feet touched the floor. He kissed her thoroughly and completely, but there was a message in his kiss: he was done with waiting. He wanted his wife.

  And Mallory wanted to be his wife. His kiss this time was every bit as potent and demanding as it had been at the door. He tasted of smoky, heady desire.

  She loved the feel of his tongue. It pulled deep inside her, rousing feelings in places where she didn’t even know she could feel. Oh, but she wanted more as she leaned against him and kissed him back.

  His hands pushed her dress down off her shoulders. Her fingers tugged at the material of his shirt, urging it up over his head.

  For a moment they had to break apart. He drew off his shirt. Her brown cambric dress fell to her feet.

  Their gazes locked. “Take down your hair,” he ordered softly.

  She obeyed, keeping her eyes on him. Her fingers slipped the ribbon off the end of her braid. Using both hands, she combed the tresses over one shoulder.

  “So lovely,” he whispered, as he touched a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “I’ve dreamed of touching you with your hair down and around your shoulders.” The back of his fingers brushed against her breast covered by her worn cotton chemise. The nipple hardened, proud and erect.

  Embarrassed, Mallory moved to cover herself with her arm, but he would have none of it. Instead, he skimmed her hair back over her shoulder and lowered his head to press his lips against her nipple.

  The unexpected sensation surprised a gasp from her. Both her breasts tightened, tingling and growing firm and full. The heat of his mouth seared even through the cotton undergarment.

  His lips left her too soon. She gave a soft sound of displeasure, but his hand around her waist drew her close and he slowly began moving, taking her with him. Mallory smiled, recognizing the dance steps they’d performed earlier that evening—only this time the tempo was unhurried, their movements more intimate. Nor did they need music.

  His legs brushed hers. His hand slid down to the curve of her buttock. She looped her arms around his neck and rubbed her cheek against the silky mat of hair covering his muscular chest, reveling in the texture of his skin. He was warm, hard, satiny, and male.

  She could feel his heartbeat. It was as fast as her own.

  “Mallory, I’m going to make love to you.”

  She stopped breathing. “I know.”

  “I love you, Mallory.”

  It took a full minute for his words to make sense, and even then she thought her ears were playing tricks. She peered up at his face. “John, did you just declare yourself?”

  His face was hidden by darkness. He gave a shaky laugh. “I’ve never before said those words to a woman, and now that I have, she doesn’t believe me.”

  Before Mallory could answer, he led her over to the bed with its patched white coverlet and sat her down. He dropped to one knee on the floor in front of her.

  Taking both her hands in his, he said in a direct, unloverlike fashion, “I said I loved you. And this is the moment when you sigh, appear terribly flattered, and tell me you love me, too.”

  She tilted her head. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, that’s so.”

  “Now let me see…what sort of a sigh was that? Like this?” She drew in her breath and let it out in a soft sigh of boredom. “No, that’s not it,” she quickly answered. “Perhaps it’s more one of longing.” She sighed again, drawing it out and fluttering her eyelashes dramatically.

  He was frowning at her now, his scowl plain.

  Mallory decided to be done with teasing. “Or perhaps it would be best if I answered honestly and simply, ‘Yes, John Barron, I love you, too.’”

  He stared at her blankly for a moment. “You love me?”

  “Yes, I do,” she admitted.

  “You do?”

  Mallory reached for his ears, looked him squarely in the eye, and said, “I love you, John Barron, Viscount Craige.” She let go of him. “There, now do you believe me?”

  In answer he gave a loud whoop of joy, picked her up in his arms, and circled round and round the room until she was laughing and dizzy. And then he kissed her. This time, the kiss was hard and demanding, and was full of promise.

  John sat on the edge of the bed with Mallory in his lap. He began unlacing the ribbons of her chemise and petticoats.

  Mallory’s hands covered his. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m taking my wife to bed,” he answered, intent on his task.

  Tiny goosebumps formed on the tender skin he exposed to the night air. He kissed the goosebumps away and didn’t hear a word of complaint from his wife.

  His lips covered one firm breast, the nipple rising and hardening as he suckled. Mallory buried her fingers in his thick hair, amazed at how her body reacted to his touch.

  John undressed her slowly, making her stand between his thighs. The petticoat fell to a puddle at her feet and she wore nothing but her silk stockings. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “All ripe and rosy and naked.” The modesty that was so much a part of her forced her to try and cover herself, but he wouldn’t let her. He pushed her hands aside and ran his hands down over the smooth line of her hips and along the long muscles of her thighs. “Your skin is like the finest satin.”

  Other women were soft and plump. Mallory’s muscles were like those of a dancer. She pleased him; she pleased him very much. He untied the ribbons holding her stockings up and slowly rolled them down her long, lovely legs.

  “John…” Her voice trailed off.

  “John what?” he asked. Now it was his turn to tease. “John, please don’t do this?” He rubbed his cheek against the smooth white skin of her belly. A tremor ran through her, and he smiled.

  He drew his hands up along the back of her thigh, cupping her buttocks. “Or, John, don’t do this?” Ever so slowly, he circled her navel with the tip of his tongue.

  “That tickles,” she whispered, in a breathy voice.

  “It does?” He did it again, this time running his tongue up to the underside of her breasts.

  Her knees started to shake and she went to wrap her hands around his head. His touch felt good, too good, like the most exquisite torture. But John wasn’t finished with her yet.

  He captured her arms and held them in place so that she could not stop him. “Or, John, don’t do this?” He lowered his head to the dark tri
angle of hair between her thighs and nuzzled her gently.

  “John, what are you doing…” Her words ended a moan as he touched her most sensitive spot with the tip of his tongue.

  “You taste of the sweetest honey,” he whispered. “And you are so wet, my love.” He pressed his mouth closer.

  “John! People don’t do this—!” Her words ended on a soft cry.

  Mallory couldn’t stand on her own two feet any longer, but she found herself supported in his arms. He shocked her, amazed her. Her world began spinning in mindless wonder. She heard herself cry out his name over and over. He should stop! He had to stop, but she didn’t want him to stop. She felt she was climbing a steep pinnacle, searching for something just out of reach. Then, just when she believed she might find it, John rolled her over onto the bed.

  His lips came down to kiss hers and she tasted herself upon him. His tongue stroked her, imitating the movements he’d performed only seconds ago…and Mallory answered him with a strange, wild need building inside her.

  Her fingers stroked and caressed the strong muscles of his back. Her legs opened to him. She wanted to feel his weight upon her body—and she was reminded of a time seven years ago when they had been together like this.

  Only this time, she would remember what had happened between them.

  John pulled away, breaking free of her arms. “I need to finish undressing,” he rasped, and it was only then that she realized he still wore his breeches.

  She shivered in the night air. She watched his silhouette move in the darkness. One boot hit the floor with a thump, then another. First one button, then another and another was unfastened. John hooked his hands inside the tight doeskin and slid his breeches down his legs.

  He stepped into the patch of moonlight and Mallory came up on one elbow, startled by her first sight of aroused male—and John was very aroused. In fact, no stallion in her father’s stables had ever looked more ready.