"Not impossible," he said, against her mouth.
He nibbled on her lower lip, sending waves of tingling sensations right to her womanly core. When his insistent tongue demanded entrance, she opened her mouth and welcomed him in. Had she just moaned? Or were her ears playing tricks on her?
Her hands, almost of their own accord, laced together behind his neck, and her body answered his like a siren call; she pressed against him.
How would they ever get through a conversation when they were locked together every few minutes? What a life it would be if he were hers—to live with this man, always anticipating the next time she would be in his arms.
Cautiously, timidly at first, she traced her tongue along the side of his and felt his body shudder. Emboldened by her power, she did it again, and this time, she knew the moan came from him.
His arms tightened around her back and somehow, she was crushed even closer, her breasts flattened against his chest, her nipples throbbing to life along with the rest of her. She understood what he meant by the trappings of an engagement and a wedding being merely formalities. If she could go against the ingrained morals of her upbringing, she would give herself to him this very night.
The next moment, he lifted her into his arms. She gasped.
"Let me take you to bed," he murmured, his voice husky, sending shivers down her spine. The word "bed" from his lips seemed like the most debauched, sensual word in the entire world. He carried her toward the door.
It would be beyond easy to give in. She could imagine being immersed in the passion that was cresting between them; it would be so utterly simple to succumb to the temptation of his warmth and his offer of love.
Instead, she grabbed the door trim as he skirted the doorway, and rather ungracefully, she pulled him to a halt.
"No," she said.
He froze, and she could feel his heart beating fast in his chest. "No?" he asked.
"No. Please, Michael, put me down."
She felt him hesitate, even sigh. Then he lowered her to the ground with only a muttered "Blast!" exclaimed from him.
Straightening her clothing and tugging down her fitted jacket, she tried to steady her breathing and slow her pulse. Imagine if she'd let him take her up the stairs and into his room. Imagine undressing in front of his watchful green-flecked brown eyes. Imagine the feel of his fingers stroking her bare skin.
"Elise."
"Yes?" She felt like she was in a dream.
"If you make another soft moaning sound like that, I'm going to pick you up again."
Had she moaned—while merely imagining him loving her?
"I cannot start something with you—"
"Too late," Michael interrupted. "We're well past the start, as far as I'm concerned."
He sounded a tad uncertain, so she nodded in agreement but couldn't help wringing her hands to keep from touching him.
"Very well. I cannot continue something with you, not while I'm embroiled in this terrible situation with—"
He held up his hand. "Please, stop saying his godforsaken name." He tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear. "Come. Let's at least scare up some dinner while I tell you how I plan to rescue you, dear lady. I believe I have cheese at least and a loaf of bread, maybe some kind of pickle—either onions or cauliflower, perhaps."
She stared at him. Truly? He wanted to eat at such a juncture. Pickled cauliflower and savory cheese? Then she realized that she was, indeed, hungry.
"All right," she said. "I'll bring our wine."
She went back into the sitting room and picked up their half full glasses. Strangely, she felt at home, as if she'd been there before. She retraced her steps to the back of the house and found the kitchen. Michael was already spreading out food on a central work table. He pulled up a stool, no doubt what his cook used if she were to sit and peel potatoes or apples.
"Sit and listen," he told her.
And she did.
Chapter 6
"Stop it, Mother. I'm a grown woman," Elise said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and getting up while Evelyn Malloy fretted and moaned about the scandalous behavior of her eldest daughter.
Her mother put her hands to her own cheeks in dismay. "You came home very late last night. And I still don't know where you were or why."
"Mother, please. Calm yourself." Thank goodness her mother didn't know where she'd been before her late-night ride home. How quietly she'd attempted to slip back into the house, yet of course, her mother had caught her. Thankfully, Evelyn had not seen Michael, who'd remained watching from the shadows to make sure Elise went indoors safely.
Silently and with a forbidding face, her mother had pointed to the staircase, and Elise had ascended dutifully. Regardless, she'd slept well knowing that Michael was truly her knight, like Sir Galahad, and happily for her, he was far more earthly and less angelic.
She had a smile on her face, thinking of him and of their dinner and their conversation by the fire afterward. It had been difficult to go home at all. And then her early morning euphoric reminiscences were shattered by her mother storming into her room before breakfast.
Elise sighed. What she needed was a lock on her door! No, what she actually needed was to be Michael's wife and move into his house and start a blissfully wedded life.
"If you won't answer my questions, perhaps your brother can get it out of you," her mother continued. "Well-bred young ladies do not go out unaccompanied at three in the afternoon in inclement weather, and they certainly do not come home at midnight."
"So if there had been no rain?" Elise asked impertinently.
"That is not the point," her mother said, "and you know it."
"I came home well before midnight," Elise insisted. "And please, do not bother Reed. This is none of his concern." She raised an eyebrow in the way her brother did. "He is not my father."
She watched her mother accept it and then purse her lips. Elise knew she had won but hated to cause her mother any distress.
"Please, Mama, don't worry. Everything will be fine." She stared deeply into her mother's lovely verdant eyes. "Trust me. I am your daughter, after all."
Evelyn relaxed slightly. "So is Rose, and you see what mischief she gets up to," she said, but she offered a small smile.
"True," Elise acknowledged. "Maybe all the good sense was used up on myself and on Reed, and maybe a little on Sophie." She reached out and squeezed her mother's hand.
"Very well," Evelyn gave in. "For now, I will let this matter drop, but I will want some answers. And soon. You promise you're not in any trouble?"
Elise caught her breath. Why were mothers so uncannily knowing? She'd nearly been in a world of trouble, but she hoped today, she would be getting out of it completely.
"I promise, Mother." Michael would see to it.
* * *
A few hours later, she gave Michael her hand, and he assisted her down from his phaeton in front of the Amorys' Warren Street mansion.
She'd made sure that Jonathon would be home before she met Michael at the bank and left her carriage there.
"Don't worry," he said, his hand warming the small of her back.
"Actually, I'm not." She felt confident with Michael by her side, believing that she could do anything.
They were shown into the parlor where Jonathon Amory sat, legs crossed, reading the paper, drinking tea.
Infernal tea, she thought.
As she expected, his father was nowhere to be seen. She had a nasty feeling that Jonathon kept the older gentleman locked away from society.
And why was Jonathon nearly always at home—when her brother was busy at all hours working at the courthouse or the law library at Dane? Did he have no cases at present?
As his glance registered Michael, Jonathon paled, and Elise knew with certainty that everything would be all right.
"I was expecting you alone, Elise," Jonathon said, lowering his paper.
"You will address her properly, befitting your relationship," Michae
l said, outwardly bristling as he moved to stand with one leg slightly in front of her skirts. "She is Miss Malloy to you, Amory."
Elise knew they had better wrap this up as quickly as possible. She could feel the anger coming from Michael like heat from a woodstove, and she had a feeling that he was not going to be civil for long.
"I beg your pardon," Jonathon said, but he was not begging forgiveness. Rather, he was clearly questioning Michael's proprietary stance.
"Beg all you like," Michael muttered, turning his head away. "It'll do you no good."
"Mr. Amory," Elise began, "it has come to my attention that ours would be a marriage in name only." She glanced pointedly at Michael as the source of this information.
Dark patches, from either anger or trepidation, put the color back in Jonathon's cheeks. She thought his mouth dropped slightly. Then he straightened. "How dare you!"
"This question from a blackmailer," Michael said. "How ironic!" He let that outrageously bold statement hang in the air a moment before he added, "You will cease in your persecution of Miss Malloy and her family. At once."
Beside her, Michael looked relaxed though she knew from talking to him earlier how his anger simmered at what Jonathon was trying to do to her.
Jonathon looked down his nose at them both, as if a dead fish resided at the end of it. "Or what? I am an attorney. I'll bring the full extent of the law against you for slander if you so much as whisper your insinuations."
Elise sighed. He was a fool to think he could scare her with such talk. She had heard her father and brother banter such statements about enough times to know it was a last resort defense for the defenseless. Before Michael had a chance, she answered him.
"I will tell everyone of your inclination toward your own gender. I care not a whit about that or about what you do, but I do not wish to be married to such a man."
"You are playing with fire," Jonathon said, though without the force of his previous statement.
"No, Amory," Michael said. "You are. I heard you plainly and clearly proposition that young clerk inside the bank. What was it, about three months past? No matter. I'll ask him to corroborate the precise date if you like. This is not hearsay. This is, as you know, first-person evidence of the most damning nature."
Michael took a step toward Jonathon who appeared mute with rage, and Elise reached out her hand, thinking to restrain Michael from harming him. However, he glanced at her and gave a curt shake of his head.
She understood, dropping her arm at once. Men were men, and while Michael loved and respected her, she had better not think to get between them, any more than she'd try to separate two growling dogs.
"I will crucify you in court," Michael continued, "and I won't need the help of a lawyer to do it. I will tell you again and only once more. You will leave the lady alone, and you will not bother her or her family again."
Elise couldn't help adding, "I don't even need you to pay off the loan. I simply want no further contact. Do you agree?"
Jonathon Amory stood unmoving, looking from her to Michael. He said nothing else on the matter. At last, he nodded.
Elise felt a weight lift from her shoulders. "I must have your word, Jonathon, that you will do nothing to harm my brother. You must accept that Celia was at fault, and my family has been generous regarding the matter."
"Get out," Jonathon said, all veneer of civility vanished from his countenance.
"Your word," Elise insisted, even as Michael turned and took her arm to urge her out.
"What is that worth?" Michael said to her, not caring if Amory heard or not. His claws had been snipped.
She let Michael steer her toward the door, but thought she might have heard Jonathon murmur, "You have it."
* * *
"Where are we going now?" Elise asked him, feeling as if she could fly like a chickadee. She was free—free from the worry over paying off the loan, free from Jonathon Amory, free to love Michael Bradley.
"Back to the bank," he said. "You're going to climb into your carriage and go home."
"Oh," she felt slightly let down. She'd expected something more after the exciting twenty-four hours they'd had.
"I'll be there shortly," he added, "and we'll talk to Reed together."
Michael was coming to her house? She could interpret that in only one way. "You mean—?"
"I need to speak to your brother immediately about our getting married."
"And my mother," she added.
He nodded. "Of course. And your mother."
She leaned her cheek against his shoulder and smiled to herself. Her father taking out that loan had led to her finding Michael, and in some way, she would consider it his gift.
Later, when Michael sat with her entire family, Rose and Sophie included, and told them how he had held her in high esteem since first meeting her over two years earlier, she couldn't help beaming.
"When I am with her," he said, staring directly at her, "I feel as if I'm in the company of an ever-present, densely saturated goodness."
She blushed at such words in front of her open-mouthed siblings and her mother, yet inside her soft leather shoes, she wiggled her toes with pleasure.
Reed looked from one to the other. "And this sudden decision to marry was made when precisely?"
Elise smiled. Her brother managed to look serious and paternal despite being younger than either her or Michael. However, more than that, she knew he was pondering recent events and trying to determine if he'd missed something. His legally trained mind was searching for clues and coming up with... nothing.
Michael coughed and cleared his throat. "I apologize for speaking with Elise first regarding marriage. However, after we discovered that we had a mutual admiration, I spoke plainly with her."
The look he sent her—causing her to catch her breath and look away—was a reminder that they'd done more than speak plainly.
"Reed," Elise said firmly, "stop interrogating my future husband."
Standing up, she walked from her chair to the sofa where Michael sat surrounded by Malloys. Pushing between her sisters who hovered, clearly fascinated by the turn of events, Elise sat close beside him and took his hand.
"For make no mistake, dear family, I intend to marry him."
Epilogue
In Michael's bedroom, now hers, too, lit only by the fireplace and two candles, Elise stood in the center of the dark blue rug. She'd wrapped herself in nothing but a white silken robe, belted loosely at her waist. She felt not a tremor of fear but a distinct trembling of anticipation.
Her fiancé had waited impatiently for two weeks to become her husband, which was the least amount of time in which they could get married without appearing in an unsuitable hurry after the announcement was made. Of course, Reed made sure their marriage license was in order.
For the seemingly interminable duration, Michael had paced and fumed, held her hand every time they were close, and kissed her thoroughly every time they were alone. Finally, it was their wedding night, after a perfect, small service with only his family and her family.
Her new husband had gone downstairs to see the cook out and to lock up their house. Already bathed, Elise took down her hair and carefully brushed it out. Now she waited, trying not to appear like a sacrificial virgin. Rather, she wanted to be who she was—an eager wife, ready to please her husband and be pleased by him.
He pushed the door open slowly, leaving him silhouetted against the dark hallway.
"There's my gorgeous bride," he said, barely pausing as he entered the room and took her in his arms. She relaxed into his embrace, totally comfortable and utterly in love with this man.
"I can't believe you're my husband."
He smiled. "You're supposed to let me say that. I am astounded that you're my wife—Elise Malloy Bradley, the most beautiful woman in all of Boston."
She pulled at his vest buttons, feeling a little shy. "You don't have to flatter me. I'm yours already."
"Flattery is for fools. I'm speaking
the truth," Michael stated. He paused, gazing into her eyes, his face so dear to her. "But you're mine in name and heart only."
While she started to protest his use of the word only, he bent his head and kissed her. She felt the moment his demeanor changed from love to desire. His hands moved from her waist, sliding down her hips before curling around her bottom. He pulled her tightly against him, fitting her against his lean hips, while trailing kisses along her jawline and down the pale curve of her neck.
She arched her head back and immediately, his hand came up to cradle it. His other hand was at her belt, untying and nudging open her robe. She shut her eyes as his mouth moved lower, skimming her collar bone and coming to rest on her left breast, over her heart.
She gasped as his mouth closed over her nipple. How long he feasted there, she didn't know. Her body was exploding with sensations, her brain felt drugged with pleasure, and there was nothing in the world but him and her.
"Now, I'm going to make you mine in another way, Elise."
He lifted her off her feet and gently deposited her in the middle of his—their—bed.
She opened her eyes, wondering at the heaviness of her lids and the way her breathing felt labored. At the same time, she savored the flutter of anticipation low in her belly.
She watched him undress—shoes, vest, starched collar, shirt. He paused, and she enjoyed her first view of his naked upper body, his muscled shoulders and broad chest with its smattering of curly hair, his flat stomach, interesting indentations of muscle over his ribs, and a gentle narrowing to his hips.
She swallowed. All this maleness was hers, and there was more to come.
"You're beautiful," she murmured, rising up, leaning on her elbows, not caring that her robe was gaping open and exposing hers breasts.
He laughed, which she liked. "No, I'm not. You're beautiful."
"Very well. You're handsome." She giggled with sheer delight, unable to imagine being happier than she was at that moment with her new husband undressing before her. "But I do think you're beautiful, too."
The Defiant Hearts Series Box Set Page 8