by Lynsay Sands
Surprise spilled across his face at the confession; then his eyes softened and he raised a hand, startling her with the gentle caress of one rough finger down her cheek. “And now you are.”
“Yes.” She swallowed hard, her eyes focusing on his lips as they drew nearer. He was going to kiss her. She knew he was going to kiss her. She also knew that she should stop him. A proper lady would stop him, but Maggie didn’t want to. It was that damned curiosity of hers. She wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed by a man like Lord Ramsey. Would his kiss be soft and wet, like Pastor Frances’s tentative kisses had been? She didn’t think so. She suspected they would be much different. They would not leave her wondering how to get the man out of the house without hurting his feelings. Maggie was positive they would make her toes curl. Actually, her toes were already curling in her slippers in anticipation, and her breath was coming in short, excited bursts. Yes, she was ripe for his kiss, so when she saw uncertainty flicker across his face and the way he hesitated, she took matters into her own hands. Stretching up on her curling toes, she pressed her lips to his.
Wham! She felt her heart slam into her rib cage, her body vibrating with excitement as she slid her lips uncertainly over his; then he took over the kiss with a sound somewhere between a moan and a curse. His mouth opened over hers, his head tilted and he began to devour her lips. Maggie’s eyes popped open in surprise at the sudden hunger he showed. She saw that his own eyes were closed; then his hands slid up to cup the sides of her face, and he urged her mouth open. Maggie’s eyes drifted closed again.
Pastor Frances had never kissed her like this! This was . . . carnal, sweetly sinful, and definitely delicious. Moaning into Lord Ramsey’s mouth, Maggie inched closer, uncaring of the hat being crushed between them in her eagerness to feel his body pressed against her own.
Releasing her face, Ramsey slid his hands down to her arms and backed her around the chair until she bumped up against the desk; then he caught her in an embrace, drawing her close where his hands could slide down to curve over her bottom through her gown. He pressed her firmly against him and thrust forward. Maggie shuddered as she felt his hardness press into her; then she felt the first pangs of fear. She had instigated this kiss, had wanted it, but his arousal warned her she was playing with fire.
Raising her hands, she pressed gently against his chest, her face turning, but Lord Ramsey didn’t appear to recognize it as an attempt to end their kiss. Instead, as she pulled away from him, his eyes opened and went to her chest. He raised a hand to cup one breast, and he spread his legs slightly, pressing her lower body more firmly between the desk and the proof of his arousal.
Maggie had begun to murmur an apology when his hand closed over her breast. Her mouth snapped closed, then a moan escaped as he brushed her borrowed cloak aside and lowered his mouth to the flesh revealed by the neckline of her gown. She felt his lips and tongue linger over the plump flesh there, then dip between her two breasts to lick that delicate skin. All at once, her breast was free of the gown and Lord Ramsey’s mouth closed over the tender flesh of her nipple. Maggie experienced an immediate flood of fiery sensations pooling in her lower stomach.
Gasping for breath, she arched instinctively into his touch, her lower body grinding against his. Releasing her hold on her hat so that their bodies were all that held it between them, she reached back, pushing unknown items out of the way so that she could brace herself against the desk. She felt something warm and damp spread beneath her fingers, but cared little as he stirred her passions. Maggie let her head fall back, moans erupting from her throat as he tugged her gown down off her shoulders enough that her second breast spilled free. It was immediately enclosed in his warm hand, his thumb and forefinger replacing his lips on one nipple as he moved to lick and nip at the other.
Breathing something that might have been “Oh, God,” Maggie lifted her head to peer down at him, her hands sliding into his hair and tugging unconsciously at the strands.
She wanted him to stop.
She wanted him to continue.
She wanted these feelings building in her to end.
She wanted the bliss they promised.
Her mind went fuzzy, confused by all her conflicting wants. Had anyone suddenly asked, she might have had trouble remembering where she was. Perhaps even who she was. All she seemed to be was a bundle of desire. And she wasn’t even quite sure just what it was she wanted, but she wanted it badly.
Responding to her tugging on his hair, Ramsey released her breast, then covered Maggie’s disappointed moan with his mouth, catching and turning it into a groan of shared desperation. Where she’d been uncertain earlier, this time Maggie responded to his kiss with unadulterated hunger. Sucking his tongue into her mouth, she nipped it gently as she gripped blindly at his cravat with her free hand. Somehow she managed to get the cravat undone, and she pulled it off, releasing it in a flutter to the floor.
Maggie turned her attention to his shirt. She wanted to feel his bare skin under her hands. It was a desperate mindless want and she pushed herself off the desk so that she could use both hands. Unfortunately, Lord Ramsey’s nearness hindered her attempt to straighten so that she lost her balance. She grabbed at him to keep from falling, one hand catching in his shirt, and the other—the one still down by her waist—landing quite a bit lower. His sharply indrawn breath and the sudden swelling of the body part she had unintentionally grabbed, told her what she held. Maggie broke their kiss, mortification rushing through her.
“My lord,” she began, then paused when he covered her hand with his own. Maggie had been about to remove her hold on him and apologize for the embarrassing mistake, but was now unable to. He didn’t seem to want her to.
“James,” he gasped in a strangled voice. “Dear heavens, Maggie, I think you can call me James, now.”
“James,” she breathed, squeezing him curiously. He had been hard when she had grabbed him, and seemed to grow more rigid by the moment. Despite the fear caused by treading on this dangerous ground, she found herself curious about his body. He seemed extremely large to her inexperienced touch. Maggie tentatively followed the length of that hardness, amazed when he gasped and shuddered against her.
“Oh God, yes, Maggie. Touch me,” he exclaimed. Then he turned his lips to her throat. He alternated kissing, licking, and nipping at the skin there, with whispering heated words against her warm flesh. Maggie adjusted the pressure she applied, and where she applied it, curiosity and uncertainty battling within her.
“Oh God, you’re so talented,” he groaned, surging against her hand. Maggie bit her lip. Some of her passion had faded under her curiosity and her head was beginning to clear. She didn’t feel talented. She also didn’t feel terribly comfortable. She shouldn’t be doing this, any of it. Before she could remove her hand, however, Ramsey was brushing it away himself. Claiming her lips with his own, he once again thrust his hardness against the very center of her through their clothing. The double assault had her forgetting her fears in no time. Within moments, her legs were weak, and moist heat was pooling where Lord Ramsey was rubbing himself against her.
Maggie clutched at his upper arms, dazed by her body’s reaction to him as he insinuated one leg between hers, rubbing the material gathered there against her suddenly exquisitely sensitive core. Breathing heavily, she clung to him with her lips and hands. She rode his thigh, her body moving with his, then she shuddered as a breeze whispered past the burning skin of her leg.
She pulled her head away then, glancing down distractedly to see her crushed hat lying abandoned on the floor at their feet. Any guilt she felt at the abuse of the borrowed item was quickly displaced as she saw that one of Lord Ramsey’s strong dark hands was tugging her skirt upward, his fingers sliding over the paler flesh of her thigh. A warning sounded in her head, but Ramsey’s mouth had moved to her ear and was terribly distracting. It sent little tingles and shivers rippling through her. Maggie made little mewls of sound, then turned her head abruptly to ca
tch his lips with her own.
His kiss this time was bruising in its intensity, but Maggie’s response was just as passionate. Ramsey’s fingers caressed their way onto her inner thigh. She cried out when they brushed against the swollen flesh of her excitement—more from the shocking tingling that shot through her at the caress than anything—then sucked desperately at his invading tongue, squeezing her legs around his caressing hand.
These delights were something Maggie had never experienced. She had never even imagined such waves of sensation as he was causing in her, and she was completely overwhelmed. Her chest heaving, her mind blank of all but wants, her body pressing closer, she rode the hand that promised such ecstasy. Then he ruined it by speaking. He dragged his lips from hers and nipped at her ear then moaned, “God in heaven, Maggie, you make me wild. I’ve tried to resist you but, God forgive me, I can’t.”
Maggie shook her head, his words piercing her passionate fog. He made it sound as if she were doing the seducing, but Maggie was quite certain it was the other way around. A good deal more of her ardor was snatched away in the face of sudden panic when she felt him invade her. She glanced down sharply, relief coursing through her when she saw that it was only his hand under her skirt, and she realized that it must be a finger he was inserting inside her. She wasn’t certain she cared for the alien feeling, and certainly didn’t like the panic it instilled in her. It suddenly came home to her that she was playing with a very dangerous fire.
“You’re so tight,” he breathed, sounding both awed and pleased.
Maggie wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but did know she had to stop this. She squeezed her legs closed around his hand, trying to stop his movement. “My lord—”
“James,” he reminded her, then silenced her with a kiss as he withdrew and inserted his finger again. The feeling was less alien this time, and he was again caressing her where it felt good—with his thumb, she thought—but Maggie resisted falling back into that mindless desire that had gripped her earlier.
“I want you to burn for me, too,” he breathed against her lips, then licked her lower one and sucked it into his mouth.
“That is very nice, my lord,” Maggie said a little breathlessly the moment her mouth was free again. “But . . .” She paused abruptly, because she had opened her eyes to find he had disappeared from view. She glanced down as his hands slid from between her legs and, instead, gripped her hips. He had dropped to his knees before her.
“Uh . . . yes. Well, I am quite flattered that youeeee!” She broke off on a squeal as his hands slid between her legs to caress her intimately once more. “Oh!” She swallowed, and tried to close her legs, but his body appeared to be in the way. “I . . . You really . . . Oh . . . It’s nice that you want to make me . . . oh . . . yes . . . that is nice,” she moaned.
“Yes. Burn for me, Maggie,” he said. She shivered as his breath brushed against her thigh, her legs spreading farther of their own accord when he so urged. Then she went stiff as his head moved between her legs.
“What are you doing?” She jumped in alarm, nearly biting her tongue off as his mouth replaced his fingers. “Oh, no you mustn’t!” Maggie grabbed at his hair and tried to tug him away. “You can’t—You—Oh,” she cried out as his teeth grazed her flesh, sending pleasure rippling through her. “Oh dear . . . that’s . . . yes . . . I mean, no . . . no, you shouldn’t . . . Oh, that . . . yes, that’s nice too,” she gasped. Giving up her hold on his locks, she curled her fingers around the edge of the desk and began to twist her head, her whole being centered on the sensations between her legs.
A knock at the door brought her back to earth with a thump. Stiffening and straightening, Maggie groaned as Ramsey again slid a finger into her. Legs trembling and chest heaving, she grabbed frantically at his head in a desperate bid to warn him, aware that he must not have heard the knock with her thighs pressed tightly to his ears. He ignored her panicked tug and grazed her again with his teeth. A gasp escaped her lips, for her body responded automatically with pleasure though her mind ballooned with horror as a second knock sounded at the door. Tugging viciously at his hair, she spread her legs farther to free his ears and opened her mouth to warn him.
Too late! She stiffened in horror at the sound of the door opening behind her. Panic like none she had ever before suffered raced through her, and Maggie abruptly released Lord Ramsey’s hair. Brushing her skirts down to cover him, she quickly scooped the material of her gown back up over her shoulders, covering her breasts. Taking a deep breath, she turned to glance over her shoulder to discover who had entered.
Chapter Eight
“Lady Barlow,” Lord Ramsey’s butler announced, then blinked as he espied Maggie, seemingly alone. “I thought I heard voices. I just assumed Lord Ramsey was back from his walk and . . . in here,” he said uncertainly. An elderly woman stepped into the room behind him.
“Ah . . . he, er, stepped out for a moment,” Maggie murmured shakily. She straightened off the desk, and Ramsey, seeming finally to get the gist that they were no longer alone, eased away from her. He was still mostly under her skirts, and his position created an odd lump in the front of her gown, but Maggie was pretty sure that was hidden by the desk.
Glancing over to find the woman’s eyes had narrowed on her, she raised a hand self-consciously toward her hair, freezing when it reached eye level and she saw that her right hand was completely black. Being a writer, she recognized at once what covered her hand, and her gaze shot to the desktop in alarm. The overset inkwell and the puddle of black ink surrounded by lighter handprints on the desk’s surface told their own story. Maggie grimaced, then had a brilliant idea.
“He overset the ink and went to change,” she said brightly, gesturing to the mess on the desk. “No doubt he shall return momentarily,” she added, when Webster and the newly arrived woman continued to stare at her. Then, realizing that she was being extremely rude by keeping her back to them, Maggie eased her leg over Lord Ramsey’s head and turned. A flush colored her face as she felt him shift behind her. He was still under her skirts, his body brushing against the backs of her legs, his breath blowing lightly against her bottom. Closing her eyes, Maggie tried to ignore the sensation, to forget that he was under there, with his cheek pressed against one of hers. She managed a strained smile.
“I am—”
“Margaret Wentworth,” the other woman interrupted, and Maggie stiffened in surprise.
“You know who I am?”
“My nephew pointed you out when we rode past in our carriage one day,” the matron explained calmly. “It was your brother, Lord Wentworth, who saved my nephew during that nasty little war we had.”
“Yes.” Maggie yelped, kept by will alone from jumping as Lord Ramsey shifted behind her, his hands sliding up the backs of her thighs, grasping them lightly to help him keep his balance. She was quite positive he had not meant to reawaken the excitement he had been stoking earlier, but it happened anyway. The fires banked but not put entirely out by the arrival of Lady Barlow now danced once more along her nerve ends. Her nipples tingled.
Cursing her body for its complete indifference to the awkwardness of this situation, Maggie forced a smile, her mind working over the fix she and Ramsey were in. She had to get rid of the woman before James was discovered in this compromising position.
Dear God, what a scandalous discovery that would be! This woman would swoon, should she find her nephew under Maggie’s skirts. Stuff it, Maggie felt rather like swooning herself. She could not believe she was in this fix. How had she got here?
“Only you, Maggie.” The words echoed through her mind and she groaned inwardly. Then, her face began to redden at the vivid memory of James’s head disappearing between her legs. Had she really allowed a man to do such disgraceful things to her?
Oh this was horrible! One visit to a brothel and she began behaving this way? This was too much even for her.
“. . . and he died in so doing.”
It took Maggie a mo
ment to grasp what the woman was talking about. Oh, yes, her brother. His bravery. Gerald had always been a special . . .
Her thoughts died as she felt Lord Ramsey nudging at her legs, trying to urge them farther apart. Was the man insane? What the devil did he think he was doing? Surely he didn’t think to continue their naughtiness with his aunt right here, crossing the room toward where Maggie stood! Fear of just that made Maggie’s heart race in horror. Then her ankles were grasped firmly in two hands, and she gave a startled cry as she found herself slightly lifted, overbalanced, and dumped into the chair behind her. She caught a flash of Lord Ramsey’s gray coat peeking out the front of her skirt; then the chair she sat in was tugged forward and she found herself tightly against the desk. Her skirt, with Ramsey still under it, was firmly under the desk.
“Are you all right?” Lady Barlow stared at her in amazement, and Maggie forced herself to smile.
“Yes. I, er, stumbled,” she lied, then bit her lip as Lord Ramsey clasped her knees with his hands. She went still, waiting a moment before she was sure he had just been looking for a more comfortable position. No doubt it was crowded under there, and hot, and . . . She didn’t even want to think about it.
“Where did my nephew go?”
Maggie blinked in answer to the question, then peered at Ramsey’s aunt, her hands settling nervously on James’s hat. “I am not sure, my lady. He did not say.” Picking up the hat, she began to turn it slowly in her hand, then stilled as Ramsey gently pinched her calf. Apparently realizing he had her attention, he clasped her ankles and lifted and lowered her feet one after the other in a parody of walking. Obviously he was trying to tell her something.
Walking? she thought with a frown. Walking. Moving. “Leaving!” she cried.
“What?” Lady Ramsey regarded her blankly.