Emigrating with an Earl

by Murdoch, Emily

“Where did you manage to find a ring on a ship in the middle of the ocean? I mean, why did you bring your mother’s wedding ring on this journey – did you think you would need it?”

  The question, like the smile, had been unconsidered and arisen naturally, and Margaret was surprised to find that the unguarded question was enough to break through Samuel’s silence.

  He gave a laugh, though it was slightly stilted. “Oh, you know. It was just something that I happened to have on me at the time. You know how these things happen.”

  A rush of something that tasted of tin rushed through her body, and Margaret was surprised to find, upon a moment’s reflection, that it was jealousy. Had Samuel been engaged before, then – or even married before?

  “Is that what you were running away from?”

  Her question had been quiet, but Samuel’s head jerked round and he asked roughly, “Who said that I was running?”

  “N-No one,” stammered Margaret, her heart beating quickly now but not to excitement, but fear. “I just th-thought you had been unlucky, perhaps. In love, I mean. Perhaps you had had your heart broken, and…and she had given you this ring back, and that is why you were…were travelling to…”

  Her voice trailed off as hot embarrassment closed her throat, but her genuine fear of rudeness seemed to have convinced her husband that she had meant nothing serious by her question.

  She watched Samuel’s shoulders relax, and tried not to think of the hand that he now had lazily lying on the arm of his chair. Just inches from her own, and if she was just brave enough, she could –

  “I apologise for my wild response,” Samuel said with a deprecating smile. “I am not such good company as I think you may have believed when you accepted me as your husband yesterday. And in a way, I suppose that I am running.”

  Margaret found her breath caught in her throat. She had known it, she had seen some sort of sadness just hiding behind his eyes.

  “Running from sorrow,” he breathed with a hint of melancholy. “Running from grief, you could say.”

  She watched him, watched him as he became lost in his own thoughts, his own mind. It was almost a full minute before he shook his head slightly, turned to look at her, and smiled at her serious consideration.

  “As I am sure you can understand, I have no wish to speak of it,” he said lightly. “I…well, I was raised in a home that taught young boys to hide their troubles and continue on. ‘Tis a lesson I learned well, and I am unsure whether I can unlearn it at the ripe age of one and thirty.”

  Margaret nodded and without a second thought, reached out to take his hand. As soon as she had done it, she was uncommonly aware of the larger hand in her own, in the strength of his fingers.

  A sudden rush of desire for him swelled in her, and she bit her lip at the overwhelming nature of it, the need, the hunger for him. Where had it come from? What had started such a delightful and wicked thought, when all they had done no more than hold hands?

  It took less than a second for her mind’s eye to treat her to a wild and delicious image, that of Samuel Brown kissing her, kissing her passionately, his hands entwined in her hair, and his strong shoulders forcing her against a wall and she clutching at him, clinging onto him for dear life as his tongue –

  “Is anything the matter?”

  Margaret’s eyes snapped open. When had they drifted shut? Instead of a delectable dream Samuel, the real man was seated beside her, leaning forward now in concern for her.

  She knew that her cheeks were flaming red, but in the almost pitch black deck, merely lit by the light of candles through windows, she thought that she was safe from his discerning eye.

  “No, nothing at all,” she breathed, and tried to smile as her heart continued to thump against her chest. “I…I hope that you can find what it is that you are looking for in the south of France.”

  Samuel squeezed her hand, and Margaret tried not to imagine that strong and certain hand running up and down her body. Really, where were these wanton thoughts coming from, a lady had no business thinking of such things!

  “And why,” he whispered in his dark voice, not taking his eyes from her, “do you think that I have not already found it?”

  6

  The gown was soft and smooth beneath her fingertips, but Margaret hardly noticed. She had been standing at the side of the bed for minutes, just staring at the wall opposite her, the gown that she had been in the middle of folding hanging listlessly from her fingertips. Her diamond earrings had already been removed and placed carefully beside the bed.

  She was reliving the day that they had enjoyed: their third day of marriage. Samuel had laughed, and she had laughed, and the entire set of passengers had looked at them as if they were mad, and it had made them laugh all the more.

  A smile drifted happily across her face. It did not seem possible, this sort of happiness. She had not been bred to it, having her own way – but then neither had Samuel Brown, and he had an air of always getting what he wanted that was hard to resist.

  That sad, strange, striking man. What was he doing to her?

  Margaret shook her head and attempted to attend to the matter at hand: carefully folding her gown. She did it more from habit than anything else, but decades of training simply could not allow her to get into bed before the gown she had been wearing that day was carefully folded to prevent creases, and placed into the chest.

  The softness of the silk smoothed the way for her fingertips, and Margaret allowed herself to revel in the feeling. There were so few pleasures in life. Surely she would permit herself this one.

  And it was done. The candle in the corner flickered slightly, and she glanced at the tiny carriage clock. Almost ten o’clock. Samuel would return to the cabin soon, and here she was, standing in her chemise. She would need to be quick to get changed into her nightclothes.

  Just as she raised her hands to the straps across her shoulders, the cabin door was thrown open and she turned around in shock, her mouth open.

  Samuel Brown, her husband, was standing in the doorway, and his expression was unreadable, changeable, unknown to her. He took a swift step into the room and closed the door by leaning against it, never taking his eyes away from her.

  Margaret could feel his gaze like a physical touch against her body, and it was hot, and heavy, and marvellous. And yet she could not prevent the embarrassment from growing in her stomach, and with her arms across her breasts, she turned away.

  “No.” The word was uttered lightly, and it was not a command – more a plea. “No, do not turn away.”

  If she had not known that they were the only two in the room, Margaret would have guessed that another had spoken. She had never heard Samuel speak in such a way; half begging, half curious, half terrified that his words would be ill received.

  She paused in her turn, and her eyes flickered to his face. He was staring at her as though he had never seen a woman before in his life.

  “Please, Maggie,” Samuel said shakily. “My God…Maggie, you are so beautiful.”

  It was too much, too much for her to bear, too much to listen to. No one had ever said such a thing about her before and she flushed at the very thought of his words, now echoing in her mind.

  But his gaze did not falter, and he did not laugh. This was no jest.

  “Do…do you truly think so?”

  The words had slipped out before she could call them back, and Margaret’s cheeks tinged pink at the brazen question. But Samuel did not seem to think it was brazen. He had not moved from the door of the cabin, leaning against it as though for support. As though he would not be able to stand without it, as he gazed at her, stared at her, drinking her in.

  He nodded. “Maggie, I cannot take my eyes away from you. I am a fortunate man indeed, just to be given the honour of looking at you.”

  As though he could not help himself, Margaret saw the fingers of his right hand stretch out for a fraction of a second, as though desperate to reach out and touch her, to ascertain that she wa
s real, perhaps, or…or something even more wild and delicious.

  She swallowed. She knew what she wanted, she had known it from the moment that he had taken her hand in his, that ridiculous and marvellous day that he had offered her his hand in marriage.

  She wanted him. She wanted him like no other woman had wanted a man, and she was ashamed of her desire and yet it felt natural, felt exactly right.

  And she could see now, see it in his eyes, see that he felt the same way too. There was a hunger there, a desperate need – and yet he pulled himself back, forcing his hands behind his back.

  Margaret swallowed once more, but remembered his words. “…just to be given the honour of looking at you.”

  They both wanted more. They were man and wife. It could not, it should not be wrong.

  Emboldened by his words, certain that this was what they both wanted, Margaret forced down her nerves and stretched her fingers from where they were, clutched across her breasts, to lift at the sleeves of her chemise and allowed it to fall to the ground. Her arms fell to her sides, completely nude.

  Samuel moaned darkly under his breath and took two fierce strides towards her, but just before he reached her, just before he touched her, he stopped.

  “It – it has to be your choice, Maggie,” he breathed jerkily, raising a trembling hand to her face and cupping her cheek. “I have no wish to force you into anything, to encourage you into something that you may regret.”

  They stood there, mere inches apart. Margaret could feel her heart thundering in her chest, but there were even wilder feelings in her chest and she wanted to give in to them. Wanted to abandon herself to the sensations that were temptingly close.

  She licked her lips, took the tiniest of steps forward, and leaned up on her tip toes to kiss Samuel gently on the mouth.

  It did not stay gentle. Samuel responded to her act of bravery by clutching her narrow waist with his strong hands, pulling her towards him so desperately that she gasped. He took advantage of her lips breaking open by twisting his head slightly and deepening the kiss, and as his tongue took gentle possession of her mouth, Margaret found her hands around his neck, holding onto the ride of her life.

  Samuel pulled away from the kiss, and she saw something flaming, something wonderful and dark in his eyes. “Oh, Maggie,” he growled. “If I could…if I dared…”

  Something wanton had risen up inside her, and Margaret smiled in a way that she hoped would be beautiful.

  “Dare,” she breathed.

  And she was crushed, crushed to his chest as Samuel took her in his arms and brought his lips down hard on hers, and it was wonderful, and fire, and glory, and the cabin seemed to be spinning so wild was her mind.

  His hands, which had at first been almost reverential, staying on her waist and not meandering, were now firmly cupped around her buttocks and she squirmed slightly at the sensation, but it only made him growl into her mouth as he brought her more tightly to his loins, and she could feel something there, something hard, something that promised future pleasures.

  Her breasts, a part of her body she had never really cared about before, now felt on fire, pressed up against his shirt. Each time Samuel moved to deepen their kiss, her nipples scratched across the linen and Margaret arched her back with the intense sensation, and for some reason it seemed to push Samuel, her husband, her own, over the edge.

  “Maggie, you have no idea what you do to me,” Samuel moaned in a jagged voice, managing to pull himself away from her for a single moment, tugging at the buttons on his shirt. “And I have wanted to do this – to kiss you, to love you, from the moment I set eyes upon you.”

  Margaret’s mouth fell open and she blushed at the idea of sparking such wild and licentious thoughts in a man at first sight, and it fell open even further as she watched Samuel pull off his shirt to reveal a broad and muscular chest – but she barely had time to think before Samuel stepped forward and lifted her up, throwing her backwards onto the bed.

  As she sunk into the mattress, splayed out and warm, wanting him, her wish was granted. Samuel followed her onto the bed, covering her body with his, and he was kissing her, kissing her as though he would never be permitted to kiss her again, and this time his hands were not idle.

  Margaret cried aloud as one finger grazed a nipple as his other hand clutched at her hip, keeping it tilted towards him, and she arched her back once more into the pleasure of it – but the weight of his body, the strength of him, kept her still.

  “Yes, Maggie, show me how much you enjoy it,” growled Samuel as he kissed her neck, and for the first time in her life, Margaret realised that she had the control. He may be bigger than her, stronger than her, but he was driven by her, mesmerised by her.

  She could do whatever she wanted.

  In a swift movement, she rolled over and tipped Samuel underneath her, so that she was straddling him. The look of surprise and wonderment was enough to make her laugh, and he grinned in amazement.

  “My God, Maggie, I had no idea you – ”

  But his words were cut short. In a fit of bravery that Margaret never thought would be repeated again, she pulled his arm so that he sat up, and cupping his face, she kissed him passionately, slipping her tongue into his mouth.

  And she was aflame. His arms around her, his hands squeezing her buttocks, her legs wrapped around him and their tongues tangled in a passionate kiss that seemed to be very air to them, Margaret could feel heat and sizzling desire rocketing through her body, and she arched into him, desperate for something that she could not put her finger on.

  “I-I want you,” she groaned into his mouth. “Samuel, what do I want? Tell me what I need – give it to me!”

  Her words seemed to do nothing but incite a frenzy in him. Dipping his head, he brought one nipple into his mouth and Margaret threw her head back and cried out as the feelings of wonder and delight sparked across her body, and something was building and building and she did not know what.

  “Do not stop – keep going, oh God, keep going!” She managed to pant out the words to keep the pleasure going and Samuel seemed to understand, teasing her other breast with his hands, and before she knew what was happening her entire body was overcome with pleasure and she jerked in his lap as she cried out.

  It was over in seconds, and her head was so hazy that Margaret barely knew what had happened. She sagged slightly into his arms and he raised his head from her breast, kissing her passionately but gently on the lips.

  “My God, Maggie, you are spectacular,” he muttered with a broad smile. “I had heard that it was possible, but…Maggie, you must want me very badly, you wicked girl.”

  Margaret smiled, and she found herself more free, more herself when she was naked in Samuel Brown’s arms than ever before. “And I want more. Can you give me more, Sam?”

  For a moment she thought that she had gone too far, shortening his name, smiling like a hussy, asking for more pleasure when surely there could not be more, not tonight.

  But she was wrong, and how glad she was. Growling like a beast ready to be unleashed, Sam tilted her off his lap and jumped up just for a moment – just for long enough to remove his breeches.

  Margaret gasped. Now that he was naked, she could see that incredible difference between them. It was glorious, and she wanted more than anything to touch it.

  Without hesitation she reached out, and Sam groaned as her curious fingertips touched the soft and yet hard and throbbing skin.

  “Christ, Maggie, if you do that too much you will find yourself without your own pleasure.”

  She pulled back, and then smiled. There was something instinctual about it, something that she could not explain. All she knew was that it was right, and Sam would enjoy it, and she wanted to give back to him now. It could not all be about her pleasure.

  Margaret moved to kneel on the bed, and moved slowly towards him. Sam watched her, almost bemused, unknowing what she was doing until she suddenly bit her lip, smiled up at him, and encircled his ha
rdness in her mouth.

  “Maggie – Maggie!”

  She could feel him shudder, but all she was focused on was the warmth and hardness in her mouth, soft and inviting, delicate and yet fierce. It was an innocent kiss – or as innocent as you could be – but after his frantic reaction, she grew bolder. She took more into her mouth, and felt and heard Sam shudder with the indulgence of it.

  He was too large for her mouth, but by bringing up a hand she could move gently forwards and backwards, licking and kissing and making her husband cry out with pleasure until –

  “Stop,” he said suddenly, and he moved away from her so suddenly that she felt bereft. She looked up at him with wild, confused eyes, and saw that Sam was panting, but smiling. “Sweet, you have no idea…Maggie you cannot know how much I…if I am to give you anything else tonight, you have to stop.”

  A tinge of pink shame coloured her cheeks, and he seemed to guess at her concern.

  “Do not misunderstand me, that was…” Sam swallowed, and gave a dry laugh. “Christ, Maggie, that was incredible. Too incredible. You would lose the best of me if you kept going. This evening is meant to be about you.”

  Without another word, he clambered onto the bed and pulled her down with him so that they were lying side by side.

  “Now you are going to have to trust me,” Sam breathed, mere inches from her face. “Can you do that, Maggie?”

  “I…” She swallowed, but this was no time for secrets. “I have an ache in me, Sam, an ache that only you can fix. Love me. I want you to love me.” She did not know what it was about her words that caused him to growl, but she smiled. “And you want me just as much, am I right?”

  Sam answered by leaning across and kissing her deeply, but drew away before they lost themselves in the moment. “I need you to just lose yourself in feelings, do you understand me? Before I…before I can love you the way I want to, you need to…well, this will help. Do you trust me?”

  Margaret looked into his hazel eyes, hazy with desire, and knew that she would do anything this man said, anything that he asked. She nodded.