Deceived by Desire

by Marie Force

  Her heart contracted at the sight of him in the throes of passion. If she’d found him attractive before, now he was magnificent.

  “Maeve.” He gathered her into his tight embrace. “Wrap your legs around my hips.”

  She did as he asked, gasping when she realized the position sent him even deeper into her.

  “Yes, like that. Does it feel good?”

  “It feels . . .”

  Because she was so close to him, she felt him hold his breath in anticipation of her response.

  “Incredible.”

  “Yes, it does.” He released his tight hold on her and reached down to where they were joined to touch the place she had only just discovered. Like before, her body seized with contractions that made him groan as he picked up the pace until he was hammering into her, the fingers on his other hand digging into her shoulder.

  All at once, he pulled out of her to spend on her belly. When he was finished, he left her to grab a towel to wipe her clean. “I don’t think we’re ready for offspring.”

  “N-no.” She felt boneless, like a lump of clay. If someone said the house was on fire, she feared she wouldn’t be able to react.

  Then he wiped up the dampness between her legs, and Maeve noticed blood on the towel.

  “Is that . . .”

  “It’s perfectly normal the first time. It won’t happen again.” His brow furrowed with concern. “Are you quite all right? I wasn’t as gentle with you as I should have been.”

  “I’m rather well except for the fact that I can’t seem to move.”

  His laughter lit up his face and only added to his appeal. “Come, let me make you more comfortable.” He helped her up and pulled down the sheet and quilt and settled her on a plump feather pillow.

  “Is that better?”

  “It is. Thank you.”

  “Why can’t you bring yourself to look at me?”

  She kept her gaze fixed on the sheet. “Because I’m embarrassed.”

  “By what we did?”

  She nodded tightly.

  “There is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “Oh, but there is. I didn’t know that men did . . . those things . . . to women.”

  “What things?”

  She felt the dreaded flush creep back up her neck to her face. “Don’t make me say it!”

  “I won’t make you say it, but you can’t deny you enjoyed it.” As he spoke, he dragged a light fingertip from her neck to her chest to her breasts where he teased both nipples before continuing down to the cleft between her legs.

  Maeve gasped from the light touch to her sensitive flesh.

  “Tell me you enjoyed it.”

  “I did.”

  “Then don’t be embarrassed. Before long, what we do here will seem normal.”

  She laughed from the preposterousness of his statement. “I’m not sure that will ever seem normal to me.”

  “I promise you that it will. We’ll do it so frequently that you’ll no longer be embarrassed.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for that.”

  Smiling, he kissed the end of her nose and then her lips. “I’ll be right back.”

  Maeve watched him walk into the adjoining bathroom, taking note of broad shoulders, a narrow waist and tight buttocks. It would take months to comprehend the events of this day that had led to Mr. Nelson—Aubrey—becoming her husband. Her stomach ached when she thought of the man who had come looking for her and the money Aubrey had offered to make him go away.

  What if he rejected the offer and insisted on taking her into custody? The thought of having to go back to Ireland, to face Mr. Farthington’s family, not to mention the possibility of a hangman’s noose, had her paralyzed with fear.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Aubrey returned with a fresh towel, got on the bed and eased her legs apart.

  Before she could form a protest, he had placed the delightfully warm towel against the sore area between her legs.

  “You were relaxed and now you’re tense again.”

  “I’m wondering if your friend Mr. Jarvis found the man who’s looking for me.”

  “I have no doubt that Matthew will succeed in his mission.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “When Mr. Tornquist came earlier, I noticed a few things about him.”

  “Such as?”

  “He was missing several buttons on his jacket, his shirt was dingy and his shoes were in need of a shine.”

  “What does any of that have to do with me?”

  “I believe Mr. Tornquist is down on his luck and will leap at the offer of one hundred thousand dollars to tell the people who hired him that he was unable to locate you.”

  He tapped on the bottom lip she had drawn partially between her teeth. “Rather than worrying that delicious lip, tell me what you’re thinking. Let me ease your concerns.”

  “I would like, at some point, to be able to go home again, to see my family. I’ll never be able to do that as long as Mr. Farthington’s family is accusing me of murder.”

  “That is a very real concern and one we will address in due time.”

  “How will we address it?”

  Aubrey appeared to give that significant thought. “I’ll write a letter to the authorities in Ireland, detailing the events as you relayed them to me.” He took hold of her right hand and placed a kiss on the soft pink skin that had finally replaced raw blisters. “I’ll attest to the fact that your hand showed signs of recent healing from a burn.”

  “You noticed that?”

  “I noticed it the day of the picnic and suddenly understood why you always wear gloves while you work.”

  “I was desperately afraid of infection. A doctor in New York provided me with a salve that aided in the healing, but he warned me about the threat of infection until the wound healed.”

  Aubrey continued to press soft kisses to the new skin. “And then you came here and faced calamity with a hand that was still healing. In case I forget to tell you, I think you’re a very impressive young woman.”

  “I’m not impressive. I was desperate for a job and willing to do whatever I had to in order to survive.”

  “You are impressive, and I’m so very happy that your desperation led you here to me.”

  “I fear that you will not be so happy once your family learns of our marriage.”

  “You must hear me when I tell you that there is nothing they can say or do that can come between us unless we allow it. I, for one, will not allow it.” With his finger on her chin, he turned her face toward him, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I don’t want you to worry about anything.”

  “That is much more easily said than done.”

  “You’re no longer alone with your worries, lovely Maeve. You have me now, and I won’t let any harm come to you.” He brought his lips down on hers and wrapped his arms around her.

  With his warm body pressed against hers and his tongue teasing its way into her mouth, she found it hard to think about anything other than the way she felt when he touched her. But in the dark recesses of her mind, the fears refused to be silenced.

  Chapter Eleven

  Matthew waited for more than an hour in the parlor of the Marlborough Inn, with only a tepid cup of tea for refreshment. If Mr. Tornquist didn’t return soon, he would head out to find more robust spirits and try again tomorrow to find Tornquist.

  While he waited, he thought about Aubrey and his new wife and the scandal their marriage would set off when word got out that the youngest of the Nelson children had married the Irish housekeeper. In New York, where there was so much else to entertain the upper crust, Aubrey might’ve been able to pull it off by giving his wife a pedigree and spinning a yarn about how she came to America when her aristocratic husband died, or some such thing—until she opened her mouth to speak in the tongue of Ireland. In Newport, where there was little to entertain the privileged beyond their mindless trips to Bailey’s Beach, the Casino and the afternoon promenade
on Bellevue Avenue, the scandal would be the talk of the Season.

  Like so many who flocked to Newport for the Season, the Nelsons were “new” money, having found their fortune in the railroad. As the daughter of a British earl, Mrs. Nelson enjoyed lording her aristocratic heritage over the other women in Newport, who tolerated her at best.

  Matthew looked forward to the Season each year because it was the only time there was much of anything interesting to do in a town that was sleepy and rather boring the other ten months of the year. Speaking of boring, he’d had about enough of cooling his heels in the frilly parlor. He got up to leave and nearly collided with a man coming in the door.

  “Are you Tornquist?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Matthew Jarvis, Esquire, on behalf of Mr. Aubrey Nelson.”

  “I’m Tornquist.”

  Matthew gestured toward the parlor. “Might I have a word in private?”

  Tornquist nodded and led the way.

  Matthew closed the door, hoping they wouldn’t be overheard.

  “What can I do for you?” Tornquist asked.

  “The woman you seek . . .”

  “Maeve Sullivan. Here is a photograph.”

  Matthew took the sepia-toned photograph from him and pretended to study it. A passing glance had confirmed this was the same woman that Aubrey had married. “A lovely young woman.”

  “Perhaps so, but she is wanted for murder in Ireland.”

  “Are you familiar with the facts of the case?”

  “I know that she murdered her husband, a man named Josiah Farthington, with a cast-iron pan to the head.”

  “And this was done with no provocation?”

  “None that we know of.”

  “‘We’ being you and his family?”

  “That is correct. Why do you ask?”

  “Mr. Nelson has asked me to convey to you that there is indeed another side to the story, one in which Mr. Farthington severely beat his wife, who defended herself by striking him.”

  “Mr. Nelson told me he did not know Mrs. Farthington.”

  Matthew gave Tornquist a scathing look. “He was not about to admit to knowing her when he had no idea why you were looking for her.”

  “He is harboring a murderer.”

  “It’s not considered murder if she was defending herself.”

  “And how does she intend to prove that?”

  “She doesn’t. Mr. Nelson is prepared to offer one hundred thousand dollars in exchange for you informing Mr. Farthington’s family that you were unable to locate her in America.”

  Tornquist’s eyes lit up with barely restrained glee—and greed. Aubrey’s hunch had been spot-on.

  “If he pays me off, others will come looking for her. It was incredibly easy to follow her from New York to Newport.”

  “I’ll be sure to mention that to Mr. Nelson. Do we have a deal?”

  “When would I receive the money?”

  “As soon as three days from now. Mr. Nelson will need to have it wired from his bank in New York. Again, I ask you—do we have a deal?”

  Tornquist leaned forward in his seat. “Your Mr. Nelson should know that Farthington isn’t the only man to come to a bad end at Miss Sullivan’s hand.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “There was another man who showed an interest in Miss Sullivan, courted her for some time, only to be found dead of possible poisoning. As far as anyone knows, she was the last one to be seen with him before he died.”

  “Was she charged with a crime?”

  “From what I’m told, the inquest was inconclusive, but the young man’s family believed she was involved. She married Mr. Farthington several months later, and we know how that turned out.”

  In Matthew’s opinion, Mr. Tornquist had missed his calling as the author of cheap novels. “In that case, I see no need to make mention of it. If there’s no proof she was involved, why would you bring that up?”

  “I thought your client might wish to know what kind of woman he’s protecting. But if he doesn’t care, why should I?”

  Becoming annoyed, Matthew stood to leave.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Anywhere but here.”

  “I’ll take your deal, but I won’t tell Farthington’s family that I was unable to locate her. I’ll let them believe I’m still looking.”

  Matthew gave him a disgusted look. “Wait here for further word.” He walked away, wishing he could take a bath to wash off the slime of his brief association with Tornquist. The man had presented him with a rather thorny dilemma, however. Did he tell Aubrey about the second man who’d turned up dead or keep that to himself?

  He puzzled it over as he got into his buggy and directed his horse up the hill toward the Casino in search of some badly needed spirits.

  On the one hand, Aubrey seemed extraordinarily pleased to have married the woman. In fact, Matthew had never seen his old friend looking more elated than he had earlier. But on the other hand, if something were to happen to his friend, Matthew would hate to live with the guilt of having kept vital information from him.

  He was truly torn about what was best for Aubrey in this situation. After several glasses of the Casino’s best scotch, he came to the conclusion that he must tell his friend what he’d uncovered. But not right away. He’d give the man a week or so to enjoy his new wife before he dropped the anvil.

  * * *

  Paradis, the French word for paradise, described the first days of Aubrey’s married life. He had never known such happiness. He and Maeve worked from sunup to sundown, alongside the growing group of locals who were being shaped into maids, footmen and kitchen workers by the capable Mr. Plumber and Mrs. Allston.

  They had been fitted for uniforms and livery and had worked so hard, they were actually slightly ahead of schedule. As such, Aubrey talked Maeve into taking an afternoon off on the third day since their wedding. He had the buggy brought around and loaded her and the picnic basket Mrs. Allston had provided into the vehicle for the ride to Bailey’s Beach, one of the prime social locations during the Season.

  With more than a week to go until the Season began in earnest, they had the beach largely to themselves that late June day.

  Aubrey spread a plaid blanket on one of the few sandy spots and held Maeve’s hand until she was seated.

  “This is very decadent, Mr. Nelson. Stealing away in the middle of a workday.”

  “We are on track to have everything ready before Mother arrives, and that is due in large part to your efforts. The least I can do is take you away from it all for a few hours for some rest and relaxation.”

  She gave him a side-eyed look. “Rest has been in short order the last few days.”

  “Indeed, it has. My wife is insatiable in the bedchamber.”

  She sputtered with outrage. “I am not the insatiable one!”

  Aubrey collapsed into laughter. He laughed so hard he held his sides. And when he finally got himself together, he found his adorable wife trying not to laugh herself. He could not recall the last time he’d laughed like that. Before Annabelle died, to be certain. His face actually hurt from all the smiling he’d done in the last few days, but like Maeve, he was exhausted from being up most of every night gorging on his new wife’s considerable charms.

  He couldn’t get enough of her, and despite her claims to the contrary, she was equally enthusiastic.

  “Are you still sore, my love?” he asked as he poured each of them a glass of the champagne Mrs. Allston had chilled at his request.

  “I am. I fear you’ve quite broken me.”

  “I’m sorry for your discomfort but not for how it transpired.”

  “It’s proof that four times in one night is not healthy.”

  “Once you’re more accustomed, you will see how very healthy it can be.”

  “I fear I’ll not survive the first month of my marriage if we are any more ‘healthy.’”

  Aubrey grinned as he leaned in
for a kiss. “Personally, I have never felt better in my life, although I’m sorry that you’re hurting. I promise to thoroughly kiss it better later.”

  Predictably, her face flushed with heat that left her cheeks rosy and glowing. “You mustn’t say such things out loud.”

  “Whyever not?”

  “Because!”

  “Because why?”

  “Because your wife said so.”

  “As much as I adore my wife, she is going to have to give me a better reason than because.”

  “You know I despise how my face flushes when I’m embarrassed, so I have asked you not to say things that embarrass me.”

  “And I have told you how much I delight in your rosy cheeks, and as such, I’m required to regularly embarrass you to ensure they remain rosy.”

  “That logic is maddening. You are maddening.”

  “And you’re stuck with me and all my maddening comments.”

  “I was deceived by your charm.”

  “You were deceived by your desire for me. It’s all right. You can go ahead and admit it.”

  She gave him a gentle shove.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her down with him, so she was partially reclined on top of him.

  “Release me at once!”

  “Not until you kiss me.”

  “Mr. Nelson!”

  “Aubrey.” He rubbed his lips against hers. “You were doing so well. Why are we back to Mr. Nelson?”

  “Because you’re being scandalous.”

  “I’m kissing my wife. There is nothing scandalous about that.”

  “There is when you’re carrying on in a public place where anyone might see you.”

  “Kiss me, and I’ll let you go.”

  She gave him a quick peck on the lips.

  He tightened his hold on her. “You can do much better than that.”

  “Not here, I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” He raised his brow and pursed his lips, hoping she would rise to the challenge. Did she ever!

  She touched her lips to his in the softest, sweetest, gentlest kiss he’d ever received. “Now let me go, or that’s the last kiss you’ll get today.”

  He let her go, but he did not want to. Flopping onto his back, he groaned as he stared up at the sun. “It’s not fair for you to rile me that way and then tell me I have to let you go.”