If Ever I Should Love You

by Cathy Maxwell

  “Did that hurt?”

  “Oh, no, but right now, I can’t take too much more.”

  Leonie looked into his stormy eyes. “Because you like what I do?”

  “Because I like you.” He punctuated his words by kissing her, rolling their bodies so that he was over her.

  She slid her arms around his neck, their bodies fitting together. The earlier pressure of desire returned, only this time it was wiser, more demanding.

  Her body knew things now.

  When he lifted himself to nestle between her legs, they naturally opened to make room for him. She liked feeling his hips cradled against hers. She understood what was going to happen. Instead of the fear she had anticipated, she found herself eager. She wanted him inside her.

  Like a spark to kindling, there was a heat between them and it was growing fast. He whispered her name. His lips brushed her temple. Her breasts pressed against his chest—and then he slid into her and Leonie thought she’d never felt anything more wonderful. Her lover was a full and able man. Her body stretched to accommodate him. She lifted her hips and he slid in deeper.

  “Dear God, Leonie, you are precious.”

  No words could be better praise. No one had ever said she was “precious.” Or looked at her as if she was to be valued and trusted.

  “Finish this,” she urged softly, trusting him in return. “Show me all.”

  He nuzzled her ear, her neck, lifted her hips with his hands, and began the rhythmic thrusting that, yes, she had seen in nature, but this was different. There was something sacred about what was happening between them. All her senses sharpened on their joining.

  His movements were gaining more purpose. The heat between them threatened to consume her. At the same time, she never wanted this to end. She could spend her life in his arms. Here, the world had purpose and meaning.

  The desire she’d experienced earlier began to build, but this time with a difference. It engulfed her. She was no longer just Leonie, she was Roman as well. Strong, capable, unafraid.

  She tightened her legs around him and arched to bring him tighter to her core. He gave a sensual growl and she realized she, too, had the power to enflame him. This wasn’t being done to her. Together, they were creating a bond that could never be broken. This was what her body had been created for—

  Her release struck her with the force of a lightning bolt. One moment she strove with him, and in the next, she was lost in wave after wave of rippling wonder.

  Her body had never felt so right or so perfectly used. Everything about her was centered on where they were joined.

  He knew what had happened. He’d probably anticipated it. “You break me, Leonie. You bring me to my knees.”

  And then he brought her to hers with a deep, deep thrust, and his own release.

  Leonie could feel the life force move from his body into hers. Had she thought she’d reached the pinnacle?

  Oh, no. This was the peak, this moment of receiving him. Her release had been exquisite, but this feeling was fulfillment.

  Never had she felt as much a woman as she did now.

  He held himself over her as if he savored every second of this moment, as if he wanted to capture and hold it.

  His breath came out with her whispered name. “Leonie.” It was prayer and benediction. She’d pleased him.

  And he’d pleased her . . . very much.

  How could she ever have thought this act crude?

  She’d not understood, but now her heart had been opened. “There is a ‘passion flower of ecstasy,’ ” she whispered.

  “What?” His mouth curved into the easy grin that she was beginning to adore.

  She stretched beneath him, enjoying the weight of his body on hers, the warmth of him still inside her. “Cassandra had a poetry reading where the poet when on and on about the ‘passion flower of ecstasy.’ I thought he had to be teasing.” She ran a hand over his buttock—so nice and solid. A marvel, really. “I believe we found it.”

  A proud gladness lit the gray in his eyes. “We shall always find it,” he promised.

  “We can do this again and again?” she said with wonder. “Exactly this way?”

  “Oh, no,” he answered. “Practice will make us better and better at it.”

  Deep within, she felt him begin to fill and swell. An answering tension built inside of her.

  “Better?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  Leonie frowned. “Is it like this for everyone?”

  “Only poets and lovers.” He began moving and all questions evaporated from Leonie’s mind.

  Her body was already far too sensitive and his slightest touch seemed amplified. This time, her release was quick and hard and it was her voice that shouted his name.

  Spent, neither of them could move. Roman held her in his arms, a finger playing with one of her curls. She could ask for no safer haven. She was content.

  “I love you.”

  At first, she wasn’t certain he’d spoken or if she had imagined the words. The fire in the hearth was dying and so it was harder to see his expression in the shadows.

  “I believe I felt love for you the moment we met at the Colonial Ball,” he continued. “Fanciful, I know. Except I’m not one to give way to whims.”

  Leonie went very still. She’d never imagined someone would love her.

  “You asked why I went after you the night you eloped with Paccard. I knew you were making a mistake. Oh, not that Paccard would turn out to be the brute he was. I could not have predicted what he did. I didn’t want you to be with him, until I’d made my declaration.”

  She listened, intent on his words.

  “You scare me, Leonie.”

  That statement captured her attention. “Why?”

  “Because after this, I know I’ll never want anything as much as I want you.” He ran a hand down her arm and over her hip. “And I want all of you, lass. I want to love and protect you and create a good life for us.”

  It wasn’t about her money. He wanted her.

  And it was a miracle.

  Someone loved her. Despite her flaws. Despite her secrets.

  Of course, she wasn’t certain what this word “love” meant—and yet, she trusted him to teach her.

  Leonie kissed the underside of his chin, the first place she could reach. She sensed the pleasure in his smile. He gathered her even closer, as if he could tuck her body safely inside his, and then he fell asleep.

  She couldn’t sleep.

  Surrounded by his strength and body heat, she had to marvel at this gift he had given. If he loved her, then he must like her, not want to just possess her.

  For so long she’d found herself unlikable—and here now, without any effort on her part, this noble, wonderful man had let her know that she was precious.

  Was feeling this sort of appreciation in return “love”?

  Her mother had never appreciated her father. Consequently, he barely gave her a care.

  So, she and Roman were different from them? More powerful?

  And in “love”?

  Leonie didn’t feel the least bit sleepy. Her senses had been overworked and now her mind was trying to play catch-up.

  She rested in Roman’s arms and watched him sleep. Then she frowned as she observed the room’s light diminishing with the fire in the hearth. She wasn’t worried about being cold, not with her husband’s body to keep her warm.

  Staring at the ceiling, she knew she should be exhausted, but she wasn’t. It was like that sometimes for her. Her mind could be very active even though every fiber of her being yearned for sleep.

  Usually when this happened, a nip or two of brandy helped.

  Her foot started to fall asleep and she eased out of Roman’s arms so she could move it. She curled up beside him, but still sleep eluded her. She tried counting backward, a trick her father taught her. That didn’t tire her.

  She struggled to not think about brandy.

  A call to nature mad
e itself known. She glanced at her husband. He was sleeping soundly. She didn’t want to wake him. Why should he be disturbed because she was awake?

  Moving quietly, she slid out of the other side of the bed and tiptoed to where she’d placed her dress on a hook on the wall. She pulled it over her head. Braiding her hair, she slipped on her shoes and moved toward the door.

  Roman turned over on his back but did not wake. She smiled, liking the sight of him filling the bed. “I’ll be right back,” she mouthed to him. Her need for the water closet had become very real. Turning the lock in the door, she let herself out. She considered locking the door behind her but decided against it.

  The hall was solid darkness save for a lamp lit at the base of the stairs. Not a sound could be heard from the other rooms or from downstairs. She used her hand against the wall to feel her way to the steps until she could see them.

  Beyond the lamp, she could see into the taproom where a fire glowed in the oversized hearth. Snoring figures bundled in coats and blankets slept on the floor or on the benches. These were the guests who could not afford a room.

  Leonie moved silently to the water closet. No one was in there. Fortunately, moonlight allowed her to see what she was doing.

  Feeling better, she came out intending to hurry upstairs. However, in the taproom on one of the tables, she noticed the silhouette of a bottle. The table was where the soldiers had been sitting and close to the door.

  She stood riveted by the sight. She didn’t know what was in the bottle, but her whole skin went alert at the thought of one small drink. Then she would be able to sleep.

  And Roman would be none the wiser.

  Tomorrow, well, tomorrow she’d try again to go without. It would be easier then.

  But tonight, she needed a bit of whatever it was in the bottle to let her mind wind down. In the end, she knew she had no choice but to walk toward it.

  Of course she was cautious. She was very quiet as she stepped around those sleeping on the floor. If someone so much as breathed differently, she paused, but then continued when she knew she was safe.

  The trip really only took seconds. She leaned over a man snoozing on his back and snatched the bottle by its neck. She didn’t waste time leaving the room. However, instead of turning toward the stairs, and the possibility of being caught by Roman if he came looking for her, she moved toward the inn’s front door. No one was sleeping in the reception room. Leaning against the wall, her back to the taproom, she wiped the bottle’s mouth and took a smell.

  Gin.

  Leonie made a face. Not her favorite but it would suffice. After all, she only needed a sip.

  She raised the bottle to her lips. It wasn’t full. She had to tilt her head way back. She’d be horrified if anyone caught her but she didn’t have time to search for a glass.

  Gin hit her tongue. The fragrant taste had a bite. She lowered the bottle, holding the liquor in her mouth before swallowing.

  It burned down her throat. She held the bottle close to her, waiting. Gin might not be her first choice; however, it knew its job.

  Her stomach tightened as the liquor hit, and then in a matter of seconds, a tension that Leonie hadn’t even recognized she’d felt began to ease. Her muscles relaxed. This was why she couldn’t sleep. She’d been nervous.

  She took another drink, a deeper one this time, and it was as if she tasted mother’s milk. Indeed, the gin gave her a buoyant feeling she had not anticipated. No wonder so many in the lower classes liked it.

  Of course, there wasn’t much left in the bottle. What harm could come from finishing it off—?

  “Do you like my bottle, missy?”

  The gruff male voice startled her. She’d been so fixated on her drinking she hadn’t registered the man’s presence. His form blocked the light and she couldn’t make out his features in the shadows to know who he was.

  She stepped away toward the front door. Before she could take more than one step, he grabbed her, his hand moving with an incredible swiftness. He slapped his other hand over her mouth before she could scream and backed her against the wall to pin her there with his body. She kicked but he was too strong and heavy for her.

  “You don’t receive anything for nothing,” he said, his breath hot in her face. His hand was between her legs in the crudest way possible and he began fumbling with his clothing. “Now you pay for your drinks and let’s do it quick.”

  He started pulling up her skirt.

  Panic coursed through her. She remembered this. She knew it. She began struggling with fierce will. He growled at her to stay still.

  His hold over her mouth lessened and she bit his finger with all she had.

  He roared in rage. He stopped his fumbling and grasped her by the throat, but Leonie sensed freedom. She ducked her head and tried to run—except he had hold of her dress. His fingernails scraped her chest as he grabbed her by the bodice. He hit her across the face with his elbow.

  She tasted blood but still she tried to strike out, attempting to hit him with the bottle she held in her hand. He swore, grabbed her hair and her chest, and began dragging her toward the front door.

  Leonie resisted with all her might. If he took her outside, no one would hear her scream, just like that night with Arthur. That horrible, horrible night.

  And then she realized she had yet to scream. She’d been so busy struggling she’d not made a sound.

  Leonie let out a scream that could have been heard in heaven. For her effort, she received another elbow to the face as he shoved the door open with her shoulder.

  Chapter 14

  Roman had woken to discover Leonie gone from his bed. He sat up, confused. Her dress was gone from where it had been hanging. Perhaps she had slipped out for the water closet?

  She should have let him escort her.

  In fact, he was embarrassed that she’d managed to leave the room without his being aware. He could lay the blame at her lovely feet. She’d drained him. She’d been a vibrant, demanding partner and it has been his honor to pleasure her. She’d been everything he’d hoped and more.

  He’d heard men complain of wives who considered sex little more than a chore. Being a circumspect man, he’d hoped his wife would not be one of them. His sense of duty was such that he would not dishonor his marriage vows.

  However, Leonie had proven herself to be very much his partner in bed. He felt blessed. Those stirrings years ago had not been just lust. His love for her had been vindicated. How could any man not help but adore such a woman? She was all he could ask.

  In fact, he could have a go at her again but wouldn’t. She needed rest.

  So, Roman rose from bed, pulled on his breeches, and went out to search for his wife. When he found her, he would also stress that she must never fear waking him. Walking alone around even an inn such as this was never safe for a woman like herself. He’d come to realize that, though she knew her attraction, she didn’t truly understand her impact on the male beast. This was part of her charm but could be dangerous.

  Barefoot because he had not bothered to waste the time to put on his boots, he went out into the hall. He was on the top step when he heard Leonie scream.

  Cannon shot could not move as fast as Roman did down those stairs. He heard a scuffle in the hall and saw a man trying to drag her out the door. The brute had Leonie by her dress and her hair. She was digging her feet into the floor trying to stop from being abducted.

  In a flash, Roman was in front of the man. He grabbed him with both hands and, showing a superhuman strength, lifted him up and back into the inn.

  Her assailant let go of Leonie with a yelp. His eyes widened to show the whites as he looked at Roman. Roman was determined that his face would be the man’s last memory. He threw the bastard against the wall. He landed with a thud, stunned. He held up his hands. Roman recognized him as one of the soldiers who had been eyeing Leonie earlier.

  “She wanted it,” the man said. “Traded it for a bottle, she did—”

  Ro
man’s fist cut off the sentence.

  Wanted it? Leonie had wanted this scum? Roman thought not.

  He landed another blow in the bastard’s gut. It wasn’t just the soldier he beat, but Paccard, the man who had defiled her. He punched the bastard in his side. Another to his face. And another and another and another . . .

  From a distance, he could hear Leonie crying his name.

  Several pairs of strong arms tried to prevent him from battering the man more. “You’ll kill him, my lord.” It was the innkeeper’s voice. “You must stop. He’s done.”

  “Please, Roman. Please.”

  Their words finally sank in.

  Roman stepped back, shaking his head like a man possessed. Leonie sobbed senselessly. He looked over to her. She was on her knees bent over as if in great pain.

  The soldier fell to the floor, groaning. Roman wanted another go at him but Stoddard stepped between them.

  “My lord,” the innkeeper said, “he’s done. Enough.”

  Enough? Roman wanted to tear the limbs off the man. The reception room was full of the curious. If Leonie’s scream hadn’t woken them, the fight did. Candles had been lit and a lamp brought in.

  Roman held up his hands, a sign that he was finished. He’d leave the man to his compatriots, all of whom eyed Roman warily and didn’t step to help their friend. Roman’s knuckles would be bruised. There was blood on them. Not his own. The innkeeper handed him a damp towel and Roman wiped his hands as he went over to his wife.

  “Leonie?”

  She kept her head bowed. Her assailant had torn her bodice. She held it together.

  Roman knelt and placed his hand on her shoulder. “It is all right. Everything will be fine.”

  She lifted her head.

  The signs of her struggle almost caused him to tear into the soldier again. Instead, he raised the towel to her face and placed it gently where there was a cut by the corner of her mouth.

  She flinched. He soothed her with soft words. Her lower lip trembled, but her crying quieted.

  “Let me take you upstairs,” he said.

  Leonie nodded and allowed him to help her to her feet. She pushed her heavy hair back with her hand. The innkeeper was apologizing. Roman barely heard a word. Instead, he noticed the soldier was still doubled up on the floor. “Tie him up for the magistrate.”