He didn’t move quickly; he moved more like a large cat, shifting with languid grace that did nothing to mask his strength. Without Maggie doing a thing, she was on her back, her intended lying on his side against her.
“Trust me, Maggie Windham.”
He rasped this imperative against her shoulder then grazed his nose along her collarbone. Maggie told herself she’d stop him if he tried to join with her again. She’d stop him, no matter how badly she longed for more of the intimacy and oblivion he offered.
He rose up and covered her mouth with his, and Maggie gave up trying to tell herself anything. In the darkness, in the shadows and comfort of her own bed, she kissed him back. She could be more honest in the dark, could give herself permission to run her hand over the smooth, muscular contours of his chest, down the odd angles of his ribs to the flat expanse of his belly.
She could even allow herself to touch him there, where a man was both virile and vulnerable. Ben lifted his mouth away from hers and went still while Maggie drew her fingers up the hard length of his arousal.
“You want me.” She tried to keep the wonder out of her voice. Two minutes ago, she’d been asleep in his arms, and yet his body was ready to join with hers.
“Always.”
He made no move to interfere with her explorations, just stayed where he was, ranged on his side, while Maggie traced the velvety skin crowning his cock, then slipped her fingertips over the little ridge below that.
He drew in his breath, the tenor of the inhalation suggesting these slow, curious caresses were pleasurable for him.
“Shall I stop, Benjamin?” She scored her nails lightly down his shaft then cupped the soft sacs beneath. A hunger radiated up from her middle for more of these scandalously intimate touches.
“Never stop.” He settled his mouth on hers, tracing her bottom lip with his tongue. Maggie forgot about teasing him, forgot about learning the intimate shape and feel of him, forgot about her own name as she felt his hand on her throat. She arched up into him as that hand made a slow sweep down her torso, leaving a trail of heat and wanting.
And he did not stop but let his fingers drift down until his palm rested low on Maggie’s belly.
“Kiss me, Maggie. I certainly intend to kiss you.”
He was threatening something. She complied nonetheless, sinking her hands into his hair and fusing her mouth to his. Somewhere in the back of her mind, common sense was clamoring about bad judgments made in the heat of passion, but those frantic noises were reduced to soft whimpers when Benjamin’s hand traveled back up her body to palm her breast.
And then he was gone. Maggie resisted the urge to wail out loud as she felt the mattress dip and shift when Benjamin sat back on his heels, his rampant erection arrowing up his belly.
“You’ve put me in quite a state, Maggie mine.”
She blinked at him. “I’ve put you in a state?” She’d meant to sound indignant, but the words to her own ears came out bewildered.
“You are adorable when you’re befuddled.” He started moving pillows around, while Maggie tried to figure out if she’d been insulted or complimented.
“I am not befuddled.”
“Right, my love. Lie back, and we’ll remedy that oversight.” He crouched over her like a lion guarding his next juicy meal.
“And shall you be befuddled, too, Benjamin?” There was light in his eyes Maggie hadn’t seen before—a little wild, a lot intriguing.
“My dear woman”—he dipped his head and swiped his tongue over her nipple—“I am the picture of befuddlement, and you are entirely to blame.”
When Maggie thought he’d commence with the kissing again, he instead shoved a pillow under her hips. The result was awkward, leaving Maggie feeling off balance even as she lay on her back in her own bed.
“You can stop me, Maggie, if you really must, but I wish with all my heart you wouldn’t. I will not spend. You have my promise I will not spend inside your body.”
She might have stopped him if she’d been able to speak at all over the clamor rising from deep in her body. The promise he’d made her was both shocking and reassuring, yet Maggie still felt a hint of worry.
He settled over her slowly, allowing her to feel each inch of skin-to-skin contact—bellies, ribs, chests, then the luscious pressure of his pelvis against hers. She sighed into his shoulder, longing laced with surrender.
For a long moment, he remained merely resting against her, his hand cradling the back of her head, his breathing matched to hers. She closed her eyes and treasured both the peace and intimacy of the moment, treasured him a little for showing it to her.
Still, he did nothing, until Maggie realized he was waiting for her to make an overture. She turned her head and nuzzled his throat.
And yet he did not move.
She kissed him, brought her hand up to cradle his jaw then turned his head to receive her kiss. It was lovely, to be given the latitude to learn his mouth anew at her leisure, to savor the taste and feel of him. She became enraptured with the sensation of her lips on his, her tongue stroking over his, until another sensation intruded ever so gently.
Him, nudging at her sex. The hot, blunt head of his erection seeking her heat in slow, searching pulses. The pillow beneath her tilted Maggie’s hips the better to receive him, and as he began the luscious, tender process of joining their bodies, Maggie went still.
To feel this, with him… She breathed through him, let the pleasure suffuse her until she could no longer stand to remain unmoving. In languid, almost lazy undulations, she moved with him.
Pleasure welled up from nowhere, insisting that she turn frantic and demanding; though from somewhere, Maggie found the resolve to keep to Benjamin’s rhythm.
And yet, he knew.
He thrust deep and pushed hard against her while Maggie endured paroxysms of bodily pleasure so intense they left her digging her nails into Benjamin’s smooth, muscular buttocks and keening softly against his shoulder. When passion finally ebbed, she slumped back against the mattress, wrung out and dazed.
“Benjamin?”
“Love?” He stroked a hand over her forehead, pushing her hair back in a gesture so redolent with tenderness Maggie had to close her eyes.
Tears welled then seeped down from her eyes into her hair. He held her gently, the hot, full length of him hilted in her body, while Maggie tried to find words of gratitude and regret.
There were none. After several minutes of silence, Maggie realized she could pet his hair, slowly, repeatedly, and it seemed important to stroke her hands over him in some fashion lest he think her… unaware of him.
He turned his head and planted a kiss on her palm then snuggled back down against her. For long moments they remained in that embrace, until Maggie began to move her hips again.
Perhaps he’d intended this as a gift to her, an experience of pleasure to make her think twice about crying off. Had it been merely pleasure, Maggie would not have found fault with Ben’s scheme. But this went beyond pleasure to intimacy and generosity of such magnitude, the impending loss of it made Maggie weep all the more even as pleasure rose up once again to claim her.
***
“You have a terrible megrim.” Adele whipped curtains closed as she spoke, shutting out the first beams of morning sunshine. “The worst megrim you’ve ever suffered. You couldn’t keep down even your morning chocolate.”
Bridget sat up in bed and watched as more curtains were whisked shut. “Another megrim? Didn’t I just have the worst megrim of my life at Christmas?”
“This one is worse yet.” Adele poured steaming hot chocolate into a cup and passed it to Bridget, who drank it down greedily—chocolate was sometimes the only good thing about waking up, after all.
Adele poured the second cup directly into the chamber pot.
“So why am I brought low again?” Bridget fluffed the covers over herself. “And what could be worse than when Mama found out Lady Sophia Windham had wed some wealthy baron?”
“This
is worse.” Adele hefted the breakfast tray and set it outside Bridget’s door. “Even the scent of buttered toast is making you queasy.”
Bridget cast a longing glance toward the door separating her from two thick slices of warm, golden, perfectly buttered toast. “My heavens, as bad as all that?”
From down the corridor, Mama’s voice rose in a shriek, followed by the sound of some heavy crockery smashing to bits.
“I told that idiot not to let her see the paper for at least another hour,” Adele muttered. “Your hair is too tidy for you to have tossed and turned all night.”
Bridget obligingly mussed up her auburn braid, while the sound of more breaking china pierced the morning air. “You’d best tell me what’s afoot, Adele. That was a new service.”
“Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Windham, are pleased to announce the betrothal of their daughter, Lady Magdalene Windham, to Benjamin, the Earl of Hazelton, that’s what’s afoot. In the paper this morning, plain as day.”
“I am very ill indeed.” Bridget flopped down to the mattress, dread of her mother’s temper warring with another, unprecedented emotion. “But I’m happy for Maggie, assuming this earl fellow is acceptable to her. I suppose he’d have to be, if she’s marrying him, but this will be much worse than when Lady Sophia’s wedding was announced.”
Adele met Bridget’s gaze for just an instant. “That was bad enough.” She went back to tossing pillows on the floor and tearing the bedclothes loose from where they’d been tucked under the mattress. “I’d never seen a woman in such a sustained rage.”
“Mama likes to think Her Grace’s daughters are too homely to find good matches, or too poorly dowered. I think they’re pretty, though not as pretty as Maggie.”
“For God’s sake, child, keep that sentiment to yourself.”
Rapid footsteps sounded in the corridor. Bridget lay back, closed her eyes, and brought the back of one wrist to her forehead.
“Bridget Mary O’Donnell, you will get up this instant!” Cecily slammed the door behind her hard enough to make the French door to Bridget’s balcony rattle on its hinges. “This is an infamous day! Infamous! When that woman becomes engaged to an earl, all of creation must take umbrage.”
“Mama.” Bridget managed a weak croak, though Mama in such a rage was enough to make any sane creature tremble. “Please, not so loud.”
“What is wrong with you? Get out of that bed this instant!”
“Please, Mama…” Bridget covered her ears with her hands.
“She’s been poorly all night, ma’am,” Adele ventured. “Poor thing couldn’t even keep down her chocolate.”
Cecily inhaled audibly through her nose. “This is most inconvenient. Dose her with the poppy, and then, Martin, you will attend me in my sitting room. I have plans to make, and they will not countenance this one malingering.”
“Oui, madame.”
Cecily flounced out, banging the door loudly yet again. Bridget sat up, feeling a headache start in earnest. “Is there any more chocolate?”
“Half a cup. I don’t like this, Miss Bridget. When madam gets to scheming, it isn’t good at all.”
Bridget pushed to the edge of the bed. “I ought to write and congratulate Maggie.” Though if Maggie were marrying an earl, it meant the letters would likely be futile, as futile as the vapid, fluttering drivel Bridget had been able to get past Cecily in the past few weeks—drivel intended to let Maggie know exactly what was afoot without alerting Cecily to Bridget’s misgivings.
Adele passed her the last half cup of chocolate. “You ought to write and warn her.”
Adele had kept her voice very low, almost as if she were confiding in Bridget, and Bridget felt something odd turn over inside her. Being almost fifteen and Cecily’s daughter meant a girl had to be very careful, very discerning about who her friends were.
No, not just friends, but allies.
“Yes, warn her.” Bridget kept her voice just as low. “And perhaps you could find a way to get the letter to Maggie without going through the post?”
“I’ll make sure of it.”
***
“Maggie, I can afford it.” Ben kept his voice down and kept his smile indulgent, but his intended’s mouth flattened nonetheless.
“You should be buying me paste.” She kept her voice down, too, because every jeweler in Ludgate had been at his shop door this morning, smiling and bowing as Ben led Maggie from one establishment to another, their clerks hovering just far enough away to avoid Ben’s ire.
“I will be buying you an emerald, at least, to go with your eyes. Maybe rubies to go with your hair, diamonds for your flawless skin.” That much extravagance might strain his exchequer, not that she’d permit him to indulge such whims.
“I have freckles.” And still her expression did not betray her exasperation. Ben was left to note the ramrod straight posture of her spine and the slight narrowing of her eyes. A less courageous man might have taken warning.
“Where the angels have kissed you and where I fully intend to.” He spoke just loudly enough for the nearest clerk to overhear, which had the intended effect of spiking Maggie’s guns.
“This one is very nice.” She aimed a saccharine smile at the clerk as she fingered a very small emerald. “Perhaps we might discuss settings?”
In the end, she won more than she gave up. She chose a different emerald, even smaller but of excellent quality. The setting was plain gold as was the wedding band. When Ben tried to push matching earrings on her, she went into outright rebellion.
“I am both peckish and fatigued,” she announced, sounding quite like Her Grace. “Perhaps you’d take me for an ice?”
If Ben hadn’t been in her bed just hours previously, if he wasn’t still savoring the memory of her passion and pleasure, he might have believed all those airs and graces were the full measure of the woman.
He had her measure, though, knew her passion and determination first hand, so he capitulated gracefully. He handed her up into his curricle and took his seat immediately beside her.
“Can you really afford this?” Maggie asked, fluffing her skirts as Ben signaled the horse to walk on.
The very quiet, almost anxious tone of her question gave Ben an inspiration. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.”
She stopped fussing and glanced at him. “What would I know of your finances?”
“Not my finances, but finances in general. I have a great deal of my wealth tied up in the funds, maybe more than is prudent. I was hoping we might discuss it.”
He’d never realized how hard it was to be coy, to cast a shiny lure and just let it lie winking silently in the spring sunshine.
A vertical line appeared between Maggie’s brows. “How much is a great deal?”
Two hours and two ices later, Ben was the one dazed by the brilliance before him. Maggie Windham understood money better than Ben had ever understood anything in his life. Better than he understood his sisters, better than he understood himself.
And he learned something else, too: the way to court Maggie Windham had something to do with making love to her luscious body, but it had more to do with alleviating the burden of a loneliness so vast and airless she’d been nigh suffocating under the weight of it.
Whatever her secret, whomever she was protecting, money was part of it. As they turned into the park and Maggie’s tone grew animated on the topic of trade with the Americas, Ben became determined to free her from that weight, no matter the cost.
Eight
“It isn’t very feminine of me to go on this way.” Maggie made the observation on a belated spurt of self-consciousness as the curricle turned into Hyde Park. “Louisa will hear me out, but Westhaven reaches his limit very quickly when I start in on my economic theories.”
“They’re sound theories,” Benjamin replied. “And they let me both steal a bite from your ices and feed you a few spoonfuls of my own.”
She had to glance away lest he see her smile. “I was dis
tracted, else you should not have gotten away with such outrageous behavior. I know what you’re doing, though.”
“I’m glad somebody knows what I’m about, because I seem to have lost my own grasp of it entirely.” He smiled at her, an open, charming smile that had Maggie’s insides fluttering around like the birds flitting from branch to branch above them.
“You’re making it seem as if we’re enamored of one another.” She kept her eyes on the horses before them, because an honest smile from Benjamin Portmaine was enough to steal her few remaining wits.
“I am enamored of you.” He slowed the horses to let a landau lumber on ahead of them. “You’re gorgeous, passionate, intelligent, and independent—also a financial genius. I’m the man who proposed to you earlier this week, if you’ll recall.”
“Must you remind me?”
“Frequently, until you comprehend that I did not ask out of anything other than an honest desire to make you my countess.”
She took in a breath, intent on remonstrating him with a list, a long, well-thought-out list of reasons why marriage to her was not in his best interests and marriage to him was not in hers, but her breath froze in her chest.
“Would you like a turn with the ribbons?” Benjamin cocked his wrists so she might have taken the reins from him, except Maggie had all she could do to remain sitting upright on the bench.
“Maggie?”
She averted her face from the sight before her and made herself take the reins from Benjamin’s hands. Speech was beyond her.
“Would you like my driving gloves, my dear? And who is that woman, and why did she send you a positively venomous glare?”
“What woman?”
His smile was nowhere in evidence as he studied Maggie’s face. “The woman who just drove past us, the one with the pretty child seated beside her whose face was painted in the most atrocious manner and whose bosom was indecently on display.”
“Atrocious…” She hadn’t meant to repeat the word aloud, but gracious God, Bridget had been wearing enough paint for a Haymarket whore at midnight. And Cecily hadn’t looked venomous, she’d looked smug and evil.
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