by Lynsay Sands
"You. Me," he admitted wryly--then all humor was gone from his face and his dark eyes seemed to swallow her. "God, you make me burn."
Maggie felt herself melt; then his mouth descended on hers. It was a hard, branding kiss, and he began to move out of her, then back in. Maggie wasn't impressed with the activity at first. It was pleasant enough, she supposed. At least, it wasn't unpleasant--but it did leave her wondering where all the fire and excitement had gone. That thought had barely crossed her mind when James used his hand on her bottom to change the angle of her hips, shifting himself at the same time to add a friction that had been absent.
Maggie gasped. Her earlier excitement returned in full force. Her nails dug unconsciously into the skin of James's shoulders as she arched into him, doing what she could to increase the fire that was building within her. Reaching and striving for the unnamed reward that awaited, Maggie instinctively closed her legs around his hips, her heels digging into his backside, urging him on.
"Oh, God, Maggie, I--" Breaking off that thought, whatever it had been, James reached between them, his hand searching the center of her desire, and Maggie cried out as his touch helped her finally find what she sought. She was so overtaken with the shattering discovery of her pleasure, she was barely aware of the way James suddenly thrust into her--or how he held still, his face contorted in what looked like pain as he gasped her name through gritted teeth.
Maggie was the first to recover. Aware of the echoes of a pulsing throb in her body, she turned her head against James's chest, her hands moving soothingly over his shoulders. He murmured something she couldn't understand where he slumped against her, then turned his head to press a kiss to the side of her throat, his arms tightening possessively around her.
Maggie was a little concerned to see the solemn expression on his face as he straightened. It rather pointed out just what they had indulged in and the possible ramifications. She knew instinctively she wasn't going to like what he said when he opened his mouth to speak, but wasn't any happier that he was cut off by the sudden opening of the library door.
"Really, my lady, I do not think--" Meeks's voice cried out in alarm. Maggie and James both watched in horror as the door opened.
"Nonsense, Meeks. I just want James to tell Lady Wingate here--" Lady Barlow's voice died abruptly as she stepped into the room and caught a glimpse of her nephew and her houseguest.
There was a moment of utter silence; then Lady Wingate--who--Maggie had unfortunately had the pleasure of meeting in previous, much more socially acceptable conditions--stepped around the frozen Lady Barlow and into view.
The old woman was a sweet, dear old friend of Lady Barlow's, one Vivian had known since her youth. She was also blind as a bat. Squinting at the tableau, she adjusted her glasses and tried to make out exactly what she was seeing. "What the devil? Is that you, James? Who is that with you? And what in heaven's name are you doing on Vivian's desk?"
The woman's screech set everyone in motion at once. James stepped around to try to shield Maggie from view: a poor choice that left him hanging out for the world to see, and left little doubt as to what had been going on. Meanwhile, Maggie had slithered off the desk. Well, once she unstuck her behind from the wooden surface to which she seemed to have become some how adhered, she slithered off, dropping out of sight behind it.
Lady Barlow shook herself out of her own shocked state. She promptly turned to push her dear old friend out of the room. Meeks, always quick to help, muttered unintelligibly, grabbed the door, and tugged it abruptly closed behind himself as he followed the women out.
The room fell silent as James's aunt and her friend departed. James stood frozen for a moment, hands on his hips, his eyes closed against what had just happened, and a miserable sigh slipped from his lips. This was not what he had intended. Hell, he hadn't intended anything at all--but if he had planned anything, it would not have been this! He could hardly believe he had been caught in such a compromising position. Dear God! His brains had apparently gone a-begging. How had he been reduced to this? It was bad enough that he'd allowed his passions to overtake him and had taken Maggie on a writing desk like some rutting bull. But he had done so in his aunt's damned house, with her in the next room, where discovery was almost a certainty. What had he been thinking?
He knew what he had been thinking: he had been thinking of Maggie's silken thighs around him and her small, full breasts in his hands. He had been thinking of her lips soft and warm under his, and her warm, slick flesh wrapped around him. Dear God, I'm thinking it again, he realized with dismay, feeling himself swell with desire at the memories dancing through his poor beleaguered mind.
"James!"
Giving a start, he opened his eyes, guilt filling him as he met his aunt's furious gaze. She stood in the open doorway, obviously having returned to chastize him. Closing the door with a snap, she propped her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. "Put yourself away, young man, before I put that away for you!"
Brought to the realization that he was standing naked with a rather impressive--if he did say so, himself--erection in plain view, James turned quickly away. He tucked himself inside his breeches and did up the few buttons remaining after his earlier recklessness. That done, he started to turn back, then paused to tuck his shirt into his waistband and smooth his hair. He paused to take a long, deep, steadying breath, then turned to face his aunt's puckered expression.
"I..." he began, unsure what to say but ready to try. He needn't have bothered. Aunt Vivian wasn't up to listening to any of the nonsense he might have trotted out.
"I have managed to hustle every last one of my guests out. Where is Maggie?" she asked fiercely. James glanced over his shoulder, frowning when he saw the empty desk. A movement drew his gaze downward, and he spotted her barely covered derriere and ankles sticking out from beneath it. Knowing from experience how cramped and hot she would be, he sighed then stepped around the desk and bent forward to peer into the nook. Maggie sat curled inside, her knees up, covered by her shirt and her arms. Her head was bowed, her eyes pressed firmly into her linen-obscured knees.
"Maggie?" he called gently. Her only response was to curl up tighter, like a child hiding from an angry nanny. Biting back a smile, James dropped to his haunches and reached out to brush one hand over her elbow. "Come out, love," he said.
Her head shook violently.
James was about to try again when a rustle of material warned him of his aunt's approach. He glanced up to see her expression soften as she saw Maggie, and he felt relief. This was a bad enough situation; he really had no desire to see his aunt blame her for it. It was entirely his fault, after all. She'd been an innocent. He was experienced, skilled, had overwhelmed her with his passion....
His smugness died an abrupt death when his aunt snapped at him. "Get out of the way, James. Leave the girl alone. Haven't you done enough to her?"
Wincing at her sharp tone, he straightened and moved around the desk. His aunt paused to murmur something to Maggie, then followed James, her expression becoming grimmer with each step. He was not at all surprised when she launched her attack.
"So this is how you repay her brother for saving your lecherous life?"
"I am marrying her," was all he said.
"I have never been so ashamed in all my born days. That poor--What did you say?"
James nearly smiled at her astonishment, but managed to contain himself and repeated, "I shall marry Maggie, of course."
Aunt Vivian deflated like a sail losing its wind, then raised her head, her nose high. "Yes. Of course."
"A quick marriage would probably be best."
"Dear God, yes," she agreed. "Hazel Wingate is not known for her ability to keep a confidence." Moving toward the door, his aunt announced, "I shall start to make the arrangements. Perhaps you should coax Margaret out from under the desk. I will order a bath sent to her room...it should help her feel better."
Lady Barlow sailed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind
her. Oddly, James would swear he had spotted a satisfied smile on her lips in that last moment. He frowned over it briefly, then turned to the desk as the chair squeaked, announcing Maggie's emergence from beneath.
Quickly rounding the desk, James took Maggie's hand to help her up, his heart aching when he spied the mortified expression on her face and the dark, rosy flush of humiliation on her skin. She ducked her head. This had been a lousy way to end her first experience in lovemaking, and he wouldn't have wished it on her for the world. She deserved better. The woman should have had a soft bed beneath her, a wedding ring on her finger, and a slow, passionate seduction. Instead she'd gotten a quick hump against his aunt's desk. He was an animal.
"This is awful."
Those muttered words from Maggie merely added to James's guilt. He pulled her body against his, a hug being the only thing he could think of to soothe her upset. It didn't appear to be working, he realized when she did not melt against him with relief, but stood stiff in his arms, her head shaking repeatedly in denial.
"Maggie," he murmured gently. "'Tis not as bad as it seems. There will be some gossip, but once the marriage is accomplished, the rumors will die down and--"
"No."
"Yes, they will," he assured her, thinking she didn't believe him.
She pulled away and frowned at him. "I am not marrying you."
James blinked in amazement at her announcement, then, deciding she was too upset to think clearly, again tried to draw her into his arms. "Of course you are, my dear. We--"
"Nay, I am not," she argued, fighting her way out of his embrace. Bending, she snatched up her breeches from where they lay crumpled on the floor. "When my brother asked you to look after me, he hardly meant for you to sacrifice your life to my honor."
"That is a bit melodramatic, is it not?" he chided gently, a touch embarrassed that he couldn't seem to get his eyes off her derriere as she tugged the breeches onto first one leg, then the other. "I am not sacrificing my life. I had to marry sometime, after all."
"Yes, but--"
"And there is always the possibility of a child." Much to his satisfaction, that thought seemed to give her pause. The horrified expression that suffused her face was almost gratifying. That last had definitely been a winning argument. Quite inspired really, he thought.
She turned on him pleadingly. "Can we not wait and see? Perhaps we will be lucky."
James gaped. He already had gotten lucky, as far as he was concerned. Glaring at her, he shook his head. "Honestly, Maggie, you are harder on my ego than any woman I have ever met! Most women would be leaping for joy at having to marry me. Hell, many women would have arranged for us to be caught as we were, but you--"
James paused, his mind suddenly stuttering over the idea of an arranged scandal. It occurred to him that making love to Maggie with a passel of women in the next room had been the height of stupidity. James was not generally a stupid man. One might almost think he had been hoping to get caught and forced into this marriage. Was it possible he had played such a trick on himself? he wondered in amazement. He shook such thoughts away as Maggie finished doing up her drawers and bent impatiently to collect her waistcoat.
"I do not care what most women would like or want, my lord. You should not be forced into an arrangement to save my reputation. I was hardly fighting you off or crying rape. I was a willing participant in this affair and shall suffer the consequences for it without regret."
"There is no need for anyone to suffer," James snapped. "Good Lord, woman, it is no sacrifice on my part. In case you missed the fact, I quite enjoyed ruining you. I already look forward to being able to enjoy you again, and on a regular basis. In fact, the idea of being able to do so in the comfort of a bed makes me quite eager."
To prove that fact, he grabbed her hand as she tried to shrug into her waistcoat, and drew it down to press against the proof of his claim. Maggie stilled, her eyes widening, surprise on her face.
With her ripped linen shirt gaping open, James could hardly miss the way her nipples hardened. Releasing her hand, he lifted his fingers to catch one nipple between thumb and forefinger and pinched it gently. Maggie closed her eyes and swayed, her fingers tightening on his erection. It was enough to make James forget the situation and pull her into his arms. Catching her by the bottom, he pulled her forward, grinding himself against her.
If it weren't for a knock at the door right then, James very well might have taken her again--standing right there. But the knock made them draw apart.
"Yes?" James snapped as Maggie turned away to don her waistcoat. She began fastening the buttons to hide her torn top.
The door opened, and Meeks warily poked his head inside the room, relief on his face when he saw they were both dressed and behaving. "Lady Barlow asked that I tell you Lady Margaret's bath is ready, and that she would like to see you in the salon at once, my lord."
"Very well, Meeks. Tell her I shall be right there."
Nodding, the butler pulled the door closed, leaving him and Maggie alone again.
"I had best go above stairs," she murmured, moving to the door. James followed her, his eyebrows rising when she paused with her hand on the doorknob. Staring down at the floor, she asked, "Have you considered that you might find someone else you would rather marry? That if you marry me, you may come to regret it?"
"There is no one I would rather marry," James assured her with a smile.
She twitched impatiently, then said, "But what if you find someone you could truly love? What if--"
"Love?" James interrupted with a frown. "True love is a fairy tale for children, Maggie. We have friendship and mutual desire, which is the best anyone can realistically expect in a marriage. Actually, 'tis more than most people get. Do not trouble yourself about such nonsense. We will be married. We will get on famously. Now go take your bath."
Shoulders slumping, she opened the door and stepped out of the library. James watched her go with a frown. The woman looked terribly unhappy as she ascended the stairs to find her room and the waiting bath. He had to admit, it wasn't very flattering that the idea of marriage to him should be so unattractive to her.
Chapter Sixteen
Maggie chose the chair in the corner of the library. Cast in shadow, and out of immediate sight of the door, it looked to be a good place to curl up and hide a bit from the madness presently taking over Lady Barlow's home.
It had been a week since she and James had been caught with their drawers down...literally.
"Only you, Maggie." She whispered the familiar refrain to herself with a grimace, but had to admit she deserved it. She'd always gotten herself into trouble, and now she'd finally managed to get herself compromised and forced into marriage. She sighed dismally. The last seven days had felt like years. They had been filled with a whirl of fittings and planning: fitting the bridal gown, planning the rushed wedding.
The union was to take place in another two weeks. Lady Barlow had decided on the date. The woman was terribly concerned that their tryst in her library might bear fruit, so she said, and she insisted there be no scandal around the birth of any grand-niece or -nephew. As for the whispers such a rushed wedding would cause, those would die down quickly enough once the vows were said and done. They would be long forgotten by the baby's birth--if there was a baby.
It rankled Maggie that all of this was to protect a child that might not even exist. Well, she supposed, she was being unfair. They were also trying to salvage what they considered to be her endangered reputation. Yet Maggie wasn't as concerned with that as perhaps she should have been. After all, with Frances out of her life, she really hadn't had any prospects. Besides, it was not as if she went anywhere that she might be humiliated by overhearing the titters that being caught in flagrante delicto might cause.
Or, at least, she hadn't previous to this engagement. She thought with irritation about the last week since Lady Barlow and James had decided that he and Maggie should marry. She had found herself being dragged to ball after
ball, party after party, as well as various operas and plays. Basically, they went anywhere they might be seen. Lady Barlow had said that it was to show that they had nothing to be ashamed of, as well as to allow the ton to see that she was now under her soon-to-be husband's protection. She would soon be Lady Ramsey.
Maggie's face puckered with annoyance. She could hardly believe that, in the space of such a short time, her life had been turned completely upside down. Everything was changing. Even her relationship with James was different than it had been before. For one thing, whereas he had often visited her and his aunt, spent hours talking, laughing, and playing cards with her before their engagement, since that fateful day they were caught in the library, she hardly saw him at all. She'd had only one chance even to talk to the man since that night, and it had not been about anything she herself had wanted to discuss.
He had started the talk by "requesting" that she discontinue her employment with the Daily Express. In fact, he had asked her to write a letter to Mr. Hartwick, informing him that G. W. Clark was retiring and would no longer be available to provide articles. He had then seen to it that Banks delivered the missive. When the butler returned with a rather alarmed note asking for an explanation, begging G. W. to reconsider, James had overseen her apologetic refusal to do either. The odious man had refrained from actually giving orders, but his requests had been little else. Was such the lot of a wife? she wondered miserably.
On the bright side, while they waited for Banks to return from his chore, James had mentioned that her servants would, of course, be incorporated into their household. He had told her that they would be her own private servants, that they would always have a home with them. In fact, he'd intended to move most of them into his town house right away, but Lady Barlow had argued against it. As they were Maggie's own private servants, the matron felt they should remain with their mistress, where they could assist with all the chores necessary for the wedding celebration. Aunt Vivian had told her privately that she knew Maggie's staff were like family to her, and thought she might enjoy the support until the wedding. Maggie was terribly grateful for that thoughtfulness. It comforted her to have Banks and Mary and the others nearby, and made her feel more at home.
