.o0o.
Ian was inspired as never before. The woman was perfect in every way. Her body a creation of the gods. And to let him capture this. It was so special. So necessary. It wasn’t important that no one else would ever see this painting. It was only important that he catch her essence. An innocent wildness. A woman who didn’t realize how special she was.
The eyes held secrets. The smile spoke of an open curiosity and an ability to enjoy life. The firm, taught body spoke of optimal perfection. The breasts, the small waist, the flare of her hips, all in perfect proportion. He knew deep in his soul he could never have created a more perfect picture purely from his imagination.
Feminine strength. The power to enchant a man simply by being.
Shaking his head, he tried to push aside his drifting thoughts. Concentrate on the work, he told himself. He took a deep breath as he fought to regain control and focused on capturing her beautiful face. Her hair mussed from their lovemaking, her cheek showing a faint blemish from his beard, her eyes twinkling as she remembered what it had felt like to have him inside of her.
Unable to control himself, his eyes traveled to the V of her sex. The way it called to him. His hand froze in mid-air, the charcoal in his fingers forgotten. All he could think of was taking her.
A growl echoed from deep in his throat as he tossed the charcoal onto the table and started for her.
“Ian?” she gasped as she saw the intense look in his eyes. Her expression registered both excitement mixed with a little fear and a great deal of hope.
God, a man could as for nothing greater than a sweet, beautiful woman who wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Without a word between them, they were lost in each other's arms. Her hands pushed down his pants, demanding him. Caressing and pulling at him. He smiled to himself, her touch was so hesitant, an obvious innocent, yet she used her opportunity to explore, to learn.
Her strokes built a demanding need. Still, he forced himself to hold back as he tenderly caressed her, bringing her to the same height as himself. Pushing her higher until she moaned softly and begged him with her eyes.
Unable to control himself any longer, he positioned himself and thrust into her, slowly, but firmly. All the way until he was buried in sweet heaven. Only as he pulled back did he remember the French letter. He should have taken more care. Yet the woman had cast him under her spell. All that mattered was to buried inside of her.
Over and over again he thrust into her. So tight. So warm. So perfect, he thought as he threw his head back and growled. God, the fit so perfectly.
Again, harder, faster, over and over. He was lost, there was just this feeling of pent up energy ready to explode.
Meg thrashed beneath him, throwing her head side to side. Her legs wrapped around him, her fingers raking his back as she fought to hold on through wave after wave of pleasure.
“Yes,” he grunted as he thrust one last time and exploded inside of her. Only to pull back and thrust again and again, giving him every bit of his being.
“My God woman,” he said as he collapsed next to her fighting to catch his breath. The two of them lay next to each other in the small bed, their shoulders barely touching. Without thinking, he turned on his side, pulling her into a hug, his knees behind hers, his chest against her back, his lips buried in her lavender scented hair.
Wrapping an arm around her waist he held on, afraid if he let go, he might lose this feeling of bliss.
Chapter Ten
Meg felt a cold tear slowly run down her cheek to the pillow. Never had she imagined any person could feel so intensely. How could she ever face him tomorrow morning? Surely he would read it in her eyes. The fact that she had fallen madly in love with him. It might be acceptable, him knowing. But it would lead to revealing the truth.
And then what?
He would feel trapped. Or worse, dismiss her as a silly girl who would soon outgrow her infatuation.
Her father would have him horsewhipped and driven from Britain. If he didn’t have him killed outright. No, neither her father nor Ian must ever know of each other, she told herself. Both for Ian’s benefit and hers.
She must keep it light in the morning. Act as if her heart were not breaking into a thousand pieces.
Sighing, she pulled his arm tighter around her and sank into the sensual pleasure of lying trapped by his strength. Naked, the two of them spent, both physically and emotionally. Yes, she thought as that oh so wonderful feeling of security and safety washed over her. Yes, this was where she belonged.
Slowly her eyes closed as she drifted off into a world of happiness. A world where Ian and herself were able to be together. No fathers. No decrepit British Lord. No society expectations. Ian’s future his own. A world where she could be held in his arms whenever she desired.
A weak sunbeam tickled her eyes, waking her from the most beautiful of dreams. Snuggling back next to Ian, she sighed with contentment as bliss washed over her. His male hardness felt so comforting. So right.
Thoughts began to fill her head. Thoughts about the day, Susan, her father, all danced through her mind. “Oh My God,” she gasped as she jumped out of bed and turned to see Ian looking up at her with a crooked smile as he squinted through the sunbeam that had woken her.
“Good morning, Miss Meg,” he said. “I must say, you look ravishing this morning.
Margaret looked down at her nakedness and instantly covered herself as she bent to retrieve her dress and underthings. It seemed that daylight had brought with it a sense of modesty. “Turn over,” she told him as she motioned with her hand for him to turn his back.
Laughing, he did as she asked. Margaret couldn’t help but admire the strong back narrowing down the manliest backside any woman had ever seen. Shaking her head, she scrambled to get dressed. How had she allowed this to happen? She would be discovered. Her world would be ruined.
“I must go,” she hissed as she slipped into her dress. Would the house be up? What if Susan entered her room to wake her and discovered her gone. Would she raise an alarm? Wake the house in search of her mistress. Would she tell her father? A sick sinking feeling filled Margaret.
“Here, let me do that,” Ian said as he brushed aside her fingers so that he could tie the bow behind her neck. She caught a hint of a paint aroma mixed with coal oil for when he cleaned his brushes. That and a scent that was entirely his. An aroma she would always associate with Mr. Ian Temple. The love of her life.
Margaret sighed heavily as she sank back into him, soaking up his strength. His arm snaked around her middle to hold her close.
“You Meg, are a mystery,” he whispered as his lips nibbled at her neck.
Oh, how she wished she could turn to him, wished with every fiber of her being to take him back to bed. But no, the new day had come. The real world had returned.
“I am sorry. But I must hurry,” she said as she forced herself from his grasp. An emptiness filled her, but she must go. To tarry was to risk too much.
She hurried to the door, then froze and looked back. He was so glorious. So male. His brow creased by a deep frown.
“Will you return?” he asked and the worry in his eyes warmed her soul.
“I will try, tonight,” she whispered and was rewarded by a quick smile.
“Take care, Miss Meg. Until tonight.”
Margaret nodded goodbye then hurried out the door and down the stairs. Please, she begged as she glanced both ways. If she could make it home without being discovered. If Susan had not raised half the countryside to search for her. If, so many ifs.
Her heart raced as she fought to catch her breath. Her feet flew down the cobblestones and up the path to the estate. Several people were up and about, farmers, tradesmen, but they didn’t press her, obviously too worried with their own troubles to be concerned about a young woman hurrying on some mission.
It was only as she entered the estate’s grounds that she realized she had never looked at his drawing. The one of her laying naked before him. Did it ex
pose his true feelings? A sense of disappointment threatened until she pushed it away. She reassured herself that she would see it that night. And knowing Ian, it would tell her all she needed to know.
Tonight, she thought as her heart pounded, already anticipating the joy they would share.
Please, she begged again as she snuck around the house only to find the garden door locked. Her heart fell. Only hours earlier she had snuck out that very door.
The kitchen was out of the question. She would have to brazen her way through the front door. Gritting her teeth, she crept back to the front of the house.
“Margaret,” her father yelled as she came around the corner. He was coming from the stables on the far end of the house. If she had been but a minute later, he would have seen her coming up the path.
No, please no. How could this happen to her? And why was he up at this hour? He would normally be abed until noon. But instead, he was determined to destroy her life.
“I thought your dress would be repaired by now,” he said to her as he frowned running his eyes over her maid’s dress. “And I know you have several day dresses, please use them,” he continued to frown as he shook his head. “And, your hair. Really girl. Why do I pay for a Lady’s maid?
Margaret reached up to discover her hair had partially fallen. She had tried to fix it while running. Really, she would never try that again.
“I went for a walk, Father,” she said without the slightest shame for lying. Too much rode on her father being deceived. The thought made her think of Ian and her deception of him. “I caught it in a low branch.”
He shook his head at her ineptitude. “You shouldn’t be walking in the woods. You know that?.” He took a deep sigh, obviously disappointed in her. “Well, you need to hurry. We leave within the hour. Your girl should have you packed already. If not, it will have to follow.”
“Leave?”
“Yes, leave. And change your dress. I won’t have the people of London seeing my daughter dressed like a common maid.”
“London?” an emptiness opened before her. A dark pit of despair threatened to engulf her and all of her dreams.
Her father sighed heavily as he shook his head. “Yes, London. Now, hurry. You can thank Lord Evens. He has written and suggested you be shown to London before the betrothal is announced in two weeks.”
Margaret felt a sudden fear wash over her. Did her father know what had happened the night before? Did he know about Ian? Was he hurrying this before Lord Evens discovered the truth and rejected her? No, she realized. He would have been much angrier and men would have already been sent to punish Ian.
Besides. It would be just her luck to have Lord Evens not reject her. Instead, he would hold it over her head. One more way to make her life miserable.
“Father …” she began.
He held up a hand, stopping her as he turned to go into the house. “Not now. Margaret. I don’t wish to argue. We must get on the road if we are to be in London before nightfall.”
She stammered. What could she say? What possible excuse could she have for not going to London? It had been her lifelong wish. Even her demand at times. If she balked now, her father would know that she had a hidden reason. He would put together the clues, her early walk, her mussed hair and come to the obvious conclusion.
Ian? Oh my God, she realized. He was going to hate her for abandoning him. What would he think? That she didn’t care for him? That she was but a loose woman seeking only pleasure? And his work. How could he ever finish his paintings?
A gnawing fear pulled at her insides as she fought to stop from screaming in frustration.
She must send word. But how? A local servant, no word would get back to her father. There were no secrets in a house. Susan? No, she would be expected to travel with her. Again, her father would become suspicious.
Slowly, the realization began to sink in that she might never see Ian again. She fell into a daze as she entered the house and slowly climbed the stairs to her room. Nothing made sense. There were no options,. She was truly trapped.
“Lady Margaret,” Susan gasped as she rushed down the landing to her. “Where have you been?” she whispered, “Your bed hasn’t been…”
“Shush,” Margaret hissed as she hurried her maid into the bedroom. “I need to get word to Ian.”
Susan’s eyes grew as big as a harvest moon. “M’lady. No. The painter?”
Margaret felt her cheeks grow warm. What must Susan think of her? “I just posed for him,” she lied. Well, a partial lie.
Susan stared at her for a moment, then obviously decided not to pursue the matter. But Margaret knew she would be pestered at a later date. “We must hurry, M’lady, your father is rather upset.”
Margaret took a deep breath before sighing heavily. Susan would never understand. She had never felt as Margaret had. That earth-shattering feeling of knowing what she needed and being unable to hold onto it.
“I must still get word to him.”
Susan stared at her for a long moment, her eyes drifting the rough patch on Margaret’s neck. Margaret felt her cheeks grow even warmer. It was obvious the mark had been left by a man’s beard.
“I will ask Billy, the stableman,” Susan said. “He lives in town. He could see your Mr. Temple.”
“He lives above the grocer’,” Margaret told her. Susan rolled her eyes, obviously displeased with the notion that her mistress knew where a strange man lived.
“No note,” Susan continued. “We can’t have anyone reading it,” Susan continued. “And no word about you. Just a comment that the household had left for London. Including both of the maids. Billy will think that I and Mr. Temple …”
“Oh, no. We couldn’t. I wouldn’t have people think ill of you.”
Susan laughed. “M’lady. The rules are slightly less for a maid. Besides. We will be living in London. I doubt Lord Evens will ever have reason to come here.”
Margaret bit her tongue to stop from arguing about Lord Evens. A sick feeling of despair filled her as she realized. Lord Evens might be her only escape from her father. Perhaps her only opportunity to have a family of her own. Heaven knew. She and Ian would never be allowed to be happy. The world didn’t work that way it seemed.
“You go tell Billy,” she said to Susan. “I will finish packing.”
“Yes M’lady,” Susan said with a quick curtsey before turning for the door. Then she turned back with a very concerned look on her face. “This may be for the best, M’lady. Going to London at this time.”
Margaret snorted and shook her head. “Go.” No, this was not for the best. Susan would never understand, she was leaving the man she loved, and in all likelihood, she would never see him again.
Susan curtseyed again and left her. Margaret took a deep breath to calm her racing nerves. No, this was not for the best. But it was all she had.
Within the hour, the coach was loaded and starting down the path to the village and the north road beyond. Margaret and Susan sat next to each other. Her father across from them was already lost in his newspaper.
Looking up, he frowned at her. “Why so glum? I swear you look as if you have lost a dear friend or great love. Really girl. Don’t be so dramatic. It is only London. I thought this was what you wished. I do think you should be more appreciative.”
Margaret could feel Susan cringing next to her. To have her mistress admonished by her father in front of her maid broke so many of society's rules. But it seemed her father only followed the rules he wished to.
Ignoring him, she pulled the curtain back to watch. Her heart skipped with the thought that perhaps she would see Ian one last time. As they turned onto the grocer’s street, she held her breath while staring up at his window. Please she begged, look out. Let me see you one last time.
Her heart ached at the thought of never again laying her eyes on his sweet face. Never again having his strong arms around her.
Nothing, the windows were dark. Had he returned to sleep away the day? Of cou
rse, he had. He intended to be up half the night painting.
A sadness filled her. Every instinct called for her to demand the coach halt so she could run to him. Hold him, kiss him. Never leave him.
The coach continued on, as if her heart wasn’t breaking. As if Ian Temple did not exist.
Sniffling back a tear she set her jaw as they turned from the window. He was gone. Along with it. Any hope of her happiness.
Chapter Eleven
Ian snapped a paintbrush in two and threw the pieces into the corner. Where was she? The clock tower had long ago rung out midnight. The streets were quiet. Surely, she should be here by now.
He had spent the day in a state of excited anticipation. Staring at his two paintings of her. Occasionally making adjustments. But he needed her here in front of him to know if he had it right.
But there was more. He missed her. A surprising realization. He had known dozens of women over the years yet none of them had captured his heart like this.
“A Lady’s maid,” he mumbled as he began to pace back and forth. Her time was not her own he reminded himself. She was an employee. With duties and expectations.
What if he made her his mistress? Yes, that would solve all of his problems. Would she? A cold feeling settled at the bottom of his stomach. It would be asking a lot. But her financial future would be assured. He would see to it. But there was the fact that it would greatly diminish her marriage prospects.
Was that important to Meg? And, Of course, he would have to expose his title. Again, everything would change. Meg deserved more than to be a mistress. She deserved the world. But, Duchess? No, impossible.
He suddenly realized how little he knew of her dreams, her inner thoughts. Yet it had felt as if he had known her for his entire life.
Where was she?
For the next several hours, he continued to pace until he finally allowed himself to admit that she would not be coming tonight.
“Tomorrow then,” he said aloud as he tried to reassure himself.
Unfortunately, the next day passed without any sign of Meg. His temper began to build as the frustration grew and grew. He couldn’t paint. Not without her there. Instead, he spent the day drawing sketches from memory. But it wasn’t the same.
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