Heart's Delight

by Cheryl Holt

  “I missed you,” he admitted.

  “You were only gone for a few hours.”

  “Yes, but you’re growing on me, and apparently I can’t bear to be away from you.”

  “Should I tell you a secret?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I missed you too, but you’re much too vain already so don’t gloat.”

  “We’re a sorry pair, aren’t we?”

  “We definitely are.”

  “I’ve never brought a woman to Orphan’s Nest before.”

  “You’d mentioned that you hadn’t. Why was I so lucky? Am I special to you?”

  “Yes, you silly girl. Why would you suppose you’re here?”

  “I suppose I’m here because of that ridiculous wager. You dragged me to the country with bad intentions.”

  “It hasn’t all been horrid, has it?”

  “No.”

  “I started off with dastardly plans, but I abandoned them.”

  “I’ve appreciated it.”

  When he was around her, he couldn’t help but feel splendid, but since that night when he’d barged in and tried to scare her, he’d avoided even the most minimal dalliance. The intimacy of it had been more than he could abide.

  She was like a dangerous drug infecting his blood, which was the real reason for his lengthy ride. In the new blue dress he’d bought her, with her straw bonnet—bow tied under her chin—she’d been so pretty. He hadn’t been able to resist and had stolen a few quick kisses as they’d walked in his rear door. There had been such a sense of destiny, of belonging with her, that he’d been disturbed by the powerful emotions and had fled.

  But he was back, his mind was clear, and he knew exactly what he wanted from her. He was certain he could persuade her to provide it.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m perfect.”

  “You look sad.”

  He chuckled. “You always assume there’s something wrong with me.”

  “That’s because there always is.”

  “I’ve never had anyone worry about me before.”

  “Then I am thrilled to be the first, and if you’ll let me I’ll fuss like a doting nanny.”

  “I didn’t think I’d like having a woman fuss, but maybe I’m changing.”

  “Just wait until you’ve spent more time with me,” she saucily said. “After I’m through with you, there’s no telling what you’ll be like.”

  “You’ll make me a better man?”

  “You don’t stand a chance, my poor fellow.”

  She was correct that she could have an enormous impact on his behavior and attitudes. There was no question he was rough around the edges, that he could be arrogant and stubborn and unbelievably violent. There was definitely room for improvement, and it would be amusing to have her trying to mold him.

  “You’re so good for me,” he confessed. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Even if it was under nefarious circumstances?”

  “Yes. You don’t hate me anymore, do you?”

  “No, I don’t hate you. In fact, I’ve decided you’re rather grand.”

  “Grand! Well…” He laughed, contentment washing over him. “I’m incredibly flattered by your high opinion.”

  She sighed. “I wish we never had to leave.”

  “Really? Would you forsake your life in the city and stay here with me?”

  “If you asked me, I might.”

  He studied her, then snorted. “You liar. You never would. You’d be bored to death in two seconds. You’re too much like me.”

  “Heaven forbid! I’m nothing like you.”

  “I just mean we like to be busy.”

  “I’ll agree to that tiny similarity, but that’s the only one. I’d be an awful lady of leisure. I’ve spent too many years working to earn my keep.”

  “And I’ve spent too many years being a lout, but we enjoy being active.”

  “Yes.”

  For a moment Felicia popped into his mind.

  He didn’t intend to ever bring her to Orphan’s Nest. She was accustomed to ostentatious surroundings, so he’d give her Cliffside, which would suit her.

  But he tried to envision her with him at Orphan’s Nest as he’d been with Maggie. He tried to imagine what they’d talk about, how they’d get on, but he couldn’t picture it.

  Perhaps it was because Maggie was seven years older than Felicia, or perhaps it was the broken heart Maggie had suffered at seventeen. The tragedy had taught her that life could crush you, that it could pitch you off into a tempest you never expected. It had forced her to learn how to acclimate and carry on.

  Felicia had recently encountered her initial bout with adversity, and as a remedy she would simply trade her father’s extravagant mansion for Michael’s. She’d had no experiences to mature her, so she’d never understand Michael or care about the strife that had shaped him.

  Magdalena cared about those things, and a wave of sadness bubbled up, but he shoved it away. He wasn’t marrying Felicia for companionship or solicitude. He was marrying her to enrage her father, to put him in his place, to bluster his way into the circles of the aristocracy.

  After the newness of being Felicia’s husband wore off—and he was sure it would occur rapidly—he doubted he’d ever see her. He wouldn’t ponder Felicia, not when he was lying on a bed with Maggie. He tugged back the blankets and stretched out on top of her.

  She scowled. “What are you thinking?”

  “I want to misbehave with you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to misbehave with you.”

  “Don’t you?”

  He pinched her nipple, and her whole body shuddered, right down to the tips of her toes.

  “If you’re not interested,” he said, “you shouldn’t let a man into your bedchamber.”

  She scoffed. “If I remember correctly, I was asleep. I didn’t let you. You barged in.”

  “You’re glad I did. Admit it.”

  “I might be a little glad. But just a little.”

  “I’m dying to know you in a manner I haven’t so far,” he told her.

  “Meaning what?”

  “You know what.”

  She was shocked by his suggestion, but then it was his own fault. He’d allowed her to presume he didn’t desire her, that he didn’t fantasize about fornicating with her every minute of the day.

  She induced a constant and strange sort of yearning, and he’d decided to stop fighting it, to let it flourish, to let it lead him wherever it would.

  She shook her head. “I can guess what you’re contemplating, and I don’t want it from you.”

  “You’re a spinster and a virgin, Magdalena. You have no idea what you want.”

  “It’s a sin. It’s wrong.”

  He shrugged. “The preachers claim it is.”

  “You disagree?”

  “Yes.”

  “You would.” She rolled her eyes. “People are supposed to wed first.”

  “Sometimes they do, but not usually. Not in my world.”

  “I wouldn’t necessarily assume your world is typical.”

  “Wouldn’t you? How many female friends have you had who’ve had a baby six months after the wedding? The babies look perfectly normal—even though they’re three months early.”

  “Oh.”

  “And how about your sister and Farrow? Didn’t they dally before the wedding?”

  “Oh.”

  “I rest my case.”

  “Just because others behave badly, there’s no reason we should imitate them. When I walk down this road, I plan to have a husband walking with me. Why do I expect you don’t have matrimony in mind afterward?”

  I can’t marry you. I’m about to marry someone else.

  He didn’t mention Felicia though. She and Maggie occupied two different parts of his life, and those two parts didn’t intersect. Besides, Maggie was very moralistic. If she learned of his betrothal, she’d never permit him to join her in her
bed again, and the thought of her kicking him out was distressing.

  “I might have matrimony in mind,” he petulantly insisted.

  “Now who’s lying? You’re a confirmed bachelor. I’m certain of it.”

  “Maybe you’re so wonderful I’m sick of being a bachelor. Maybe I’ve decided I should be a husband instead.”

  She laughed and laughed. “You’re hilarious.”

  “Why?”

  “Because rumor has it that when a man is suffering from a fit of ardor he’ll say anything to persuade a woman to lift her skirt.”

  “Or her nightgown.”

  “I’m smart enough to realize I shouldn’t proceed unless I have a ring on my finger. Which you would never give me, and which I would never demand. I’ve sworn off men, remember?”

  “You always claim you have, but you’re an innocent where physical amour is concerned. You might find you can’t live without it.”

  “I’ve made it twenty-five years so far.”

  “What if you dropped over dead this very instant?” he asked. “You’d die without ever discovering what it was like.”

  “I’ll risk it.”

  “You’re a hard woman, Magdalena Wells.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “May I kiss you goodnight.”

  She pretended to consider, then smiled. “I suppose I could allow it. Just the one though! Don’t push your luck.”

  “Haven’t you heard? I always push my luck, and I always wind up getting exactly what I want.”

  * * * *

  As Michael pulled her close, she felt as if she was soaring, as if she was lighter than air. Since the day she’d arrived at Orphan’s Nest, she’d been waiting for him to kiss her urgently and frequently, and she couldn’t fathom why he’d been so reticent. During that previous carnal foray, he’d goaded her into a wild paroxysm of pleasure, had left her agitated and disturbed, and while she’d kept telling herself she’d rebuff any seduction, she’d been lying.

  When he’d mentioned a goodnight kiss, she’d thought he’d bestow a quick peck like the one he’d delivered at the conclusion of their picnic earlier in the afternoon. But clearly he had other ideas.

  He was kissing her as if it was their final farewell, as if the world was about to end and he would never see her again. She should have remained stoically detached, but she couldn’t ignore what was happening and couldn’t fail to participate.

  She was tugging at his shirt, desperate to view his sculpted chest again. In her memories, it was delectable, and she was anxious to discern if her recollection was accurate or if her imagination had embellished what she’d witnessed.

  She yanked the fabric up and off, with Michael having to help work it over his shoulders, then the offending article was gone. She had a moment to study him and was delighted to report that her memory had been extremely precise.

  He was still kissing her and kissing her. He hadn’t paused, hadn’t slowed, and as the torrid embrace continued, she felt as if they were on a raft careening down a rampaging river. She couldn’t halt their forward progress, couldn’t temper their frantic pace. She could only hold on and hope she didn’t crash on a rocky shore.

  Gradually he was removing her nightgown, and she didn’t lift a finger to prevent him. The hem glided up her legs, past her thighs, stomach, breasts.

  He drew the garment up and over her head, and it was the perfect opportunity to protest, to tell him no, but she didn’t say it. Apparently she was happy to march down the road to perdition without a word of complaint.

  With her nightgown tossed on the floor, she was naked and as he stretched out again, her bared breasts were pressed to his chest. The sensation was so riveting she was amazed she didn’t swoon.

  He glanced down her body, looking decadent and very, very debauched, providing ample evidence that she had no business being in a bed with him. Nothing good could come from it. Or perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps something very, very good might come from it, but while she might deem it to be good in the heat of passion, she was quite sure in the morning she’d be aghast.

  “You’re so pretty, Maggie,” he said.

  “No one ever told me that before.”

  “The men you’ve known must have all been idiots.”

  “They were.” She sighed and snuggled closer, and the feel of her nipples on his skin was so powerfully arousing that she wasn’t certain what to make of it.

  “We should probably stop,” she stated with a halfhearted resolve.

  “Not just yet. I’m not done.”

  “If you keep on much longer, I’m likely to burst into flames.”

  “Marvelous. I can’t wait.”

  He started in again, and her meager dissent was over.

  She was melting with desire and knew he could end her agony, but he was in no rush. Finally, finally, he abandoned her mouth and nibbled a trail to her bosom. He sucked on her nipple, laving it, biting it until she was writhing beneath him, calling him names, begging him to hurry.

  At his instigation, she’d become wanton and loose, and she didn’t mind a whit! She was a physical being who had no goal other than pleasure, and she wanted that pleasure to arrive immediately. She didn’t care about modesty or decorum or anything else.

  He touched her between her legs, and she shattered into a thousand pieces, flying to the heavens, then floating back down. He was preening, laughing, proudly vain that he pitched her into ecstasy.

  “You are such a gem,” he murmured.

  “How do you do that to me?”

  “It’s easy. You have a very sexual nature, and I’m luring it to the fore.”

  “You’re making me wicked.”

  “I’m not sorry.”

  “I can see that you’re not.”

  Her limbs had turned to rubber, and she should have slid away to escape, but if she’d tried to stand she’d have collapsed to the floor in a heap.

  Having learned some marital secrets, she wondered how a wife ever finished her daily chores. There was such delight to be had in a husband’s arms. Why would a wife ever crawl out of her bed?

  It dawned on her that there was a reason young ladies were so vigilantly chaperoned. Clearly there was a level of corporeal enticement that could lead a woman to ruin, that could leave her incapable of restraint.

  Her entire life, there had been stories of girls who’d gotten themselves into trouble, and she’d scoffed with derision, deeming them weak of character or morally suspect. She hadn’t realized—as other, wiser people obviously did—that carnal amour was devastatingly addicting and made it impossible to behave.

  “I want you to do something for me,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s what I asked when we started.”

  “I couldn’t proceed until after we were married.”

  “We don’t have to be married to accomplish it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s more of this same physical conduct.”

  “Tell me what it involves.”

  “It’s hard to describe. It’s easier if I show you.”

  “Tell me,” she repeated, needing to have some idea.

  He cupped her with his palm. “I’d join my body to yours. Here.”

  “I don’t understand what that means.”

  “That’s why it’s easier to show you.”

  She peered into his blue, blue eyes and he peered back, his handsome face open, beseeching.

  When he looked at her so intently, she was confused about what was transpiring. How could he gaze at her like that unless he possessed genuine, heightened feelings? Initially they’d traveled to the country due to his despicable bargain with Gaylord, but had fondness blossomed? Had love bloomed? Was it possible?

  She didn’t imagine it was likely for a man like him, but occasionally she’d catch him staring off at the horizon, and he seemed so lonely. Maggie was lonely too.

  Would he consider establishing a bond with her? Could it happen? If she gave
herself to him, he’d have to wed her afterward. Morals demanded it. The law required it. The Church insisted on it.

  He might fuss and complain, but she suspected that—deep down—he’d like very much to have a wife and a family. She could be that wife. She had no doubt. He’d beguiled her with his beautiful home, with his perfect manners, and if he wasn’t in love with her, she was nearly a hundred percent in love with him.

  He’d bought her a wardrobe of pretty clothes, had been kind and charming and remarkable, and in return he was asking her to do this one, simple thing. She hadn’t ever believed that she would, but perhaps she should, perhaps it was time.

  Still though, she hesitated.

  “You’d have to wed me,” she insisted. “If you say you will, I’ll agree.”

  “Why would you want me for a husband? I’d be awful.”

  “You might not be. Actually, you might be just what I’ve always needed.”

  “I’m nobody’s savior, and you shouldn’t assume I might be.”

  “I think you’d make me happy, Michael Scott. And I think I would make you happy.”

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever been happy.”

  “Then give me your vow that we’ll wed after, and you’ll be the happiest man in the kingdom.”

  “I will, will I?”

  “Yes. You can’t walk this far down an illicit road with me, but change course at the very end.”

  “No, I suppose I can’t.” He brushed his lips to hers. “Be careful what you wish for, Magdalena. You might get it.”

  “Was there a proposal in there somewhere?”

  “What the hell? Why not?”

  He began kissing her again, driving her up the spiral of desire. She dove into the deluge with him, so she had but a fleeting instant to ponder whether he’d truly promised. It seemed that he had, but it also seemed he hadn’t.

  Swiftly and without warning, another wave of pleasure swept over her. All thoughts of his pledge to marry later on flew out the window. She could only focus on this moment and this man and this splendid encounter. The past and the future were irrelevant. Only the present mattered.

  As her pulse slowed, he was frowning, looking determined, resolved to proceed.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing’s wrong. Everything is very, very right.”

  “I’m glad.”