by Cheryl Holt
“I’m too dizzy to move that fast,” she complained, giggling as he stretched out atop her.
“Then I promise to keep you flat on your back for a good long while.” He kissed her nose, her cheek. “Tell me why you were sitting here all alone and drinking Mr. Dubois’s remedy.”
“I was pondering how awful my life has been.”
“It has been awful, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, but you’ve made it better.”
“I’m glad.”
“I’ll miss you after you’re gone. That’s what I was fretting about. That’s why I was drinking.”
He couldn’t recall anyone ever missing him before. In fact, most women grew so aggravated with him that they couldn’t wait for him to go.
Only Lauretta stayed—and that was because he paid her to tolerate him.
“You’re so sweet,” he murmured.
“Why doesn’t your father like you?” she asked in reply, the question coming out of the blue.
His breath hitched in his lungs. He never discussed Sunderland or their constant conflict, but she seemed to truly want an answer, and to his astonishment, he wanted to give her one.
“I don’t know,” Jordan admitted. “He never has. Not even when I was a lad in short pants.”
“But there must be some reason.”
“I had an older brother.”
“What was his name?”
“James. We were out in a boat, and it capsized. He drowned. I tried to get him back to shore, but he was bigger than me. I couldn’t do it.”
Her beautiful brown eyes dug deep, immediately delving to the heart of the matter.
“And your father blames you?”
“Yes.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“Ten! You were a child.”
“Yes.”
“Your father is a bully,” she huffed with disgust. “An absolute bully.”
“Yes, he is.”
“If he doesn’t like you, I don’t like him.”
“Give him hell, my little champion.”
“Aren’t you the only son he has now?”
“Yes.”
“Then he should be nicer to you.”
“I agree. If you ever see him again, be sure and tell him.”
“I will.”
She gazed up at him, appearing shrewd and loyal and so very, very pretty, and his pulse made the strangest fluttering motion.
Suddenly, he was overcome by the most powerful wave of affection, and he yearned to confess what his childhood had been like. He wanted to explain about his lonely years as a boy with a deceased mother and a distant, angry father.
He wanted to describe how much he’d loved his brother, how devastated he’d been after the accident.
Because Sunderland had blamed him, there had been no solace for Jordan, no consolation, no chance to grieve. Often, he felt that he’d never recovered from what had transpired, and the bitter memories weighed him down with guilt and remorse.
Mary’s interest in his past, her steadfast support, her apparent belief in him and his version of events, was like a soothing balm that he could use to heal old wounds.
Without her knowing, she’d given him a gift he would always cherish, and in the process, she made him ache to be bound to her as he’d never been with another.
He would marry Felicity, but Mary was the one he would treasure. And while he’d told himself he wouldn’t ruin her, he wasn’t about to ignore their physical attraction. Though it was horrid and selfish, he was desperate to join himself to her in the only way that counted.
He dropped to her breast and began sucking on her nipple, and she sighed with pleasure and arched up, offering more of herself, which he readily accepted.
She was such a sexual creature that, with minimal effort, he sent her soaring, her orgasm exhilarating and potent and as satisfying for him as it had been for her.
“You are so wonderful,” she said as she floated down.
“You have to be the only person in the world who’s ever thought so.”
“People are idiots,” she claimed. “They haven’t gotten to know you as I have.”
“And what is it that you know about me?” He was pathetically eager to hear a compliment.
“You’re kind, and you’re funny, and though you pretend to be callous and cruel, you’re not.”
“Hmm ...” he mumbled.
He was embarrassed by her praise, and his cheeks flushed with chagrin. She was wrong about him, of course, and he hoped she would never have to learn just how wrong.
He kissed her again, and as he drew away, he was too aroused to delay the inevitable.
“I want you to do something with me,” he said.
“Anything,” she vowed. “I will do anything for you. Just tell me what it is.”
He wasn’t a saint, and at her statement, he persuaded himself that she was amenable, even though she couldn’t be aware of what she was relinquishing until it was too late.
“I want to make love to you, as a husband makes love to his wife.”
“How does it happen?”
“I will join my body to yours. Here.” He reached down and slipped two fingers into her sheath.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I was always curious.”
“It’s rather physical.”
This was the spot where he should have been candid, where he should have reminded her of the consequences. She might never be able to marry her dear Harold. She might be forever abandoning her chance for a home and family of her own, but he was greedily silent, convinced that if he didn’t follow through, his entire life would have been meaningless.
“What does it feel like?” she inquired.
“It’s difficult to explain. Let me show you.”
She dithered, then laughed. “All right. Have your way with me.”
She flung her arms to the side, like a virgin preparing to be sacrificed, and on seeing her lying beneath him, so trusting and so innocently gullible, he had a peculiar attack of conscience. When he liked her so much, how could he behave so badly toward her?
But as quickly as the question arose, he shoved it away.
He wished he could change the path he’d set them on, but he’d never been a man to deny himself, and when he was so feverishly attracted to her, it was pointless to debate his choices.
Still, he found himself murmuring, “Promise me that you’ll never be sorry.”
“I never will be. I promise.”
“Tomorrow, when you’re more yourself, I couldn’t bear it if you regretted what we’d done.”
“Knowing you is the only thing that brings me any joy.” Her smile was eloquent and wise. “I could never regret anything we did together.”
“If you’re sure ...”
“I’m very, very sure.”
Again, he persuaded himself that she was an adult, that she understood the risk she was taking.
He dipped to her breasts, kneading and sucking at them, driving her up and up. Swiftly, she was at the edge, and with a flick of his thumb, he pushed her into ecstasy.
She cried out, sounding merry and rapturous, and as she drifted down, he was fussing with his trousers, freeing the last of the buttons, yanking the fabric down his hips. Any restraint he might still have possessed had vanished in a fog of desire.
He clasped hold of her thighs, his torso dropping down, as he centered his cock. She was wet and enticing, and it was all he could do to keep from ramming into her like a beast.
He took several deep breaths, calming himself, gaining control. When he was more composed, he began flexing, and at the odd positioning, she tensed.
“This will hurt,” he warned, “but only for a moment, and only the first time.”
“It doesn’t feel right.”
“It will. Put your arms around me. Hug me tight.”
“Like this?”
“Yes, just like that. Try to relax.”
> “I am trying.”
“We’re almost finished.”
She was splayed wide, the tip of his phallus wedged against her maidenhead, and she pulled him closer, her lips tickling his ear.
“Tell me you love me,” she whispered. “I know you won’t mean it, but just this once, tell me so I can pretend.”
At her request, a wave of lust shot through him, and he flexed with all his might.
With one forceful plunge, he entered her, and he heard himself say, “Yes, Mary, I love you.”
Strangely, the words seemed to be true, and the impression was so shocking that he wondered if he should clarify or retract the declaration. He wanted to pause so he could consider his intent, but the time for rumination was over.
He was so swept up that he couldn’t hold back. He thrust and thrust, being carried away by a powerful orgasm that came upon him so unexpectedly, there was no occasion for rational thought.
Without reflection, without regard to the perils, he spilled himself inside her. But try as he might, he couldn’t make himself feel sorry. As the movement of his hips ground to a halt, he should have been aghast, but he couldn’t find the appropriate remorse.
He felt smug and satisfied and practically silly with delight.
On the morrow, there would be plenty of opportunity to panic and fret, but while his phallus was still pulsing with his release, he was experiencing what could only be described as a profound amount of joy.
She was very quiet, very subdued, and he was curious as to her opinion of the event. He’d been very rough, when usually, he was much better at pacing himself.
“My dearest, Mary,” he asked, “what do you think?”
“I’m not a virgin anymore, am I?”
“No. Are you still glad we proceeded?”
“Yes, I’m still glad.”
He eased away from her, hating how she winced as their bodies separated.
“Are you sore?”
“I’ll mend.”
“It won’t hurt the next time.”
“Does that mean we get to do it again someday?”
“Oh yes, we definitely get to do it again—and again and again.”
He snuggled her onto her side and spooned himself to her, tugging the blankets over them, sealing them in a warm cocoon.
“I should have been more careful with you,” he said. “I should have gone slower.”
“I didn’t mind. It was actually rather thrilling.”
He raised up and kissed her on the cheek. “You arouse me beyond my limits.”
“Good.”
She smiled as he rubbed a contented hand up and down her thigh.
“Could I be pregnant now?” she asked.
His heart seized with alarm, but he ignored it.
“It can’t happen from just one time.” He had no idea why he’d voiced the idiotic lie, but he had, and there was no withdrawing it.
“I wish I was pregnant. I wish I could have your baby.”
So do I ...
The terrifying, bizarre reply muscled its way to the fore, but he let it fade away without giving it any credence.
After his own dreadful upbringing, he hoped to never have any children. He’d had no role model to show him how fatherhood was accomplished, and he was positive he’d be awful at it.
“Don’t worry about it now,” he said.
She was drifting off, her torso relaxing.
“Stay with me tonight,” she implored. “Will you?”
She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes droopy with sleep.
No doubt at dawn, she’d be horrified to find him nestled with her, but at that moment, wild horses couldn’t have dragged him away.
“Yes, I’ll stay,” he promised. “For as long as you want.”
Chapter 13
MARY glanced over at the window and saw that it was morning. The light seemed inordinately bright, and it hurt her eyes.
She groaned and sat up, but a pounding headache ripped through her, and she flopped down onto her pillow.
Something was different, and she tried to remember what it was.
Memory flooded in a panicked rush.
“Oh my Lord,” she muttered, “what have I done?”
She lifted the quilt to verify what she’d suspected: She was naked.
Carefully, she peeked to the side, and there was Jordan, naked, too, awake and grinning. He appeared young and mischievous and born to cause trouble—which he certainly had.
“Oh my Lord,” she muttered again.
She focused on her antics from the prior evening. Many were vivid in her mind. Others were hazy, while others still were lost in a black void.
One deed remained crystal clear.
Stretching her legs, she winced at how her female areas ached, how her nonvirginal body protested its new condition.
She wasn’t loose, and she wasn’t a doxy, and while she and Jordan had previously trysted in various ways, none of their behaviors came anywhere close to matching what they’d accomplished. She was mortified, unsure, and completely out of her element.
When she’d given herself to him, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world, but now, as sober reality crashed down, she was aghast.
Was she mad?
Her chastity had been blithely surrendered; she could never wed Harold or anyone else. If she was pregnant, and Victoria learned of it, Mary would be immediately evicted.
She’d risked everything for a night of wondrous pleasure, and while a small part of her screamed, It was worth it, she knew it hadn’t been.
Jordan was very comfortable, as if he woke up in her bed all the time, and he was watching her, waiting to see what she’d do next.
Any bizarre act seemed likely.
“Good morning,” he murmured, and he swooped in and stole a kiss. “How is your head?”
“Throbbing.”
“I like you when you’re drunk.”
“You’re a beast to mention it.”
“It made you terribly easy to seduce.”
“You’re a cad to have taken advantage when my defenses were low.”
“I don’t think you should drink any more of Mr. Dubois’s remedy.”
“No, I don’t think I ought.”
“Or any hard spirits for that matter.”
She frowned, recollection hammering at her. “By any chance, did I ... I ... propose to you?”
“Yes.”
He was very smug, very humored, and she flung an arm over her eyes.
“Dear Jesus,” she mumbled, “take me now.”
“You shouldn’t count on Him rescuing you. Haven’t you heard? We fornicators are damned.”
He drew her to him and gave her another kiss. For a moment, she wallowed in the embrace, but she was quickly swamped by guilt and fear. She tried to slide away, but he wouldn’t release her.
“You promised you wouldn’t be sorry, Mary. Remember?”
“I realize that I said I wouldn’t be, but I’m ... I’m ...”
“It’s all right. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”
“Oh, Jordan.”
She wiggled away and stood, which only increased her mortification. Her nudity felt shameful, much as Eve’s must have in the Garden once her sins were exposed.
Lurching about, she searched for her robe and found it under his trousers. Without looking at him, she jerked it on. When she turned to face him, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheet covering his lap.
She scooped up his clothes and pushed them at him, but he batted them away.
“You have to get dressed,” she insisted. “You have to get out of here.”
“Stop it.”
“No, I can’t have you—”
He took hold of her hand, the simple gesture halting her comment.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You know what’s wrong.”
“We made love,” he said. “So what? It doesn’t change anything between us.”
“A
re you insane? It changes everything.”
“How?”
“I can’t ever get married now.”
“Yes, you can. No one need ever be informed of what we did.”
Tears surged and splashed down her cheeks. On seeing them, he pulled her nearer and brushed them away.
“Don’t cry.”
“But I’ve wrecked my life. And for what?”
“You’re overwrought, Mary, but it’s a normal reaction. Sex can be very ... intense for a female. You’re just a bit emotional, but it will pass, and you’ll calm. We’ll go on as we have been.”
She eased away and stepped out of reach.
“You suppose I’d do this with you again?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
She gazed at him, wondering how he could be so cavalier. On her end, the incident had rocked her world, had ruined her future. On his, he looked rumbled and delectable and coolly ready to head down to breakfast.
“Could you ever imagine yourself falling in love with me?” she humiliated herself by asking.
“No,” he responded in his usual blunt way, “I couldn’t imagine it.”
It was the answer she’d expected, but still, she staggered as if he’d struck her.
“You should go,” she said. There was a tense silence, but he didn’t move, and she added, “Please.”
“It’s not you, Mary.” His expression was bleak. “I don’t know how to love anyone. I never have. I don’t have that sort of powerful sentiment inside me. It’s not part of my makeup.”
“I don’t believe that.”
He shrugged, but didn’t continue.
“Don’t marry Felicity,” she pleaded, disgracing herself. “Now that you’ve lain with me, now that you’ve shown me what it’s like, I’m begging you not to.”
“I have to marry her.”
“You could marry me, instead. I don’t care if you have no fortune. I don’t care if you’re broke as a shard of pottery.”
“I need her dowry,” he obstinately asserted.
“There are more important things to consider than money.”
“I can’t think of any.”
She stumbled to the chair and sat. They stared, separated by an impasse as vast as an ocean.
“I could make you happy,” she claimed.
“Yes, you could.”
“Then stop being so stubborn. Take a chance on me. Change my life! Change yours!”
