by Louise Clark
His gaze had lingered on her breasts. Now he raised it to look into her eyes.
“My mother and I leave for Boston the day after the tea she is holding. That is in four days from now. I want to give myself to you. Tonight.” She drew a deep breath. “Tomorrow night. And the night after, and the one after that, until I go away. I want you to make me your wife, because in my heart that is what I am.”
“Mary Elizabeth…” He had to pause to clear his throat. “I had thought to wait until our wedding night.” He cleared his throat again as he gestured at the trees around them. “To make love for the first time, here, on the ground…Mary Elizabeth, you would not be happy. The first time should be special—”
“This is special.” She stepped closer and felt his hands tighten in her hair.
“Memorable—”
“How will this not be memorable?” Her breasts brushed against his chest.
“In a bed,” he rasped.
She laughed at that, the amusement dancing in her eyes. “I cannot counter that, husband of my heart.” Of its own accord, her smile turned sensuous as she reached up to caress Andrew’s cheek, while her gaze searched his. “All I can say is that a bed doesn’t matter to me now, in this moment.” She drew a deep breath and pushed through the last, feeble barriers her proper self had erected. “Please, Andrew. Make me your wife.”
For a moment he did nothing, then he lowered his mouth to hers. At first the kiss was a light caress, a mere brushing of his lips over hers. She kissed him back, opening her lips a fraction to allow him access. He hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. His tongue teased her mouth and when she parted her lips wider, he plunged inside. Her spirit soared as he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her body hard against his.
When he broke the kiss, he was breathing heavily. He stepped away and she suffered a sudden dismay—had he changed his mind? Then, when he picked up the blanket and shook it out, she understood his intentions. Her pulse echoed in her ears and her breathing quickened as she watched Andrew lay the thick cloth down on a soft area cushioned by fallen leaves. Slowly, deliberately, he removed his coat and waistcoat, then folded them both to make a pillow for her. Seeing him so intimately attired in his shirtsleeves brought a quickening between her legs. Her heart pounded with excitement, knowing the moment of surrender would soon be upon her.
He came over to her. His gazed burned with intensity. Her breath caught.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
She reached for him. “Yes.” She could hear the desire in her voice. She hoped Andrew could hear it too.
He came to her then, kissing her with a slow sensuality that made their previous caress seem merely affectionate by comparison. She allowed herself to go pliant in his arms. Indeed, it was not a matter of allowing at all, but the inevitable result of the most sensual embrace she had ever had. He lifted her without breaking the kiss, then he laid her on the blanket.
He knelt beside her. “Your breasts are beautiful,” he murmured, his hands cupping their fullness.
Amazement had her arching as his thumbs teased her nipples, while his fingers caressed her soft, rounded breasts. She had no idea that a man’s hands, stroking her body through thin linen, would affect her so. When he stretched out beside her and lowered his head to take one sensitive peak in his mouth she whimpered. Her hands clenched, then opened to touch him. She wanted to feel him, all of him.
His skin was warm beneath his shirt. She tugged at the fabric, wanting no barriers. Andrew chuckled deep in his throat as he sat up, grabbed his shirt, and pulled it over his head.
Mary Elizabeth stroked his chest. There was wonder in her voice when she said, “You are beautiful.”
This time Andrew laughed aloud. “You do me a kindness, sweet lady. Lift your hips.”
She did as he asked and he used the moment to drag her nightshirt up to her shoulders. When she’d settled again, he slid his hand up her stomach to her breasts. Skin to skin, warm flesh to warm flesh. The sensation was shocking. Wonderful. “Oh, Andrew,” she whispered. Then he tugged her gauzy gown over her head and tossed it aside. His mouth closed over her nipple and he sucked. She drew in a shocked breath. This was even more evocative than his earlier caress. Her fingers dug into his hair, holding his head there. “Don’t stop.”
Her eyes closed, she didn’t see when he shifted so that he could draw a hand down her belly to the curls at the apex of her thighs. She felt every inch of the caress, though. By the time he had reached her most private part, instinct had told her to open her legs to him. His fingers played with her moist, swollen folds, then penetrated. She sucked in her breath, shocked at the invasion. He moved his thumb over her swollen nub, rubbing rhythmically. Need pounded through her, growing as his tongue stroked her nipple while he caressed her. She arched against his questing hands and mouth.
She had never felt such pleasure. She wanted it to go on forever, building, making her want more. She was panting, her head thrashing from side to side when he shifted, moving away to pull off his breeches, then he was beside her again, his mouth on hers, stretching out over her.
He intensified the kiss. His tongue eased into her mouth, stroking in a leisurely way that made her want to move beneath him. Her moist folds met the hardness of his erection and he slipped into her opening. She stiffened as her body stretched to accommodate him, but his tongue began working its magic again and his hands massaged her breasts once more. He pinched one of her nipples and she gasped and arched. He slid in farther, then drew back. The friction made her moan with pleasure. He moved again and so did she, establishing a rhythm that brought those pleasurable feelings of earlier back to life. When he broke the barrier of her virginity, she felt the stab of pain, but it was nothing against the rising pleasure that was demanding…something. She didn’t know what. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to stop. Ever.
With her virginity gone, his thrusts deepened. He felt huge inside her, and each stroke was filled with wonder until suddenly she felt her body tighten. As his shaft pulsed inside her, desire broke, pleasure cascading through her as she convulsed around him.
Andrew dragged his mouth from hers. She opened her eyes to see him throw back his head as he groaned with supreme pleasure and called out her name. Then he slumped on top of her, breathing heavily. She wrapped her arms around him, enjoying the weight of him pressing her into the ground.
“So, husband,” she said, her hand stroking lazily along his back, the contentment deep inside her turning her voice into a seductive murmur. “Tell me how you plan to spirit me away from my family so that we might wed properly.”
Chapter 12
The cool of the night had settled over their bodies, reminding Andrew that they were both naked and in a decidedly compromising position in the Strands’ garden. He kissed her and said, “We need to get to New York. My sister and her husband live there and they will help us marry.”
She stirred and stretched, lazily, like a satisfied cat. “Will your sister approve of me?”
Andrew had no idea. He hadn’t even considered the possibility. “Of course she will. Who could not, dear heart?”
His Mary Elizabeth chuckled. “You are sweet, Andrew, and I love you for it.”
She kissed his jaw. The skin there tingled, reminding him they were both bare in some very appropriate places. His hand crept back to her breast to cup it. Her flesh was warm beneath his, and he felt himself stir. She murmured approval and moved suggestively against him. Her lips grazed along his jaw until they found the corner of his mouth. Hers opened, allowing her to stroke that tender place with her tongue. Caught up in the pleasure she was giving him, Andrew rubbed his thumb over her nipple and she sighed. The soft exhalation tickled and teased. He shifted so their mouths met, then he kissed her deeply.
This time when they made love he was better able to control the pace, guiding her upward, then as she neared her climax, pulling back. He teased them both until neither could stand it any longer, then he qui
ckened his strokes until she gasped and he could feel her falling over the edge into ecstasy. Her pleasure triggered his and once again he spilled his seed in her.
She fell asleep in his arms afterward. He lay awake, listening to the sounds of the night, every protective instinct alert. Absently he stroked the silken skin on her shoulder as she cuddled beside him. His thoughts drifted. If they did not make a baby out of this night’s work, he would be very surprised. That added yet more urgency to planning their wedding.
Should George Strand ever learn that Mary Elizabeth had given herself to Andrew, there was no telling what he would do. He would be outraged that his daughter had defied him after she had promised to wed Colonel Bradley. He wanted the alliance with Bradley and he was a man who did not like to be thwarted.
Would Colonel Bradley be willing to marry a woman who was no longer chaste? Andrew didn’t know him well enough to be certain, but he could guess. Bradley had agreed to a convenient marriage with Mary Elizabeth to take advantage of her mother’s social position in England. That Mary Elizabeth had given herself to another man would not change her birth or her heritage, so Bradley might still be willing to go through with the wedding. If he was, Andrew was quite certain that George Strand would do everything he could to ensure the marriage took place.
Andrew had no intention of allowing that to happen. Not only would Mary Elizabeth be consigned to a life of unhappiness, but he was not about to let another man raise a child of his.
The problem was, he still didn’t know how to make a marriage between himself and Mary Elizabeth happen. His sister hadn’t replied to his letter, so he had no certainty that she would help him, given her husband’s shipping business and his need to remain neutral when it came to the British. Then there was the difficulty of getting them both to New York, for he was certain the authorities would be searching for them from the moment they both disappeared.
Why, he thought, irritated, did he go to New York to wed Mary Elizabeth? He must have had a good reason, but for the life of him, he couldn’t fathom it. New York was days of travel away, difficult to access, even if the authorities were not watching for an eloping couple. There were other towns closer where he could hope to find a minister to marry them. And yet he had gone to New York and he and Mary Elizabeth had been wed there.
Why New York? True, his sister and her husband lived there. True too, it was far enough away from the influence of George Strand that a minister could be convinced to marry them without her father’s consent. Still, if he hadn’t known that he was supposed to marry in New York he wouldn’t be focused on spiriting Mary Elizabeth there.
He frowned. If New York wasn’t his idea, then was his present being influenced by the future? Faith’s mother, Chloe, had been clear that he would wed Mary Elizabeth in New York, but what if Chloe had been mistaken or had made it up to divert him? What if they were supposed to marry here in Lexington, in his parish church? He hadn’t even considered asking Reverend Turner to marry them. Why? Because Chloe had told him that he would marry elsewhere.
But if she had made up the information about New York, she might also have misinformed him about the success of his plan to wed Mary Elizabeth. True, the name Elizabeth seemed to have become entrenched in the family between his time and Faith’s. Elizabeth was a common name, however. It could simply be an accident that Faith’s sister was also an Elizabeth.
He stared up at the dark velvet of the sky beyond the shadowy branches of the pines and maples under which they lay. He would not believe that Chloe had lied about his marriage to Mary Elizabeth. If he accepted that she’d been truthful on that subject, then he must also accept her statement that they were wed in New York. That meant he had to make arrangements to get himself and Mary Elizabeth there as soon as possible. He hoped his sister would help him, but if not, he would find a way on his own.
A breeze ruffled the treetops. Mary Elizabeth murmured in her sleep and moved against him. He tightened his hold on her shoulders reassuringly. He would have to wake her soon, but having her nestled against him was a stolen pleasure he wasn’t yet ready to give up. He went back to plotting their elopement, her even breathing soothing his concerns while it stimulated his thoughts.
By land or sea? He still hadn’t made up his mind. There were dangers in both methods. To his mind taking a ship from Boston harbor was by far the quickest way to get them both to New York. It was also the most dangerous, from the point of capture. Both Boston and New York harbors were funnel points with limited access and exits. It would be easy for Strand to keep watch and to stop passengers from boarding a ship in Boston and for him to have all ships from Boston searched upon arrival in New York.
Travel by land had other dangers, speed being the foremost. Once his elopement with Mary Elizabeth was known, George Strand would set Colonel Bradley and his dragoons to hunt them down. And he’d be able to do it too, since coach travel was so much slower than travel by horseback.
All in all, despite the problems, Andrew thought that he was best served planning a sea voyage.
So be it. He would ride into Boston tomorrow and make the arrangements. His first action would be to check with the courier he’d used to send his letter to his sister. Perhaps there was a reply that hadn’t yet found its way to him. He hoped there was. He’d like some firm indication that he was doing the right thing.
The breeze stirred the tree branches again and Mary Elizabeth shivered in his hold. He knew it was time for them to part, but he didn’t want to. He had a sense that this night was special and he wished it to continue forever. His practical mind told him he was testing fate, that each moment he and Mary Elizabeth lingered in their bower risked their discovery. He kissed her cheek, then nibbled her ear, nuzzling her awake.
She stretched luxuriously, like a satisfied cat, and smiled at him. “Andrew?”
“I need to get you inside, love,” he said, kissing her cheek again.
She turned her face so their lips met and his gentle, affectionate kiss heated into something more. Their tongues touched, their bodies demanded. He pulled away, breathing hard. “Mary Elizabeth…”
She put her finger over his mouth. “Shh. I’ll go in. Soon. But first I want you to kiss me again and touch me here.” She took his hand and placed it on her breast.
Beneath his palm her nipple puckered. He swallowed, feeling his resolution evaporating. He moved his hand, letting his palm rub her sensitive place. She arched into him. “We risk all, love.”
“If Mama had missed me, she would have called the alarm already,” she whispered. “The danger comes with my return to the house. If I am caught then, what does it matter if we make love or do not, before I go in?”
Put that way, Andrew couldn’t argue. Nor did he want to. He let his reservations float away and put his mind to pleasuring the woman he loved.
Chapter 13
The breezes of yesterday had brought gray clouds and the promise of rain, but it held off as Andrew rode hard for Boston town. His first stop was the courier he used to send messages to his sister in New York. He was in luck. A reply to his letter was waiting for him. He thanked the clerk and retreated to a corner of the room where he slit open the seal and quickly scanned the contents.
What he read reassured him. The minister at my church is no friend of England and is sympathetic to your cause, she wrote. He will help you procure a special license and is willing to marry you as soon as possible. Make haste. You are both welcome to stay with me. Affectionately, your sister, Jane.
He refolded the letter and slipped it into his coat pocket. So, Chloe was right. His wedding would take place in New York. Now, how to get himself and Mary Elizabeth there? He returned to the counter where the clerk presided and asked if he knew any ships leaving Boston bound for New York over the next few days. He was rewarded with the names of three ships and their captains.
He was about to leave when the clerk said, “There is also a captain who sails a schooner out of Lynn you might find helpful. We sometimes
use him when we need a fast ship to get our messages to their destination quickly.”
His hesitation and disapproving sniff had Andrew raising his brows. Lynn was a small harbor north of Boston, but it sounded as if this captain used the town’s location and size to run a clandestine operation. “Why are you reluctant to recommend this ship?”
“The captain is…not as scrupulous as some others,” the man said.
“A pity,” Andrew said, not surprised. “Thank you, sir, for your assistance. I bid you good day.” The clerk nodded and Andrew headed for Boston’s docks.
“Two passengers? You and your wife?” The merchant ship’s captain raised his bushy gray eyebrows. He was seated at his desk in his cabin on board the ship. The desk was walnut, polished to a high sheen. The top was clear, logbook and papers safely stowed in compartments or drawers. Like the desk, the rest of the cabin was beautifully maintained and scrupulously clean.
Standing in front of him, Andrew gave a firm nod. “That would be correct, sir. We have need to be in New York City with all speed and I am reliably informed that it will be your next port of call and that you have berths available.”
“Aye…” the fellow said. “I do at that. But—” He stopped, stared at Andrew for a long minute, his expression frowning. Then he drew a deep breath and reached for a sheaf of papers in one of the drawers. He shuffled the papers, studying them. Andrew waited, watching him, wondering why this man whose reputation was excellent, would dither so over the booking of a cabin. He was afraid he knew the answer, and he didn’t like it.
After a thorough check, the captain straightened the papers and replaced them in the drawer. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Mr. Byrne. I thought I had a cabin available, but I find I do not.”
