by Jade Lee
Maddy gaped at her cousin, unsure what to think. “Are you sure you want to pay for them, Rose? Your father will probably find out.”
“Of course we have to get you dresses! Don’t you see? When Mr. Frazier returns, he will see that I followed his advice. I bought you those gowns and became the reigning fashion leader, just as he said. He could not fail to fall desperately in love with me then!”
Maddy wished she had the moral fortitude to refuse. She didn’t. So she nodded and soon they were having a lively discussion of exactly the types of gowns which would suit her best. They kept up the argument the rest of the way home and well into the evening hours. It turned out to be quite a lot of work. Rose did love to add bows and layers upon layers of lace. But in the end, they decided upon a few styles that should suit. And the entire discussion had the added benefit that Maddy didn’t think about Kit once the entire time. Or so she told herself.
The lie became harder to sustain after she retired for the night. Then Maddy was left alone with her thoughts and the memory of everything that had happened. She propped the window open again, knowing that he would not visit her. Kit was gone, and that was a good thing, she told herself. He needed time to heal. He would be visiting his brother and reestablishing family ties. He would be away from the constant reminder of other people’s happiness. And, of course, he would not be constantly underfoot as she was trying to attract Mr. Wakely.
All in all, everything was going exactly as it should. But she still lingered in her bedroom window. She still stood there in the moonlight and dreamed of what might have happened that first night in the kitchen. If she had lingered nearby during his bath. If she had done any number of things differently.
She couldn’t have, of course. She was a proper young lady who shouldn’t even be thinking these things. But she was also a country girl, and some fantasies would not be denied. She knew the mechanics of love, and now she had experienced their wonderful sensations.
Would it be as delightful with Mr. Wakely? She tried to force herself to speculate in that direction, but her mind would not be directed. No matter how she tried, Mr. Wakely’s face was always replaced by Kit’s rough beard and sunstreaked hair. Kit’s scarred body that nevertheless seemed beautiful to her. And Kit’s gloriously possessive and desperate kiss. Never had she imagined that one could feel such hunger from a kiss.
Was that love? she wondered as she stood in her window and dreamed of him. Most certainly not. It was lust, plain and simple. And yet . . . And yet . . .
She sighed and turned away. She was a practical girl who lived in the real world. She didn’t have the luxury of existing in fantasies like Rose. So she would turn her attention to catching a husband. Lust or love would not enter into it, unless of course, it was on Mr. Wakely’s part.
She remained solid in her decision as she climbed into bed. It had been an exhausting day, so it was little wonder that she fell into a doze almost immediately. And even less of a surprise that once she lost the rigid controls on her mind, her dreams immediately went to Kit.
She relived every kiss, every press of his body against hers. She experienced again the caress of his fingers and the need that ached through her belly. It was lust and she gloried in it. Here in her sleep, she could be as wanton as she liked with no one to tell her differently. And then, as she shifted restlessly in her bed, she felt something else. Something new and yet so familiar as to bring a smile to her lips.
Kit was here in her bed, exactly as she wished him to be. And he was very, very real.
Chapter 17
Kit needed to be on his ship. He needed to repair the boat, fill its hold with cargo, and then sail far away from anyone who spoke English or even knew what a white man looked like. He should set England at his back and never turn around. Instead, he was standing Maddy’s window like a lovesick waif.
He had been here for an hour or more. He had watched her prepare for bed, and then saw her stand at her window. He had memorized the expressions that drifted over her face, clearly illuminated by the moonlight. What he saw couldn’t be true. She couldn’t possibly be feeling the same wistful despair that haunted him. But he saw it there on her face: a sadness so deep that nothing would erase it, and yet a touch of resolve kept it from consuming her. He saw it in the clench of her jaw and the whiteness of her fingers where they gripped the window pane. She did not want to feel so lost, and so she pushed it away with a force of will. And that in turn created the wistfulness. What if things had gone differently? What if he had not gotten ill and been squirreled away on a boat by the thrice-damned Michael? What if her father hadn’t died and she’d stayed in the countryside?
How could her feelings so closely echo his? And when she turned away and blew out her candle, he knew that she would climb into her bed and cry just as she had that other night. The tears would come in her sleep, and they would flow like a river.
He couldn’t leave her to that. Not his angel. Not tonight, when he could alleviate her pain, if only for a moment.
He was lying to himself. He knew it even as he climbed the wall to her bedroom. The last thing Maddy needed was him in her life. She didn’t know how perilously close to the knife’s edge he was. Certainly Brandon’s money would give him a seaworthy vessel. That did not ensure a cargo, much less a profit. Any number of things could go terribly wrong on the most mundane voyages, as he had cause to know. A simple shift in the weather could leave him broke, at the best. And that was nothing compared to the demons in his own mind.
He was not fit for any woman, least of all his angel. And yet he couldn’t stop himself. He needed tonight as much as she did. So long as he kept himself under control, there would be no risk to her virginity.
So he climbed into her bedroom. He found her tangled in her sheets, her sweet lips open on a gasp. He reached out and touched her cheek, feeling the wetness of her tears. She was wearing a simple cotton night rail, worn thin with age. What was she dreaming? he wondered. Her nipples were tight points that pushed against the soft fabric. His free hand found her breast immediately, shaping it and stroking across her nipple with his thumb. Her body arched into him even as her eyes flew open in surprise.
“Don’t say anything, angel,” he whispered urgently. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you again.” His hand on her breast would not stay still. He brushed across her nipple, he squeezed her full shape. “I won’t take your virginity. I swear it! But let me touch you tonight. Let me give you something.”
She licked her lips but didn’t speak. It didn’t matter. He reached down and began unbuttoning her gown. He would not rip this one. God, what he wouldn’t do to sink into her right then. He was achingly hard, his organ pushing insistently against the buttons of his pants. But tonight was for her. He had dishonored her enough. He would not do more.
“Just don’t scream,” he said as he used his knuckles to brush apart the seam of her nightgown. Her skin was luminescent in the moonlight, and his hands now on her naked flesh showed as a dark stain growing across her skin. Was that what he was? A horror that shouldn’t be allowed to touch her?
He stilled his movements, but he couldn’t force himself to pull back. Beneath his fingers, he felt her breath tremble through her body and her heart beat so fast.
“Do I frighten you?” he asked.
“Never,” she whispered.
“I should,” he said honestly, as he looked in her eyes. “I am not a sane man.”
“I am so lonely,” she said, her eyes misting with tears. “I think I have gone mad as well.”
“No, angel,” he said, his hands beginning to caress her again. “You’re not alone. Not tonight.”
Her eyes fluttered half closed with pleasure. Her mouth opened on a soft gasp, and her back arched to lift her breasts more fully into his hands. “Make the pain go away, Kit. Please.”
“Yes,” he said. He could deny her nothing. And this was something he could do, if only for a little while.
He was kissing her breasts, suck
ing one nipple into his mouth while rolling the other with his hands. Dreamed Kit or real, she didn’t care. His hands on her body felt so good, and the sensations he built inside her made her body tremble with pleasure.
It was wrong for her to do this. She knew that. Just as she knew this was really happening and not a wonderful dream. But she didn’t care. He made her body come alive. Her breasts—the huge blobs that made all her clothing tight—felt incredible with what he did. With every pull from his lips, sucking the nipple deeper inside his mouth, she felt more beautiful, more wonderful than ever before. Her body no longer was an embarrassment, but a joy.
“Will you be naked for me?” he asked against her skin. His hands left what they were doing to stroke up to her shoulders, pushing the fabric aside. She didn’t even hesitate as she shifted on the bed, allowing the cotton to roll off her shoulders. Then at his urging, she lifted enough for him to drag the fabric down her back. She meant to have it pool at her hips. She meant to bare only her upper body to his gaze. But he was too quick for her.
With one quick pull, he drew it—and the covers—down and away from her entire body. And then—to her shock—she lay completely naked before him. She sat up, surprised into full alertness. Her hands went to cover groin and breast, though, of course, she was so huge, she could not even begin to make herself appear decent.
“No, angel,” he breathed, his hands coming up to stroke the back of her arms. “Don’t hide. You’re beautiful.”
She flushed and turned her head away. She was a tart, plain and simple. To allow a man into her bedroom was the worst sin, and she was an immoral wretch for allowing it.
“Don’t cry,” he said. “Oh, sweet angel, don’t cry.”
He was tender as he gathered her into his arms. He pulled her head to his shoulder, and he stroked her back with long, soothing caresses. She tried to hold back the tears, but they came out anyway, wetting his shirt and making her shoulders heave. She was not a woman who cried, but tonight she sobbed. Great big, gasping heaves against his body as she had not cried since her father died.
He held her throughout it all. His body was solid where she pressed against him, muffling her sobs against the muscular curve of his shoulder. He didn’t speak, or if he did, she didn’t hear him. She just poured out her misery into his arms, and in time, her tears eased.
He was ready with a handkerchief. And while she blew her nose, he rose and wet a cloth from the bowl in her room. That gave her time to readjust on the bed. She leaned her back against the wall and tugged the covers up to her neck. He noticed immediately, of course, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he waited patiently while she wiped her face with the cloth and set it aside. But then there was silence until he whispered his question.
“Why do you sob when I say you’re beautiful?”
She tried to look away from him, but he pulled her chin back to his with a firm hand.
“Angel, tell me.”
“Because Rose is beautiful. She’s small and delicate and everything that is lovely. I’m . . . well, I’m as huge as a cow.”
“You are no such thing!”
She didn’t answer. She had a mirror. She knew what she looked like compared to Rose. And even if she didn’t, she had the daily experience of gentlemen passing her over for her more stunning cousin.
“You don’t believe me,” he said gently. He leaned forward and carefully took hold of her hand. He wormed his fingers into her palm, tickling her there until her fingers opened. And then he slowly drew it to his groin. His organ was hot and hard, burning against her hand.
“You are beautiful, Maddy.”
She would have laughed if she had the nerve. She didn’t. It was too interesting to feel the shape of him through his pants. And yet common sense made her speak.
“This proves nothing,” she said. “There were boys back home who were said to be attracted to the sheep.” She reluctantly pulled away from him and lifted her gaze to his face. “Perhaps you are one such man.”
His brows shot up to his hairline. “I most certainly am not!”
She did laugh then, and the feeling was so wonderful. Her sobs had left her wrung out. The entire day had been one roiling storm of emotions, and now she had nothing left as she faced him. She simply felt empty. And yet, her body still tingled as he looked at her, his expression beyond tender.
“You are a stubborn woman, my angel. But if you will not believe my body, let me try and sway you with words.”
“Kit . . .” she began, but he cut her off.
“I tell you I find Rose too tiny for me, too delicate and too spoiled.” He said it so matter-of-factly that Maddy straightened in surprise. That motion released her grip on the sheet enough that he reached forward and tugged the fabric down, exposing her large and bulbous breasts. She tried to pull it back, but he captured her hands and held them still.
“Men love big breasts such as you have. And wide hips to support a baby. If anything, I find you too slender for your height.”
She winced. She knew she was excruciatingly tall. One of the boys in her village used to call her big bear because of her height and her untidy mop of brown hair.
“But that’s not the only reason I find you beautiful, angel. Your body is strong, and that is extremely desirable. Rose would break at the first sign of hard work, but you have hauled water, been abducted by a madman, and kept me from killing my cousin all without the slightest bruise.”
“You weren’t precisely mad.”
“I was,” he said firmly. “And I find your strength incredible.” His hands trailed to her arms, where he squeezed her muscles. “To find such power in a gently reared woman is amazing.”
She flushed. She had never thought of herself like that. If anything, her physical strength was labeled common in the worst possible way. But he made it sound like it was a gift.
“I think about that first night often,” he continued. “You in that ridiculous gown—”
“Why do you hate my dresses so?” she huffed.
“Because they hide your curves, sweet angel,” he said, his gaze going back to her breasts. There was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes. “And they look like a doll’s clothes on a woman.”
She said nothing. Her mouth was dry as she watched him look at her breasts. He really did find them beautiful. As if mesmerized, he reached out to stroke her. She wanted him to. With his touch distracting her mind, she could believe everything he said.
“You have been a woman to me from that first day,” he said as he cupped her breast. “Bold enough to help me contain Alex. Strong enough to insist that I be brought to your home. A strange madman in your midst and you shave his face, prepare his bath, all while managing an earl’s household.”
He was tweaking her nipple, stirring the current of pleasure that only he made her feel. She closed her eyes to better savor his touch and was surprised that she felt little shame when he tugged the sheet away from her legs.
“I think you have the most wonderful legs, angel. Long like a colt and yet so graceful.” His free hand went to her thigh, squeezing the flesh there. “I dream of you gripping me with your legs while I thrust inside you. I want you to hold on to me as if there could never be another.”
Her eyes flew open at his graphic words. The image he depicted made her heart beat so fast that the skin of her chest heated. How she wanted to experience just what he said.
“I want to pleasure you now, Maddy. I will not take your virginity, but I want to give you such joy that you will not forget me when I am gone.”
“I could never forget you, Kit.”
He smiled, and it seemed for a moment that he doubted her words. Then he began to lean forward, but she stopped him. She pushed a hand to his mouth and held him away from her.
“Why won’t you marry me?” she asked. “Is it because . . .” She bit her lip, unable to say the words aloud.
He pulled her hand gently down and away from his mouth. “Because what?”
“B
ecause . . .” She glanced away. She couldn’t look at him when she said it. “Because I am a tart. Because I have let you see me naked and touch me where only a husband should?”
“Oh, angel, no, that is not it at all.” There was such a roughness in his voice that Maddy turned back to see his face. It was stark with pain and a feral kind of need. “I am a madman. Surely you of all people know that.”
“You are not!” she said firmly, rising up from where she leaned back against the wall. “You just get confused sometimes.”
He shook his head. “You have seen my scars. They are the smallest of what happened to me.” His eyes went vague and she knew he was looking at his past. “I did things to survive, Maddy. Horrible, terrible things.”
“I don’t care.”
“Because you don’t know.” His gaze had cut back to her. “I have to leave, angel. I have to go far away from here and remember what it is to be a man.”
She bit her lip, knowing it was true. “I could wait for you.”
He shook his head. “You do not have that kind of time. You need a husband now.”
“But you could—”
“No!” he rasped. “Even so strong a woman as you would break eventually. I have seen it many times.”
“That’s ridiculous—”
“I have done it, Maddy! I have broken women and men. I helped capture them, I whipped them when they cried, and I sold them into slavery.”
“That wasn’t your fault!” she cried. “You were forced into it. You were a slave yourself!”
His gaze was dark, his expression hollow with guilt. “That doesn’t excuse what I did.”
“Of course it does!”
He sighed. “And it doesn’t change what I became.”
She saw the truth of it in his eyes and in every line of his body. He believed himself an animal.
“Let me kiss you, angel,” he whispered. “Let me remember what it is like to love a woman.”
