His fingers spread, sliding into her hair. “I was in and out, Wiz. I might not remember all of it."
She took a deep breath. “You said you loved me. With all your heart."
"Ah.” With a light pressure, he drew her toward him. “Yes. I remember that. You see, I was afraid I might not be here to tell you later.” The lazy pull brought her closer, until her breasts pressed into the down mattress. “I thought you might want to know."
"Ransom,” she whispered, “I love you, too."
He smiled with half-closed eyes. “That's a good thing, Wiz. That's a very good thing. Because I think, if you'll come a little closer, that I'm going to kiss you."
She parted her lips, giving way to the guiding pressure of his hand. He turned a little, pulling her down until she met him. His solid warmth engulfed her instantly, though it was only his hand and his mouth that touched her. He held her in a long, long kiss; a sweet, deep exploration that made her ache for remembered sensations, for his body pressed along hers, his weight in the hot darkness.
He eased his hold, relaxing his head back. “Dizzy,” he whispered against her skin. “Mmm, no ... don't go,” he said when she tried to move away.
She looked down at him. His eyes were almost closed, his mouth curved in that dreamy smile.
"Bad luck, Wiz,” he murmured. “Have the lady I love in my bedroom, and I can't even lift my head."
She moved her fingertips over his face, tracing the strong line of his cheekbone, the curve of his brow. “What would you do with her if you could lift your head?"
"This. Just ... this.” He made a luxurious low sound in his throat as her fingers caressed him. “All ... over."
"I can do that."
The smile turned into a slow grin. “Have at it, Wiz."
She stood up, touching her lower lip as she studied him and the bed. “I think it would be more practical if I sat beside you on the mattress."
"By all means, let us be practical."
She tested the down. It gave deeply under her hand.
"You'll slide off,” he said. “Perhaps I should move over."
"No. No, I don't want you to move. I'll go round to the other side."
She skirted the huge bed, kicked off her shoes, and hiked up her skirt, climbing into the down and scooting across until she was close to him. He lay on his back, his uninjured arm behind his head, watching her.
"Do you know,” he said with a languid, sliding glance down her body to her bared stockings, “I believe you'll make an excellent nurse."
"Of course. Thaddeus and I nursed Uncle Dorian, and Theo, too."
"Fortunate fellows."
"They were much more ill than you are, too."
"I'm not ill at all. Only a little giddy.” He closed his eyes as she touched his chest, running her palm across the smooth skin in a soft stroke. “Becoming giddier by the moment."
She lifted her hand. “I don't want that."
"Don't stop,” he murmured. “I'll expire instantly if you stop."
She frowned at him. “Are you bamming me?"
"No, no,” he said. He sought her hand where it was braced against the mattress, curving his fingers around her wrist. “I'm seducing you."
She lifted her eyebrows. “To do what?"
"I'll think of something, Wiz."
Merlin bit her lip. “I suppose you mean—you want to do what we did at my house, when you first came."
"Oh, God ... yes,” he murmured. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, caressing the inside of her wrist with his fingertips. “Let's do what we did at your house."
"You are giddy. Don't you think that's a bit too much excitement for you just now?"
He grinned without opening his eyes.
Merlin looked at him suspiciously. “I thought you said you couldn't even stand up."
"You can do all the work."
She put her hand on his chest again, sliding it downward and up. Beneath her palm, he felt warm and alive. He took a deep breath, and his soft sound of pleasure vibrated against her hand. “I'll do this for a while,” she said. “Until you go to sleep."
"Mmm.” With a little grimace, he shifted his injured arm, bending it up so that the wounded underside didn't press on the bed. The move emphasized the curve of his muscles, throwing shadows across his skin. Against that easy, powerful flex, the stark white slash of the armband made him look both very male and very vulnerable.
She allowed her fingers to drift across him, learning his shape and contours. He seemed to be going to sleep already, his breathing soft and even, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted.
For once, the relentless severity of his features had eased, revealing a surprising beauty to his face. In repose, without the dark intensity that marked his usual expression, he was equally as perfect of countenence as Shelby. It was odd, Merlin thought, that no one ever noticed that. They all said Shelby was the handsome one, the beau ideal—the beauty of the family.
She smiled down at Ransom, feeling like she had discovered a secret that no one else knew.
He opened his eyes lazily. “Have I swept you off your feet yet?"
She tilted her head in question.
"Kissed you into submission? Caused you to swoon with my passionate embrace?” He gave a velvety sigh. “This is by far the most splendid seduction I've ever attempted. I don't want to miss anything."
"I've only been rubbing your chest."
"Oh. Is that all the farther we've come? When will I progress to nibbling your delicate earlobe, do you think?"
She tried to press the smile out of her lips. “Perhaps when you're man enough to sit up and reach it."
He moved his injured arm with unexpected swiftness, grabbing her wrist and pulling the support out from under her. Merlin collapsed into the down mattress beside him. “Problem solved,” he said.
She scrambled to raise herself, but he trapped her shoulders, exerting easy strength to hold her.
"I thought your arm was hurt,” she protested, trying to break out of his grip.
"Yes, and if you wish for me to start bleeding again, thrashing about like a freshly landed turbot is an excellent way to achieve it."
She stilled instantly.
He turned his head, brushing his lips against her temple. “Good. I like a girl who's easily subdued."
Merlin closed her eyes. She allowed her head to rest lightly on his shoulder, careful to avoid the bandage. “Don't you want me to rub you some more?"
"What kind of improper suggestion is that? I'm the seducer here, if you please.” He was pressing delicate kisses over her forehead and eyes. “Don't rush me. I'll faint."
She lifted her chin, and he kissed her mouth for a very long time. When finally he broke away, he was breathing hard and deep.
"I think I am going to faint,” he muttered.
Merlin raised herself quickly onto her elbow, frowning down at him.
He blinked at her. “All right,” he said a little breathlessly. “I'm all right now."
"I shouldn't be letting you do this."
He caught at her hand as she moved away. “That's what all innocent young ladies say as they're being debauched. But they love it, really."
"You're ridiculous."
"Let's call it delirious.” He slid his hand up her arm and rested his palm there. “That sounds so much more suitable for a sick person."
Merlin hesitated. But she liked lying beside him; she liked the feel of his body against the length of hers, and the way she fitted into the space beneath his shoulder. After a moment, she settled back into place. He spread his fingers in her hair.
"No kissing, I think,” he said judiciously. “There seems to be a minor but insurmountable difficulty. Lack of air. It makes my ears ring."
"It is not lack of air. It is loss of blood."
"That, too."
She drew her fingers across his chest, making circular patterns on the firm plane of his torso, pushing the sheet idly back and forth.
&n
bsp; "Ahh ... Merlin...” he breathed. With his free arm he nudged her hand lower.
The bedclothes gathered and slid away. Merlin closed her eyes, savoring the texture of his skin, the unexpected silken smoothness in the places she'd never seen or touched since that night in her great-uncle's musty bed. Here, there was no dusty smell of neglect; the scent of Ransom filled her, tangy and warm with the heat in the room. She spread her hand and explored him more freely, pressing a little closer as a melting urgency began to spread inside her.
Suddenly she jerked her hand away and sat up. “You aren't wearing anything!"
He smiled drowsily. “Yes. Shocking, isn't it?"
"Ransom!” She squeaked, staring down at him. “What's happening to you?"
He said calmly, “It's your fault, you know, Wiz. You can't lie down with a man and do what you've been doing and expect he won't react."
She put her finger to her lower lip, chewing.
"Really, Merlin,” he said, with a patient chuckle. “How do you think it worked the first time?"
"The first time? Oh, you mean...” She took a deep breath. “I don't actually remember. I'm not very good at details if I don't write them down."
He cleared his throat with a peculiar choking sort of sound. When she looked at him, his mouth was twisted oddly. “I'd be happy to remind you,” he said.
"Oh, my.” She pulled up the sheet and buried her face against his belly. “This is embarrassing."
He smoothed her hair, toying with a loose strand. Merlin felt him pull a hairpin free.
She brushed at the thick curl that fell in her eyes as she turned to look up at his face. “Really, I don't think we should be doing this."
He pulled another pin free, and her hair fell down over her shoulders. His fingers searched through it and worked at the first tiny button on the back of her bodice.
"What if you faint?” she said. “What would I do?"
He just went on unbuttoning buttons, with that subtle, musing smile.
"Ransom,” she wailed. “If we do that—if something happens to you..."
He stroked her skin lightly between the loosened buttons. “If something happens to me?” he prompted.
"It would be my fault! You said it would."
"Ah, well. There are a few Whigs I know who'd congratulate you for putting me out of commission.” He tugged at the bow on her sash. It came untied. He began pushing the dress off her shoulders in small, caressing moves.
"I'd die if I did something to hurt you,” she said fiercely.
He paused. His fingers rested on her bare skin. “That's gratifying."
The freed bodice drooped down to her waist.
"Merlin,” he said. “Oh, Merlin."
She swallowed.
"Come here,” he whispered, fingering the edge of her loosened dress. “Take that off."
Still she hesitated.
He said, “I'll be all right. I swear it. Merlin, you'll drive me mad."
"I just don't think—"
He shoved the bedclothes down before she could finish, turning to reach for her. She saw the quick tightening of his lips as his injured arm hit the pillow. Then he caught her, pulling her down beside him as he rubbed his face in the thick fall of chestnut hair that curled at her breasts.
It was unexpected. He'd seemed so hazy and languid, yet there was sudden crushing strength in his hand as he turned to his side, trapping her wrists behind her and arching the whole firm length of his body into hers. Imprisoned by his hard arm around her waist and by her fear of hurting him, she lay rigid, her mouth and nose pressed into the warm, raw-silk tickle of his hair.
He didn't do anything for a moment, just held her there. She suspected that it was another wave of dizziness he fought.
Then his arm loosened a little, and he heaved a sigh. “Exactly,” he said into her hair, “where I wanted to be."
Merlin gave an exasperated sniff. “And you always get what you want, don't you?"
"Always."
She relaxed somewhat, seeing that no ill effects seemed to have followed the change in position. “Thaddeus says you're a spoiled brat."
"But a well-mannered one. Much too polite to tell you what I think of Thaddeus.” He hooked his fingers in the opened back of her bodice and kissed the deep curve between her breasts. “You smell wonderful,” he murmured. “Where's your hedgehog?"
She shrugged. He took advantage of the move to turn his head and draw a lingering kiss across the swelling shape beneath his cheek. Merlin parted her lips and arched slightly. Her fingers curled around his arm.
He drew down on the bodice, exerting pressure that made Merlin shift and turn a fraction away, allowing the persistent pull to drag her dress all the way to her waist. Instantly, she felt the rough, warm stroke of his tongue on her nipple.
She made a small sound of agitation. But he would not let her pull away; he held her still, his fingers sprawled across her bared back, the tips pressed into her skin as he caressed and fondled and tugged at her. Her breath came shorter. She drew her leg up, sliding it along his.
"Oh, my,” she said. “Oh, my."
He hugged her closer. “The dress.” His voice was husky, muffled against her skin. “Take it ... off."
She lifted herself, feeling his fist gather fabric and slide it down over her back and hips. The dress collected in a loose bunch around her lower thighs. He left it there at the limits of his reach, smoothing his open palm up the curve of her body as he returned to kiss and suckle.
Merlin whimpered. She was beginning to lose focus, to tumble into the net of sensation he spread around her. She slid her arms around his shoulders, crossing her wrists and spreading her fingers into his hair. The slight arch of her body brought him against her, a thrusting heat as he kicked the dress free and tangled his legs with hers.
She pressed into him, asking for more. Ransom groaned. He was breathing hard as he pulled her across him and rolled onto his back. The bandage flashed white against his skin. The room seemed to have grown unbearably hot, but she wanted nothing more than the heat of his body against her.
She remembered everything now; all the particulars had come flooding back in one lightning rush of passion. Easily, so easily, she answered the urgent demand and joined with him. He was looking up at her, saying her name, tilting his head back with an expression that would have frightened her if she had not felt the same dark whirl of pleasure and agony dragging her into its heart.
He clasped his hands at her hips, moving in time, his fingers pressing deeper and deeper. Beneath her his body was glowing with a faint sheen of perspiration, his muscles tense and flowing in the shadows. She could see the pulse beating hard in his throat. She moved to come closer, to drink in all of the sweet, hot electricity that surged between them.
"Merlin,” he gasped. He turned his head to the side. His hands gripped her convulsively for an instant as he made a strange, low sound, a whimper in his throat.
Without warning, his eyes slid shut. His fingers dropped passively and his whole body went lax beneath her.
Merlin clutched at him, the charge of passion transformed instantly into fear. But before she could even cry out, his eyelashes trembled. He swallowed and took a deep breath.
"Damn,” he muttered. “I missed it, didn't I?"
She threw herself down on his chest. “Ransom! Oh, Ransom, you frightened me to death!"
He lay beneath her, still breathing deeply. “Sorry, Wiz.” He brushed her back. “I didn't mean to do that."
She pressed her cheek against him. His heartbeat was hard and regular in her ear. She listened to it, feeling her own pulse subside as his did. He patted and caressed her shoulder blade with a comforting rhythm. It faltered once, and she lifted her chin sharply. But he was already blinking away the instant of oblivion.
He looked down at her with a rueful smile. “Possibly I've been a bit premature in my choice of exercise."
"It's my fault,” Merlin said miserably. “What if you'd died?"
<
br /> He slid his hand down and patted her bottom. “I assure you, my love, a man could not possibly choose a more delightful demise."
She scrambled off of him, in spite of his efforts to the contrary. “Laugh if you will,” she said. “The doctor said if you went into too deep a faint, your system could not stand the shock.” She sat up, wrapping the sheet around her in disgust. “I knew you shouldn't have any excitement. I knew it. I always let you befuddle me."
He caressed her hand with the back of his wrist. “Don't be too hard on yourself. I've befuddled better men than you, Wiz."
"Yes, I imagine you have.” She glared at him. “And you think you're exceedingly clever, don't you? Just wait till you're dead, and see where it gets you."
He lay grinning up at her. “I always enjoy conversing with you, Miss Lambourne. You make your points with such precision."
She snorted.
He drew a soft pattern on the back of her hand. “'Love you, Wiz,” he said softly.
"With all your heart,” she prompted.
"Every black inch."
"Good."
"You love me, too?"
"Yes."
His lips curved in a satisfied smile. He looked like a cat with cream on its whiskers. He rested his head back and sighed extravagantly. “And now—now will you marry me?"
"Marry you?"
He turned to look at her. “Yes, I believe that's what I said."
She gazed into his golden-green eyes, stroking his arm with complaisant affection. “No, Ransom,” she murmured. “I won't."
Chapter 16
"I'm getting up,” Ransom snapped.
He already had the bedclothes thrown aside. There was a rush and a scramble as his feet touched the floor, and the doctor and Shelby both grabbed for him. The doctor grappled with his injured arm, and Ransom clenched his teeth on a grunt of pain. Darkness swam in his vision; in the next moment that came clear he wasn't standing up any longer—he was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head between his knees and all the bells of Westminster pealing in his ears.
"Hell and the devil,” he muttered to his bare leg.
"Slowly, Your Grace,” the doctor said. “We'll support you if you wish to sit up."
Midsummer Moon Page 23
