by Cheryl Bolen
“My thoughts exactly,” Edward said, sending the innkeeper a grateful half-smile.
“Ye’ve paid for chambers, and ye’ll not be returning to London today on these muddy roads,” the woman said.
Edward nodded as he gathered Maggie up and took her to the adjoining bedchamber. “A candle, if you please,” he said to the innkeeper when he realized the room was as dark as night.
With the door still open, he set Maggie upon the bed. “Better?” he asked in a tender voice.
Then a bolt of lightning walloped the inn as the thunder made everything in the room vibrate.
She grasped for his hand and spoke in a frightened, surprisingly weak voice. “Not really.”
The innkeeper returned with a fresh candle, lighted it, and turned to Maggie. “Once you’re out of them wet clothes, ye can dry them in front of the fire.” Then she left the room, closing the door behind her.
Edward sank onto the feather mattress beside Maggie and began to tug on her drenched red cloak. She allowed him to remove it.
When he saw that her dress was also soggy, he mumbled a curse. The cloak must have been so wet already that it offered no protection under the second deluge.
The room shook again and went white, and Maggie hurled herself into his arms. They sat there quietly for a moment, listening to the rain pelting against the windows, his arms caving around her. “You’ll take a chill if you don’t get out of those clothes,” he finally murmured.
She seemed not to have heard him. Her desperate grip around his back tightened.
Caught up in the overwhelming desire to protect her, his lips brushed over hers. It had been meant as an innocent kiss. But he had not reckoned on her frenzied response.
Her lips crushed against his, her mouth open and warm. Something snapped inside him as the kiss deepened and a searing heat bolted through him. He kissed her face. He kissed her graceful neck. His hands cupped her breasts, and she began to make soft, whimpering sounds. He freed her breasts and bent to taste them as she arched into him, tossing her head back, her smoldering eyes those of a woman drugged.
Then her lids lowered, her long lashes feathering against her cheeks. A gentle peace had settled over her.
There was nothing gentle about the desire for her that strummed through every cell in his body. God in heaven, but she was exquisite! His heated gaze dipped to those perfect, pink-tipped breasts and he began in earnest to remove her dress.
When he unlaced her stays and dipped his head to kiss a rigid nipple, she offered no resistance.
More sounds of thunder roared into the room and lightning sizzled through their very window. And Maggie melted into him. He gently eased her down until they were lying beside one another, his own need throbbing through him louder than any thunder. As his hungry gaze caressed every inch of her perfect body, he saw the simmering desire firing her dark eyes.
“You can stop me now,” he whispered throatily.
She fiercely shook her head and pulled his face down to hers. When their lips met, a ravenous need consumed them both.
Somehow he managed to disengage their lips and swiftly peel off his clothing, then stretched out beside her, their bodies tangling until the smooth curves of her body were beneath him.
He parted her legs and entered her in one sleek, sure move. The raging storm outside their window was nothing compared to the shattering heat that consumed them. Pure, intense pleasure engulfed him, sweeping him up in its roaring, leaping, flooding tide.
Her movements pulsed against the plunging and retreating of his hardened, throbbing shaft as wave after wave of flaming, liquid heat slammed into them. He lost all sense of time, all sense of place. The only reality was Maggie and the intense pleasure she was giving him. It was as if he’d never lived until this moment, as if this union would reverberate into infinity.
She trembled violently, then stilled. He gazed down into her smoky eyes and saw the simmering passion as she collapsed back into the soft sheets.
Smoothing away the wet hair from her delicate brow, he lowered his face to hers and dropped soft kisses on her brow, her cheeks, her nose, then at last their mouths touched as gently as a feather falls to the ground. He held her close for a very long time. Finally he became aware that her lids had lowered, and he realized she slept.
A profound feeling of contentment washed over him as they lay together in the dusky room. He had not realized that the severe weather had passed, replaced by a lulling tap of rain upon the window.
As she slept he tried to analyze what had just occurred between them. Of course he would have to offer for her. His stomach sank. What of Fiona? How could he have been so insensitive? How could he have allowed himself to wound the sweet woman who had pledged her life to his?
He eased the counterpane over Maggie and managed to slip from the bed without waking her. For a long moment he stood over her, drinking in her incredible beauty, then his gaze dropped to the heap of wet clothing on the floor, and he absently began to drape her dress and cloak over chairs he had scooted up to the fire.
Then he re-dressed in his damp clothes and went to report a murder.
Chapter 10
A soft rain fell against the windows. Her eyes slowly opened, and she saw the room was in complete darkness, save for the circle of yellow glow around the candle beside the bed. At first she did not realize where she was. She was suffused in a fuzzy warmth of well being. Her breasts felt heavy. A spiraling tingle settled low in her torso. She stretched out languidly and only then came to realize she was completely naked.
With that thought, she bolted up, clutching the thick counterpane over her bared breasts.
And the stark memory of making love to Lord Warwick slammed into her with the force of an angry ocean. Her face flamed and she cursed herself as she sprang from the bed and began to madly throw on her now-dry clothing. How could she have allowed herself to behave as a strumpet? Oddly, she was more angry with herself for having lost his respect than she was over her wanton actions. Actions that had been too pleasurable, by far.
Once she was dressed, she began to pace in front of the fire, trying to predict how Lord Warwick would view the lascivious act that had taken place in this very room earlier. Would he dismiss her as a gentleman would dismiss a trollop? Or would he offer for her? Her stomach clenched.
Visions of the gallant Mr. Darcy paraded through her muddled mind. What would Mr. Darcy do? He would offer for me, she reflected sadly.
Her heart softened. Though her acquaintance with Lord Warwick was not of long standing, she believed she could accurately gauge his character. A man of noble sentiments, he would most definitely offer for her.
The very thought of belonging to the man who had so thoroughly made love to her filled her with a satisfied glow. The sweet memory of his hands gliding over every curve of her body had her breath coming in quick, labored gasps.
There was also the fact that she had been fiercely attracted to him since that first night she looked up and saw him on the stairway, and even more so now that she could visualize the length of his sleek, hard body pressed against her, his rock-hard shaft pulsing within her. She gulped a deep breath and shook her head to dispel such a torturing memory.
Marriage to him would solve all of her problems.
Then she cursed herself for thinking so. Marriage to him would only bring on more crippling problems. She had no desire to marry a man who was in love with another woman. And Lord Warwick made no secret of his devotion to that wretched Fiona Hollingsworth.
With a bitter, morose sense of doom, Maggie knew she would have to turn him down.
A soft knock sounded at her door.
“Please come in,” she said, drawing in her breath, steeling herself to face the man who had come to know her body so intimately.
Her heart melted as she watched the darkly brooding Lord Warwick walk into the room, tray in hand.
“I’ve brought you dinner, my dear,” he said before kicking the door shut. He set the tray on th
e bed and faced her. “You’re dry.”
“Yes.”
“And rested?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“And now that the storm has cleared out,” she said with false brightness, “I’m sure you’ll be happy to learn I’m perfectly back to my old self.” She moved to the bed and picked up a slab of bread and began to nibble upon it, hoping to dispel the trembling that had begun to assail her.
“I’m happy to learn that,” he said, taking a seat on the chair in front of the fire.
Maggie brought her plate and sat beside him. “You’ve eaten?” she asked.
He nodded.
She ate her turnips first. Bite after bite, she expected him to say something about their passionate encounter. Would he apologize? Would he, indeed, offer for her? But he only stared into the flames and said nothing.
She started on her meat pie, and still he did not speak. Should she broach the subject? Her cheeks grew hot at the thought.
She took another bite of bread.
Then he turned to her. His eyes were gentle, his voice low when he spoke. “I’ll marry you, of course.”
The arrogant, maddening, broodingly handsome, NOBLE man! A pity he didn’t love her. She cleared her throat. “You most certainly WILL NOT!”
He gaped at her. “I most certainly will! I took advantage of your weakened state. I compromised a well-born lady.”
Her appetite deserted her, and she set the half-eaten plate on the hearth. “You only took what I too gladly offered.” Her lids dropped and she spoke in a husky whisper. “Forgive me for being such an absolute idiot.”
“I beg that you forgive me, madam. It was I who acted without regard to propriety.”
She spun around to face him. “You acted as any man would, given the situation.” She could scarcely believe she had so completely humiliated herself.
“I mean to marry you,” he said again.
“Well, I don’t mean to marry you!”
His glittering eyes sought hers. “Why?”
“Because I’m determined to marry for love. I don’t love you, and you don’t love me.”
She felt uncomfortable as his stunned gaze locked with hers. “We may not love each other, yet,” he said, “but what occurred in this room today between you and me is something I’ll vow not many married couples will know in lifetime.”
Her insides sank. The pity of it was that what he said was true. Even in the early days of her marriage when she thought she was madly in love with her sensuous husband, their lovemaking had never been as passionate or as glorious as what she and Lord Warwick had shared in this very room.
She gathered her courage for it would take every ounce of courage she possessed to deny herself more nights in this man’s arms. “I beg that you speak no more of what happened between us today. I mean to forget it.”
His mouth dropped open. “You may forget it, but I assure you I won’t!” The fire captured his attention again. She could tell he was collecting his thoughts. Finally, not removing his gaze from the fire, he said, “What if . . . what if you find you are with child?”
Her heart stampeded. Her stomach flipped. Her voice trembled when she replied. “Then, and only then, would I consent to marry you.” She gave up a silent prayer that it would never come to that. Lord Warwick belonged with his precious Fiona (damn her!), and Maggie was loathe to come between them.
Even if Lord Warwick and Maggie did make such sublime love, she thought with a deep, gnawing pain.
His hard eyes still on the fire, he nodded thoughtfully. “As you wish, madam.” Then he got to his feet and moved toward the door. “I shall return to the tap room. It looks as if we’re stuck here for the night.” His hand moved to the handle. “Because our hosts believe us married, I will return once you’re asleep.” His glance flicked to the homespun rug. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“You’ll do no such thing! You’ll sleep in the bed you’re paying for. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“You will not!”
Her chin lifted defiantly. “Then we’ll sleep together.” Her voice dropped. “I promise not to ravage you, my lord.”
He mumbled a curse and swept from the room.
* * *
“I’m sure you’re relieved the magistrate identified the dead man as Andrew Bibble,” Maggie said on the journey back to London the following day.
Not nearly as relieved as he was that she did not mention the intimacy they had shared the previous afternoon. He thanked God she had been sound asleep and he so drunk he went immediately to sleep when he had slipped into bed beside her late last night. Now they were some forty minutes out of Greenwich and there was no sign that yesterday’s rains would return. The ride had thus far been somber with neither of them speaking. He wondered if her thoughts drifted to the sultry, dusky bedchamber at the inn, then he tried to push thoughts of Maggie from his mind.
If he could not allow himself to remember the feel of her, the smell of her, or their shattering sexual encounter, he could allow himself to worry about her. Ever since he’d found Bibble’s body he had worried about her. It was obvious the thief/murderer had not gotten what he wanted from Maggie’s chambers. If he did not get what he was looking for at Bibble’s, Maggie’s very life was in danger. Edward’s grip tightened around the reins. A frown sent his brows plunging, and he vowed to keep watch over her day and night for as long as it would take.
That was the least he could do for her.
Her remarks about Bibble’s identity were on target. How well she was coming to know him. Despite all the evidence that the dead man was Andrew Bibble, Edward would never have been satisfied over the corpse’s identity without a positive identification. Such thoroughness had been ingrained into him over a decade of life-and-death work in the Foreign Office. “Hypotheses serve their purpose but cannot be substituted for fact,” he said. He wondered if she even knew what a hypothesis was. Women studied French and drawing but definitely not scientific method. He’d vow Fiona had never heard of a hypothesis.
“Men are so empirical!”
He laughed. Maggie did know.
“It’s my opinion a peer of the realm can easily get away with murder,” she said. “Did you notice how that blathering magistrate was intimidated by your title? He treated you as if you were royalty.”
Edward could not argue with her. Far too many people were easily impressed by titles. “Such unfounded respect must be alien to a colonist.”
“Not really,” she said. “Even though we don’t have aristocrats, we have the very wealthy, and they command unwarranted respect.”
Human nature, he had learned, was the same across all nations.
As they continued along the still-muddy road, he scanned the clouds. Cumulus today. Which reminded him of his arrogance the day before. “I shouldn’t have brought you,” he said, flicking his gaze to her wind-flushed cheeks.
“I don’t mind the cold. It’s only the thunderstorms that terrify me. Besides, it’s good that someone was with you when you discovered Mr. Bibble’s body.”
Did she have no memory of lying in his arms, of taking him inside her?
He gaped at her. “What’s good about stumbling upon a gory corpse?”
“Not good precisely, but intriguing. I would never have been satisfied there were no clues had I not conducted a search myself.”
His thoughts drifted back to that day in his library when she had offered to help him track the thief. She had said, “We’ll be a team. You and me.” How could they have known then just how close they would become? He was unable to purge the memory of her sweet lovemaking from his mind. The very thought of it sent the blood thundering through his veins, causing his breath to grow short.
He must not allow himself to remember. Maggie would not have him. She’d told him so. Besides, there was sweet Fiona to consider. To destroy the precious gift of Fiona’s love would destroy something in him.
“I was wondering,” Maggie began, casti
ng a glance at him, “if you’ll be dining at home tonight.”
“I’m not leaving you. At the present time. That the killer conducted so thorough a search of Bibble’s things tells me he did not get what he wanted from you the other night.”
“Yes, I thought the same thing.” She tugged the hood of her cloak closely about her face. “Dare we hope the killer did find what he was looking for at Mr. Bibble’s?”
“We can hope, but it’s best to be prepared for the worst.”
She turned to look at him with those huge, solemn eyes. “How, my lord, does one prepare for the worst?”
“By being bloody careful. The killer may come back for you--thinking you know something.”
She shivered. “Oh, dear. Perhaps my confinement won’t be so intolerable, after all.”
He kept picturing Bibble’s body, grotesque in death and soaked in blood. His hands tightened around the reins and he vowed to guard Maggie with his life. “I must insist on your confinement.” How long before the killer struck again? As maddening as Maggie was, Edward would not like her harmed, especially while she was under his protection. The very thought of it was like a blow to his gut.
“Surely you won’t have to be confined also. You’ve important work that demands your attention.”
“While you’re under my roof, you’re my responsibility,” he said in a grave voice.
“But how shall I find a husband if I can’t mingle in society? I’m most cognizant that my presence in your home is most repugnant to you, so I really must meet a man who will take me off your hands.”
Even in a fit of raging lunacy, he could never find Maggie repugnant. Irritating. Maddening. Honest to a fault. But not repugnant. Her cat, however, was a completely different matter. “You are in no way repugnant to me, madam, but you must admit the impropriety of us living under the same roof will be sure to raise some eyebrows." I hope Fiona will understand.
“You have written Fiona about me?” She asked.
Dear God, could Maggie read his mind? “I posted it the day before yesterday.”
