Fantasy 01 - Secret Fantasy (36 page)

He thrust, again, again, his phallus demanding satiation, but he couldn't do it to her. If he spilled himself, she'd be bound to him, and he wouldn't force her into such an untenable quandary.

Plunging deep, he relished the final sensation; then he pulled away and her feet slid to the floor. He hovered next to her, his face buried at her nape, his respiration ragged, his pulse hammering in his chest, when she did the worst thing of all. She hugged him, cradling him close, her fingers riffling through his hair and stroking up and down his back.

He yearned to stay just there, to stay forever in the comfort of her arms.

"What is it, Jordan?" she quietly inquired.

"I can't do this with you."

He drew away and gazed down at her, for once letting his love shine through, letting her see it without pretense, without masks.

"I have to go." He whirled away, buttoned his trousers, and walked out.

In the fussy salon, he tarried, straightening his clothes and calming his arousal, when she came up behind him. He spun around, relieved to note that she'd covered herself with a robe, that temptation was veiled, though the wrapper did little good. He desired her more than ever.

"Why can't you do this with me?" she queried.

"You should have a husband and a family and .. . and..."

"Yes, I should." She smiled. "Don't you know why I summoned you?" "No."

"You had to have received my invitation from Mr. Thumberton."

"Yes, but he claimed there was an heiress who wanted to discuss marriage."

"There is, you silly man. / want to discuss marriage with you."

"With me? Why would you?" She chuckled. "Sometimes I think you are the thickest creature who ever lived."

"I'm not thick; I'm just so confused." "By what?"

"Why would you ask me here?" He peered around at the ostentatious surroundings, where she now seemed so at ease and he felt so out of place. "Why would you want me?"

"Because I love you."

He snorted in disbelief. "You don't."

"I do, and I'm weary of waiting for you to figure out that we should be together."

"But I abandoned you. I renounced you. My folly nearly got you killed. How could you possibly still care about me?"

"It's simple really." She led him out into the hall, urging him to look around. "Do you see anyone out there?" "No."

"Well, this is how I pass my days. I wander through these huge houses that I own, wishing I had someone to talk to."

"You imagine that it could be me?"

"I know it could be you." She hesitated. "You used to care for me, too. I was sure of it, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe, all these months, I was remembering how I'd wanted it to be, rather than how it was."

"Oh, Margaret..."

He went to the window to stare out at the garden. He'd convinced himself that he'd wrecked any chance with her, that he'd made a mistake he could never fix, and he didn't know how to view their relationship any other way.

The moment grew awkward, and finally, she sighed with resignation. "If you don't love me, if you never did, just tell me. I'll never bother you again."

He pictured himself as such a brave man. Why then was it so difficult to verbalize what she needed to hear? He turned to her.

"I do love you." The confession was wrenched from the pit of his soul. "I've always loved you."

"Then what is the matter?" His stubbornness had sparked her temper, and she glared, developing a fine fury. "I'm presenting you with everything you've ever wanted—practically on a silver platter!—yet you're gaping at me as if I'm speaking in a foreign language."

"I have to marry for money!" he seethed, embarrassed at having to remind her.

"And I have so much, more than I could ever want, more than I could ever spend."

"You're offering it to me?"

"Yes! Yes! Must I spell it out for you? Marry me, and it's yours. Please take it! I'm begging you! Rescue me from this prison of silence and solitude. Give me laughter. Give me friendship. Give me a family. I'm tired of being so alone."

"There must be strings attached. What are they?"

"Oh, for pity's sake." She tossed up her hands. "You were prepared to wed Penelope—the most awful, unpleasant person I've ever known—without question or thought. Yet you dicker over details with me? You were set to marry someone you loathed, for her fortune. Why is it so hard for you to consider marrying me for love?"

Marrying for love . . .

The phrase hung in the air between them, a tangible concept that dangled, eager to be seized. Did he dare?

The prospect was so outlandish, and so unexpected, that he couldn't quite grasp the ramifications. He'd never believed that love was real. Love was the stuff of storybooks, of poetry and fairy tales. Yet he was so tempted to fall headlong into the beguiling, bewildering mire.

Why shouldn't he be happy? Why shouldn't he reach out and grab for what he craved? To love her, to marry her, to be with her always, would be his secret fantasy come true.

"My siblings would need assistance," he blurted out, the initial inklings of hope stirring in his breast.

"Have you any idea of how many empty bedchambers I have?"

"You would welcome them?"

"Of course, I would. We can send out letters immediately, advising them all to pack their bags and come."

"I have so many employees, who've worked for my family for generations. They need salaries and pensions and ... and ..."

"Just say the word, and your debts are paid."

He stared out the window again, imagining himself with her, with her each and every second till he drew his last breath.

Still, he was very proud, and arrogance made him foolish, when he couldn't deduce why he would be. He was drowning, and she was throwing him a rope. Why couldn't he simply latch on?

"It's so much more than I deserve," he said. "What must I do to earn it?"

'That's the easy part. Stay with me always, and love me forever."

He gazed at her, the sun shining on her hair, her eyes ablaze with affection. He'd discarded her once, had told himself he didn't need her, but it had been the worst blunder, and he wouldn't be so imprudent again.

He went over and clasped her hands in his.

"I could do that," he admitted. "I could love you forever."

"You could?"

"Yes."

"Then when do you intend to start? For I must tell you that I've been waiting a very long time, and I'm ready for you to get on with it!"

He laughed, then sobered, and he dropped to his knee. Humbled, happy, he announced, "I love you, Margaret. I've loved you from the first moment I met you, and I never stopped. I've been horrid to you, I've been stupid, I've been an ass—"

"Yes, you have been."

"—and I'm so sorry. I swear I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Will you let me? Will you marry me?"

"Yes, I will."

"As soon as we can arrange it?" "Yes."

"I can't live another day without you by my side."

She helped him to his feet, and as she nestled herself to him, his entire being relaxed into her. He was finally loved; he was finally home.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"For what?"

"For not letting me walk away."

"It was touch and go there for a minute. I actually thought you might leave. In the future, I shall always act to save you from yourself."

"I'll appreciate it."

She kissed his cheek, the sweet gesture inflaming the passions he'd doused a bit earlier. He bent down and caught her mouth, their lips connecting in a tender embrace that pledged and promised, that vowed and redeemed.

They'd both been so alone, but together, they could build something fine, something permanent. "I have one last important question," he said. "What is that?" "Is there a bed nearby?"

"Yes, there is. It's in excellent condition, with a thick, plush mattress."

"Is it the sort where we could lounge for hours—or even days?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I think you'd best show me where it is."