Lady Adventuress 02 - The Education of Lord Hartley (20 page)

“That one is for you. I shall be finished in a moment. Why don’t you lay out your clothes over here by the fire so that they may dry while you are bathing?”

He did his best not to admire the sight of her, but he found himself unable to avert his eyes as desire stirred within him.

What the devil had possessed her to pretend to be his wife? And why was the mere sound of the word ‘husband’, coming from her rosy lips, almost his undoing?

Maybe it would have been better if he had stayed downstairs until she had come to call him. Seeing her like this was not making it any easier for him to maintain the kind of distance propriety and self-preservation demanded he maintain.

Lay his clothes out before the fire! Did she even realise what she had said? But surely not. Her mind was too pure for such thoughts, and she would be horrified at the images that were suddenly running through his head.

“Yes, the fire ought to dry them,” he forced himself to say, though his mouth felt very parched, all of a sudden.

*

Maggie inhaled sharply at the expression on Hart’s face. Something within her cried out at the intense look he gave her as he responded to her suggestion. Only then did she realise the full implication of her words.

“I… I shall leave, of course,” she stuttered, feeling shy and girlish. “I’ll see about a cup of tea and have supper waiting in the parlour by the time you are ready.”

Hart inclined his head, eyes sparkling with mirth. “I have sent a few boys to retrieve our things and the driver has gone to his supper.”

“Oh, yes. Good.”

Shooting up to her feet, and securing her slightly damp hair with a few pins, Maggie hurried out of the room before the temptation of his lips got the better of her.

*

Hart watched her retreat with a mixture of amusement and regret. He would have very much liked to have had her stay. Perhaps even share the warm water with him…

His blood rushed with excitement at the very thought and he had to sternly remind himself that this was Maggie, a lady born and bred. A lady! And Frederick’s younger sister. He was meant to be protecting her. That meant even from
himself
.

It was as simple as that, and as complicated. It didn’t matter that the sight of her, so beautiful and fragile, had done peculiar things to his heart. And it certainly didn’t matter in the least that the capable strength with which she had addressed the innkeeper had sent his pulse racing.

And yet, lady or no, it was hard to think of her as anything other than a woman – beautiful, clever and utterly desirable.

*

Maggie waited for Hart in the private dining parlour, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering to life every time she thought she heard his footsteps approaching. She knew the sound of his tread: what a dear and terrifying sound she thought it.

But it was never him, just her imagination playing tricks.

She could not quite pinpoint why she suddenly felt so very jumpy, but one thing was certain: she was cheerfully heading into the very heart of the storm. It was plain to her now that pretending to be wed and sharing a room was madness. Indeed, Maggie was a bit scandalised at her own brazenness. What he must think of her now!

And knowing what she knew of her own desire, what other folly would she embark on next?

There was a clock ticking loudly in the parlour, and Maggie felt every passing minute in her bones.

By the time Hart arrived downstairs, looking elegant despite the fact that he had been obliged to borrow a coat while his own dried, Maggie had worked herself into a dreadfully nervous state. This was why a single look from him was enough to set her face blooming with scarlet.

Blessedly, Hart did not seem to notice. He took a look at the dining table and his lips quirked up into a smile.

“Ah, I see you have had an entire feast laid out, wife,” he teased with unmistakable good humour.

Maggie was not sure how she ought to respond, and carefully examined the dishes in question, so as to avoid meeting his eyes. She forced her own tone to match his, though she was too preoccupied for true light-heartedness. “Well, if you’d rather not partake of it…”

His warm chuckle was like a cup of mulled wine in the deepest winter. “Come, come. There is no need to be so high in the instep. Is it perhaps that you object to being my wife? It was your idea, after all.” He paused and examined her, and Maggie couldn’t help meeting his amused gaze. “And a very brave idea – though I do not think you are afraid. You give no sign of suffering from the vapours, over-wrought nerves or low spirits in the wake of today’s adventure. In my experience, this can only mean that you are up to no good once again.”

Maggie knew that he was deliberately baiting her. “If you are implying, sir, that I am usually only ever sickly or wreaking havoc, then you are being insufferable merely to vex me, and I will not credit it.”

He bowed to her, a smile still playing about his lips. “Then perhaps we had better move on to our repast.”

They ate mostly in silence, but their eyes spoke volumes. At last, the final morsel was gone, the jug of wine empty.

Maggie thought she ought to have been sleepy in the warm room, after her earlier ordeal and the filling meal. But she felt extremely alert, all of her senses on fire.

She wondered what would happen next. She found that she couldn’t even begin to guess.

“I think that you had better go up and have some rest,” said the marquess slowly. “It was been a very trying day.”

Maggie nodded in wordless agreement, and stood up. There was no room for words, no space for them amongst the strange waves of feeling that carried her in their wake. Gingerly, she took Hart’s elbow and allowed him to lead her up the stairs.

“I suppose we had better think of some kind of arrangement for sharing the room,” she told him, wondering if he was aware that his merest touch was sending pleasant shivers down her spine.

She opened the door to the room and they stepped inside.

The chamber was as shabby as any other in such a wayside establishment. Yet it was also incredibly dangerous.

The bed caught her attention first. It seemed to dominate the space around them, as though it had grown in the course of the past few hours so that now it was the most prominent part of the room. Impossible to ignore.

She glanced at the marquess, who wore a very dark frown. Hart shot Maggie a look full of implications.

“Arrangements for the room? I had thought simply to spend the night downstairs.”

It was the most sensible suggestion.

Maggie shook her head.

“Nonsense. You are as tired as I am. That wouldn’t be fair.” She did her best to seem unruffled as she deliberately turned away from the bed and made her way over to the fire. Here, she busied herself with checking on the shawl she had left to dry.

Behind her, the door shut and there was a steady click.

Hart was behind her suddenly, his hands on her shoulders even as he drew her against his chest. “This is a very hazardous game we are playing,” he said, voice rough with his own passion, as though he too had gone through months, if not years, of intolerable longing.

“Yes.”

She turned in his arms.

She felt lost in a haze of passion: the sheer, overwhelming need for him felt almost beyond human ken. It was impossible to desire anything but him.

Meeting his gaze squarely, she knew that something impossible, wonderful and terrifying was about to happen.

Instinctively, she backed away until her back rested against the wall. She was very close to the fireplace, and she felt its warmth against her skin. Hart stalked towards her, his own eyes intent on her face.

She could have sworn she felt the heat of his body blazing hotter than any fireplace ever could. His familiar scent sent her senses reeling.

Cedarwood and nutmeg
, she thought, half-closing her eyes to inhale his nearness.

It was very fortunate that she had the wall at her back for support, because he was suddenly towering over her, looking at her like he was a starving man and she a succulent meal laid out before him.

“What the devil are you doing to me?” Hart rasped, his impassioned eyes burning into her very soul, before his lips claimed hers. His strong hands encircled her waist and drew her into his hard, muscular form.

Whatever she was doing to him was nothing compared to what he was doing to her, Maggie decided. As his hands traced over her body and she arched into his touch, she knew that she didn’t want to stop. Not ever. His touch was capable of drawing magic out of every inch of her flesh.

She loved the feel of his hard body pressed against her.

This wasn’t about succumbing, or surrendering. This wasn’t about Paris or London.

This was about claiming something she had wanted for a very long time.

“This is madness,” Hart whispered urgently against her mouth, when her hands found their way inside his coat.

“Perhaps,” Maggie agreed, husky and breathless. “But if this is madness, then I shall embrace it with all my heart.” And what exquisitely intoxicating madness it was…

Then, she lifted herself on her toes, closing the last few inches between them, and kissed him.

She was too caught up in their passion to even consider blushing when he slowly removed each of her garments, before divesting himself of his own.

His progress had been excruciatingly slow as he lingered over each subsequent layer of clothing, running his fingers over the stays of her corset as if he were unwrapping a gift.

When her gown lay long-forgotten on the floor, and their bodies were entwined on the bed, Maggie knew that nothing in the whole world would ever eclipse this night.

She had heard that brides were meant to be afraid of their wedding night – and for the life of her she could not imagine why this should be so. She closed her eyes, endeavouring to remember every brush of his lips, every sigh and gasp, and the feel of his own soft skin under her fingertips. She wanted to remember every thought, every sensation.

“Oh, Hart,” she breathed, as he found the very spot that made her whole body sing with unimaginable pleasure.

He paused a moment to give her a familiar, mischievous smile, before returning his attention to his sinful, delightful ministrations.

“You are the most exquisite creature I have ever seen,” the marquess told her in a tone that brooked no argument, as he explored the previously uncharted territory of her tender flesh.

Bold and eager to give him the same unimaginable delight he was giving her, Maggie began to discover the long, hard plains of his body. She was pleased at answering his groans and sighs, which spurred her on to greater heights of bravery.

He murmured her name as though it were a prayer to some pagan goddess, and when he could bear her teasing touch no longer, he flipped her over onto her back and took them that final step off the precipice of pleasure.

In those moments (or was it days?) they were as close as a man and woman could ever be. Their spirits were one and the same, bonded forever. His sensual lips were everywhere, and the world was made of a thousand shooting stars.

*

As they lay on the cool sheets, catching their breath, Hart ran a hand tenderly down Maggie’s cheek. “That was – ” he began, then seemed to run out of words. Maggie, however, knew just what he meant. She felt her whole body thrum at the divinely sinful memory of it.

“Yes, it was.”

Gently, he kissed her bruised wrist, running a finger over the skin of her palm and then up her injured arm. She thought she might die of his innocent ministrations.

“Tomorrow – ” His voice was low, hesitant.

She was the one to interrupt him this time, shaking her head furiously.

Talking about impossible tomorrows would only serve to shatter this perfect world that was theirs alone. It would wake them from their dream and dissipate all the magic.

“No, do not speak about tomorrow. It’s too soon. It is just ‘here’ and ‘now’ that matter for tonight.”

With a smile and a nod, he pulled her into his arms, claiming another fiery kiss.

When he had drifted to sleep at last, Maggie found that she had time to think. Too much time, perhaps, which made for too much thinking. Her own sleep seemed very far away.

The consequences of what they had done finally caught up with her. She supposed that she was ruined, although that didn’t matter so much – for her heart was given and given hopelessly. She knew that so long as she lived she would have no one else.

But his heart was not hers. There was no getting past the fact that passion, and even friendship, did not always add up to love – and she had never once heard him use
that
word.

What could he have meant, when he’d tried to speak to her of tomorrow? Nothing good, surely, either way. Nothing good at all. She remembered the hesitation in his voice.

Maggie knew Hart very well by now. Despite the undeniable connection between them, it would be foolish to think that he loved her. Or at least that he loved her in such a way as to ever consider her a potential bride. How could someone like Hart, who could have his pick of eligible ladies, ever
possibly
fall in love with her? She knew also that in the morning he would regret the wonderful things that had been created between them. He would feel ashamed of himself for claiming her body, and her virtue, even though both had been most freely given.