Patricia Rice (32 page)

She learned he could be rough in his haste. He
bruised her lips with urgency. His hand clutched her breast too tightly,
and she cried a protest. He instantly caressed her, soothing the ache
into something more demanding, so that she pressed him for a repeat.

She whimpered in fear as Mac pulled up her gown, but
he did no more than run his hand up and down her bare leg. They were
together in this. It wasn’t a matter of what he did to her, but what
they did together.

Delight mixed with pleasure as she helped him tug
the gown over her head. He looked at her with such pleasure and
amazement that she wanted to preen with pride and lift herself closer so
he could do as he willed with her. As he did do with her.

With lips and tongue and caressing fingers, he set
her on fire. It was amazing, wanton, surely immoral, yet she writhed in
anticipation of his next touch, his next kiss, and hurried him onward
when he lingered too long. He touched her
there,
and she cried out in relief, then flushed when he chuckled. When he
kissed
her there, she grabbed his hair and yanked him upward.

“Some other time, perhaps,” he murmured wickedly, chuckling as he soothed her lips with more kisses.

He’d left her burning and feverish and with a
desperate need. Without a trace of delicacy, she reached for the tie of
his drawers and slid her hands beneath the loosened band.

He rolled over and stripped them off, and rolled
over her again without an instant’s hesitation. Only this time, he
positioned his knees between hers, parting her legs until, exposed to
the open air, she radiated heat.

Mac’s hands bracketed her head. The iron bars of his
arms prevented escape as he lowered his weight to where he’d taught her
to want him.

Bea knew a moment’s fear, a hasty urge to flee, but
she looked up, saw the hunger and determination in his eyes give way to
something tender and yearning, and without a qualm, she arched upward to
accept him.

She cried out as he shoved deeply, cutting into her
with the first thrust, but she bit her lip as he grew still and let his
foreign thickness stretch her slowly. Mac leaned over and kissed the lip
she had bitten, soothing it with his tongue.

“Aye, and the worst is over, love. From here, it’s smooth sailing. Will ye fly with me?”

She wanted to. She desperately wanted to. She wanted
to fly and soar and conquer the waves and the clouds. She wept as he
plied her nipples with his tongue, and the longing returned, enhanced by
the...
pole
he’d inserted inside her. It felt strange and awkward and wonderful, and her body wanted more of whatever he offered.

“That’s my darling,” he murmured as she moved
hesitantly against him. “That’s my wonderful wanton. Take me in, love,
take me as deep as you can, and we’ll steer a course for the stars.”

With his wicked murmurs encouraging her, his hands
tweaking and caressing and urging her into greater torment, Bea writhed
and squirmed and tried to do as he said, until she was weeping from
need, and he wonderfully, marvelously met it.

Her breath flew out of her lungs as he pushed
deeper, drew back, and plunged again, mastering her with consummate
skill. She could not stop him had she wanted. Wantonly, she surrendered
her independence, even as he told her with his hands and mouth and body
that he could never have enough of her, that she had won him in some
manner she had not yet comprehended.

The pressure built until she could have no thought
other than of release, of forcing the pain and pleasure through the
place where they were joined until it killed her, if that was what it
took. It didn’t. It took only the brush of his hand, the thrust of his
body so deep inside that she could feel it touch some unyielding part of
her. The pressure burst and spun, and she soared and reached and arched
against him again and again, as he held her and helped her and let her
take as much as she liked of him, until she was breathless and limp in
his arms.

“Yes,” he breathed in relief. “That’s the way I wanted it to be.”

And then he took her again, seeking his own
pleasure, and she matched him thrust for thrust, delighting in making
him groan, and accepting in wonder the powerful plunge that found her
center and released the living fluid of his own seed into her womb.

So this was what being married was all about.

Bea lay limp and damp beneath her husband’s heavy
weight, trying to absorb the fullness of the moment. Married people
joined in body as well as soul, and together, they had the power to
create new life. The thought was frightening as well as exciting in its
immensity. “Does that mean I’ll have your baby now?” she whispered
nervously.

With a moan, he rolled back to the mattress, pulling
her with him. He brushed the hair from her eyes and snuggled her
against his side. “It can take many tries, Bea.” He sounded as nervous
as she did. “It takes years for some people.”

She relaxed. Anything could happen in years. She had
finally given herself to a man, and he had taken her, and someday they
might have a child of their own.

In its own way, that seemed fair. And if a child didn’t happen, then the pleasure they brought each other could be enough.

Mac supplied the backbone she didn’t have. She
offered him... what? The gentleness his life lacked? She caressed the
soft hair of the arm holding her, and he buried his face against her
throat and kissed her there. “There’s a first time for everything,” he
murmured senselessly, before grabbing her waist and rolling over with
her on top of him.

Bea sprawled across his chest, her hair falling over
her shoulder into a pool against the soft whorls of hair on his chest.
She folded her arms across him and rested her head, comfortable with his
arm wrapped around her waist. “I think I shall like being married,” she
murmured sleepily.

“Good.” He stroked her hair, pulling the strands
together and smoothing them. “And you’ll try not to be too afraid if I
catch you with child, and I’m not there immediately to help you?”

She closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat.
“I don’t want you to leave.” She was surprised at the words as they left
her mouth, but she meant them. “And yes, I’ll be afraid. I’ll worry
that something will happen to you. But I’ll trust you to return, and
I’ll be happy, because I want to have your baby. I think you have
softened my brain somehow.”

He chuckled, a rumble deep inside his chest.

“Aye, but there are parts of me hard enough to
remedy the lack, dear heart. And it’s a beautiful mush-brain you’ll be
when you grow big and round with my babe.”

She ought to retaliate somehow, but she was too
content. She licked at his nipple, and he growled. She could grow
accustomed to his growls. And barks. And thunders.

She wondered how soon they could do this again, and
how long it would take for a babe to swell her belly, and if this was
love warming her insides. How she would know the answers to anything if
he insisted on falling asleep and snoring in her ear?

She would learn. Mac would teach her.

The silly, timid girl she’d been had finally become a woman, but she was no less frightened by the change.

They had two days of wedded bliss before the
caretaker’s grandson returned to tell them that the viscount’s men had
galloped off to Evesham, and Broadbury was safe.

Bea felt as if she glowed from the inside out. She
blushed every time Mac threw her a knowing look. He’d taught her where
his thoughts traveled, and hers often strayed down the same path. He’d
caught her stealing looks as he dressed, and the male part of him that
so captured her fancy stiffened at just her glance, teaching her how he
felt when he watched her breasts press above her bodice. He’d tossed her
back upon the bed this morning and taken her with an ardency that had
left her half afraid to look at him ever since.

She hadn’t known she could feel and think such
wanton thoughts. There was a different person hiding inside her that she
didn’t recognize.

That reckless person reached out to straighten Mac’s
cravat as they prepared to depart their honeymoon cottage. She smoothed
the cotton over his broad chest, lingered to absorb the pounding of his
heart, then glanced shyly to see if she’d stepped too far out of
bounds. They weren’t behind closed doors. Perhaps she had been too
forward.

Mac grinned wickedly down at her. “You’ll not make a gentleman of me with a few soft touches, you know.”

“I don’t suppose I have much use for a gentleman,”
she replied with giddy boldness. She’d never flirted with a man, argued
with one, or insulted one until Mac had come along. He took her remarks
in stride, without thinking less of her.

A smile of deep appreciation crossed his rugged
features. “No, I suppose you don’t. You’ll not be after me to trip
across dance floors and make polite conversation and remember to hold my
damned gloves and whatever silliness society demands, will you?”

“I’ll ask that you mind your language,” she reminded him pertly. “You’ve the children to think about.”

“Balderdash,” he whispered in her ear as he caught her waist and drew her out the front door. “Posh-tosh and poppycock.”

Bea laughed and a slow heat crept into her heart.
Nervous butterflies beat their wings against her corset as she admired
the handsome man helping her into the carriage. He inspired in her a
confidence she’d never known. She very much feared this was the love
that books spoke of, and she didn’t know where it would go when he went
away, but for now she reveled in it.

She took Pamela as Mac handed her over, smoothed her
wispy curls, and gave her a cloth doll to chew. Buddy clambered into
the carriage on his own, boldly claiming the seat beside Bea. He
immediately scrambled to the carriage floor to inspect the box at her
feet, knowing it would contain treats to idle away the hours.

Rather than climb to the front driver’s bench, Mac
leaned over the door and tickled Pamela’s nose. She grinned and gurgled
an incomprehensible chain of noises.

“Have you noticed these two are behaving with more
civility since they’ve been with us?” he asked as Buddy bounced back to
his seat with a toy horse in hand.

“Children aren’t civil,” Bea scoffed. “But they do
seem to have settled down a little. I think it must be important for
them to feel secure, and you’ve given them that.”

He’d given them that and more, she realized as Mac
climbed into the front seat. The children were not only content, but
happy, as she was. It was something of an eye-opening experience to
realize that she was happy. Nervous, perhaps, still occasionally
fearful, but happy. She could remember being vaguely content in the
past, but never truly happy. Now even the sun shone brighter. Perhaps it
was the same for the children.

Things had changed for the better. And it had all
started with her first step out of her cloistered world and into the
immensity of Mac’s. It was frightening—and exhilarating—to think of how
one person could turn her entire life inside out.

“I’ve been thinking,” Mac announced as he took up the reins. “We are already a good day’s ride toward London.”

A cloud covered her sunshine as he tilted her world
once again. Hugging Pamela, Bea glanced with alarm at the back of her
husband’s head. She’d never been this far from home, and she longed to
return. She missed her roses and watching how the baby rabbits grew, and
she wanted to hear what Digby had done to the inn in her their absence.
But Mac was an adventurer. Why had she forgotten that?

“Surely London is several days away,” she murmured uneasily.

“Less,” he said with assurance. “We can do it.
Simmons and his men don’t even know about you and won’t think to look
for us there. We’ll just be a happy family shopping in the city before
sailing off to America.”

Terror took root in her heart and agitated Bea so
badly that Pamela swung her doll in distress. America? She couldn’t even
face the idea of London. They had fires and runaway horses and thieves
in London.

“Don’t be silly.” She tried to sound calm, as if he
were reciting an elaborate jest. “We need to discuss the consignment
shop at the Ladies’ Aid Society tomorrow.”

Mac blithely urged the horses down the lane.
“They’ll survive without you. You can send them a letter. I’ll obtain a
draft from my bank, and we can fund the store and textbooks. Between the
two of us, we should be able to manage the children without need of a
nanny, don’t you think? As you said, they seem to mind us, most of the
time.”

She thought no such thing. Panic welled, and she
clutched Pamela even tighter, until the child squirmed and whimpered.
Buddy glanced at her with suspicion. Loosening her hold, Bea tried to
find an even tone that wouldn’t frighten the children, when what she
wanted to do was scream her terror.

“I think you are out of your mind,” she said quite
firmly. If nothing else, she would learn to argue. “I cannot leave the
town and my estate to take off on some harebrained impulse to America.”

She could almost see his scowl from the way he hunched his broad shoulders.

“It solves everything,” he insisted, “I can have the
ship loaded and gone before Simmons knows we’re on it. You’ll see how
much more freedom you’ll have in America. Marilee attended a woman’s
school there. You could, too, if you wished. You can meet my parents,
and we can be together instead of apart. The children need you.”

He was ripping her into little pieces. A tear
crawled down Bea’s cheek as she sought a reply. She knew she couldn’t do
it. It wasn’t just fear holding her back, but love for her home and the
people in it. How could she persuade a man like her husband of that?

If she meant to keep her freedom, to learn to stand
on her own, she had to force him to listen to her wishes. It might be
nice if she were strong enough to sail away without a qualm, to be a
woman of the world and a partner in his life, but she wasn’t. Not yet.
She must take one step at a time, at her own pace.