Touch the Sun (16 page)

Inside there were wide benches circling the window-lined wall, muslin sheets protecting the plush velvet cushions beneath from light and dust. Three writing tables had been pushed against the far wall, collectively draped with another thin white coverlet.

Lion sat down on the bench and Meagan found herself on his lap. She could feel the hard muscles in his thighs through her pelisse before he shifted her onto the cushions so that her legs rested over his. Without a word, he lifted her skirts and surveyed her ankles, softly turning the right one until she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

"It's not broken," he reassured her. "In fact, I doubt that it will swell any more than this. It's painful, I know, but I'll wager that you'll be much improved by morning."

"Thank you, Doctor Hampshire," she said with a weak smile and was rewarded by his quick, flashing grin.

"I wouldn't overdo the sarcasm, my girl," he admonished playfully. "You and your ankle are rather dependent on my good nature right now!"

She was suddenly acutely conscious of his large, sun-darkened hand resting on her bare leg, and her mouth went dry. Silence grew between them and Lion watched her face until she slowly raised her eyes to meet his own. His gaze caressed her, lingering over gleaming raven curls, black-lashed violet eyes, rose-hued cheeks, and finally moving irresistibly down the delicate line of her neck and throat. Meagan felt naked under his eyes as they seemed to strip away the lavender muslin from her swelling breasts. Reality receded, replaced by some heady magic that wove its spell around them until Meagan felt nothing but Lion's presence, his warm touch against her leg, his mesmerizing stare holding her willing prisoner.

His lean fingers slid up her satiny leg and Meagan's breath caught in a gasp as a throbbing heat spread where her thighs joined. Strong hands caught her waist and then she was against him, drinking in the feel of his firm, brown skin pressed to her cheek and the scent that was so much a part of him. Long fingers laced through her hair, lifting her face, and Meagan's temples pulsed against his palms as their mouths came together. She was suffused with a terrible yearning as his tongue touched hers with fire; her arms twined about his sturdy neck while she felt his own like steel across her back.

It's like drowning, she thought fuzzily, her will and strength sucked under in the tide of their passion. Lion's warm, hard mouth traveled over her face and neck, tracing her fragile bone structure, while his fingers removed her open pelisse and unfastened her gown with skillful ease.

Somehow, her dress and chemise came away from her shoulders and his head bent, inhaling the lilac fragrance of her silky hair, then scorching her petal-smooth skin with his lips. When they touched her breasts, Meagan cried out softly. His tongue and lips and teeth lingered there until she flushed hot and cold, tingling with the sensations he aroused in her. Lion shifted, leaning her across the muscles of his arm, and she felt the hard, bold manliness that strained against his buckskin breeches.

Suddenly the velvet cushions were uncovered and strewn across the floor; strong arms laid her lightly down, and through a haze, Meagan saw Lion strip away his clothes. Spun sunlight poured through the windows, silhouetting him in a golden luster that added to her dreamlike state of mind. His body was more magnificent than she could have ever dreamed—bronzed, with taut muscles that flexed and rippled with every movement. His broad shoulders and chest tapered down into lean hips and long, powerful legs. Silently, with the grace of a jungle cat, he knelt beside her and slipped her own garments over her hips and down her legs. Meagan's eyes were liquid with desire and her loins ached with a need she could not name. She flinched as their bodies first came together, then shivered in his arms, poignantly conscious of the difference between them. His manhood pressed against her belly and she arched her hips by instinct while melting under the heat of his kiss. His mouth devoured her fragrant, soft body, lingering over her newly aroused breasts until they strained against his lips and Meagan gripped his hair.

"Mmmm," she moaned aloud, and felt his head nod in response.

He slid back up to find the secret places on her neck and throat, kissing her nape where baby-down curls grew along the hairline and teasing her ears with his tongue. Then their mouths came together again, passion building until kiss followed kiss, each one sweeter and deeper than the one before. Meagan's hands ran along his ribs, then down to the lean, narrow hips. She could feel the muscles contract when she touched the firm surface of his buttocks and, beneath him, she burned against his hardness.

Neither of them could have formed one lucid thought at that moment, for fate would win out, as it was meant to. The last kiss ended slowly, Meagan clinging to him as her need washed over her in hot waves of nearly unbearable sensation.

"Oh, Lion, please..." she whispered brokenly, opening her thighs to welcome him.

Gently, he went into her, probing deeply until he felt her respond. His strong hands turned her hips so that she panted with mixed pain and pleasure, finding his rhythm and meeting him at each thrust as her pain receded. He groaned then, teeth clenched, and as he drove up inside her, Meagan's own frustrating ache gave way to a flood of pleasurable relief that swept up her belly and down her legs.

Corded veins stood out on Lion's forearms as he braced himself above Meagan, slowly lowering his head to taste her moist lips. After moving to lie beside her, he drew her against him and she pressed her cheek against the light matting of hair covering his broad, dark chest. The drumming of his heart slowed as she listened until at last it was regular. For herself, mindless passion and hunger had been replaced by a creeping glow of contentment. His arms about her felt right and she sensed that they had communicated more in those minutes of prelude and union than they could have in hours of honest verbal conversation.

"Meagan?"

She drew her face away from his warm chest with reluctance and looked up to find him staring at her intently, his eyes full of wonderment, questions, and contradictions. Her own were calm and guileless as she gave him a blissful smile.

"Yes?"

"I—" He dropped his gaze from hers, already feeling the prick of guilt, wondering what to say He was well-versed in the art of casual love, skilled in the subtleties of conquest, bedding, and adroit elusion of the inevitable marital trap. None of his rules fit Meagan, and what had passed between them had been something unknown to him. Was such—such
magic
possible, or could it have been the sun...? Perhaps his mind had been playing tricks. Eyes fixed on the curve of her hip, he sought words to ease his predicament, already wishing he had avoided this situation, for some instinct warned him that unheard-of complexities would arise and weave themselves about him in the future. The first one showed itself as he noticed the smear of crimson on her thigh. Blood. Lion groaned as softly as possible.

"Oh, Meagan," he implored, meeting her eyes again, "tell me you weren't a virgin!"

"I could say it... but it would be a lie," she replied frankly, seemingly undisturbed by her plight.

Lion pressed a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. "Oh, sweeting... How could you let me?"

She giggled lightly in spite of herself. "Must the responsibility lie with me?" Reassuringly, she ran a finger along the lean line of his jaw. "I do not blame you, though, for I cannot think that a crime has been committed. Rather I would give you credit for bringing me as near to heaven as a mortal could come."

Abruptly he let her go, turning away and sitting up.. A long arm stretched out to hook his fawn jacket, while Meagan felt a corner of her dream crumble to dust as she sensed reality's invasion. His hand sought a handkerchief in the pocket of his coat, but she was distracted, looking past him as a movement outside caught her attention. A slender blond figure was just disappearing into the trees and Meagan's heart froze with instinctive recognition.

"Lion?" she asked as he turned back, holding out the snowy linen for her to use.

"Hmm?" His eyes avoided hers. "Are you—that is, you aren't in any pain?"

"No, no. Lion, what did Mr. Markwood look like?"

His mind spun. "Markwood? Why, he was quite tall, I believe. Heavy-set, brown hair. What a question at such a moment! Don't tell me you've seen him too?"

He was clearly amused, relieved by the distraction, but Meagan's worried eyes were fixed on the clearing outside. The alarm and perplexity she felt chilled the last of her radiance.

"No—I'm afraid I haven't."

Chapter 13

Meagan forgot all about the figure in the garden during their ride back to Philadelphia as her preoccupation with Lion's behavior grew. She had waited while they dressed for him to tell her that he loved her—that he would break his engagement to Priscilla immediately. Deep inside she knew it wouldn't happen. Hadn't he told her that his goal of a career in Congress must override every other facet of his life? Still, she pushed their past conversations from her mind and continued to hope. As they cantered along the country road in the deepening twilight chill, Meagan tried to keep her voice light, her face smiling, but in truth, a sick feeling was spreading through her body. Now that the spell was broken, she wondered if it had ever been at all. Her ears rang when she thought of what she had done—of what she had become to Lion. How many girls had gone before her?

He, however, seemed relaxed; his manner toward her was affectionate, if slightly bemused. Meagan cast him sidelong glances out of the corners of her eyes as they rode along. His profile was dark against the flame-colored sky, perfectly drawn and completely inscrutable.

After they passed the Pennsylvania Hospital, Lion drew his roan off to the side of the road and Meagan followed.

"I think we should part here," he said gently. "After the other day, it wouldn't do either of us any good to be seen together."

Meagan could see the harsh truth of the matter and the feeling of vague nausea gave way to a flood of shame and humiliation. When she tried to meet his gaze with cool, unfeeling eyes, they filled up with hot tears. She longed to disappear, but it was impossible. Instead, she turned her head away and wiped her eyes with the edge of her pelisse.

"Meagan," he said quietly.

"What?" Her own voice was husky, yet defiant. She despised him.

"Don't do this. Don't disappoint me."

Her eyes sparkled with tears, lilac against the magenta sky. "How dare you speak of
your
disappointment?"

"I never thought I would see you cry. You knew how I felt! Did you think I would give it all up? You
knew,
Meagan, so don't look at me that way! You wanted it as much as I did." His eyes darkened meaningfully, yet there was an undercurrent of defensiveness in his voice as though he sought to convince himself. "If the truth were known, your need may well have been greater than mine."

Angrily she turned away, intending to leave him, but he caught her hand before Victoria could start toward the road.

"Listen to me, little one. You mustn't hate me, but at the same time, I wouldn't want to mislead you. And I do not feel that I have so far. Why don't you take my view? I believe that we must reach out for happiness when and where we can find it." He cupped her delicate chin in his now familiar way, tipping it up so that she was forced to meet his eyes. "I found a great deal of happiness today with you. I know you felt the same way. Don't make the mistake of losing those good memories under a burden of guilt. Because—make no mistake—the woman in you has no regrets."

With that he leaned over and kissed her with bittersweet tenderness, and when he drew away from her, Meagan was certain that she saw pain in his eyes.

"Rest easy, my lady," he whispered, then gave a sharp tug on the reins and cantered off down the street.

Meagan was numb. She watched until his broad shoulders and proud head were blocked by a phaeton, then, somehow she remembered Mansion House. Teatime! Only a thin tangerine crescent of sun crowned the chimney-topped roofs of the city, while behind it, the sky was layered in deepening shades of orange and pink. Certain that she was late, Meagan jerked at the reins with uncommon force and Victoria trotted out onto Spruce Street.

The air had the cold edge of evening in it now. Meagan could feel tears rolling down her cheeks, chilling and drying there as Victoria twisted through the crush of horses and carriages. Men returning home from their businesses, home to cozy parlors, hot meals, and loving families. As Meagan turned Victoria off onto Bingham Court, she felt more disconsolate than at any other moment in her life.

* * *

At that moment, Anne and Priscilla were seated in the landau, its top up to protect them from the chilly evening air. The day's dress fittings had taken far longer than Anne had anticipated, and now they were caught in the mass of vehicles making their way home along High Street.

"I am exhausted!" Priscilla exclaimed, yawning with elaborate delicacy.