Chapter Twenty-seven

Marguerite closed the door of Ned’s room carefully behind her. The slight click did not seem to have disturbed him. The fire had almost burned down—only a few embers still glowed—and she shivered in the cold. She hadn’t worn slippers so she would be able to move silently down the hall, but the stone floors of the corridor had been icy. Still shivering, she waited until her eyes had grown accustomed enough to the dim light for her to reach the bed without bumping into anything.

His arm was on top of the covers. His bare arm. The faint glow from the embers was enough to illumine the hairs on that arm.

Lord Edward—Ned—did not wear a nightshirt.

Was that a good omen or not? Good, she decided. It might make this easier.

Dropping her robe on the floor so that she was as naked as he, she lifted the covers and slid in beside him. He gave a short grunt, but did not otherwise seem to notice the intrusion. Ah, the warmth felt so good. Even before she touched him, she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He even smelled warm, if that was possible.

Hesitantly she lifted her hand. It hovered for a moment and then skimmed gently along his side, barely touching him, from hip to shoulder. His skin was smooth, but underneath he was hard and solid. Her breath grew shorter and her caress became bolder. He moved slightly into her hand and gave a soft moan of pleasure.

The nearness of him excited her. Hardly able to breathe, she moved her head into the hollow of his shoulder and pressed a kiss on his neck. In response he leaned over her, inserting his knee between her legs. “Marguerite,” he murmured her name softly, almost a prayer. A moan escaped her lips.

His eyes opened wide with shock, and he sprang away from her. “Marguerite!” This time her name was an expression of anger, not longing. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

Horrified, she snatched at the sheet to cover herself, although there was nothing that could hide her hideous embarrassment. She had obviously made a mistake of grotesque proportions. Shame wrapped itself around her, and tears stung her eyes. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I thought…I thought you wanted me.”

“Oh my God.” He fell on his back and closed his eyes. “Of course I want you, you idiotic creature. But…” He still sounded angry, but not quite so much. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I thought, perhaps, we could be lovers.” She spoke carefully, cautiously.

“Lovers!” He covered his eyes with his forearm. “Marguerite, you are going to be the death of me.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. The tears were too close to falling. “You say you want me but you do not.”

He made a noise that was something between a growl and a groan and rolled over. Propped up on one elbow, with his hand cupping her face, he stared down at her for a long minute. “Want you? Want you?” he whispered. “I am dying for you every second of the day and night.” He snatched up her hand and pressed it against his erection. “Does this feel as if I don’t want you?”

She gasped in surprise, or perhaps in shock. She had known in theory, but she had not realized quite how large it would be. Not just large, but warm. She spread her fingers to explore, just a little. No, not warm. Hot.

His voice was a definite growl now, just before his mouth came down on hers. Immediately the heat flared between them, as it always did when they kissed.

Yes! This was what she wanted! She wrapped her arms around him, arching up to press her body against him. Yes!

He pulled back. Again he pulled back. With an angry cry, she swung her hand and hit him on the arm. “Why?” she demanded.

He lay on his side, turned to her but not touching. “This isn’t right, this sneaking around in the dark. Hiding. I don’t want some tawdry affair. I want to stand beside you in front of all the world. Proudly and for all time. I want you to be my wife.”

She lay back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. “I do not believe this. A naked woman comes to your bed and offers herself to you, and you act as if you are the frightened virgin.” She stopped abruptly and looked at him. “Are you?”

It was too dark to be certain, but she could almost see a flush rising in his face. “No, I’m afraid not,” he said. “But it is probably best that one of us knows what to do.”

“Then why?” She lifted herself to face him, unable to believe how frustrated she felt.

He pushed her back down and loomed over her. “You know why. Because I don’t want a night’s pleasure with you. I want you beside me every day, every night for the rest of my life. And you want that too. Can you deny it?”

The tears were threatening again. “It is not a question of what I want. You are not a fool. Delphine has the right of it. Your family would never accept such a one as I.”

“It is your cousin who is a fool. More than a fool—she’s mad as a hatter. Her insane notions are straight out of another century.”

A sudden chill went through her. “You mustn’t say such things about Delphine.”

“Why not? Her ideas of who can marry whom are preposterous. My family would consider them a pathetic joke. And they will adore you.”

She tried to shake her head. She knew she should be sensible and practical and tell him he was talking nonsense, but she couldn’t.

Her hesitation must have been obvious because this time when his mouth came down on hers, she could feel his smile. Then his lips moved, his tongue—all her thoughts vanished.

When he lifted his head again, she heard the whimper that came from her. His hand was caressing her side, and then her thigh, coming closer and closer. Her whimper grew louder.

“Marry me,” he said.

She shook her head helplessly.

“Promise that you will marry me,” he repeated.

She moaned and pulled herself together as best she could. “I will marry you, if…”

“No ifs.”

“Yes, there must be this if.” She seized his wrist to keep his hand from further encroachment. “If your family does not object, I will marry you. But I will not allow you to be disowned.”

He chuckled softly. “In that case, we will be married as soon as I can arrange it.”

His hand escaped from her grip and slid between her thighs once more. She yelped. Why couldn’t she make a more attractive noise? “With your family’s approval,” she gasped. What was he doing? Oh, that felt…Oh!

“That’s my girl.” His voice was smug with satisfaction, but his hands, his clever hands were doing such things… She let herself sink into the extraordinary pleasure of it. And then it was not only his hands that slid between her thighs. Yes. This was what she had wanted. Yes!

Ned woke up with hair tickling his nose. Marguerite’s hair. Who would have thought that a tickle could be such a delight? But this was Marguerite’s hair. He turned his head slightly to rub his cheek against its silky softness.

She was his now. There would be no more secrets between them. He would protect her and keep her safe. He had the right. He tightened his arm around her, pulling her snugly against him. Yes, this was how he wanted to awaken every morning, with Marguerite at his side.

But it could not be just yet.

The blackness of night was fading to the pale gray of dawn. He had to get her back to her room before any of the servants were up and about. He leaned over to nuzzle her neck. Her response was a purr of pleasure.

No. This was probably not the best way to awaken her. Not for either of them. In the future, yes, but not today, he realized with regret. With a gentle shake, he whispered her name.

She wrinkled her nose and muttered something before her eyes fluttered open. Then her eyes opened wide and she stared up at him.

He wasn’t sure what the expression on her face was—surprise? fear? distress? He certainly hoped not. “Marguerite?” he asked uncertainly.

Then her face softened, and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “It happened then, did it?”

His worry eased. “Yes, it happened. Are you all right?” When she didn’t immediately answer, a bit of worry crept back. “You’re not sorry, are you?”

“No, not sorry. I…it’s strange, that’s all.” Her eyes slid away from him. “I do not quite know what I am supposed to do now.”

A rush of tenderness swept over him. She looked vulnerable in a way he had not seen before, and he had to lean over and kiss her, not passionately this time, but tenderly. It was not a long embrace, or perhaps it was, but when he lifted his head again she no longer looked uneasy.

“Come,” he said. “We need to get you back to your room before the servants are up.”

They moved down the corridor to her room, quickly because the stone floor was cold under their bare feet, but his arm stayed protectively around her.