imon strode into the main hall of Denver House after an invigorating ride, a grin on his face. He didn’t know why the devil he was grinning, but damn it, he was. An entire fortnight had passed since he’d brought Maggie to his country holding, a place where he once never thought he’d feel at home again. Something had changed, shifted inside him. The ghosts had been banished.
Maggie had done that for him.
Yes, perhaps the reason he was grinning like a bloody fool was blatantly apparent. His wife. Somehow, the woman he’d once resented had become the woman he desperately wanted. Even now, thinking of her made him hard. Christ. It was the midst of the morning and he was covered in muck. He’d just had her mere hours before, but the prospect of locating her and dragging her off for an impromptu bout of lovemaking was too potent a lure.
“My lord.”
The somewhat aggrieved voice of his butler disturbed his pleasant musings. He slowed his steps, realizing he’d failed to notice the staid Milton standing sentinel. “Good morning, Milton. Whatever’s the matter? You look as if someone’s eaten your lunch.”
Milton blinked at him, perhaps startled by his unusually good cheer. After all, the Marquis of Sandhurst didn’t joke. At least, not the old Marquis of Sandhurst. “You’ve a guest, sir.”
Bloody hell. He didn’t like the way his butler spat out the word as if it tasted poorly. This surely didn’t bode well. “Who can it be and where have you put him?”
“I have placed her in the drawing room, my lord.”
Her? His guest was a woman? A leaden weight descended in his stomach, effectively crushing his former high spirits. There was only one woman who would seek him out. He had no relationship with his mother’s sister the Countess of Northrup and his father had been the sole living child in his family. Lady Northrup made no secret of her disdain for him. No indeed, it would not be she who had called upon Denver House.
He swallowed, his throat gone dry. “Thank you, Milton. I shall see to her,” he managed to say before stalking straight for the room in question.
It couldn’t be her, he thought, his mind swirling with the possibilities and ramifications. What if it was? Good sweet God. Feeling as if he were trapped in a bizarre dream, he crossed the threshold to the drawing room, his heart about to gallop from his chest.
A woman stood with her back to him, her blonde curls artfully piled beneath a dashing hat so typical of someone he knew all too well. He took in her tiny, cinched waist and the frothy pink afternoon gown draped with lace. Recognition traveled through him with the force of a heavy stone being rolled downhill. The lady adored pastels and hats twice the size of her head. He knew she smelled of lavender and sneezed at the slightest hint of rose water. He knew she adored poetry, hated prose, and wrote lurid letters that once had made him mad with wanting. Ah yes, there was no mistaking her.
Eleanor.
He knew her silhouette as he knew his reflection in the mirror. After all, she was the woman he’d spent a few years of his life loving. Or at least, he’d thought he loved her. Now, he wasn’t sure. She turned when she heard his footsteps approaching, a welcoming smile on her Cupid’s bow lips. The time they’d been apart fell away for a moment. He almost crossed the room and took her into his arms as he’d done so many times before.
But he did not. Time and undone secrets had come between them. He had not forgotten Nell’s revelation and what it meant for him, for the woman he’d once professed to love. He had not forgotten Maggie, his wife. He stopped, body rigid with tension, and fixed her with a cutting stare. She flinched, her smile fading. She had been expecting a far different welcome, then. What the hell was she doing here? He hadn’t been prepared for this, for her.
“Why have you come, Lady Billingsley?” He was careful to keep all traces of emotion from his voice. In truth, he didn’t know what he felt at seeing her again. Betrayal? Excitement? Hurt? It was likely a combination of all three. But he would not show her a hint of weakness.
“I’ve left Billingsley.”
A few months before, the words would have been enough. Now they left him feeling oddly emotionless. “You’ve left him.” His mind fumbled to comprehend the meaning of her revelation for him. Much had changed. He thought of Maggie. What did he feel for her? Not love, certainly. But something. Thoughts of what Eleanor had done swirled through his mind, questions he needed to ask her. But he wasn’t certain if her betrayal with Lord Needham mattered any longer. Or if she mattered any longer.
She crossed the polished floor, her heels clicking, until she reached him. An expectant expression transformed her undeniably beautiful face. “I cannot live without you, Simon. I tried. I tried to do my duty to his lordship.”
Thoughts of her husband, the bulbous-nosed Billingsley, sweating and straining over her to produce an heir, made him ill. She’d made her choice, duty over love. All too often in their world, duty trumped all else. Somehow, he’d expected a different outcome with Eleanor. She had proved him wrong. “I wish to God you had never tried at all,” he told her honestly before he could stop himself.
But she had, and her sudden appearance in his drawing room could not alter that fact.
“I’m sorry.” Her lower lip trembled in that way of hers that once infallibly brought him to his knees. “You know what a beast he is, Sandy. I had no choice.”
He stiffened at her use of the diminutive only she had ever called him. It took him back to when he had cared for her. But had he every truly known her? He couldn’t be sure any longer. “You betrayed me, Eleanor.”
“Never.” She appeared a sad, small figure to him suddenly. “I would never betray you.”
But he knew differently. “What of Lord Needham?”
She grew pale, her entire form going utterly still. “What of him?”
He almost pitied her. But not quite. “Nell told me. You needn’t lie.”
“It was a long time ago, Sandy, and a dreadful mistake. We were both in our cups. It never meant anything. You remain the only man I’ve ever loved, the only man I shall ever love as long as I live.”
Simon was gratified that she at least deigned to acknowledge the truth, however she attempted to minimize it. He would have thought she might prevaricate further. Even so, he couldn’t allow her to reappear in his drawing room as though she hadn’t abruptly told him to go to the devil. Still, he had to admit that her words of love affected him, however much he wished they did not.
“What of now? We were sworn to each other,” he reminded her. “I promised to keep my wife in name only just as you promised you would never again go to your marriage bed.”
Her blue eyes pleaded with his. “Billingsley gave me no other option. I did not want to tell you, but he has raised his hand against me.”
He couldn’t help it. Her words brought a rush of instinctive rage thrashing through him. He grasped her elbow. “What did you say?”
“My husband prefers to hit me rather than bed me,” Eleanor said, her dainty hands landing upon his chest as if they were a pair of butterflies. “I could not suffer him any longer, Sandy. I thought I could, but I’m no match for his fists.”
Fists. Rage skewered him. His hands went to her wasp waist as they had so many times before, finding their familiar home. Perhaps Nell had been wrong in her gossip, for Eleanor didn’t feel enceinte in the slightest to him. She was trim as ever. He searched her gaze, hoping she lied. “Tell me that bastard didn’t hit you.”
A sob rose in her throat but she seemed to stifle it, biting her lip. “I cannot. He caused me to lose my babe.”
“I’ll kill him,” he vowed, anger a wave overtaking him, threatening to bring him to his knees.
“No.” Eleanor reached up to cup his jaw. “You mustn’t. I’ve left him for good now, and that is all that matters.”
“Simon?”
Christ. The lilting feminine tone with its undeniable American accent belonged to Maggie. He released Eleanor and turned to face his wife. She stood in the door, looking characteristically magnificent in a day gown of navy silk that complemented her alabaster skin to perfection. Her flame curls were caught up in an elaborate coiffure that rendered her ordinary elegance utterly striking. A stab of lust went straight to his cock.
It didn’t escape his notice that it was Maggie who aroused him, Maggie he wanted with a ferocity that still shook him. His physical reaction to Eleanor had been tame by comparison. Confused, even. Belatedly, it occurred to him that Maggie appeared shocked. Hell, he couldn’t blame her. She had just walked in on him in an intimate embrace with an old paramour.
But was Eleanor an old paramour? The question ate at him with an aching persistence. She had to be, yet how could she be? Comfort lived in familiarity, even if that familiarity was wrong. What could vanquish the years he’d misspent in her arms?
“Who is she?” Eleanor demanded of him in a near hiss at his back.
He met Maggie’s gaze, all too aware of the hurt he read in the violet depths. She raised her chin, her countenance taking on a formidable air he’d never seen.
“I am Lady Sandhurst,” Maggie proclaimed loudly in a brash American drawl that somehow made him want to drag her straightaway to their chamber, no matter the old feelings that had once again sparked as if coals in the grate. “Sandy’s wife,” she added, lest they be mistaken, he supposed, that she hadn’t happened upon a great deal of their conversation.
Damn it. She had likely heard far too much. He strode to her. After all, she was his wife above all else, and he’d finally accepted the duty that rode along with being her husband. He suspected there wasn’t a particular rule for introducing one’s wife to one’s mistress. But even he could recognize precedence with his mind awhirl.
He offered Maggie his arm as he gained her side. She refused to take it, so he pretended as if he were inspecting his coat sleeve instead before performing the necessary. “Lady Sandhurst, I don’t believe you have yet made the acquaintance of Lady Billingsley,” he said, all too aware he sounded awkward as a stripling attempting to woo his first maid.
“No, I have not.” She held herself regally, pinning Eleanor with a queenly glare. “Nor can I honestly say that I have ever wanted to make her acquaintance. She is not anyone I would care to know. Why is she in our drawing room just now, Sandy?”
He didn’t like the way she said his name. Such scorn. He frowned at her for both her rudeness and impertinence, though he couldn’t truly blame her for either. “She is visiting, I suspect.”
“Visiting,” Eleanor echoed. “Pray, my lady, pay no attention to me. I am merely throwing myself on your husband’s mercy as both an old and dear friend, and he has been kind enough to offer me his aid.”
What the hell? He had done no such thing. Damn the woman. She was trying to force his hand and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Was this machinating woman truly the lady he’d fallen in love with? He couldn’t shake the suspicion that he’d failed to see her for her true self. That he’d been blinded to her inconstant nature.
“His aid.” Maggie repeated the word as if it were an epithet. “How exceedingly kind and generous of him. I’ve discovered that my husband is a most generous soul, Lady Billingsley.”
“Indeed.” Eleanor frowned, clearly not following Maggie’s line of thought.
Simon was afraid he was following it all the way to its inevitable end. He had to admire her spunk. He wouldn’t wish to be on the receiving end of her displeasure just now.
“Quite generous.” Maggie tilted her head, gracing Eleanor with a lovely smile that hid quite a bit of bite behind it. “You are more than welcome to stay here at Denver House, my lady. But rest assured that his generosity will not be extending toward yourself during your tenure here.”
He nearly choked as his fears came to fruition. “Maggie,” he cautioned, knowing by now that his wife possessed a backbone that was as unpredictable as it was formidable. Still, he hadn’t expected such a frank dressing-down from her. It was simply not done.
She didn’t spare him a glance, intent as she was on her quarry. “I gather you understand my meaning, Lady Billingsley?”
Eleanor cleared her throat, looking quite like a bird choking upon a worm. “I must say that I do not, my lady.”
“Well, then let us be clear.” Maggie stalked across the room and stopped before Eleanor, fierce as a wild cat. “If you choose to remain here as a guest, I cannot stop you, but I will not tolerate adultery in my home.”
“Adultery?” Eleanor sputtered. He suspected no one had ever before spoken to her with such lack of artifice.
“You will not be warming my husband’s bed.” Maggie paused before whispering something unintelligible into Eleanor’s ear.
Simon wished he could have heard it. But he remained where he was, watching the tableau before him unfold as if he were an invalid. Or a complete duffer. And perhaps that was what he was.
Eleanor blanched, her eyes flying to his. Christ, what had Maggie threatened? A beheading? Then he read the hurt in her expression and he knew. His wife had revealed the extent of their relationship. His former mistress didn’t care for the disclosure. He couldn’t say he blamed her. He knew what it had felt like to think of her making love with her husband. It had been akin to a knife being plunged directly into his gut.
Time and space had lessened the pain. And if he were completely honest with himself, he had to admit that Maggie had as well. The pain had gone. He’d moved on. Just then, his wife gave him a seething look that didn’t bode well for him later. He winced.
“I trust you will see that the staff gets your guest settled?” she asked. “I find I’m rather too weary to take on the task.”
He bowed, feeling like a complete ass beneath her withering glare. She couldn’t be expected to make preparations for the comfort of her rival. He would never ask it of her. “Of course, my dear.”
She disappeared in a swirl of silk and riotous curls. He turned to Eleanor, wondering what in the hell he was going to do now. He supposed he’d have to allow her to stay on, at least for a few days. After all, she’d just told him that Billingsley had been mistreating her. He could not, in good conscience, turn her away. But neither was he certain that he wanted her here.
His mind was reeling, hopelessly confused by Eleanor, what he’d learned about her, the feelings he’d begun to develop for Maggie. By God, he’d just been about the business of restoring the order to his life, and now the one woman who could threaten to ruin it had appeared in his drawing room as if she hadn’t been gone.
“I’m sorry, Sandy,” Eleanor said quietly, interrupting his troubled thoughts. “I would have written you, but there wasn’t time. I couldn’t have known you’d have her in residence here.”
“Bloody, bloody hell.” He clenched and then released his fists as he fought to keep control over himself.
“Why is she here?” Her gaze probed his.
It was a question to which there was no ready answer. He paused, wondering how much he ought to reveal to her. “We are spending a month together as husband and wife,” he said at last.
“You wish for an heir, then.”
Simon didn’t like the way she pressed him, as though he owed her the information she sought. In truth, he owed her nothing, not even a roof over her head to escape her husband’s beating. Speaking of Maggie with her felt wrong. “It’s none of your concern, Lady Billingsley.”
She placed a tentative hand on his arm. “Is this your way of enacting revenge upon me?”
He raised a brow. “You flatter yourself, darling. I haven’t thought of you in months.”
She flinched, and he knew an instant of gratification, however small it was of him. “I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry for it. In time, you shall see that I had no recourse. I did what I had to, and at the first possible moment I came back to you.”
“Much has changed.” She was no longer his mistress, nor would she be ever again. Seeing her filled him with the blessing of finality. Their time together was at an end. “You may stay here for a few days whilst you find another refuge from Billingsley, but that must be all, Eleanor.”
She gasped. “You cannot turn me out.”
“I’m not turning you out,” he countered. “I am merely warning you. Your stay will be temporary. You do not belong here.”
Her grip on him tightened, her expression melting into desperation. “I belong with you.”
“No.” He shook off her hand, hardening his heart to her. “You don’t, and you never have.”
“You will change your mind.” Her voice trembled. “I love you. Please don’t act with haste.”
“I’ll give you a few days.” He turned on his heel. “That is all.”
For it had to be. He now had a wife who was more than a name and an unwanted presence in his life. The hard truth of it was that he didn’t want to consider just how much Maggie had become to him in the last fortnight, for that scared the hell out of him. All he knew now was that he had to find her.
Maggie’s hands shook as she awaited Simon in the luxuriously appointed salon that adjoined her bedchamber. She’d sent word for him to meet her directly following whatever he needed to settle Lady Billingsley, and for her own sake, she’d deemed it best not to meet him anywhere a bed could be found. His deadly good looks and wicked caresses had a way of disarming her every time. She couldn’t afford to be so foolish this time.
She sighed. Although she had decorated the salon herself, the aesthetically pleasing confines did not bring her cheer at the moment. She had not been prepared to face the woman she had detested from afar, to see how lovely she was, how tiny her waist, how golden her hair. She had a penchant for overdressing, that much Maggie could see, but it appeared to be Lady Billingsley’s only flaw. Damn her. What right did she think she had to throw herself into Simon’s arms?
Every right, she supposed. Maggie frowned and paced the length of the room, worry a gnawing ache in her breast. Though she was reasonably certain she had exhibited confidence when confronting Lady Billingsley, the disheartening truth of it was that when it came to her husband, she had no confidence whatsoever.
Indeed, she feared he would return to his mistress. After all, he had admitted to loving her. She had been his paramour for longer than Maggie had known him. She still had a hold on him. That much had been apparent by the way he’d been leaning into her, his hands upon her waist when Maggie had intervened. The sight had nearly been unbearable.
In just over a fortnight, he had already become important to Maggie. Necessary. She fidgeted with her skirts, her nervousness increasing the longer it took for her husband to arrive.
At last, the door clicked open and he stepped inside. For a moment, she stared at him, their eyes interlocked. He was impossibly handsome, she thought again, wishing that he had a wart or perhaps a large nose, anything to mar his perfection. But he was debonair as ever despite the distressed expression he wore.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, lingering at the door when she longed for him to close the distance between them.
Maggie pressed her palms to her skirt, hoping she didn’t look a fright. “Why?”
He sighed, the sound one of intense weariness. “I didn’t know she would come here.”
She wanted to trust him, but she didn’t know if she could. “Did you invite her here?”
“Christ.” He passed his fingers through his hair, leaving the too-long locks askew. “Of course I didn’t. What do you take me for?”
The man who had ignored his wife while living openly with his mistress for the last year. She wisely refrained from saying as much. “I needed to ask. I can’t think of why she would appear here unless you had asked her to come.”
“She left her husband and claims she had nowhere else to go,” he said tightly.
And he believed her? Maggie frowned. “Has she no friends or family?”
“I believe she does.”
She wanted to shake him by his lapels. His sudden distance frustrated her. “She cannot go to them instead?”
“I expect she can, but I’ve told her she may remain here for a few days while she gathers herself.”
“A few days.” Her dismay could not be hidden.
He raised a haughty brow, looking every bit the arrogant nobleman she’d married. “Would you have me toss her out on her ear?”
“Yes.” She knew not a hint of shame. “I would prefer that to having to see the woman you love sitting at my breakfast table.”
He strode toward her then, breaking the unseen barrier he’d built between them. “It’s no longer the same between us now.”
“I saw how you touched her.” She didn’t want to press the issue for fear of what he might reveal and how deeply it would hurt, yet she remained unable to keep her tongue still. “It was very familiar.” She hated the hitch in her voice.
“I can’t deny what has already come to pass.” He stopped before her, his scent wafting over her and rendering her heart weaker than it already was. “You know she and I were once close.”
“A very old and dear friend,” she repeated his words from Lady Needham’s ball, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. “She broke your heart. It was her choice to end things, not yours. And now she’s back as if she was never gone at all.”
He searched her eyes. “All that you’ve said is true.”
A sharp pang of pain sliced through her heart. She spun on her heel, unable to face him for a moment longer. Did he not understand how much this killed her inside? She felt as if she were a delicate flower that had just been crushed beneath an unforgiving boot. “Please be kind enough to carry on your affair elsewhere. I cannot live beneath the same roof knowing you’re making love to her.” She pressed a hand to her lips as she stopped before the window, staring without seeing into the gardens below. Humiliating tears pricked her eyes and she furiously blinked, refusing to allow them to fall.
Simon had followed her. He settled a hand upon her waist, branding her through the layers of her linen and silk. “Look at me.”
“No.” She worried she would embarrass herself further. It was bad enough that he didn’t care for her, but she feared she’d begun to feel something for him. Her heart couldn’t withstand much more hurt.
“Maggie, please.” He gripped her with both hands then, forcibly turning her. “Look at me.”
She bit her lip and stared at the floor. “Get out of this chamber. I’m begging you. Leave me what little pride I have.”
He tipped up her chin so that she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “I promised you a month, and I intend to keep that promise.”
If he sought to reassure her, he was failing miserably. He confused her. He touched her as if he cared and yet he had touched Lady Billingsley in the same manner. What did he want? She couldn’t tell. Perhaps it would be best to give him his freedom. After all, when had promises ever truly mattered between the two of them? She could go on with her life, return to New York. Forget him.
He would never have touched her if he’d known who she was that evening at Lady Needham’s. He’d never intended to make her his wife. After all, he had always loved another.
Maggie was numb. “I release you. You only have a fortnight remaining. I won’t hold you to it.”
His thumb remained on her chin, a hot brand. “Damn you, I don’t want to be released. Why are you pushing me away?”
She stared, resentment and jealousy bubbling up within her. “I can’t watch you with her. It hurts too much.”
“I don’t want her,” he said, cupping her face in his palm. “I want you.”
She was too afraid to believe him. “For how long? The next few days? The next few hours? Wanting is not enough any longer.”
“I don’t know.” He sounded as frustrated and lost as she felt. “I never desired a wife, damn you.”
His words stung. “Then you should never have married me.”
“That’s not what I meant to say.” He paused, running a hand through his hair yet again. “I had to marry you to save the estates from ruin. My father left me with quite a burden of debt when he died and I was finally forced to act. I married you because I had no other choice. You had the largest dowry I could find, and your father was hungry for an English lord’s title.”
This was not news to her. She crossed her arms in a defensive posture. He’d married her for her father’s money, and she’d married him for his title at her father’s behest. “I knew that, Simon. I’m no fool. I may have initially thought differently, but it became apparent. People do talk, after all. I understand that you hated me because of that, but what I don’t understand is why I must be punished for something over which I had no control.”
“I’m not punishing you. I’m trying to explain that I’m giving you as bloody much of myself as I can.” He dragged her against his hard chest. “A mere month ago, you never entered my thoughts, and now you’re all I can damn well think about.”
His admission moved her despite herself. She could clearly see that he wrestled with his attraction to her. Likely, had they never crossed paths behind the safety of anonymity as Lady Needham’s, she never would have broken down the wall he kept around himself. But they had, and she liked to think that the passion they’d shared since that fateful night meant as much to him as it did to her.
“I can’t stay away from you.” His gaze lowered to her lips.
“Then don’t.” If only their lives were that unencumbered. But they were helplessly mired in a world more interested in money than love. A world more interested in the cut of a coat than the contents of a heart.
But Simon didn’t seem about to allow her to wallow in her heavy thoughts. He looked at her as if he wanted to consume her. Thoughts of their unwanted visitor flitted from her mind, paling in comparison to the raw hunger she saw reflected on his face. The desire between them was real and true. A swift stab of heat coursed through her. There was only one thing she could do. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his sculpted mouth.
He angled his lips over hers, deepening the kiss with his tongue. His hands went to her bodice, tearing open the tiny line of fabric-covered buttons down the front. She didn’t care if they tore the entire dress into shreds. She was as desperate as he, every bit as ravenous for him. She fumbled to help him pull it open to her corset cover. She wanted to claim him, her territory. Hers.
He broke the kiss. “Damn it, you’ve got to stop wearing so many bloody undergarments. Getting you naked shouldn’t take longer than completing an eight-course meal.”
She grinned at him, swatting his hands away to undo the fastenings on her corset cover as well. She managed to undo the first few hooks and eyes before he lost patience once more, pulling it apart to reveal her chemise. He pulled that thin scrap of linen down and bowed his head to suck a nipple into his hot, wet mouth.
Her fingers sank into his hair as she arched into him. Oh dear sweet heavens. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the delicious sight of his sultry mouth on her breast. He glanced up at her, his glittering emerald eyes melting her as his tongue flicked out to tease her sensitive skin. She loved him when he was at his most sinful, torturing her with pleasure until she feared she’d splinter into a million shards of blissful woman. He sucked again, creating a tug of heady desire in her sex. She was already wet, ready for him.
“I want you to take me,” she said, needing him more than she ever had. She wanted him to make her his in the most elemental sense, make her forget the awful reemergence of Lady Billingsley in their lives.
“Naughty darling,” he said, grinning against the pale curve of her breast. He raked his teeth over her nipple, then blew upon it. “How much do you want me?”
Oh he was a devil, her husband. But a devil she increasingly feared that she loved. Dear God. It hit her then, with the blast of a pail of cold water over her head. Somehow, he was winning her heart. She froze, looking down at him, unable to recall what he’d asked her.
“Have I rendered you incapable of speech once more, love?” A knowing smile curved his mouth.
He had called her love. She was sure he didn’t mean it in the way she wanted him to mean it. Heavens, she hoped her feelings weren’t painted all over her foolish face. Surely there could have been a better time for her to realize her feelings for him. Of course, it would have been preferable for her to have not developed feelings at all. How she wished she was as wise and flippant as Lady Needham, who could flirt and throw wild parties as if she were doing nothing more natural than sneezing. But she was, in her heart, plain old Margaret. And she was losing her heart to a cad.
But was he a cad? She didn’t want to think it.
She framed his face, running her fingers over the delightful abrasion of his whiskers. “Take me now,” she urged him lest she embarrass herself by confessing her confusing jumble of emotions to him. “I need you, Simon.”
He stood, towering over her once more, and pulled her to a settee in the middle of the room. “Christ, what you do to me, woman.” He placed her hands on the gilt back and positioned himself behind her. “I have to be inside you.”
“Yes.” She needed him to make love to her so badly that she didn’t bother to wonder how they would accomplish the coupling while standing. It didn’t matter.
He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of her neck and raised the back of her skirts, draping them over her arm. His nimble fingers untied her bustle pad and unhooked her drawers. They dropped to the floor with her petticoats and a whisper of sound. He continued kissing her neck, passionate caresses that made her knees threaten to give way. Cool air kissed her bare bottom, replaced in a moment by his knowing touch.
“Are you ready for me?” His fingers dipped into her sex from behind, toying with her before sliding inside.
She moaned, bucking into him for more. “Yes,” she scarcely managed to say. She turned, capturing his mouth with hers. The kiss was plundering, devastating. Their tongues tangled. He replaced his fingers with his cock.
His hands went to her waist, holding her at the angle he needed as he plunged inside her again and again. A new wave of desire hit her, making her weak. She gripped the settee so hard her knuckles turned white as she struggled not to crumple into a puddle of lust at his feet.
He pumped into her, increasing his pace, and she came undone, reaching her pinnacle and crying out. She couldn’t keep herself from half slumping over as the extreme sensation washed over her. He held her still, just where he wanted her, thrusting with a frantic need that soon had him filling her with his seed. She came again as he found his release, reveling in the completion of their joining, the incredible feeling of him losing himself in her.
He collapsed against her, his breathing ragged, their bodies still joined. She could feel his heart’s frantic pace against her back. In the silence of their passion’s aftermath, she silently prayed that she’d been wrong. That wanting would be enough to keep him by her side. She couldn’t bear to lose him. New York was not where she belonged.
He woke from his dreams that night to a hand running down his chest, straight to his cock. Fingers curled expertly around his shaft, working him up and down. He moaned and arched into the capable touch, thinking that Maggie had tiptoed into his chamber through the darkness. He was hard and ready.
“Maggie,” he muttered, “you want me again, do you?”
His hands went into her hair, but the texture was different, all smooth silk rather than soft curls. And then there was the scent. Lavender. The breasts pressed against his chest were all wrong. Too small. Her hips were narrow as well, her mouth on his neck all too familiar yet still somehow foreign.
“Eleanor.” The realization startled him. He pushed lightly at her shoulders as wakefulness returned to him. “What the hell are you doing in my chamber?”
“I’ve missed you, Sandy.” She writhed against him.
Once, the mere press of her naked body against his would have incited him to madness. But now there was something that kept him from rolling her to her back and fucking her as he had so many times before. He knew, after all, that she would be wet and willing as ever. They had been a perfect fit, the two of them. Lovemaking had been easy, passionate, effortless.
He thought again of Maggie and removed Eleanor’s teasing hand from his cock. “We cannot. Maggie is in the chamber next door.”
“I shall be very quiet,” Eleanor promised, her lips near to his.
No. He could not. He flipped her to her back and rolled away from her, pulling the bedclothes around himself as a shield. “You must return to your bed at once. I will not disrespect Maggie, nor will I insult her by the servants being made aware of your presence here.”
He was confounded, as much by her presence in his chamber as by her presence in his household. He owed Maggie his respect. His fidelity. Everything he’d refused to give her for the entirety of their union. They had forged a bond in the last month. It was different than what he’d shared with Eleanor. He had come to respect his wife. Yes, Maggie was an incomparable, from her poetry to her flaming curls to her willingness to open herself to him. She was special.
“Disrespect her?” Incredulity laced Eleanor’s words. “What of me? Who is she to you, other than the funds you so desperately needed?”
He felt a great wash of shame then, and it made his cock wither more assuredly than a pail of cold water. She was only repeating words he had oft said to her. He recalled them now, a shower of shame pouring over his head. The woman I’ve wed means nothing to me. She was a necessary sin.
Disgust slammed into him. He stood from the bed, stalking through the darkness in search of his dressing gown. “I made a promise to her that I would be true to her for an entire month, and at the least I intend to keep that promise. You must go, Eleanor. I demand it.”
“Very well.” Her voice was drawn with hurt. “I shall go. But you will beg for me to be in your bed again, Sandy. This much I know.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, his voice hoarse. Christ, he didn’t know what to believe any longer. Part of him still longed for the Eleanor he’d thought he’d known. But a part of him wanted Maggie and the life he’d experienced with her, filled with poetry and laughter and sensuality. Filled with freedom.
“You’re wrong, Eleanor.” he repeated, as much for her benefit as for his, and, throwing the sash about his waist, he strode from the room.
Maggie couldn’t sleep. The ugly ramifications of the day taunted her so that even when she closed her eyes, she could see Lady Billingsley’s fine-boned face, her tiny waist, the halo of blonde hair that marked her a true English beauty. Her head ached. Her heart hurt. She was alternately hot, then cold, uncomfortable trapped beneath too many coverings and then not enough.
With a sigh, she attempted to plump her pillow with perhaps more force than required of the task. Simon had come to her earlier in the evening, and their lovemaking had been slow and sweet, but she’d been almost too gripped with the sudden reappearance of the woman he loved to enjoy the simple mating of their bodies.
Dinner earlier had been an unbearably stilted affair. Lady Billingsley joined them, and while Maggie had yearned for nothing more than to hide herself in the private comfort of her chamber for the duration of the meal, she knew she could not allow the awful woman to see her weakness. Maggie was born from the stock of warriors, and she wasn’t about to be beaten by a sylph who had broken her husband’s heart only to return as if she could once again draw him back into her web.
She hoped she had retained her dignity. Twice, she had lost her head and had almost allowed her true feelings to billow forth. She had privately longed for Lady Billingsley to choke upon the soup course, much to her inner shame. But through it all, she had somehow managed to act the part of hostess, as if she weren’t about to engage in battle with the woman seated opposite her at table.
Battle.
Maggie grimaced and turned to her left side, desperate to thrash the misgivings from her mind, at least for the night. Did she want to do battle? A few weeks before, the answer would have been a sure and steady “no”. She had been disillusioned with life, with a husband who hadn’t wanted her, with a life of solitude and longing for something more. And then Lady Needham’s house party. Meeting Simon free of the encumbrances between them had been exhilarating. Her body had been awakened to desires she’d never imagined existed. Their bargain of one month in each other’s arms had seemed fortuitous for the both of them.
But now it was all so hopelessly, painfully complicated. Her heart had somehow become involved. She cared for Simon, the man who she’d once thought cold and distant but who she’d discovered still wore the scars of his past beneath his elegant façade. She had not meant to allow him to make her feel so much.
A soft noise filtered through her troubled musings just then, putting a halt to her runaway mind for the moment. She held her breath and listened. It seemed to be coming from Simon’s adjoining chamber. Filled with misgiving, she rose from her bed and padded across the carpet to listen at the door. A low rumble reached her ears, unmistakably Simon’s voice. Then there was the softer voice of a woman.
Maggie pressed her ear to the door, not caring that it was an act better suited to a schoolroom girl than to a woman of her years. She was desperate to know what was being said, yet terrified to know at the same time. Unfortunately, she couldn’t decipher their words no matter how hard she tried, but perhaps it was because of the blood rushing to her head. Anger took her over first. How dare the woman be so bold as to go to Simon’s chamber? How dare Simon give her entrance?
Beneath the anger, an awful tide of hurt rose through her. How could he betray her in their home, and so soon after he had made love to her? How could he show her such passion only to give the same to another woman? A mere month ago, you never entered my thoughts, and now you’re all I can damn well think about, he had told her, the rotten liar. Perhaps she had been wrong and he did not possess a heart after all.
Part of her wanted to throw open the door and confront them both, but the other part of her feared very much what awaited her on the other side. She couldn’t bear to see him holding Lady Billingsley, kissing her, touching her. Feeling ill, she paced back to her bed and sank into it. She had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to, and for the first time in her largely unhappy stay in England, she felt completely and utterly alone.
Tears stung her eyes, and try though she might, she couldn’t keep them from falling. After all this time, all the wisdom she had sworn she’d gained, he still had the power to hurt her, to crush her as if she were a paper doll beneath his boot heel. It was a horrible realization. She wanted so much to be impervious to him, to have been as worldly as Lady Needham. But she supposed that in the end, she was still the same dreamer with a poet’s soul she had always been, a girl who naively believed in the promise of passion. A girl who felt too much, who saw the best in others even when it was not present, and who allowed a cad to strike too close to her heart. It had not been the first time Simon had hurt her, but as she lay in the darkness planning what she ought to do, she decided that it would have to be the last.