Chapter Ten
Simon stared down at Meg, still flushed from her orgasm, her eyes glazed with want but also worry. How many nights had he dreamed of doing just this? How many times had he pleasured himself while picturing her writhing beneath him, surrendering herself to him?
And now he was here. He had already worshipped her body, he had already coaxed out her pleasure. All that was left was this final claiming. This last thing that would make her his.
But all he could think about was the pain he would cause. The physical pain of taking her had begun to represent all the other pain he would bring to her life from this day forward. The whispers today had been harsh. They had been cruel, even.
And there would be more to come. Because of him.
“Simon?” she whispered, lifting up slightly and reaching out to touch his cheek.
He let out a shuddering sigh and leaned into her gentle fingers. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted. “But there is no avoiding it.”
She tilted her head and examined him, and he thought she understood he wasn’t just talking about this night, this moment.
“You told me it wouldn’t always hurt—did you lie?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “No. No, after the first time it should never hurt again, if I am doing my job right.”
She smiled. “Then the pain leads to something better.”
He winced. “Meg—”
She reached between them and gently touched his cock, placing him at her entrance. “I want this, Simon. All of it. If the pain is part of it, then I want that too. Because all the feelings, the good and the bad, make it real. Make it true. Please.”
It was the please that hit him in the gut. She said it so softly, so gently, not as a plea on her behalf, but on his. And he had never been able to deny her. Not since the first moment he saw her. Certainly not since the moment he recognized she was not just a woman, but the woman for him.
And for better or for worse, for good or for bad, for whatever he had done to bring them here…now they were here. And while he wasn’t certain he would ever be worthy of loving her, if he was even capable of giving her what she needed, when it came to pleasure…there he was an expert.
He drew in a long breath, then met her eyes once more. As he focused on the deep brown depths, he pushed her legs just a little wider with his knee. He kept her stare even as he began to breach her.
And it was heaven. From the moment he slid inside, her body gripped him, a tight, wet glove that welcomed him home like he belonged there. He felt the resistance of her unused channel, knew when the pain hit by the way she caught her breath.
He stopped even though it took a lion’s share of control to do so, and stroked her cheek with his hand. “Relax,” he murmured.
She nodded. “It’s only a little pain,” she reassured him. “It’s so strange to have another person inside of me.”
He smiled and leaned in, pressing his mouth to hers. She opened to him immediately, his tongue stroking hers, just as he would stroke her with his body in a moment. When he felt her relax beneath him, her inner muscles flex and flutter, he pushed forward again.
She gasped into his mouth, but her arms didn’t unwind from his neck, her kiss didn’t stop and her body accepted him inch by inch until he was fully seated inside of her.
It was the most powerful thing he had ever experienced. Oh, he’d fucked plenty of women before, he’d found a great deal of pleasure in that act. But it was fleeting. This was something different. This was a woman he loved. A woman he’d been certain he would lose.
And now he was inside of her, her body flexing around him, her breath against his neck as she clung to him. He’d never felt such pleasure before and he hadn’t even started moving.
He flexed his hips gently, testing her response, and she let out a soft sound. “Does it hurt?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No,” she groaned. “Not hurt.”
He smiled at the tension in her voice, brought about by pleasure, and rolled his hips again. “Does it feel good?”
“Oh God,” she grunted, her fingernails digging slightly into his back. “Yes.”
He crushed his mouth down on hers and began to take her in long, steady strokes. She lifted to meet him, her innocence not as strong as her natural drive to find pleasure and to take his. And took his, she did. His cock had never felt so hard or so sensitive as he drove through her wet folds and ground against her already sensitive clitoris.
She was moaning now, her cries just a little too loud for the house full of people. He covered her mouth with his, letting her gasp and groan into him as he took her over and over again. His balls tightened, he knew he was going to spend, but he wanted her to come again. He wanted to mark her with pleasure before he marked her with his seed.
And then she cried out his name and her body began to flutter, massaging him with her inner muscles as orgasm hit her again. She stared up at him, eyes wide with both surprise and pleasure, and he could hold back no more. He thrust a few more times as she milked him and then allowed himself to find release as he came inside of her.
He collapsed down over her, feeling the softness of her body as her arms came around and held him. Her fingers smoothed along his spine as she pressed warm, sweet kisses against his neck and his shoulders. Simon let out a deep sigh. He had been waiting for this all his life, it seemed. And here he was. And she was his.
He had stolen her, of course.
That thought made his eyes come open and he rolled away from her onto his back, separating their bodies as the tightness around his chest returned in an instant.
Meg moved to her side and settled her head on his shoulder as she rested a hand on his chest. “I’m so glad you came here tonight,” she murmured, tracing a light pattern on his skin with the tips of her fingernails. “To be honest, I-I thought you might be angry with me.”
He looked down at her. “Angry?” he repeated. “Why?”
“Because you’re being forced to marry me,” she said with a sigh. “After you didn’t do anything wrong.”
He sat up slightly and it forced her to move. “Didn’t do anything wrong?” he repeated. “Can you be serious?”
She swallowed as she sat up, as well. “I only meant—”
“I followed you when I should have gotten your brother or your fiancé to do so,” he said. “I did it because I wanted you. And yes, being trapped in the cottage was not my fault specifically, but I kissed you, Meg. Because I wanted you. I have coveted you for years. Coveted what my friend had, and now I’ve taken it.”
Her lips parted and there was a flash of anger in her eyes. “Simon, I’m not a prize that can be passed from man to man. You didn’t steal a horse or a ring from Graham. You can’t steal a person.”
He turned his head. “Perhaps not, but here we are, aren’t we?”
She pushed from the bed and walked away, grabbing for her discarded robe and flinging it around her shoulders. As she tied it, he tried to push away his disappointment that she would want to cover herself.
She stared at him. “If you hate yourself, hate me, so much for what you’ve done, then why come here? Why make love to me? Why want me to have pleasure?”
He frowned as he got up. He saw her gaze flit to his cock and felt life begin to flow back into it. With a grunt of self-loathing, he turned away and grabbed his trousers, pulling them on before he said, “I don’t hate you. But I came here tonight because…because…”
He stopped. He’d been trying very hard not to analyze why he came to her door. He’d been thinking about her all day. All night. And somehow he’d just arrived there, knowing what he would do. Knowing what he wanted and would take because there was no longer someone standing in his way.
But why? That was something much darker.
“Why?” she repeated.
He gritted his teeth. “So that no one else could take you away. So that nothing could stop what is going to happen.”
She was silent, her expression stunned by the confession he hadn’t wanted to make to himself, let alone to her. The confession that he was little better than a thief who had come last night…and tonight.
“I have altered both our worlds, Meg,” he said softly. “And in the process I have destroyed a great many people I care for. All because I wanted you and was willing to do anything to have you. That is why I hate myself. That is why I don’t deserve happiness. Not while I have made so many others suffer for my selfishness.”
He moved toward the door.
“You’re leaving?” she asked.
He froze, hand at the door, and sighed. “We are not married yet, Meg. I-I don’t belong here.” With great difficulty, he left the room, left her. And as he shut the door and leaned on it in the hallway, he whispered, “I never did.”
Meg stifled a yawn and forced a smile as Emma poured her a cup of tea. “Thank you.”
“Unless you want something stronger,” Emma said, sitting down beside her and resting a hand gently on her stomach. Meg’s smile grew more real as she did, for she knew that Emma’s pregnancy was a great joy to her brother and his wife.
At least there was that, though she couldn’t imagine all this strain was good for Emma or the child.
“I’m fine. You should worry about you,” Meg said, reaching out to cover her hand and smiling as she felt Emma’s tiny belly beneath. No one except those who had been told would know yet.
“I’m not worried about me, I’m wonderful,” Emma reassured her. “But since your mother has not yet joined us for the planning for this final ball, I wonder if there’s anything you’d like to discuss with me. Is there any way I can help?”
Meg got up and paced away. She couldn’t help but think of the previous night. Of Simon’s body against hers, inside of hers, of all the pleasure she had experienced.
Just before he walked out the door.
She sent a side glance at Emma and found her friend waiting, quiet but expectant. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t find the words.
She blushed. “Will I be allowed to join the others tonight?”
Emma got to her feet with a gasp. “Dearest, you aren’t imprisoned. Great Lord, James and I only thought you might need a break from prying eyes and loud whispers. I know you haven’t had much of one with all the visitors to your door—”
Meg jolted at that statement and the memories of Simon at her door. But Emma was unaware and continued talking.
“—but of course you will join the group for supper tonight. And we’ll all lift our chins and have a brave face. Isn’t that what you told me not that long ago when I was confronting a humiliating experience?”
Meg smiled. “Your father trying to arrange a terrible marriage for you and James’s interference aren’t exactly the same things as what Simon and I have done.” She sighed. “Perhaps Simon is right that we deserve punishment. I’ve hurt our family, after all.”
Emma shook her head. “Neither of you deserves punishment. And this final ball is to prove that our family supports the union, Meg. Which we do. James and I fully support you.”
Meg blinked back the tears that suddenly stung her eyes. Of course James and Emma supported her. James had always been willing to do anything to protect her, including the engagement to Graham that had started this mess all those years ago. And Emma was patently incapable of doing anything but be sympathetic and loving. It didn’t change that both of them were being swept up in the wake of this scandal, even if Emma refused to acknowledge that fact.
Before Meg could say more, though, her mother strolled into the room. Meg turned toward her with a frown. The dowager looked fine to any casual observer, but Meg was not that. There were shadows beneath her mother’s eyes and a glazed look to her that meant one thing: she was hungover. A usual occurrence.
Emma sent Meg a supportive look, for she knew just as well as Meg the damage the dowager could do, and moved to the door to welcome her.
“There you are,” Emma said with a broad smile. “Just in time, for we were only beginning to talk about the final ball of the party. Meg’s engagement ball.”
The dowager sent Meg a brief look, and Meg shifted beneath her regard. Her mother was often hard to read, thanks to her emotions being blunted by alcohol. Today, though, she saw worry in the dowager’s eyes. Perhaps even judgment.
And if she had earned the judgment of a woman who often had to be snuck out of parties so she didn’t make a scene, how far Meg had fallen, indeed.
“I think the most important thing is that we act like this is the first ball we’ve ever held in honor of Meg’s engagement,” the dowager said, moving to pour herself tea and drinking deeply before she continued, “If anyone is so uncouth as to mention the Duke of Northridge, we move on as if his name was never mentioned.”
Meg frowned. “Graham is…was…such a good friend to both James and Simon. And we were engaged for so long, Mother. I don’t know that pretending he doesn’t exist will help.”
Her mother arched a brow. “The young man left here in order to protect you all in some way, did he not?”
Meg wrinkled forehead as she thought of Graham’s hasty and angry departure. At the time, she wasn’t certain he was thinking of her or Simon in any kind of protective way. But then again, if he’d stayed it only would have caused larger rumblings. More to stare at and analyze.
And the one thing Graham had always been was protective. Of James, of Simon…even of her.
“If part of his leaving was to protect Simon and me, then we owe him a great deal,” she said softly.
“And one day I’m certain you will have a chance to make all this up to him,” the dowager said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But for now, I say we make this a glittering ball, a powerful display of our family unity and celebration of this union.”
Emma ran a hand across her chin, as if she were pondering the suggestion. “I thought small and demure, but you are likely right. A larger display will show our support and perhaps silence those who would find fault in this match.”
“A good party will silence anyone if done properly,” the dowager said.
Emma nodded. “I agree. But since this party is tomorrow night, that means I must rush off to speak to the servants now and adjust our plans. Will you two be…” She darted her gaze to Meg. “Will you be all right?”
“Of course,” the dowager said. “Meg and I have lived together for years, of course we can be alone together.”
Meg nodded to allow Emma to leave. She did so, but Meg could see she was uncertain. Truth be told, so was she as she turned toward her mother.
“Now that Emma is gone, do you have anything to say to me, Mother?”
The dowager flinched ever so slightly at the question, but she didn’t back away. “You think I was holding back my judgments of you until Emma left?”
Meg shrugged. “I suppose if you had judgments, Emma’s presence wouldn’t have prevented you from stating them. I only thought you might want to scold me since you didn’t get the chance to do so yesterday when this mess began.”
“Because I was drunk,” her mother said.
Meg’s mouth dropped open in shock. The dowager had never acknowledged that she drank, not in all the years Meg had been tasked with watching her, protecting her, keeping her from public view when she was at her worst.
“I-I—”
Her mother shook her head. “Don’t you ever wonder why I escape in a bottle, Margaret?”
Meg turned her face slightly. “I know why. You were very unhappy with Father.”
“Do you? Do you truly understand? Perhaps you do, considering this broken engagement and compromising position you found yourself in.” The dowager let out a pained sigh. “Your father had a family before ours. The family he truly wanted. When they were killed in that accident, he didn’t want to marry again or have new children.”
Meg pursed her lips. Although this was not a conversation she had ever had with her mother, over the years she had discussed it with James…with Simon…and she’d tried to understand her father. Tried to feel for him and the grief he must have endured when he lost the family he’d chosen.
But that was hard when his cruelty toward her and her brother was so abject.
“He had his duty, though, didn’t he?” she said softly.
The dowager nodded. “Indeed, he did. And that duty was important to him. Our marriage was also arranged. My father’s fortune was good and his title was respected. It was a good match, at least on paper. The reality, as you know, was far different.”
“He hated us all,” Meg murmured. “I don’t think he spoke to me at all from the time I was seven or eight until the day he died. I was unimportant, not a boy, not a spare.”
Her mother shuddered. “He hardly spoke to me, either. He grunted over me, trying to produce a spare out of terror that his eldest son would die, but after you were born, we never conceived again. He hated me for it. He hated you for being a girl. He hated James for not being his late son.”
“Did you ever love him?” Meg asked softly, emboldened by this mother who was so open about the past.
She seemed to ponder the answer for a long moment.
“No,” she said at last. “In fact, I was…I was in love with someone else when the marriage was thrust upon me. I lost him and the future I had pictured. So I suppose there was enough resentment to go around between your father and me. The point is, Margaret, that marrying someone I did not love or even like only created misery for us all. It made me…this. It ultimately led me to fail you and James.”
Meg lifted a hand to her lips, for this additional acknowledgment of the dowager’s shortcomings was unexpected. “Mama,” she whispered, reverting to a less formal address than she usually used.
The dowager lifted her chin. “I know what I am, Margaret. And despite my flaws, I do…care for you. I don’t want to see you become what I am. I know you love your brother, I know he believes he’s doing what is right for you, but do not let anyone force you into what you don’t want.”
Meg bent her head. “The first engagement, to Graham…I didn’t want it. I was too young to argue and then the situation was so far gone I didn’t think I could. Perhaps in that scenario, I would have ended up…unhappy. But with Simon, it is different. I do want to marry him, Mother.”
Her mother smiled. It was such a rare expression, and for a moment Meg caught her breath, for she saw her brother in her mother’s face. She saw herself. She saw whatever could have been for a young woman before she was forced into a loveless, desperately unhappy marriage.
“Then don’t let go,” the dowager said. She cleared her throat and her usual sour expression returned. “My head is throbbing now. I think I shall go find something a bit stronger than tea. Good afternoon, Margaret.”
Her mother left and Meg sank hard into the closest chair to ponder their unexpected conversation. This moment of clarity was not one that would last, she would wager. There was too much pain for her mother to overcome without the help of alcohol. But this was the first time she’d connected with her mother in years—decades, even. And that she could, even in this dark moment, gave her hope.
A hope she decided to cling to with both hands as she faced the uncertain future with a man she no longer understood.