Authors: Cathy Maxwell
He swung open a narrow window. “I think I can make it out of here by climbing out this. I’ll get the horse and sneak back in through another way besides the front door. What do you suggest? Does the kitchen have a separate entrance?”
Samantha shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold air blowing freely through the window. Why was he so eager to leave?
She knew the answer…and it made her feel stupidly girlish. She! A woman of six-and-twenty. For one shining moment, she had naïvely hoped for a miracle, that he would fall in love with her and she with him and they would be happy ever after…
What rot.
She kept her voice as calm as she could. “You have no intention of honoring our wedding vows, do you?”
He shut the window, his brows coming to
gether in concern, as if he’d just now thought of her. “Samantha, I…” He paused, whatever he’d been about to say abandoned. Instead, he said, “I’m a wealthy man. I don’t need to work in a stable. I can set you up nicely, wherever you wish. You’ll never worry for another thing for the rest of your life.”
“But we won’t have a marriage.”
His hands dropped to his side. “I don’t want you to feel tied down to me.”
“Because you are leaving?”
“I have a life somewhere else.”
She came to her feet, horrified by a new thought. “You aren’t already married, are you? Mrs. Sadler said you told her you didn’t
have
a family—”
“I’m not married, Samantha. You can be assured of that.”
“Then why do you want to leave me?” She asked the question whose answer she most feared. She knew it would be because she was old and plain and too intelligent and forthright for her own good. “Why did you marry me at all?” she whispered.
“I married you because that is what you wanted most. And because I owe you for saving my life—”
“I expect no payment. And what makes you think I want marriage most in my life?”
“Because you told me. Yesterday, when you were crying.”
Samantha remembered. Her cheeks flamed
with shame. Too embarrassed to look at him, she sat back down on the bed. “I was upset and tired. I shouldn’t have spoken that way in front of you. Please, you are free to leave. I will not stop you.”
Her fingers brushed the ring on her hand. She twisted it off. “Here. Now climb out the window and go to your freedom.”
He didn’t move to take the ring. “Samantha, I can’t leave you here to face all of them alone.”
She studied the stitching on the bedcover. “I will be fine.” She didn’t feel fine. She actually felt numb, as if her body was trying to protect her from pain.
The mattress gave as he sat down beside her. “I’m not going to leave you.”
She didn’t try to speak. If she did, she would cry. How could she have shamed herself and admitted her innermost thoughts to him?
He hadn’t married her to be gallant; he’d pitied her.
She doubled up the bedcover in her fist without realizing it and then had to force her hand to release it.
“Samantha, look at me. We must talk of this.”
A lump had formed in her throat. It hurt to speak. “There is nothing left to say.”
He was not happy with her answer. She could sense his exasperation, but she could do nothing for it. She wanted him to leave—the sooner, the better.
Outside this silent room, she could hear Squire
Biggers’s voice above all the others, singing with the fiddler. They were having a grand party in her honor.
She should hate Marvin…but she couldn’t. All she could feel was disappointment, as if something expectant and hopeful had died within her.
“Please, Samantha, don’t be this way.”
She didn’t know what he meant. How did he expect her to act?
He raked his hair with fingers, a gesture she noticed he did whenever he was irritated or frustrated.
Downstairs, the fiddler changed his tune. The dancers were “whooping” with rowdy joy.
And then Marvin placed his hands on her shoulders, turned her bodily to face him, and kissed her.
Samantha had never been kissed before by someone other than her parents, and this completely surprised her. His lips felt hard and unyielding. His hands were on her shoulders. Her hands were flapping in the air.
Her eyes were wide open.
He opened his.
She went cross-eyed staring into his gaze.
He jerked back, the kiss broken. “Samantha, when a man kisses you, you aren’t supposed to stare at him.”
She raised trembling fingers to her lips. “I didn’t know what to do.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Obviously.”
His dry sarcasm hurt her already wounded ego. “I thought you were leaving.”
“I am, once I’ve convinced you to come with me.”
“And how are you going to do that?” she asked.
“I am going to kiss you again,” he said doggedly.
Samantha jumped to her feet and backed toward the door. “I don’t want you to. I didn’t like it.” The noise of hand-clapping drifted up from downstairs. The wedding party was still going strong.
“Oh, Sam,” he said, with exasperation.
Sam.
No one had ever shortened her name in that manner. She liked it; she shouldn’t like it.
He rose from the bed and began walking toward her. “We’re going to try it again.”
“Why?” she asked, moving around the room away from him. “Because you feel sorry for me?”
“No. Because I want you to come with me.”
He stopped.
She stopped. Her back was to the bed.
“Give it a chance, Sam,” he said quietly. “Try and be something you are not for just a little bit and you may find you enjoy the new freedom.”
She wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but this time, when he took the three steps to stand directly in front of her, she did not run.
“Your dress is pretty,” he said in a rough voice.
“The villagers made it.” Her tone was more clipped. She inwardly winced to hear it.
“They did a fine job.”
She could only nod. When he stood this close and his purpose was so intent, she found it hard to breathe, let alone speak.
“Sam, give me your hand.”
She shied away, but her legs hit the bed and she could move no farther. “Why?”
“I want to hold your hand.”
It seemed like an innocent request. She held up her hand. He took it in his much larger, stronger one.
“For being such a strong woman, you are a petite thing.” The flats of his fingers gently traced the tips of hers. He stood so close that if she leaned forward, her breasts would rub his coat.
He carried her hand up to her chin and used it to tilt her head up. “This time, I want you to close your eyes.”
“This time?” she echoed breathlessly.
He placed her hand on his shoulder. “Aye, this time.”
He bent over to kiss her and her eyes fluttered shut.
This time his kiss started off tentative, respectful. But when she offered no resistance, it changed. It became insistent, even demanding. He nuzzled her with his nose and tickled her
bottom lip with his tongue. She parted her lips in surprise and his lips opened to match hers.
Samantha discovered herself kissing him as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. She lifted her head higher, the better to let him kiss her, and he took full advantage.
His lips were no longer soft and yielding, but hungry, with a hunger she found in herself.
She made a soft noise of anticipation and his arms came around her to fit her to him. The kiss deepened.
Being this close to another human felt good. When he pressed his hand flat against the small of her back, she scooted nearer still until their bodies seemed to line up—her breasts against his chest, her thighs against his thighs.
She could taste him now. He used his tongue and she didn’t even flinch because it all felt so very right.
No wonder poets wrote about kissing! It was far better than any description she had ever read. It made her feel warm, real, alive…and when Marvin stroked her tongue with his in very slow, deliberate movements, her toes curled and she pressed herself against him for more.
He accepted her surrender with a low growl of satisfaction. Before she even realized it, he was pressing her back on the bed. He lay down beside her, still kissing her.
His lips left hers and worked their way along her jaw to her ear. His breathing was deep and heavy.
Hers was too.
“Sam.” His voice hummed in her ear and seemed to go through her body.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“You are a good kisser.”
She almost laughed, his praise pleasing her. “You are too.”
Against her neck she felt his lips curve into a smile. “I’d like to make love to you.”
She almost melted into the bedcover. She struggled for common sense. “I…don’t…know.”
“Ah, Sam. You want it too. See?” His hand caressed her breast and her nipple tightened into a hard bud. It felt good to have him touch her this way.
She attempted to rise, but he leaned over her and kissed her again.
This time, he didn’t have to tell her to close her eyes. Between her legs, she felt an answering tug when his tongue began stroking hers.
She didn’t know what was happening to her. She no longer recognized herself. Her arms were up around his neck and she was pressing herself closer to him.
When he broke the kiss, she made a soft moue and then he ordered, “Sam, unfasten my breeches.”
His command should have shocked her, but it didn’t. If anything, she wanted to know more. His kiss had opened a Pandora’s box of new and exciting feelings. She was an eager student.
Her fingers began fumbling with the buttons. They were almost impossible to twist open with him outlining her ear with the tip of his tongue.
He didn’t seem to be having the difficulties she was. His fingers deftly unlaced the back of her dress. He nuzzled the neckline down over her breasts and pushed aside her light camisole. He pressed his lips over the tight nipple.
Samantha cried out.
She no longer heard the sounds of dancing and clapping downstairs. She could not imagine the bed, or the inn, or even the village. Her whole being centered on this man and what he was doing to her body.
He sucked first one breast and then the other. His hands slowly pressed the dress down her arms so that she was more fully exposed to him. He began untying the tapes of her petticoat with practiced ease.
She felt wanton. Wicked. Sensual.
She began pulling at his coat, wanting his clothes removed too. He paused to help her, tossing the coat over the side of the bed and ripping at the knot in his neckcloth.
She tugged his shirt from the waist of his breeches. She started to work on the buttons again, but he said, “Wait.”
He stood and removed his shirt. He then sat on the edge of the bed and yanked off first one boot and then the other. He dropped them on the floor, where they landed with a
clomp.
Then he stood and began unbuttoning his breeches.
Samantha watched wide eyed.
He grinned, hooked his hands under the waist, and pushed them down, taking his socks off with them.
When he straightened, her lips parted in surprise. She’d never seen a fully erect man before and she was impressed. Her body ached to feel him beside her. And yet—
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
Samantha hesitated and then admitted, “I am not certain how this all works.”
He laughed, the sound sure and knowing. “I’ll show you.”
He knelt on the bed and began undressing her. He took his time, keeping her warm with his kisses. He kissed places she’d never imagined anyone had ever
thought
of kissing, and she could do nothing but sigh with pleasure.
When she wore nothing save her stockings tied with garters, he leaned over her and began nibbling the inside of her thigh.
She squirmed. This was too much.
He raised his head and smiled wickedly. “You’re not ready for that yet, are you?”
She didn’t know what
that
was, but she wasn’t sure she wanted him to stop—and then his fingers brushed the downy hair between her thighs, before dipping lower and touching what seemed to be the very core of her being.
Samantha reached for him, lost in a world that
centered on this man and what he was doing to her body.
She placed her hands around his shoulders, feeling the smooth skin of his back. Her legs parted, giving him fuller access to the deepest reaches of her.
“Marvin,” she repeated again and again, his name a plea, a cry, a benediction.
She ran her hands down his back and along his side. Her fingers brushed his erection and she was startled that he could feel so soft and yet so hard at the same time.