Martha Schroeder (15 page)

Meg smiled. “You are right. We can almost be assured that our future together will be happier than our past. It will give us much to be grateful for.”

The rest of that long, rainy afternoon they spent wandering around the house. It was the first time in a long while that Meg had really looked at her home. She pointed out some of its beauties—the plasterwork and wood paneling in the dining room and the library were still lovely. But most of what they saw needed to be refurbished.

“I should begin making a list of what needs to be done,” she said without enthusiasm. “Perhaps I could recruit a few girls from the village to help clean. Then we could see what repairs and changes should come next.” She sighed. The house had never much occupied her, and the idea of spending time counting linen sheets and selecting chair covers did not seem very exciting, nor did she know exactly how to go about making such decisions. It was one more example of how lacking she was in the arts most women acquired at their mothers’ knees.

Then they came to the back parlor that looked out over some of the home farm’s fields that lay before her, neat and fruitful. Meg brightened. She might not be much of a woman, but she was a fine bailiff. Surely that ought to count for something.

* * * *

That night Meg stood in front of the window in the bedroom of the master suite and stared blindly out into the darkness. Perhaps she shouldn’t have decided to use the suite as hers and James’s. It had remained empty for years, used only on those rare occasions when the earl visited. Now she stood, clutching the heavy gold silk draperies, wishing she were back in her own cozy room with its soft blue chintz curtains and bedcover. This severe, ornate chamber made her feel cold and a little uneasy, the way she had felt around her father when she was young.

There was no reason why she should feel anything but relaxed and comfortable now, she told herself. James had done everything he could to make the day a happy one for her. He had remained always near her, smiling at her and touching her. Whenever he did, she felt those quicksilver shivers glide over her body.

They had taken tea, and he had made her laugh with his sly, mordant wit. Dinner had seen him dressed again in his formal best and looking not only striking but commanding. It was easy to see why he had been made a captain at twenty-three.

“Promoted when you were almost as young as Nelson,” Meg had said.

“Still thinking of him, are you?” James had kissed her, and she’d felt for the first time more excited than apprehensive about what was going to occur that night. “We’ll have to see about that, my lady.”

And now here she was, dressed in the pale cream nightdress of muslin as smooth and light as silk that Annis had embroidered for her. She sensed something and turned around to face the room.

There he was, standing in the doorway watching her, in his eyes that hot, heavy-lidded look that had caused her heart to race before. He wore a stiff brocaded dressing gown. Its rich crimson color made his hair gleam gold in the candlelight.

“J-James,” she said, hating that slight hesitation. She sounded as if she were afraid, and she wasn’t. There was nothing for her to be afraid of. She was here with James, her husband, whom she had chosen for herself after seeing him and talking with him and deciding that he would make a fine partner.

Chin up, she smiled and walked over to him. Before she had quite reached his side, he put his hand on her cheek. “You aren’t afraid, are you, Meg?” he asked, his voice soft and slow.

“No, I am not afraid of you. I would never marry a man I feared.” She placed her hand over his and leaned into the caress.

“Of what is to come, then?” His blue eyes were dark with some emotion she couldn’t quite identify. Passion, she hoped. Pity, she feared.

“Not afraid.” She thought for a moment, then smiled, her eyes veiled by her lashes. “A bit apprehensive. I do know what goes on, you know, James. I mean, I’ve watched the horses and—”

She was interrupted by a rumble of laughter that shook his shoulders. “It is a bit different from the horses, my love! At least, I hope so,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. “No wonder you feel apprehensive.”

“James,” she protested, but somehow she found herself laughing, too. “I didn’t mean that you—that we—”

“I am very glad to hear it.”

And then his lips were on hers, and her arms slid around his neck where her fingers tangled with his thick, slightly wavy hair. It felt like heaven. And this time they did not need to stop. No one would come to interrupt them. The trickle of excitement that ran through her grew stronger, and she could feel her body begin to grow warm and soft.

She pressed herself against him as closely as she could, craving the hard warmth of his arms. James nibbled at her lower lip, and instinctively she opened her mouth in response. To her surprise, his tongue began to glide along her lips, and she opened them wider. He invaded her mouth, and Meg gasped and broke the contact between them.

“James! Can you do that? With your tongue, I mean.”

Again that smile and the hot, slow look in his eyes. It softened the harsh planes of his face and made him look almost handsome.

“I can kiss you like that,” he said. “And you can kiss me the same way. If you’d like to, that is.” He smoothed her cheeks with his big, calloused fingers. “I know that horses don’t often do it, but I thought we might branch out a little from the purely utilitarian. If you don’t mind?”

Meg could feel her cheeks heating. His teasing made her feel naive and stupid.

His fingers ceased their hypnotic stroking. “You are looking embarrassed, my love. There is no need, none. I wasn’t laughing at you, Meg. I only meant that I do not want to do anything that will displease you. So you must say whatever you are thinking. I thought if I could make you laugh, it would be easier for us. It is a ridiculous business at best, so it’s better to laugh.”

“Ridiculous?” Meg had never heard that. But when you thought about it—

“Well, sometimes. Come, you’re beginning to get cold.” He swung her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed. As he put her down, he took one of her feet in his hands. “Your feet are freezing. Quick, under the covers, and I’ll join you in a moment.”

Meg lay where he’d put her, still able to feel the warmth of his hand on her foot. She watched as he went over to the window and released the cords holding the draperies back. The heavy gold silk fell to cover the panes, releasing a cloud of dust. James began to cough.

“I think perhaps you had better engage the seven maids with seven mops from the village as early as tomorrow.”

Meg closed her eyes. “Yes, I think you are right.” Was she going to be reduced to the status of housekeeper? Was that what he thought his money had bought him?
And if he does, have you done one thing to make him see you differently?
She sat bolt upright and watched as he extinguished the candles on the mantel and came over to the bed.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice tense.

“I’m not a good housekeeper, James. I don’t think I’m ever going to be. I never learned and I don’t much care for it. I’m not going to spend my time supervising the kitchen and rubbing up the furniture.” Meg folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him, as if daring him to contradict her.

James sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked very serious, and as always it added to her appeal. Meg was never anything less than herself. “You can do whatever you need to. I am very sure of that. And we both will need to take some time to discover what we need.” He reached out to stroke her tumbled curls back from her forehead. Then very gently he rose and discarded his robe.

The clouds had blown away during the afternoon. The moonlight that filtered in through the crack where the draperies met made James’s naked body look like marble. Meg had never seen any of the statues that Lord Elgin had brought from Greece, but she had read about them. Those ancient depictions of masculine beauty must have been like her husband’s body, for it was beautiful. Her breath caught in her throat.

“James,” she murmured.

He slid beneath the covers and reached for her. “Tonight I don’t care who picks out the chair covers. Tonight we are just man and woman.” His mouth descended to hers. “Husband and wife.”

“Yes.” Meg felt a rush of excitement. She turned over and lay on her stomach, and turned her head away. “I am ready, James.”

He looked at her. Surely she didn’t think ... But apparently she did. Not wanting to embarrass her, he stroked the long elegant line of her back with a gentle hand. The swell of her hip tempted him, and he cupped one round buttock and squeezed gently.

“James!” Meg rolled onto her side and looked back over her shoulder, her look unconsciously provocative. He responded by kissing her slightly swollen lips and playing with her tongue. Her breath sighed out from between her parted lips. “James,” she whispered.

His reply was to tug on her shoulder till she tumbled onto her back. Never relinquishing her mouth, James began to caress her, his hands lingering on her breasts.

“I’ve wanted to do this almost from the first moment I saw you,” he said. “And I’ve wanted to see you, too. Let me slip this ravishing gown off you so that I don’t do it any damage.”

Obligingly, Meg raised her hips. She felt as if her body were a stranger to her. James was drawing a response from it that she would never have thought she was capable of, even if she had been aware of the possibility. James wanted her, she couldn’t doubt that. And he made her believe that he meant every word he said in praise of her. His lips and his hands told her as well. It might not last. It wouldn’t last. Such an alien feeling was bound to disappear once she was back in the real world, wearing her old blue riding habit, going about her mundane work.

But now, tonight, Meg let reality go and allowed her mind to fill with the sight and feel and smell of James. Moonlight gilded his hair and turned his face to highlight and hollow. Mysterious. Unknowable. Husband. Soon he would make her his wife.

Soon.

She reached for him with impatient hands. She didn’t want to wait any longer. She wanted to know. She wanted to feel everything she knew he could bring her.

James smiled. He shook his head. “These things cannot be rushed. I intend to savor you.”

“I’m sorry, James, it’s just that I... I...”

“You’re apprehensive. I know.”

“It’s not that. Not now.” She shook her head and frowned earnestly. “It’s that I—I feel...”

James bent to kiss her once again and to stroke her breast. He noted the little hitch in her breath. “Yes? How do you feel? Do you like this?” His leg moved against hers, up and down, slowly stroking her.

The slight roughness of his body hair only intensified the experience for her. Nothing she had ever felt before had prepared her for the sensations that bombarded her. Meg felt a liquid warmth pool deep within her.

“Yes.” She didn’t recognize her voice. She could scarcely breathe.

“Good.” He moved against her, luxuriating in the sensual thrill of tasting and feeling so much of her. “Good. I do, too.”

“You mean, I could—”

“Yes. Yes, indeed. If you’d like to.” Was that a note of uncertainty she heard? This time she was sure it was. A warm rush of feeling made her circle his shoulders protectively. He needed to know she wasn’t afraid.

“It’s all right, James. I know it’s you and I’m not hurrying. It’s just that I want—

“What, love? What do you want?”

“There’s this feeling—I ache and I feel—I want—”

“Ah, yes. Yes. I understand.”

And he did. He must because he stroked her just where the ache was most intense. Then, as she was beginning to feel that she would never overcome this new feeling that made her want ... well, she didn’t know what, he carefully, slowly, beautifully, began to make love to her.

And in a very short while, Meg understood all the things no one had ever been able to explain to her. It was very simple after all.

It was completion; it was magic.

It was love.

Chapter Fifteen

“Will my lady be joining you for breakfast, Captain?” Meadows asked, his wooden butler’s demeanor warring with the curiosity of a lifelong retainer. His hands were slightly less deft than usual as he set tea and toast in front of his lady’s new husband.

The captain looked all right. Not too tired and certainly not ... dissatisfied. So whatever had happened last night in the master suite didn’t appear to have been a disaster. Still, Meadows couldn’t help worrying a bit.

“She was still asleep when I left. I think we should let her rest this morning, Meadows. Yesterday was very tiring for her.” Without looking up, James spread marmalade on his toast.

Well, that didn’t tell him much, Meadows thought. Of course yesterday was tiring for Miss Meggie. He knew that. What he wanted to know was just why it was tiring. Had the captain been gentle with her? Meadows stared at the impassive profile, with its uncompromising cheekbones and stubborn chin. He could read nothing into that face. Perhaps he’d send Mrs. Meadows up to see to their lady in a few minutes. Miss Meggie might be sitting upstairs crying her eyes out, hurt and in pain!

At that moment the door to the kitchen swung open and Mrs. Meadows came in, her forehead furrowed. Meadows took a step toward her. She was as good a wife as a man could ask for, and no one had a lighter hand with pastry, but she didn’t always know her place. And from the look of her, she was about to ask the captain some very blunt questions about last night and his treatment of Miss Meggie. And if she didn’t get the right answers, the Lord alone knew what she’d say!

As if he could read their worried minds, the captain looked up at both of them and smiled, a distinct twinkle in his blue eyes. “She’s fine. Just tired.”

Something in the smile and the tone of voice told them he had answered their questions.

“Thank you, sir,” said Meadows as he pulled his wife out the door and back to the kitchen.

James leaned back in the comfortable old Queen Anne chair. It would have been better for a good rub with beeswax, he thought idly. Not that he cared one way or the other, especially this morning. He was, he realized with some surprise, happy. His ship seemed to be anchored in calm seas and under sunny skies. Meg had been a revelation. He had feared that her sense of having always faced things alone would have made her incapable of trusting a man—no, not just any man, but him, James Sheridan. Yet somehow they had made contact, made peace; perhaps they had even made love last night. This morning he felt as if he had fought the most important battle of his life and had won.