The Reluctant Reformer (24 page)

Maggie stopped thinking. Thought was impossible under this assault to her senses. James's lips and teeth sucked and scraped over flesh burning with want. When he inserted one finger gently inside her, she was positive it was what her body was shrieking for. She shifted violently into the caress, her ability to speak reduced to grunts and groans and mindless begging. She wanted…She wanted…

She
wanted
.

She shifted and arched and ground mindlessly into his touch. As he straightened suddenly before her, his hand still manipulating her flesh, she pulled him to her by the hair, pressing upon him, an open-mouthed, desperate kiss. She raked at his shoulders until his upper body was pressed tightly against hers, naked flesh to naked flesh. Some vague memory of his guiding her hand to his arousal back at Ramsey rose in her mind, along with the feverish thought that perhaps, if she did it again, he might give her what she was aching for.

It was a purely selfish thought, but Maggie didn't particularly care. Sliding a hand between them, she sought and found the rigid length of him through his breeches. She smiled against his mouth when he stiffened. His mouth and hand froze until she squeezed, then ran her hand over the length of his hardness, then his kisses became more like her own desperate devouring.

Maggie didn't really have a clue what she was supposed to be doing, though, so relief washed through her when he brushed her hand aside. She felt his hand moving between them, but didn't realize what he was trying to do until he cursed against her lips, then tugged away
to glance down. Following his gaze, she saw that he was trying to undo the buttons of his breeches. She started to reach down to aid him, but he didn't have any patience. Grasping the flap, he tugged violently, snapping most of the buttons and pulling the flap open so that his manhood sprang out.

Maggie's eyes widened incredulously at the size of the member pointing up at her, but then James moved closer, his lips gliding over her brow, down her cheek, and then to her lips. Her response to his kiss was a little less excited than it had previously been. Apparently noting this, James slipped one hand between her legs, obviously trying to rebuild some of that urgency. It didn't take much effort before Maggie was moaning and arching into his touch again. He left off his caresses to pull her a little further forward on the desk, and press her legs apart. Then, he paused.

Confused, Maggie glanced up to see the question in his eyes. He was awaiting permission. Biting her lower lip, she gave a slight nod. That was all he needed. Holding her firmly by the bottom, he plunged into her.

They both froze. For a moment the only sound was their labored breathing; then James lowered his head to glance at her uncertainly. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes.” Maggie's voice was slightly strangled, but understandable for all that. His penetration had caused a slight pinching sensation, but it was already gone. Feeling heat rise into her face, she cleared her throat. “You?”

A tiny laugh slipping from his lips, James leaned his forehead against hers and nodded. “Tell me when you are ready to continue.”

Maggie hesitated, prepared to say “Right away,” then
thought perhaps this would be terribly indelicate. She waited a twelve count before murmuring, “I think it would be all right to continue now, my lord.”

She felt James begin to shake, and it took a moment to realize that he was laughing. Scowling, she drew back. “What is so funny?”

“You. Me,” he admitted wryly—then all humor was gone from his face and his dark eyes seemed to swallow her. “God, you make me burn.”

Maggie felt herself melt; then his mouth descended on hers. It was a hard, branding kiss, and he began to move out of her, then back in. Maggie wasn't impressed with the activity at first. It was pleasant enough, she supposed. At least, it wasn't
un
pleasant—but it did leave her wondering where all the fire and excitement had gone. That thought had barely crossed her mind when James used his hand on her bottom to change the angle of her hips, shifting himself at the same time to add a friction that had been absent.

Maggie gasped. Her earlier excitement returned in full force. Her nails dug unconsciously into the skin of James's shoulders as she arched into him, doing what she could to increase the fire that was building within her. Reaching and striving for the unnamed reward that awaited, Maggie instinctively closed her legs around his hips, her heels digging into his backside, urging him on.

“Oh, God, Maggie, I—” Breaking off that thought, whatever it had been, James reached between them, his hand searching the center of her desire, and Maggie cried out as his touch helped her finally find what she sought. She was so overtaken with the shattering discovery of her pleasure, she was barely aware of the way James suddenly thrust into her—or how he held still,
his face contorted in what looked like pain as he gasped her name through gritted teeth.

Maggie was the first to recover. Aware of the echoes of a pulsing throb in her body, she turned her head against James's chest, her hands moving soothingly over his shoulders. He murmured something she couldn't understand where he slumped against her, then turned his head to press a kiss to the side of her throat, his arms tightening possessively around her.

Maggie was a little concerned to see the solemn expression on his face as he straightened. It rather pointed out just what they had indulged in and the possible ramifications. She knew instinctively she wasn't going to like what he said when he opened his mouth to speak, but wasn't any happier that he was cut off by the sudden opening of the library door.

“Really, my lady, I do not think—” Meeks's voice cried out in alarm. Maggie and James both watched in horror as the door opened.

“Nonsense, Meeks. I just want James to tell Lady Wingate here—” Lady Barlow's voice died abruptly as she stepped into the room and caught a glimpse of her nephew and her houseguest.

There was a moment of utter silence; then Lady Wingate—who—Maggie had unfortunately had the pleasure of meeting in previous, much more socially acceptable conditions—stepped around the frozen Lady Barlow and into view.

The old woman was a sweet, dear old friend of Lady Barlow's, one Vivian had known since her youth. She was also blind as a bat. Squinting at the tableau, she adjusted her glasses and tried to make out exactly what she was seeing. “What the devil? Is that you, James?
Who is that with you? And what in heaven's name are you doing on Vivian's desk?”

The woman's screech set everyone in motion at once. James stepped around to try to shield Maggie from view: a poor choice that left him hanging out for the world to see, and left little doubt as to what had been going on. Meanwhile, Maggie had slithered off the desk. Well, once she unstuck her behind from the wooden surface to which she seemed to have become some how adhered, she slithered off, dropping out of sight behind it.

Lady Barlow shook herself out of her own shocked state. She promptly turned to push her dear old friend out of the room. Meeks, always quick to help, muttered unintelligibly, grabbed the door, and tugged it abruptly closed behind himself as he followed the women out.

The room fell silent as James's aunt and her friend departed. James stood frozen for a moment, hands on his hips, his eyes closed against what had just happened, and a miserable sigh slipped from his lips. This was not what he had intended. Hell, he hadn't intended anything at all—but if he
had
planned anything, it would not have been this! He could hardly believe he had been caught in such a compromising position.
Dear God!
His brains had apparently gone a-begging. How had he been reduced to this? It was bad enough that he'd allowed his passions to overtake him and had taken Maggie on a writing desk like some rutting bull. But he had done so in his aunt's damned house, with her in the next room, where discovery was almost a certainty. What had he been thinking?

He knew what he had been thinking: he had been thinking of Maggie's silken thighs around him and her small, full breasts in his hands. He had been thinking
of her lips soft and warm under his, and her warm, slick flesh wrapped around him.
Dear God, I'm thinking it again
, he realized with dismay, feeling himself swell with desire at the memories dancing through his poor beleaguered mind.

“James!”

Giving a start, he opened his eyes, guilt filling him as he met his aunt's furious gaze. She stood in the open doorway, obviously having returned to chastize him. Closing the door with a snap, she propped her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “Put yourself away, young man, before I put that away for you!”

Brought to the realization that he was standing naked with a rather impressive—if he did say so, himself—erection in plain view, James turned quickly away. He tucked himself inside his breeches and did up the few buttons remaining after his earlier recklessness. That done, he started to turn back, then paused to tuck his shirt into his waistband and smooth his hair. He paused to take a long, deep, steadying breath, then turned to face his aunt's puckered expression.

“I…” he began, unsure what to say but ready to try. He needn't have bothered. Aunt Vivian wasn't up to listening to any of the nonsense he might have trotted out.

“I have managed to hustle every last one of my guests out. Where is Maggie?” she asked fiercely. James glanced over his shoulder, frowning when he saw the empty desk. A movement drew his gaze downward, and he spotted her barely covered derriere and ankles sticking out from beneath it. Knowing from experience how cramped and hot she would be, he sighed then stepped around the desk and bent forward to peer into the nook.
Maggie sat curled inside, her knees up, covered by her shirt and her arms. Her head was bowed, her eyes pressed firmly into her linen-obscured knees.

“Maggie?” he called gently. Her only response was to curl up tighter, like a child hiding from an angry nanny. Biting back a smile, James dropped to his haunches and reached out to brush one hand over her elbow. “Come out, love,” he said.

Her head shook violently.

James was about to try again when a rustle of material warned him of his aunt's approach. He glanced up to see her expression soften as she saw Maggie, and he felt relief. This was a bad enough situation; he really had no desire to see his aunt blame her for it. It was entirely his fault, after all. She'd been an innocent. He was experienced, skilled, had overwhelmed her with his passion….

His smugness died an abrupt death when his aunt snapped at him. “Get out of the way, James. Leave the girl alone. Haven't you done enough to her?”

Wincing at her sharp tone, he straightened and moved around the desk. His aunt paused to murmur something to Maggie, then followed James, her expression becoming grimmer with each step. He was not at all surprised when she launched her attack.

“So
this
is how you repay her brother for saving your lecherous life?”

“I am marrying her,” was all he said.

“I have never been so ashamed in all my born days. That poor—What did you say?”

James nearly smiled at her astonishment, but managed to contain himself and repeated, “I shall marry Maggie, of course.”

Aunt Vivian deflated like a sail losing its wind, then raised her head, her nose high. “Yes. Of course.”

“A quick marriage would probably be best.”

“Dear God, yes,” she agreed. “Hazel Wingate is not known for her ability to keep a confidence.” Moving toward the door, his aunt announced, “I shall start to make the arrangements. Perhaps you should coax Margaret out from under the desk. I will order a bath sent to her room…it should help her feel better.”

Lady Barlow sailed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her. Oddly, James would swear he had spotted a satisfied smile on her lips in that last moment. He frowned over it briefly, then turned to the desk as the chair squeaked, announcing Maggie's emergence from beneath.

Quickly rounding the desk, James took Maggie's hand to help her up, his heart aching when he spied the mortified expression on her face and the dark, rosy flush of humiliation on her skin. She ducked her head. This had been a lousy way to end her first experience in lovemaking, and he wouldn't have wished it on her for the world. She deserved better. The woman should have had a soft bed beneath her, a wedding ring on her finger, and a slow, passionate seduction. Instead she'd gotten a quick hump against his aunt's desk. He was an animal.

“This is awful.”

Those muttered words from Maggie merely added to James's guilt. He pulled her body against his, a hug being the only thing he could think of to soothe her upset. It didn't appear to be working, he realized when she did not melt against him with relief, but stood stiff in his arms, her head shaking repeatedly in denial.

“Maggie,” he murmured gently. “'Tis not as bad as it seems. There will be some gossip, but once the marriage is accomplished, the rumors will die down and—”

“No.”

“Yes, they will,” he assured her, thinking she didn't believe him.

She pulled away and frowned at him. “I am not marrying you.”

James blinked in amazement at her announcement, then, deciding she was too upset to think clearly, again tried to draw her into his arms. “Of course you are, my dear. We—”

“Nay, I am not,” she argued, fighting her way out of his embrace. Bending, she snatched up her breeches from where they lay crumpled on the floor. “When my brother asked you to look after me, he hardly meant for you to sacrifice your life to my honor.”

“That is a bit melodramatic, is it not?” he chided gently, a touch embarrassed that he couldn't seem to get his eyes off her derriere as she tugged the breeches onto first one leg, then the other. “I am not sacrificing my life. I had to marry sometime, after all.”