After The Storm (22 page)

“It hurts.” Her jaw tightened as the pain ebbed, but didn’t ease entirely.

A soft laugh bubbled to his lips and he dipped forward to kiss her. His kiss was slow and lingering, and as he pulled away, he whispered, “I’m sorry, love, I should have warned you about the pain a woman feels the first time. We can stop, if you wish.”

The pain lessened further. She shook her head. “No. Please…don’t.”

Another smile and he leaned in again. “I will be as gentle as I can,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

He caught her lips in another kiss, and thrust inside her. Her back bowed at the sudden burst of pain, and he caught her cry. She tried to retreat, her legs clamped against his sides again. “Please…stop…Hugh…”

He went still against her, nuzzling her as he murmured, “It’s over, love. I promise you, there will be no more pain.”

Bit by bit, the soreness faded and she relaxed beneath him. He moved again, and this time, pleasure blossomed. It radiated outward, shoved all memory of pain clear out of her mind. “Oh…my…”

Hugh rose up onto his forearms, his smile sensual and seductive. “Oh my, indeed…”

“Do you mock me?”

“Absolutely not, love. I agree.”

His laugh mingled with hers, soft and silken, and she pulled him down to meet her kiss. His kiss deepened, fiery and hot as his tongue plunged to capture hers, and she shivered against him as he moved inside her. His thrusts were slow, deliberate, and heat swelled, bloomed to life, burning white in its intensity.

Hugh groaned, his jaw tightening as he increased his pace. He thrust harder now, faster, and molten heat filled her, twisted and churned as each stroke brought her closer to the edge of ultimate bliss. Hugh raked along pleasure centers she had no inkling even existed, and once again white lights danced before her eyes.

His gaze locked with hers and she lost herself in the wickedly sensuous smile curving his lips. She returned his smile, and let her eyes close as the precipice beneath them fell away with a sudden explosion. Her back bowed as sudden, fiery pleasure scorched through her to steal her breath as she returned to that glorious peak. Hugh groaned above her, shuddered, and then arched into her. Once. Twice.

As violently as his climax erupted, serenity bloomed. He sank into her, fighting for breath, as his head came to rest on her breast. His heart beat a steady rhythm, vibrating through her as she tightened her arms about his neck and held him closer still.

There were no words inside her. None. Nothing could describe the magic of the moment, the beauty of what she’d experienced with him. His lips brushed her still-sensitive skin in a caress so tender it brought tears prickling her eyes. His breath rushed warm over her, slowing as he relaxed, and she blinked those tears back without much success.

A long, peaceful silence cocooned them. Firelight glinted off Hugh’s hair, danced over the bare skin of his back, and when he
did
move, it was to graze her with a kiss. She savored the sight before her, the beauty of this magnificent man in her arms, and knew no one else ever felt what she did at that moment. She’d discovered something wonderful and magical. Something defying definition.

Finally, she lifted a trembling hand to stroke the back of his neck, and Hugh looked utterly spent as he lifted his head to smile at her and murmur, “I do believe my legs are numb.”

He shifted, stretched out beside her, and gathered her into his arms. The loss of his heat set her to shivering, and she snuggled into him to recapture it. As the stone floor dug into her, the magic faded and the winter night returned with a vengeance. “I think the wind has died down,” she whispered, at a loss for what else to say. This wasn’t something she had any experience with, and she was unsure how to proceed. Too many emotions warred within her. Joy. Awe.

Her throat clogged. She hadn’t expected such amazement, such wonder. It was as if something extraordinary and magical just happened, and she was no longer the same person she’d been an hour earlier. Hugh’s touch changed her, and in ways she’d never thought possible.

She sniffed and hoped Hugh wouldn’t realize she was crying. If he
did
notice, he said nothing, but just drew her closer. His lips grazed the top of her head and he squeezed her gently.

Hugh remained silent, his fingers lazily skimmed over her shoulder and along her back as he stared up at the ceiling. When her eyes dried and she regained control of her silly emotions, she propped herself up on one arm, to gaze down at him.

A patchwork of scars lined his left leg from mid-thigh to mid-calf. They were impossible to miss, even with only the fire giving off light. Raised white and ugly, they were plainly visible despite the dark hair shadowing his flesh.

“Do they pain you?” she murmured.

He didn’t lift his head, didn’t pause his stroking of her skin. “Always.”

“What happened?” She bit her bottom lip, remembering the last time she’d asked him about his maimed leg and his promise to tell her if she asked again.

But where he’d once shoved her concern aside, this time, he murmured, “War injury, received in America. Plattsburg.”

The location meant nothing to her. “You were in the army?”

“Navy.” He turned to meet her gaze. His eyes were darker, but not angry, as he explained, “I served as a lieutenant on the HMS
Confiance
. During the last war with America, we were on Lake Champlain, up against the
Saratoga
.” His voice grew hard, bitter. “We were defeated.”

“How terrible,” she murmured, unable to think of anything better to say. What could possibly be appropriate for such a revelation? She traced a small circle on his chest with her forefinger. “And you were shot? Is that how you received these scars?”

He brought a hand down to cover hers, stilling it. “No. I was hit by fragments of round shot.”

She had no inkling as to what he meant. “Round shot?”

“It’s nothing more than a fancy name for cannonballs.” He grinned down at her. “But we were hit with over a hundred rounds. Some of it missed. Some of it didn’t.”

She didn’t miss the darkness that flashed through his eyes, and the urge to soothe rose inside her. She wanted to comfort him, to take away his pain, to make him forget. “And your leg?”

“A timber broke free and pinned me beneath it.” His fingers went still and his voice took on a faraway tone. He sighed, his words even more bitter as he added, “I was hailed a hero because I pushed several men out of harm’s way, and nearly lost my bloody leg as a result.”

He stretched and winced as he straightened his scarred leg. “And while I was lying abed, feeling quite proud of myself for convincing the surgeon not to take it, my father was buried.”

A powerful wave of sympathy engulfed her. “I am so sorry, Hugh,” she said, skimming her fingers along his belly. “But it was beyond your control.”

His laugh, as dry and bitter as his words, lacked any humor whatsoever. “It seems just about everything is beyond my control,” he muttered. “Father never understood why I chose the Navy. Families such as mine ordinarily choose the Army. Had I followed his wishes, it wouldn’t have happened. None of it.”

“Did no Army soldiers die? Did none ever get wounded?” she asked softly. “You do not know for certain. You could have been killed, which is much worse, if you ask me.”

“Not likely.” He shook his head, stroking her arm with the lightest of fingertips. “Men with means do not engage in combat, Randi. I’d have been an officer commanding troops. But I’ve always had a bit of a love affair with the sea. Had I not done what I did, had I not been injured, I’d have made the Navy my life. Let Gerry or Daniel have the bloody title and all of the hassles. To hell with all of it. I just wanted to be on the water. Land and holdings and Parliament hold no interest for me.”

She smiled down at him, imagining him in uniform, even more dashing and handsome than he was in his finery. She freed her hand to trail her fingers upward, through the dark hair spread thick across his chest. “I still think it was quite a heroic thing to do. As I said, you might have been killed. You say you were defeated, does that mean you were taken prisoner and forced to surrender?”

He nodded. “We were. But we were returned our swords. The Americans’ commander hailed us as worthy opponents and therefore deserving of our weapons.”

Perhaps this was standard, but it was quite impressive to her. “There is no shame in that, you know.”

“Nor is there any glory in it. We lost forty men that morning with eighty wounded. War is ugly. It’s death and dismemberment. It’s permanent reminders of ridiculous battles. It is whole men being ripped into shreds all for someone else’s gain.”

“You are not ripped to shreds, Hugh.” How was it he did not see the same man she saw? And how did she convince him he was not nearly as crippled as he thought himself? “So you limp and you’ve a few scars? That doesn’t make you a cripple.”

“It does, compared to the man I once was.”

“Oh, that’s silly.” She sat up and reached for her shirt. The dank chill seemed stronger, her skin pebbled into goose flesh and set her to shivering once more.

He didn’t move to halt her as she drew the shirt over her head. She shoved her arms into the sleeves and yanked it down. “It didn’t seem to matter to any of the ladies I saw gawking at you last eve. They don’t appear to regard you as a cripple. And it doesn’t seem to put your lady off at all.”

“No. I don’t suppose it does.”

A heaviness pressed down upon her. She didn’t know why she’d brought up Sally, save for the fact it suddenly seemed so…
wrong
to be there with him. She shouldn’t have allowed this, and yet she wouldn’t have stopped him unless Sally herself stepped into the cottage.

“What happens now?” She steeled herself for his response.

He didn’t answer. Glancing back over her shoulder, Miranda fought the urge to sigh as he sat, staring at the fire, now settled into a warm blaze. After a long silence, he said, “Everyone expects I will ask Sally for her hand. Sally expects I will.”

She knew this, but it stung just the same. “Yes, I know.”

His gaze met hers and she saw something in his eyes, something swirled about the green depths to give her pause. It wasn’t sadness. Nor was it anger. Rather, it was a finality. “It is something that will make both families happy. It was my father’s wish. One of the only things he ever asked of me.”

Her throat closed at the steely determination in his voice. Swallowing against the painful lump, she muttered, “You don’t need to explain. I understand.”

“If I had but known what my future held, perhaps both he and I might have reconsidered.”

Her heart stopped with a dull thud and the lump vanished. Her mouth was dry, her tongue refused to cooperate, she cleared her throat to force out, “Why? Lady Sally is perfectly suited for you and quite acceptable.”

“I no longer wish to discuss her, Randi.” He caught her wrist and drew her back down into his arms. The seriousness was gone, replaced by that sensual gleam and her heart resumed its wild pace.

She tried to pull away, to free herself before she fell under his spell again. “Hugh…please…we oughtn’t…”

“Oh, but we ought.” He tilted her face up and brushed her lips with the gentlest of kisses. “We most definitely ought. I am afraid I’ve not yet had my fill, love, and we have plenty of cold, dark night ahead of us.”

Her heart did its best to drown out her own voice. She shook her head, forced her lips to obey as she pressed her hands to his chest to pry herself from his embrace. “And you have…Sally…awaiting your return.”

His lips went still against hers, and his back stiffened as he growled, “Randi…”

“Please. This is difficult enough. I cannot do this again. I’ve already disgraced myself.” She shoved against his chest as every part of her screamed to melt into him once again.