The Danger of Desire (35 page)

The curate looked at her with new eyes and settled into a lively lecture about his preference for the Gospel of St. Mark, and she relaxed a measure. The viscountess smiled her approval, but Meggs disciplined herself not to look to Hugh and his steely, probing eyes for his approval. What did old Nan used to say? “
Know your own measure, dearie, because you’re only as good as you think you are.
”

When the snow began to fall, brightening the courtyard, and the guests began to depart to spare their horses, lest their carriages slip and get mired in the snow, the viscountess linked her arms with Meggs’s and waved good night to the last of their evening’s guests.

“Thank you, Standard.” The viscountess took a candle branch from the butler. “I’m going straight up. My dear, I hope you had a lovely evening.” She kissed Meggs on the cheek.

“Thank you, ma’am. You were very kind.”

“Nonsense. No more than you deserve. You did very well indeed. I shouldn’t be surprised to find Mr. Phelps leaving flowers, or at the very least a card, tomorrow morning. Oh, Hugh, dear, are you still up?”

Captain McAlden—and he was captain now with the way he was looking at her, as though there was a reckoning about to come—prowled into the hallway like a cagey bear. “I am.”

“We’re going straight up. Good night, dear.”

“I’d like a word, if I may, with Miss Evans.”

The viscountess pursed her lips and gave him back the mirror of his own blue glower. “Now, Hugh, you brought her to me, and I would be remiss if I let any girl under my chaperonage meet alone with a man, even if he is my son. It has been a long evening, and I think it would be best—”

Hugh cut his sharp eyes to Meggs. Best to get it over with. “It’s quite all right, ma’am. I’m happy to speak to Captain McAlden for a moment before I go up to bed. I’m sure it will only take a moment.”

Viscountess looked back and forth between them, then settled her eyes on her son. “Behave yourself.”

“I take your point, Mother. I will not keep Miss Evans long.”

Viscountess went off to bed, leaving Meggs alone with the bear, who looked very, very hungry. “You should be nicer to your mother. You are the one who asked her to take me in.”

“This is not what I asked her to do. But speaking of mothers and lies, that was quite a bouncer you told me earlier, about that
etude
.”

Meggs said nothing but kept her face turned to a study of her toes as she made a circuit of the large entry hall, keeping distance between them. It hadn’t been an
etude
, it was an incidental piece of music. Her mother had told her, and she had remembered because she had liked the sound of that word—incidental.

But Hugh did not appear to be in the mood for quiet. “I asked you a question, Meggs.”

The bully boy crept back into his voice, though he would probably think it was mere ship’s captain, expecting his answer by rights. Why did he have to be like this, so relentlessly probing? Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? And why, damn it all to hell,
why
did she still want him like air, and breathing, and water? “No, you didn’t ask me a question, you accused me of lying.”

“Where did you learn that music?” His tone was hard and uncompromising. “No one in a kiddie ken teaches English Baroque composers.”

The anger and frustration and wanting all piled up inside her, pushing and shoving to get out. “How would you know? How would you know anything about it? You, who grew up among all this. You, who haven’t known a day of want in your life.”

“For your information, I did not grow up ‘among all this.’ My father was not a viscount. I grew up in Scotland, a gentleman farmer’s second son, who had to make his way in the world and earn every advancement in my profession.”

“Well, good for you.”

“And no matter the temptations, or the need, I’ve never stolen or lied—” He stopped himself abruptly.

But she still felt the blow. After everything, this was what he truly thought of her. Hurt and anger, and pride, made her voice as quiet and stunning as a blade. “No, you hire out for that, don’t you?”

His face turned to flint, registering the bitter truth of her accusation.

“Yes,” she answered for him. “That’s what you need me for, to do your lying and stealing for you.”

“Is that all it is to you, Meggs? All
I
am to you? A job?” His own accusation was low and quiet, but just as lethal.

“You don’t need me for anything else. Once I’ve done whatever the next job is, stealing like a ‘lady,’ you’ll have no more use for me. You’ll go back to your ship and I’ll go back—” Oh, sweet Lord, there was the despicable heat welling in her yes. Nan would have clouted her. She ought to clout herself, but she was too tired. Too scared and tired of fighting. Always fighting, for every penny, for every advantage, for every scrap of his attention.

Because no matter how warm, or well fed, or well paid she was, without him, she would be alone. “I don’t have anything, anywhere, or anybody to go back to.”

Damn his eyes. How could he just stand there, looking at her as if
she
were the one breaking
his
heart. This time, when she left him, she kept her head high and made herself walk.

She couldn’t sleep. Too many things were crowding into her mind, too many useless, tormenting feelings and memories, crowding and careening around in her gut.

She hated feeling so alone. Every time she thought of her brother—so far away out on the cold, wet sea—she couldn’t imagine he could be happy. Or warm. While here she was, tucked up beside a blazing fire with warm shawls and eiderdown to insulate her from the winter cold and damp. She sat cross-legged on the bed and watched the snow trace out the shapes of the trees outside the window, and she listened to the miraculous hush of the falling flakes. This was what the Christmas season was supposed to be like, but instead of happy, she felt hollow. Even when she and Timmy had had next to nothing, she’d never felt this alone. This empty. Warmth and cheer and security were nothing without someone to share it with.

What was to become of her now? What was she going to make of herself? She had felt herself to be hanging at the edge of something irrevocable before tonight, but her argument with Hugh had brought it back to the front of her mind. She was poised precariously between her past and her future, with no bridge, no way of getting from one to the other.

A muted knock at her door, and at her answer, Hugh’s dark silhouette entered into the firelight.

Meggs felt awkward, uncomfortable, and wary. He didn’t look like a man intent on a reconciliation. He looked as sober as a hanging judge, ready to pronounce sentence. “What is it?”

He said nothing as he came in but sat next to her on the bed. “I’m sorry. I’m ... I’m such an ass in a drawing room. I had meant to give you this tonight. But we ended up arguing. Well, here.” And held out a small, wrapped present.

She looked at it without moving to take it, stupefied by surprise. Of all things, she could not have predicted he would want to give her a present. It was a small box, with an uneven, blue velvet bow. He had wrapped this himself.

“It’s for you. I know it’s not Christmas yet, but I thought ... I wanted to be the first to wish you Happy Christmas.”

“You came here to give me a present?” Was this a new tack, to call himself an ass and then cozen his answers out of her with gifts? Lord, but it would probably work. “But I don’t have anything for you.”

“You’re not meant to.” He put it in her lap because she still hadn’t ordered her wits enough to take the silly, thoughtful, darling thing.

“Thank you.” She picked it up and ran her fingers across the plush velvet.

“It is traditional, upon receiving a Christmas present, to actually
open
it.”

She smiled then, mostly because his tone was just aggravated enough to be silly.

“Is it?” She pulled the scrap of velvet fabric loose slowly until she uncovered a lovely gold filagreed cross; it was decorated in an intricate interlacing pattern with a single pearl at the center, hanging on a delicate chain. Oh, Lord. It was so very, very lovely. So very, very innocent and perfect. It was everything she wanted to be. It was nothing she was.

“It’s so beautiful. I’ve never—” She had no voice. Heat was gathering deep in her throat and behind her eyes. Dash it all. She clutched the cross in her hand because she couldn’t put it on. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Let me put it on for you.”

“No. I couldn’t, really—”

But he was already taking it from her hand and looping it over her head from behind. The light chain settled around her neck, just as his hands settled on her shoulders, and his fingers traced the contours of her collarbones.

“Hugh, I know you mean to be kind, but it’s not that simple. I can’t—”

“Hush. Yes, you can.”

His mouth joined his hands, and he kissed the nape of her neck. And then, that spot on the side. That place where sensations skittered and shivered under her skin to make every muscle in her body tense and quiver in expectation. He did not disappoint.

This is what she needed, what she wanted—this contact, this warmth. His warmth. When he was with her like this, she could push aside all her doubts about tomorrow and be happy in these fleeting moments of his tender attention.

He kissed his way up the sensitive tendon to her ear, arousing her desire by slow degrees, turning her breath light and golden. His teeth closed down on the lobe of her ear, tugging her head around until she turned, and his lips were there, upon hers. His mouth was warm and drugging, and she was where she wanted to be, wrapped in his arms, held by his strong hands, kissed by his astonishingly clever mouth. She loved how muzzy and warm he could make her feel, how sensation burrowed down deep into her very bones, until she wanted to burrow into
him,
to taste and touch and give pleasure to him, just as he was giving to her.

And even as his mouth played upon hers, his hands were stripping the batiste sleeping gown over her head, as if it were nothing more than lace and cobwebs, until she was naked before him. He pushed her back onto the bed, and shivers ran riot across her skin, not from the chill of the air but from the heat in his icy eyes.

“I love it when you let me look at you.” His strong hands dragged across her flesh. “At this.” He traced the curve of her breast. “And this.” His eyes swerved over the course of her belly as his finger traced the architecture of her hip bone. “And this.”

His hands skated farther along the inner sides of her thighs to ease her legs apart. And stopped cold.

“Meggs,” he breathed very carefully, “what have you done?”

He was poised above her, his eyes raking her body. But his chest rose and fell rapidly behind the confines of his shirt and waistcoat.

She took a deep, emboldening breath, uncertain and a little overwhelmed now that the moment had come. She had to show him. She had to convince him that she wasn’t a simpering, innocent miss, and never would be. Not even for him.

She let her hands flow down across her body, outlining her curves and plains, until her hands reached her mound. She undulated a little, conscious of the picture she must present to him, all tousled curls and ripe, pink flesh. Like the courtesan she had once accused him of wanting her to be. Only now she was the one who wanted. She wanted him to see who she really was. “You said,” her voice the barest whisper, “you would have done some judicious trimming and so I—”

His mouth dove down upon hers, ravenous and demanding, the probe of his lips and tongue like a drug for her needy body. He broke the kiss to rasp into her ear, “I also said, I would enjoy barbering you, so next time, let me do it for you.”

The heat and desire in his eyes washed across her body like an intimate touch, tumbling and cascading deep into her being. Her eyelids closed as her body arced like a wave beneath his hands. A cry of anguish and need and pleasure flew out of her throat.

He rose up on his knees and moved between her legs so he could stroke down her belly with both hands. “Do you remember that word, ‘erotic’? Inflaming the passions? And how it makes me feel the need to touch you? It makes me want to do
this.
”

He pushed her knees wider, baring her fully to his gaze. “It makes me want to look at all the pink, erotic parts of you.” He gazed at her body, slowly and deliberately, letting her watch him look at her. Then he bent to kiss the tiny, dark birthmark on the inside of her thigh before he put his mouth to the delicate folds of her flesh.

Meggs forgot how to breathe. She forgot everything but the feel of his mouth upon her. There was nothing but the subtle probe of his tongue into her body, and the tight bud of pleasure, where his mouth closed softly over her.

She threw her head back and closed her eyes as he stroked her lightly with his tongue. Her body was warm and spilling heat, quivering under his caress. Needy, inarticulate sounds flew past her lips, urging him on.

“Shh, love,” he admonished.

But she couldn’t help herself, couldn’t stop. The needy, mindless cries came with every delicate touch of his tongue to her flesh. And then it was too much. He moved to replace his tongue with his hand and whispered his thumb across her. She bucked up into his hand and rained heat and sunlight across his palm.

She was panting audibly, feeling every inch of skin, every pore on her body, and still he did not relent. He slid one long finger inside her, and at the same time he smothered her gasp with his other hand across her mouth. He rose above her, a dark, looming silhouette, touching her deeply and intimately with his hands.

“Shh. You have to be quiet. Or I’ll be forced to stop doing this.” He speared another finger inside her, and her body arced up to greet him. “Or this.” And he turned his fingers to press upon her
there.
And it was too much. Again and again. It was bliss and heat and need and—

She needed him. Needed to feel him. She wanted him everywhere, wanted to touch and taste him as he had touched and tasted her. She licked the salt of his body along his open shirt, and when she came to the meat of his sculpted shoulder muscle—she bit him. She didn’t know what came over her, but when a sound of deep animal appreciation howled out of him, she did it again.