Pleasures of a Tempted Lady (13 page)

“Not true at all!” Jessica slung an arm around Lady Fenwicke’s waist. “There’s always Beatrice.”

Serena rolled her eyes heavenward, and Meg looked thoughtful. “Well, I never thought of myself as on the shelf, but I suppose I really am.” She frowned. “Now that’s an odd thought.”

Jessica and Serena sobered.

“We always believed you’d be the first to marry, Meg,” Serena said.

Will took a tight breath. He had believed she’d be the first of the Donovan sisters to marry, too. He’d expected she’d marry him.

Meg shrugged and smiled, but the bleakness in her eyes never faded. “Ah, well. Fate has a way of asserting itself in surprising ways, doesn’t it?”

Just then, Stratford entered and informed the ladies it was time for them to go. The sisters hugged good-bye, and Serena kissed Will’s cheek and told him to look after
her sister while they were gone. Will cast a glance in Stratford’s direction and gave him a look that said, “We need to talk.” Stratford gave a terse nod, and then they all fluttered away, glittering like people their age and class should, leaving a penetrating silence in their wake.

After a long moment, both of them staring at the closed door, Meg said, “It’s growing dark.”

The fire was already burning strong, but she went around the room, turning up the lanterns and using one of the flames to light the wall sconces.

When she had finished, she turned back to him. “You needn’t stay, you know. Jake and I are perfectly fine here alone. Lord Stratford has an endless number of servants in this house. Honestly, I’ve no idea where he keeps them all.”

He met her gaze and held it in his own. He wouldn’t be comfortable leaving her and Jake alone tonight, servants or no. And it had been a long day—longer than he’d anticipated—and he’d missed her.

“I’ll stay.”

Just then, a knock on the door sounded, and a footman opened it. “Dinner is served.”

She nodded, then she clasped her hands together in front of her. “Are you hungry?”

He’d had nothing to eat since his mostly untouched breakfast. “I am.”

He slid a glance at her as they walked toward the door. “After dinner, would you like to play a game of cribbage?”

“That sounds nice. I always enjoy cribbage.”

“I remember,” he murmured, the corners of his lips tilting up in a smile.

She was so beautiful, in her shyness and sudden
embarrassment. God, how he wanted her. How could it be that he’d never wanted another woman even an iota of the way he wanted her?

She was everything to him. Even though she’d remained mostly quiet about the past years and she’d obviously changed in so many ways, she was still everything to him.

She’d wanted him once, too. Did she still? If so, she’d given him no indication…

No, that wasn’t right. She had: When he’d kissed her in the inn that night, she’d kissed him in return. She hadn’t pulled back, hadn’t pushed him away. She’d wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, just as hungrily as he’d kissed her.

Surely that meant something, especially coming from a woman as composed and controlled and self-contained as Meg was.

They walked to the dining room, where dinner awaited them. They ate and drank, speaking sparingly. Even though the dining room was vast, with seating for at least twenty, somehow the servants had prepared it in a way to make it seem intimate. An elongated vase filled with jonquils and tulips cut off their end of the table from the rest, and the candles in the crystal chandelier were lit to pour golden light over their place settings, while the remainder of the room was bathed in a far dimmer and softer glow.

Will was comfortable here, dining with Meg. He wasn’t much prone to conversation during eating—in the Navy mealtimes had been a chore that he’d accomplished with perfunctory attention before returning to more important duties, and since he’d sold his commission, it had never seemed natural to turn eating into a
social activity. Though he had, on occasion, done so out of politeness, it wasn’t his preference. Eating with Meg, however, he was content just to watch her.

The meal was simple for a dinner in an earl’s home: turtle soup and salmon followed by a roasted pheasant, then frosted apples and a date tart and an assortment of cheeses. Meg only tasted the various dishes offered, and when a footman took the cheese course away, she twirled her fingertips in the perfumed water of her finger glass. Her hands were pale, the fingers long and slender. Moments later, cherries, grapes, strawberries, and tiny bowls of cream and sugar were laid in front of them.

“Oh, my,” she murmured. “Strawberries.”

Her gaze caught on to his and held. Years ago, Will had brought a bag of sugared strawberries to her aunt’s house. They’d walked through St. James’s Square, feeding them to each other. Later that night, they’d made love for the first time.

Not breaking his gaze from hers, Will took one of the strawberries from his plate. He dipped it in the cream then in the sugar. Leaning across the table, he held it toward her mouth. She moved forward and captured it with her lips. He remembered the feel of them, their softness and warmth, under his own.

She chewed the strawberry, then her pink tongue flicked out, catching a drop of strawberry juice staining her lip. “Mm,” she said softly, her eyes half-lidded in an expression of ecstasy. “So good.”

Will’s body went hard as she dipped one of her strawberries in the cream and sugar and held it out to him.

He grasped her wrist in both of his hands on the pretense of holding it steady. He brought her fingers close
enough so that he could take the strawberry between his teeth. He chewed and swallowed the sweet fruit, taking his time, without letting go of her hand, her fingertips close enough that they brushed against his lips. After he swallowed, he licked the strawberry juice from her fingers, then released her.

He sat back, glass of Madeira wine in hand, his lips curving at the flush spreading over her cheeks. Using his free hand, he offered her another strawberry.

He remembered how gaunt she’d looked when he’d taken her from that jolly boat. Obviously, her sisters had been attempting to feed her well. Though she hadn’t seemed to eat much at dinner tonight, she’d gained a few pounds, and her skin, though still tanned by the sun, seemed to have more luster to it.

He took a deep swallow of his Madeira, then set down his glass as she held out another sugared strawberry to him.

They continued on in this way until the strawberries were gone, and the blood was pounding beneath Will’s skin.

He couldn’t stand without making his arousal patently clear, so he took his time finishing his drink in silence. Still flushed, she nibbled on grapes and cherries and sipped at her Madeira, and when her glass was empty and she seemed to have had her fill of grapes and cherries, Will asked, “Are you ready to return to the drawing room?”

She nodded and rose, and he rose along with her. In the drawing room, she took a cribbage board and cards from a gold-trimmed Oriental cabinet wedged in one of the corners opposite the window. She set the board on a small round black wood table, and he helped her to pull it between the two armchairs they’d occupied earlier.

She sat, then began to shuffle the cards. “We’ve both changed so much,” she murmured out of the blue, her focus on the cards.

“You still like cribbage. We both still like strawberries,” he pointed out, taking the seat across from her.

“True.” The cards slapped together as she shuffled again. “But we’ve changed in deeper, subtler ways, I think.”

“How?” Will asked, the challenge obvious in his voice. He didn’t want to think of how they’d changed. He wanted to think of how they were the same. Of how she still made him feel the same way she used to. Hot. Wanting her so much he ached.

“You’re so serious now.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” The sweetness in her voice pierced through him. Her voice certainly hadn’t changed. “You used to be quite lighthearted.”

“Was I?” he asked, bemused. He’d never thought of himself as particularly lighthearted. His mother had always laughingly told him he’d been born staid and even-tempered.

She nodded, laying the cards back on the table without dealing. “You’ve changed,” she repeated. “There’s… well, there’s a darkness in you now.”

He choked out a bitter laugh. “Perhaps that had something to do with discovering the woman I loved was lost at sea.”

She leaned on the arm of her chair, considering him seriously. Then she cast her gaze downward. “Was that really all it was, Will? If it is, I’m sorry. I… I didn’t want to be the cause of your darkness.”

“
All
it was? God, Meg, how could you think losing you—and in that way—could have been insignificant to me?”

With a jerky movement, she stood. He stood along with her, the movement an instant response to a lady rising from her chair.

“I wish… I wish you’d found someone else.” She clasped her arms over her chest. “I wish… more than anything, that my family and I hadn’t caused all your unhappiness.”

She was close, close enough to touch—to pull into his arms. And he did just that, moving around the small table and tugging her against his body, biting back a primal groan at the feel of her soft, supple body against him.

He’d experienced moments of weakness since she’d left London so long ago. But they’d been few. He’d quickly—too quickly—learned from his mistakes. For the most part, his existence had been an ascetic one. Touching her now, feeling her slight, warm body against him, her breasts pressing against his chest, nearly tore down all the control he’d so carefully constructed in the past eight years.

“It’s not your fault.” He bent down to press his lips into her hair, her soft, silky blond hair. She smelled like lavender soap with the ever-present sweetness of sugarcane beneath. He ran his hands up and down the soft muslin covering her back. “You had nothing to do with any of it, Meg. You had no control over what happened to me.”

“It
was
my fault,” she whispered, her voice muffled by his chest. “If I hadn’t fallen overboard. If I’d found a way to escape from him earlier—” Her slender body shuddered in his arms, and he held her tighter.

“Shh.” He hesitated and then spoke into her hair. “So many years, Meg. So much has happened… to both of us.”

There had been his two brief naval engagements while he’d served as Post Captain in the Navy. He never talked about those, but he would never forget the blood of the pirates flowing, like a strong current, over his hands.

Knowing that Meg was waiting for him had been his connection to peace and happiness. She had kept him going through those hellish times.

If he’d known the truth then—that she’d been lost at sea and was presumed dead—chances were, he’d be dead now. After that year he’d spent in the Aegean, he’d come home and the first thing he’d done was send that letter proposing marriage to her. He couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms. After so many years, to bury himself within her and forget.

But that moment had never come. He’d never been offered that peace he’d longed for. When he’d learned of her “death,” he’d believed he’d never achieve it.

Now, holding her close, he dared to hope again.

Slowly, Meg raised her arms and slipped them around Will’s waist. He stood there, hard and firm, a steadfast pillar in her world of danger and uncertainty.

If only her mother and Serena hadn’t hurt Will so terribly with their scheme to change Serena’s identity. And now, she wished with all her heart that she hadn’t involved him in the danger that Caversham would invariably bring.

She wished… well, she
almost
wished she’d never met William Langley. But she was too selfish for that. If she’d never met him, she would have never experienced love. And for so many years, the happiness of the few weeks she’d spent with Will had kept her going in her darkest days. She couldn’t wish that away.

“If wishes were horses,” she murmured, “beggars would ride.”

He pulled away, looking down at her. “What do you mean?”

She wanted to tug him back against her, feel the hard length of his body against hers again, but she controlled that primal urge, instead looking up at him through the sting in her eyes. “I wish so many things, Will. Most of all, I regret what I’ve done to you. I wish…” She swallowed hard. “I wish someone else had rescued Jake and me. I wish it wasn’t you.”

Some raw emotion twisted his face, and he held her arms hard. “Why?” he asked gruffly. He shook her lightly. “How could you wish for such a thing?”

Letting her go with the suddenness of dropping a hot poker, he turned away and prowled the length of the room. He reminded her of a panther, sleek and strong and deadly, and so beautiful he made her ache. “God, Meg.
Christ
.”

Will was always controlled. He rarely cursed; rarely showed emotion. Yet this was twice in one night that she’d angered him.

Even his anger tempted her. Oh, how she wanted everything to be as simple as it had seemed eight years ago.

She wrapped her arms around her body. “It’s not what you think,” she whispered.

He spun around, his dark eyes flashing. “What, then, am I supposed to think? You were gone for eight years. I thought you dead—everyone thought you dead. Then you appear like an angel from heaven, and I’ve never felt such… such…” He swung his head away, and she saw his throat move as he swallowed. “And your family, too.
We loved you. We
mourned
you. And you wish we hadn’t found you?”

“No—I mean… yes!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you see? I caused you pain. All of you, but you worst of all. It was my fault you were led along, blind, for years, thinking I was writing love letters to you, thinking I would marry you, thinking Serena might be me. And now, I bring you nothing. I’m not that girl you fell in love with. I’ve changed. I have Jake now, and he’s all that matters. I have nothing to offer you except more pain. And danger.”

“And you think that by keeping the villain’s name from us that you’ll keep us from harm?”

“I’d hoped to, but even that isn’t enough.”

Will straightened. “Did you know Caversham is currently looking for you in Ireland?” He said the name slowly and deliberately, studying her reaction. “Briggs and I believe that it’s only a matter of time before he begins to search in London.”