Portrait of My Heart (39 page)
Jeremy snorted. “Well: You saw for yourself how well
that
turned out.”
that
turned out.”
“I did,” Maggie admitted. “And I’m sorry I ever doubted you. And I’m …” She swallowed, thinking, Well, I had better get this over with, and finished, in a rush, “And I’m sorry I gave away your sapphire.”
Jeremy waved a hand dismissively. It was clear that she’d been wrong, back in the gallery. He hadn’t been angry about the loss of the Star of Jaipur. He hadn’t even seemed to give the matter a second thought. It was
Maggie
who concerned him. That realization sent a thrill of pleasure racing up and down her spine.
Maggie
who concerned him. That realization sent a thrill of pleasure racing up and down her spine.
“And even now that the damned frog-eater’s out of the picture,” he complained bitterly, “the fact remains that if you marry me, you’re still going to have to be a duchess. I can’t change that.”
Maggie, bare-legged, went to work on the buttons that fastened her gown at the side. “I know,” she said. She felt giddy, almost weak with relief.
“So what are you doing here?” Jeremy bellowed in frustration.
Maggie stood up, allowing the stained satin gown to collapse around her feet. Standing in only her corset and pantaloons, she said, far more calmly than she felt, “Looking for someone to scrub my back.”
Jeremy stared at her. She resembled nothing short of a street courtesan, in her obscenely tight-fitting underclothes, with all her dark hair spilling down her back. It seemed completely out of character for her to be throwing herself at him in this fashion, and for a second or two, he could only look at her, completely stunned. But then he saw that despite the saucy thrust of her considerable chest, her breath was coming in quick, shallow bursts, as if she’d just run a very great distance, and there was trepidation in her velvet brown eyes. She wasn’t at all sure of his reception.
And that, more than anything else that evening, was what caused him to lean forward and seize bodily hold of her.
“Jeremy,” she cried gladly, as his wet arms closed around her. Then she added, “Wait—” when he started to pull her from the ottoman. And then, “What are you doing?” when he dragged her back into the tub with him.
“Oh!” The water threatening to spill over the sides of the tub from the combined weight of both their bodies, Maggie floundered in his lap, her pantaloons now plastered wetly to her body. “Jeremy!” she cried. The warm water soaked the ends of her hair, and crept into the crevice between her breasts. Beneath her, she felt Jeremy’s thighs, slick and hard, as he struggled to keep her from scrambling away. “My God, I was only joking!”
“Were you?” Jeremy pushed some of her long hair aside and nuzzled her neck, just below her earlobe. “Well, I’m not.”
Maggie, in spite of her indignation, could not ignore the tingling sensations his lips produced upon her skin. They seemed to make every part of her body come alive, most especially her nipples, which tightened at the mere touch of his mouth along her neck. She threw out a hand to keep him at bay, not ready for this passionate assault, but it was too late. She might as well have tried to keep a tree from falling. Jeremy pressed forward, his lips seeking hers, while his fingers worked busily at the now sodden stays to her corset. It seemed as if he had the soaking-wet garment off her body and over the side of the tub in about the same amount of time it took him to break down Maggie’s token resistance. She moaned her surrender as he reached up with both hands to palm the hardened peaks of her breasts.
That moan was all the invitation he needed. Suddenly, she felt his tongue thrust past her softly parted lips. While one hand stayed to caress a heavy breast, the other dipped below the water’s surface to pluck at the string that kept her pantaloons closed. Her protest when he finally snapped the ribbon in two was lost against his mouth. What did it matter? she thought muzzily. He could afford to buy her new underwear, every day, if necessary.
Maggie had a feeling it was going to be necessary.
Tossing the lace-trimmed pantaloons over his shoulder,
Jeremy gathered her to him once more, until she was straddling his lap, his coarse chest hair grazing her breasts as he crushed her in his strong embrace. Beneath the water, she could feel his excitement pressing rigidly against the swollen crevice between her thighs. All she had to do, she realized, was lower herself onto that rock-hard shaft … .
Jeremy gathered her to him once more, until she was straddling his lap, his coarse chest hair grazing her breasts as he crushed her in his strong embrace. Beneath the water, she could feel his excitement pressing rigidly against the swollen crevice between her thighs. All she had to do, she realized, was lower herself onto that rock-hard shaft … .
She did so, moving so slowly that it wasn’t until she’d actually captured the tip of his penis inside her that Jeremy realized what she was doing. His eyelids, which had been lowered, flew open. Maggie, giving him an impish grin, sank down a little more, delighting in his sharp intake of breath as the tightness of her hot sheath closed around him. His hands moved to cup her buttocks, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh with bold urgency. Maggie lowered herself another inch, and then Jeremy, apparently unable to stand this sweet torture a second more, thrust himself into her, pressing down on her buttocks at the same time, so that their bodies met so explosively that a wave of bathwater cascaded over the opposite end of the tub.
Not that either of them noticed. Locked with Jeremy at last, Maggie began to move against him, slowly at first, and then with more and more imperativeness, as Jeremy rocked beneath her, until, gripping the sides of the brass tub, she threw her head back, and gave a shudder that seemed to begin at her scalp and tingle all the way down to the arches of her feet. She could have sworn at that moment that all the golden light reflected across the ceiling suddenly came showering down upon her, kissing her bare skin all over, and carpeting the room in tiny shards of gold leaf.
It was only when Jeremy equally spent beneath her, complained, without sounding at all displeased, “Good God, Mags. What were you trying to do; drown me?” that she came to her senses, and realized there was no gold leaf anywhere, just a goodly amount of water on the floor.
“Oh, dear,” Maggie said, a little breathlessly, as she looked around the room.
“I’ll say.” Jeremy sat up, but kept her firmly clasped to him. “Now. What were you saying about needing someone to scrub your back?”
She looked away from him, feeling suddenly shy. “Oh, yes. Would you be willing?”
“I don’t know,” he said cautiously. “It depends. Is this a one-time offer, or a lifetime commitment?”
“I was hoping for the lifetime commitment,” she said, unable to meet his gaze.
Jeremy watched her closely. “A lifetime commitment to scrubbing your back. In exchange for what?”
“Um.” Maggie bit her lower lip. “Well … I’ll be your wife.”
Jeremy froze. “But what about the duchess thing?”
“I was thinking,” Maggie said slowly, “that it might not be so bad. I mean, if you wouldn’t mind spending time in London—”
“Oh, I’ll have to,” Jeremy interrupted. “I’m to be a consultant at Whitehall, or something. We’d have to spend most of the year here in London, I’m afraid. I’m sure Uncle Edward and Aunt Pegeen won’t mind.”
“Oh, yes,” Maggie said eagerly. “I think it might be best if we just let them have the manor house.”
“Certainly,” Jeremy said. “With all those children—”
“They really ought to stay in the country.”
“Right. And it might be a little uncomfortable, living so close to your father … .”
“Yes,” Maggie agreed. “Herbert Park is a bit close to Rawlings Manor—”
“But we could always go visit him,” Jeremy said. “I mean, if you wanted to.”
“That might be nice,” Maggie said carefully. “As long as it wasn’t too often … .”
After a moment or two of silence, during which Jeremy stared at the ceiling, he finally asked, “Do you really mean it, Mags? Are you sure?”
Maggie, lying in his arms, nodded. “Yes. I’m sure.”
“I had a stone for a ring for you, you know,” Jeremy said. “Quite a nice one, actually. A sapphire.”
Maggie wrinkled her nose. “I don’t really like sapphires, actually.”
“Oh, well, that’s good.” His silver eyes twinkled warmly. “Because I lost it, you know.”
“What a shame.” Maggie smiled. And then she kissed him again, and it was a long, long while before they said anything more.
Edward, not bothering to knock, threw open the door to the Green Room and shouted, “Jerry!”
An assortment of mounds lying within the confines of the enormous four-poster bed stirred, and Jeremy raised a bleary-eyed head. “What? Who is that?”
“It’s me,” Edward said. Observing with disgust that his nephew had left his bath things, including the bath itself, strewn across the room, he went to the windows and pulled back the dark green portieres, letting in the strong rays from the morning sun. “I’ve come to report that your aunt was safely delivered of another son yesterday. She has, I’m sorry to say, decided to call him Jeremy. Despite my assertions to the contrary, she’s convinced that you’ve finally shown maturity enough to handle the role of godfather. She demanded that I haul myself all the way to London to inform you that the christening’s in three weeks. Do you think you’ll be able to tumble out of that bed long enough to attend?”
Beside Jeremy, another set of mounds moved. Then, to Edward’s very great astonishment, Maggie Herbert’s head appeared above the bedclothes. “What?” she asked, groggily echoing Jeremy. “Who’s there?”
Edward, standing beside the window seat, folded his arms across his chest. “All right,” he said sternly. “That’s it.
You two are getting married, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
You two are getting married, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
Maggie, mortified, squeaked, “Yes, sir,” and dove back beneath the covers.
Jeremy only laughed. “Well,” he said. “It’s about time.”
PATRICIA CABOT is a pen name of MEG CABOT, the #1 New York Times bestselling author of books for both adults and tweens/teens, including the Princess Diaries series. She was raised in Bloomington, Indiana, and has also lived in Grenoble, France; Carmel, California; and New York City. She graduated with a bachelor’s degree in fine arts from Indiana University. She currently lives in Key West, Florida with her husband and various cats.
Romance from #1
New York Times
bestselling author
Meg Cabot
, writing as
Patricia Cabot
New York Times
bestselling author
Meg Cabot
, writing as
Patricia Cabot
MegCabot.com
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PORTRAIT OF MY HEART
Copyright © 1999 by Patricia Cabot.
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eISBN 9781466814318
First eBook Edition : March 2012
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / January 1999
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