A Christmas Scandal (16 page)

“No. That category belongs to Amelia’s cowboy.”

Amelia gasped. “He is not conceited.”

Maggie and Edward exchanged disbelieving glances.

“Well, perhaps he is a bit. But can you blame him? He’s the most beautiful man in the world.”

“The entire world?” Maggie asked.

Amelia gave a firm nod. “I do believe I’m going to marry him.”

“Over my dead body,” Edward said darkly.

“I shall mourn you at your funeral,” Amelia quipped.

Maggie stifled a yawn. “As much as I enjoy your bickering, I am going to retire.” She carried her dish to the sink.

“I’m following right behind you,” Amelia said. “Though I do believe I’m far too excited to fall asleep right away.”

The two women headed out the door.

“Miss Pierce. If you have a moment?”

Maggie stopped. She was afraid of what he might say, and even more afraid he wanted to kiss her again. For if he did, she wasn’t certain she’d let him pull away, and she was very sure she could not. Nothing could be worse. She didn’t know what was happening, why Lord Hollings seemed to suddenly take an interest in her. Was it simply that he didn’t like to lose? If he did love her, then why had he left her behind all those months ago? Why hadn’t he written? Why hadn’t he said a single thing to her to indicate his feelings since she’d arrived in England? She wanted to tell him to let her be, let her go on with her life, to stop making her fall in love all over again. “I really am very tired. Can it wait ’til morning?”

He hesitated, then gave her a small bow. “Of course.”

They stayed in London two more days, just so Amelia got a chance to see the Real Wild West Show, as well as let her spend a bit of time with her cowboy. During that time Maggie had successfully avoided being alone with Lord Hollings, and had seen Sir William only once; he’d come for supper the night after the ball. All conversation had been about Carson Kitteridge and how wonderful, amazing, handsome, intelligent, and charming he was.

Maggie wasn’t certain just how old he was, but she was quite sure he wasn’t old enough to have ridden with General Custer, who died at Little Big Horn nearly twenty years earlier. The more she learned about him, the more she thought he was a complete and utter fraud, but Amelia would have none of it. Maggie knew enough not to push too hard, for she knew Amelia would simply dig her heels in and become even more infatuated.

The afternoon before they left London to return to Bellewood, Amelia came back from an outing with Mr. Kitteridge with a much-repentant and very sober Harriet in tow, fairly glowing. Spying Maggie reading in the library, she practically floated in on a cloud of pure happiness, gushing about her day. She was filled with amazing stories of “Carson’s” exploits. The more she said, the more suspicious Maggie became.

“You do know that General Custer died in 1876. That was nearly twenty years ago. Mr. Kitteridge doesn’t strike me as being yet out of his twenties. Just how old is he?”

Amelia looked aghast. “I have no idea. And I can’t say it would be at all polite to ask. He’s been on his own most of his life, so he might have been quite young.”

“Eight, perhaps?” Amelia actually stuck out her tongue. “Yes, I can see you have a great need for politeness,” she said dryly.

“If anyone should be worried about someone’s age, Miss Pierce,” she said, even though she’d been calling her “Maggie” for weeks, “it is you. Sir William is quite old enough to be your
grand
father.”

“I simply want you to be careful,” Maggie said. “I know Mr. Kitteridge can be charming, but charming men can lead you straight to a broken heart.”

Amelia sighed. “Oh, I know he’s full of himself, but I still like him. I think he
knows
that I know he’s telling tales. It doesn’t make it any less fun to listen to him.”

“As long as you don’t take all this too seriously. He is leaving in less than a month, you know. And we’re returning to Bellewood tomorrow.”

Amelia looked forlorn for perhaps a second before smiling again. “He is coming to visit.”

“He is?”

“I have to ask the duchess, of course, but I’m sure she’ll say yes.” Maggie gave her a look that told the younger girl inviting Mr. Kitteridge was perhaps not a good idea. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t make any promises to him.”

“Not yet?”

“Oh, Maggie,” Amelia gushed suddenly. “I do believe he’s going to ask me to marry him.”

“No!”

“Yes!” she said, jumping up and down and clapping like a little girl who’s just be presented a pony for her birthday. “I hope he does. You should see the way he looks at me.” She fanned one hand in front of her face. “It does the most amazing things to me.”

“Oh, goodness,” Maggie muttered.

Amelia squeezed her arms around herself. “I’m so happy,” she gushed.

Maggie gave the younger girl a sick smile. This was far worse than she had imagined. Amelia had only been with the man for two days and already she was getting ready to shop for her trousseau. “Haven’t you ever felt this way? Like you’d just die if you didn’t see someone? Just die?” Amelia sobered. “Of course you have. You were engaged. I forgot, Maggie. I’m so sorry.”

Maggie held out her hand and Amelia squeezed it. “I do understand,” she said. “But I also know that falling in love can be one of the most painful things that can happen to you.”

“That’s so sad,” Amelia said. “I wish you could feel the way I do now. I swear I don’t care if I eat or sleep or anything.”

Maggie smiled at her, feeling infinitely older even though she was only two years Amelia’s senior. It was only a year ago that she’d felt as happy and carefree as Amelia. Since then, she’d lost the love of her life, prostituted herself, been engaged, jilted, and courted by a man she didn’t love but planned to marry. She felt ancient and tired.

Amelia flounced from the room, her worries about Maggie’s lack of love swept from her mind in an instant. Maggie was suddenly overwhelmed by a deep feeling of homesickness, which was only made worse by the fact that she had no home, no place to turn to, no soft place to lay her head where everything would be better. Amelia’s happiness only served to underline how very unhappy she was.

…Mother is. Maggie stopped writing, unable to finish that sentence the way she knew she had to. She had written her father several times since arriving in England, letters all filled with happy news of their grand adventure. Papa had enough to worry about without wondering whether the family he had brought to ruin was suffering. Likewise, her father had written a letter filled only with comments about their affairs, saying nothing of prison except to say he’d lost a few pounds because he missed Cook’s wonderful apple pies. That single sentence was enough to bring tears to her eyes. They were disillusioning each other; she only hoped her father didn’t realize it and believed every word she wrote. She picked up the pen and completed the sentence the way she knew she had to: “I cannot tell you how thrilled I am.”

Maggie and her mother had been back at Bellewood from London for three days and she was terribly behind on her correspondence. She never questioned whether or not her brothers and father cared what kind of dress she wore or the little observations she made, she simply wrote them down knowing it was the only way to be close to them. They didn’t write nearly as frequently as she did, but it didn’t bother her one bit. If she received one letter for every four she wrote, that was perfectly fine by her. Her latest letters were filled with amusing comments about Carson Kitteridge and the Real Wild West Show.

She had begun scribbling about the show to her father when a noise at the door distracted her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here,” Lord Hollings said, but Maggie had the distinct feeling he was being disingenuous. They had not been alone since the night of the ball, circling each other like skittish cats. Maggie wasn’t sure who was avoiding whom, but the result had been the same.

“It’s perfectly all right. I’m writing to my father.” She looked around the room, at the carefully stacked piles of books. The duke’s library was far more organized than a few weeks ago, but clearly Lord Hollings was not finished yet. “It looks as if you still have quite a bit of work to do. I don’t want to disturb you,” she said, and began gathering up her things.

“Yes. Of course.”

Maggie looked at him a bit curiously, for his tone was curt and his expression stony. “Are you angry about something?”

“Angry? Not at all. I’ve nothing to be angry about. My life is complete bliss.”

Maggie laughed. “Now I know you’re angry. Do tell. Is your sister driving you batty about Mr. Kitteridge? Or is it the duke who will not let you escape this lair until your task is done?” She paused thoughtfully. “Or is it me?”

“Why on earth would I be angry with you?”

“Absolutely no reason I can think of,” she said, capping her inkwell and placing it carefully in her little writing desk.

He stood in front her, his hands low on his hips, looking for all the world like he wanted to strangle her. “Would you please follow me? I’d like to show you something.”

“Oh, dear, did I put a book on the wrong shelf?” she asked in mock concern, following him to the far corner of the library.

When he turned, his expression was almost frightening. “Do I mean nothing to you?”

Maggie felt her body flush. “How do you mean?”

“Do you care for me? At all?”

This was not at all what she had expected from him. “Of course I do. You are a friend. A lively dinner partner. And a very fine dancer.” She smiled at him, pretending to not understand him, even as she felt her resolve weakening. If he crooked his finger, she would fall into his arms and never want to leave.

If anything, her words made him even more angry. “In Newport I fell a little bit in love with you. Did you know that?”

It was suddenly extremely difficult to breathe. “How could I? You never gave any indication that I was anything more than a flirtation. And if I recall, you told me specifically that you did not love me.”

He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. And he moved to her, so that her back was against the smooth paneled wall, until she could feel his heat, feel his breath on her forehead. “You torment me.”

“I don’t mean to,” she said quietly.

“You cannot marry Sir William. You cannot.”

Something inside Maggie’s head began screaming, splitting her in two, so that she could not bear the pain of his words for a moment longer. Yet she still had the strength to ask, “Why?”

“Because I love you. Because you must marry
me.
”

“I…”
can’t. I can’t.

He bent his head and kissed her, possessing her in a way he never had before. He was claiming her, branding her, making her want him in a way she could not have imagined. With his hands on her hips, he drew her against him, against his hard length, all the while kissing her, making her whimper with raw need.

“Touch me,” she said.
Make me forget.

He let out a low moan and moved his hand to her breasts, kneading them gently, finding her erect nipples and teasing them with his thumbs. Even with the material separating his hands from her breasts, the feeling was exquisite. She moved her hips, unknowingly wanton, and he pulled her against his arousal, making her gasp in pleasure. He took her hand and pressed it against his erection, throwing back his head and letting out a soft oath, to God or the devil, Maggie wasn’t certain.

“I want to see you,” he said, and began unbuttoning her dress, one of the garments she’d bought when she lost her maid. It was easy to put on and just as easy to take off. She watched, mesmerized, as his strong fingers deftly undid the buttons, one by one, exposing her chest to the cool air of the library. She looked to the door realizing that where they stood was quite hidden. Someone could walk into the room and still not see them against the wall, for they were blocked by a stack of crates and she wondered if at that moment she even cared. His knuckles brushed against her skin and she hissed in a breath of pleasure.

“My God, Maggie, you are beautiful.” He moved the fabric away, then peeled down her corset so that only the thin cotton of her chemise covered her. Her nipples were pebbled and clearly visible through the material, and he bent and kissed each one before bringing his mouth hungrily against hers. He left a trail of kisses from her mouth to her neck, leaving her weak-kneed and completely aroused. At that moment, she thought of nothing, only felt. When he started to unbutton her chemise she pushed his hands away, and with a smile, undid the buttons herself. That small gesture produced a deep groan of pleasure from him that only heightened her need. He pushed the fabric away from her breasts, staring in almost wonder before bending to kiss them, almost as if he were driven to, almost as if he could not have stopped if he wanted to.

She wanted this, wanted his hand on her breasts, wanted his mouth there. Oh, goodness, there, on her nipple.

“Lord Hollings,” she breathed as he brought her nipple into his mouth.

“Edward.”

“Edward. Don’t stop.”

He chuckled, then moved to the other breast, bathing it with his tongue, making her squirm at the sensations he was creating between her legs. She knew what her body wanted, as unbelievable as it seemed. She wanted him inside her. She didn’t think she’d ever want that, ever. She moved against him, pushing against his arousal. It felt so wonderful, like nothing she’d ever experienced, and she wanted more.

“I knew you’d be like this,” Edward said, kissing her. “I cannot wait to have you. Oh, God, it will be torture.” He put his hand against her, at the junction of her legs, feeling her heat, and began slowly lifting up her skirts. “Let me touch you. Just touch you, I swear, I’ll go no further. I just…” And then she felt his hand between her legs, and heard him let out a sound of pure male pleasure.

“Please, let me,” he said, as if she’d stop him now, when she felt as if she were about to die from pleasure. He moved his hand against her, creating such an exquisite feeling, she could only cling to him. She let out a sound, she could not help herself, and he brought his mouth against her, frantic, his breathing as harsh as her own though she knew he could not be feeling the sort of intense pleasure she was. She was unaware of anything except his hand, his mouth, and the building sensation between her legs.

And then her world shattered and she collapsed in a heap of satisfied woman onto the library floor. He dropped down with her, continued to kiss her, even as she turned to a puddle. He kept his hand against her, and she could feel her pulse against his palm. It was a miracle.

“Did I just swear to go no further?” he asked with a small smile.

“You did.”

“Damn.” He was breathing heavily, his forehead covered with a fine sheen of sweat. He removed his hand from her skirts and pulled her into an embrace that seemed to Maggie to be more of a way to stop caressing her than to hug her. It made her smile. His breathing was still ragged, his arousal still large and hard against her. She sat on the floor, her legs slightly splayed, her skirt hiked up above her knees, her breasts still exposed to the cool air, and she felt absolutely wonderful. Edward knelt beside her, kissing her temple, her cheek.

“I don’t want you to see Sir William again,” he said, raggedly. “Not even to tell him good-bye. I cannot bear for him to even look at you.”

“That’s silly,” Maggie said, kissing him lightly. She pushed her skirts down, then motioned for him to help her stand. Reality was slowly bringing her to her senses. “You cannot lock me away. And perhaps you noticed, but I didn’t say yes to you yet,” she said, buttoning her chemise and adjusting her corset.

He pulled back and gave her a fierce look. “You must say yes. I don’t think I could bear it if you didn’t. The thought of another man making you his wife, of touching you that way, I swear, I could not bear it. The thought of you in someone’s bed. Unless you want to be an accomplice to murder,” he said, smiling, “you must marry me.”

He’d said it half jokingly, but Maggie’s blood went cold. She’d forgotten what she was. How could she have forgotten? How? “Surely you are not the jealous type.”

He shook his head hopelessly. “I find that I am. I drove myself crazy thinking about that Wright fellow kissing you. He didn’t, did he?”

Maggie withdrew slightly. “Not the way you mean.”

The relief he felt showed painfully clear. “Thank God. It is beyond bearing that another man touches you the way I have.” He must have seen something in her expression, for he added quickly, “I know, I know. I’m not the sort of man to put stock in such things. But with you, it’s different,” he said fiercely, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. “To know you are mine alone, that you’ll always be mine, that no one else has touched you or ever will, you cannot understand what that means to me. It is everything. You are everything. You are pure and good and I don’t deserve you, but I know we’ll be happy together. I just pray I make it to our wedding day. Please say you’ll marry me.”

You are pure and good. To know you are mine alone…
In that moment, the strangest thing happened. Maggie’s entire body, beginning with her heart, turned completely numb. She pressed her thumbnail into her wrist just to see if she could feel pain, and strangely, she could not.

“Maggie?”

She was staring blindly over his shoulder and she slowly brought her tortured gaze to his. “I’m sorry. I cannot.”

“Bend over, my dear, and grab the desk.”

She saw the blood drain from his face, watched with her own eyes as his heart shattered, and felt nothing but blessed numbness.

“You cannot mean that,” he said, stricken, his eyes filled with anguish. “I don’t understand you. Make me understand.”

“I’m sorry. It’s impossible.”

And then she watched as he got angry, and that felt better, so she smiled. Odd, that. “I have to go now,” she said, and began walking away, buttoning her dress as she walked, her eyes blurring with unshed tears. Well, there, it looked as though she could still feel pain, after all.

“I’m not a virgin.”

Maggie nearly laughed at the expression on Sir William’s face. He’d just proposed and certainly that was not the response he was looking for.

“I beg pardon?”

“I’m not a virgin. So if that is important to you, perhaps you should withdraw your proposal.” Maggie felt quite undone, like a fragile bit of glass knocking against a brick wall. Eventually, it would break, it was only a matter of time.

Sir William was clearly not pleased, but he was also thoughtful, his brow furrowed as he examined his feelings about the matter. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, then looked up and smiled. “Honestly, my dear, I find it doesn’t matter. I’m actually relieved. Taking one’s virginity is not particularly pleasant. For anyone.”

Maggie smiled. “I was worried about it, you see.” Even as she said the words, she realized she had not been worried at all, that she hadn’t really cared one way or the other about his reaction to her news.

“No need, no need,” he said, patting her hand. “But…”

“But?”

“Well, I can’t help but wonder who,” he said, and his tone became a bit flinty.

“It was someone in New York.”

“Ah. The fiancé.” He looked inordinately relieved and Maggie suspected he thought the deed had been done by Lord Hollings. How she wished that were so.

Maggie smiled, letting him believe what he would. This was good. Her mother would be so happy to find that all their financial worries were about to be resolved.

“You haven’t given me an answer yet, my dear,” he said with a small smile.

“Oh, I…” It felt as if suddenly something lodged in her throat, making it impossible to utter a sound. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t tell him yes, not right now, not when just a day before she’d been making love to another man. “Can I think about it?” She hated to see the disappointment in his eyes, but she saw none of the anguish she’d seen in Edward’s eyes. “It is only that I need to be certain. My home is in New York and marrying you would mean I would rarely see my family.”