Patricia Rice (31 page)

“What does it matter what strangers think?” he called back to her. “The color of one’s coin speaks the same in any language.”

Bea glanced down at the wet lengths of skirt
clinging to her legs and wondered how Mac could be so casual about all
that terrified her. Perhaps they didn’t think in the same language.

“The fire is burning nicely. Come out and get warm.”

The fire was a definite temptation. Telling herself he’d seen her in less, Bea stepped from behind her dressing screen.

Mac stood silhouetted by the flames, arms akimbo,
broad shoulders narrowing to lean hips and well-muscled thighs, the
image of a powerful man in absolute control. She gulped and almost fled
back behind the blanket. He’d removed his wet coat and waistcoat, but
maintained the semidecency of his damp trousers.

Knowing that scarlet stained her cheeks, she hurried
to warm her fingers and toes. If she didn’t look at him... If they
could just converse intelligently...

“I take back what I said about your being an angel.”

Eyebrows lifting in surprise, she glanced at him. He was watching her with an intensity that was almost unbearable.

“Angels surely can’t be built like goddesses.”

“You embarrass me when you talk like that,” she said
softly, wishing he would find some civil conversation so she could be
comfortable again.

“I don’t mean to. I told you I’m not much on plying ladies with flattery. How should I go about telling you how lovely you are?”

His plaintive plea drew her gaze back to him again,
and she was lost, truly lost. He didn’t look nearly as confident as
usual, but the raw need in his eyes connected with the desire in her
breast and some spark leapt between them—they might as well have been
standing in the middle of the fire.

This time she saw the kiss coming. His arm circled
her waist, giving her time to run if she wished, but she didn’t. He ran
his hand up her cheek, pushing the damp strands behind her ears. She saw
the question in his eyes but didn’t know how to respond. They were in a
barn. In broad daylight. Nothing could happen, could it? Kisses would
be safe here. And she desperately wanted his mouth on hers.

He obliged. Bea sank into the wonder of this merging
of lips and tongues, of heat, and of need beyond her understanding. Her
body aligned with his, bending where he held her, pressing intimately
in places she wouldn’t name even if she could. She just knew the
touching felt right, that the strength of his muscled arm kept her from
falling, that the press of his hard chest was necessary for reasons
beyond her comprehension.

Even the caress of his hand on her breast didn’t
dismay her as it had in the past. His fingers molded naturally to her
curves, as if they were made just for that. She quivered when he found
the edge of her corset beneath her bodice and stroked the sensitive
crest she’d scarcely known existed until he’d shown her. The sensations
stirring inside at the intimate touch still frightened her, but...

She trusted Mac.

The wonder of that discovery overpowered all else.
Mac wouldn’t hurt her. She had seen the lengths to which he would go to
protect the children. She knew he would do the same for her. He would
shelter her as she stepped into the world outside her own, as no one had
ever offered to do before. It was a liberating experience.

“Bea,” he murmured, nibbling a path across her cheek
to her earlobe. “I can’t take you here, not in a barn, but I want to
touch you. Will you let me touch you?”

As if she were in any state to say no to anything he
asked. He didn’t wait for a reply, but turned her gently to unfasten
the myriad hooks of her gown and bodice lining, until the fabric fell
free, revealing the delicate frill of her chemise. She felt the heated
exhalation of his breath on her nape as he smoothed the muslin bodice
from her shoulders and down her arms. The straps of her light summer
chemise scarcely covered anything.

Kisses feathered across her nape, and her breasts
ached for the same freedom as her arms. She’d never realized how
confining clothes could be until Mac’s hands brushed her skin in
tantalizing places, and his kisses heated fires that required the air to
cool them.

He reached around her to untie her chemise ribbons
and release the straps, until her breasts strained upward and unfettered
above her corset. Still, he didn’t touch her there, where she needed
him.

“You are so perfect, I’m almost afraid to touch you,” he whispered.

The look in his eyes shattered everything she’d
believed about herself. She’d always thought herself large and plain.
But not to Mac. She believed the truth in his eyes.

With far more daring than she actually possessed,
Bea covered his hands where they rested on her shoulders, and drew them
downward. “Please,” she whispered.

Mac didn’t need further invitation. Unknotting her
corset, he opened the daintily embroidered garment and slid his hands
inside, lifting her free until his palms supported her and his thumbs
played erotic tunes on a part of her that thrummed with sensation.

She leaned back against his powerful shoulder,
giving him freer access, and offered no protest as little by little her
gown and corset fell away, leaving her bare to the waist. She felt no
chill, only the flicker of flames near her feet, and the compelling heat
of her husband’s touch as he reverently stroked her everywhere he could
reach.

He swung her around then, bent to suckle her breast,
and her knees crumpled. Mac caught her and lowered her to the coat he’d
laid beside the fire. He kept his heavy weight from her, but she knew
his strength and sturdiness in the way his legs pressed hers closed when
all instinct cried for her to part them.

She registered the sudden chill as her skirt slid
upward, but Mac played a game with her tongue that drew all her breath.
She spread her hands across his chest, absorbing the tactile sensations
of heat and damp and muscle. When she couldn’t pry open the tiny buttons
of his shirt, he growled and tore it open for her. Rapt with the
discovery of the crisp curls beneath the linen, she forgot the chill of
her legs until Mac’s hand slid along her drawers and discovered the
fastening at her waistband.

“Mac,” she whispered in horror as his mouth deserted her breast and his attention wandered southward.

“Not here,” he murmured, returning his attention to
her mouth. “I won’t take you here. I’ll wait until we have that big soft
bed and a roaring fire and a hot bath to warm us.”

In her current frame of mind that sounded
exceedingly pleasant. She didn’t even object as he flattened his hand
across her bare abdomen and explored there. Everything he did was new
and exciting and produced explosions of sensation.

He seemed to like it when she returned the favor, so
she explored the flat nipples of his chest with fascination and played
with them as he had hers, until he groaned and smothered her with urgent
kisses.

He made her feel beautiful. Powerful. As if she were the only woman in the world.

She arched into his hand when he touched her where
it should be forbidden to touch. Her body did as it wished, trusting him
to know what she needed.

“This is how I want it to be when we come together,
Bea,” he whispered near her ear. “I want you all soft and warm and damp
and ready for me.”

She cried out as his finger entered her, and she
fought the invasion without any real will to do so. It just seemed
foreign and forbidden and dangerous... and wonderful. All the beauty and
pleasure he’d taught her found a center and built into a pressure she
couldn’t deny, until she wept to part her legs and give him entrance, to
take him where a hollow opened and hungered and she understood what she
lacked and he possessed.

With gentle strokes, he shattered the pressure,
exploded all her beliefs and fears and reservations in wave after wave
of glorious surrender. Awed, overwhelmed, uncertain of what had just
happened, Bea sought shelter within her husband’s strong embrace.

“Tonight,” he vowed. “Tonight we’ll learn what it is like to be truly husband and wife.”

Tonight he would make her feel beautiful again.
Refusing to let him get away so easily, Bea reached for his neck and
pulled him down to her once again.

He growled in pleasure at her boldness, and her heart grew a little braver.

“They’re sound sleep.” Mac closed the bedchamber
door and let his eyes adjust to the light of a single candle and the
flicker of coals on the hearth. With the bribe of a few coins, the
housekeeper had eagerly cleared a separate room for the new maid and the
children, guaranteeing privacy for the night.

Bea sat in front of a mirror, brush in hand,
watching him. Blood rushed straight from Mac’s brain to his groin, but
he could still function enough to cross the room and take the brush from
her hand. He could tolerate the pulsing heat behind his trouser flap
for a while in anticipation of all the pleasure she was about to grant
him.

“I love your hair.” He pulled the brush through the
thick silken strands, imagining her hair wrapped around him. The lace of
her nightgown exposed the full globes of her breasts. If he looked
closely enough, he could see the darker crests pressed against the thin
fabric. His Bea was a handful in more ways than one.

An inexplicable burst of pride filled him at knowing
this woman was his. He’d wanted to conquer new lands, but possessing
Bea had far more appeal.

“Are you certain we should do this?” she murmured as
his hand wandered with his attention, his thumb fondling a peak pouting
to be taken. He loved how she let him do whatever he wished. Bea was
innocent of the precepts of the rest of society.

“I’m sure,” he said decisively. “I can’t imagine God
gave us these cravings and told us to go forth and multiply with the
intent that we suffer. Our union is expected of us.”

She leaned into him so naturally that it almost took
his breath away. Without waiting, Mac drew her up and into his arms. He
sensed the anxiety in her kiss as he stroked downward, cupping the firm
curves below her waist.

“You ‘re mine, Bea,” he murmured into her
lilac-scented hair, “to have and to hold, for better or worse. The time
has come to prove it.”

He could feel her nod where her head rested against
his shoulder. “We can pretend this is our honeymoon, and we’re like any
married couple,” he heard her say.

“We
are
any married couple.”
He kissed her long, yielding throat and confirmed the voluptuous length
of her curves against him one more time. “Do not ever think otherwise. I
married you because I wanted to, because you’re the perfect woman for
me, because I can no longer imagine life without you. We may neither of
us have expected marriage, but we’ll learn as we go on.”

He knew she needed more reassurance than most, that
her shyness prevented her seeing what a treasure she was, but he didn’t
have glib words to offer. He had only his hands to teach her how he
felt, and he used them now.

She shuddered with desire beneath his caress, and he
smiled as he pressed more kisses against her nape. “Into bed with you,”
he murmured, loving the vibration of his lips against her skin as he
smoothed her hair across her shoulder and her breast. “Shall I blow out
the candle before I undress?”

She lifted her head and gazed at him uncertainly;
then, to Mac’s delight, she shook her head. If she climbed into the bed
with a slight air of martyrdom, he didn’t mind. He’d teach her
differently in the next hour. For now, he was satisfied that his Bea
wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see her. He pulled his shirt
over his head and flung it at the nearest chair.

Bea smothered a cry of appreciation as her husband’s
chest emerged from the chrysalis of clothing. He was sculpted more
beautifully than any statue, with muscled curves in his upper chest and
washboard ridges on his abdomen, and shoulders that rippled with every
movement as he...

Unfastened his trousers. She gulped and thought to
close her eyes, but fascination overtook her as the buttons slowly fell
open. He didn’t seem aware of her captivation as he shed shoes,
stockings, and trousers as unself-consciously as if he were alone in the
room. He wore thin linen drawers, but they scarcely disguised the
immensity of the... of the...
pole
poking outward.

She nearly dived beneath the pillows as he climbed onto the bed beside her.

The heat and strength of his muscled flesh as he gathered her into his arms quelled her fear.

She had no power against her attraction to him. She
slid her hands over his broad shoulders and delighted in the ripple of
muscle and slide of flesh against flesh as he captured her waist and
pulled her into him.

“I’ll never let you regret this, Bea,” he whispered.

His hand cupped her bottom and pressed her against
his hips as he had earlier, but this time only thin linen protected
them, and she could feel the rigidity like steel pressing against her
thigh. She ought to be more frightened, but she lay back against the
pillows where he placed her and relished the sight of her husband’s
hungry gaze drinking her in as if she were manna from heaven.

For the first time in her life, she felt dainty and
desirable and all the things men wanted in a woman, and the power was
heady. She even helped him unfasten the ties on the front of her gown.
She liked knowing her breasts gave him as much pleasure as they did her,
now that he’d taught her their purpose.

The bed gave way beneath her as his weight pressed
her downward. She’d not quite grasped how much difference a feather bed
made as he seduced her with gentle reverence. Shadows flickered along
his broad frame, making him even larger and more mysterious, delineating
all the places where he was different from her. He was hard where she
was soft, broad where she was curved.