Rose of the Mists (34 page)

Her use of his nickname sounded sweet in his ears as he lifted her foot and slipped the leather-heeled shoe from it. “Poor toes,” he murmured solicitously as he rubbed the silk-stockinged foot between his hands.

Meghan began to giggle, then stopped as a stricken look came over her face once again.

Sensing the problem, Revelin dispatched the second shoe and rose, holding out a hand to her. When she stood before
him, he put a finger to his lips and then tiptoed to the doors of the salon and slipped the bolt. Moving quickly, he also locked the servants’ entrance.

“Now,” he said, smiling beguilingly at her. “Will you allow me to loosen your corset, mistress?”

Meghan’s expression melted in relief. “Would ye?” She glanced at the door and doubt crept into her eyes. “Mrs. Cambra will nae like it.”

“Mrs. Cambra may mind her own business! Turn about, lass, and I’ll soon have ye free.” When Meghan spun about, he tossed the train of her hood forward over her shoulder and then more carefully lifted the heavy black-silk fall of her hair over one shoulder in order to reach the hooks at the back of her gown.

“Ye’ve had practice with this,” Meghan observed as he quickly opened the fastenings.

Revelin smiled indulgently. He was not about to own up to the circumstances that had developed his skill. When he finished, he pushed the dress from her shoulders, revealing the lovely bare contours of her neck and back. Unable to resist, he traced the fascinating course of her spine with a finger, from the nape of her neck to the top of the leather-and-silk corset that encased her from just below her bosom to her hips.

Meghan gave no thought to being undressed before him. He had seen her nude before. Eagerly she pulled the bodice away from her to free an arm, exposing one perfect breast with its mauve tip. Yet she sensed a difference in Revelin, a hum in his stillness that made her look up at him.

He was staring at her, his mouth slightly parted as though he could not get enough air through his nostrils. He had that odd, quirky look in his eyes, the same she had seen once before when she had fallen out of the tree into his arms.

“What pains ye, Revelin?”

“What?” Revelin shook his head slightly. “Nothing pains me, ’tis only…ah, Meghan, how’s a man to resist ye?”

Meghan did not know what to make of his complaint, for his arms were suddenly on her waist, turning her to face him. One hand reached for the bodice she held and tugged it from her hands and let it fall.

He did not even glance down when the bodice fell. His gaze remained tenderly upon her wide, serious eyes.

“The first time I saw you I thought we must be lovers,” he said softly. He touched her left cheek, brushing away the dusting of powder with the side of his thumb. “I wanted it to be so, though I could not remember holding you or kissing that berry-ripe mouth. I wanted to know that I’d been a part of you.”

His gaze lowered at last to her lovely breasts. A delicate rosy tint fanned up and out over the creamy globes as his eyes lingered, but Meghan did not try to hide her nakedness. She straightened her shoulders in defiance of her self-conscious blush.

Revelin felt her need for reassurance. “You’re more beautiful than you know,” he said softly, and his hand left her cheek to rest an instant on the curve of her neck before lowering to the beginning rise of her breast. “So lovely, so soft, so beautifully made. You were like a dream to me, a dying man’s dream of a love he had not known.”

He felt a tremor of desire quake through her body and saw the tightening of her pale mauve nipples into dark buds. Desire expanded within him. He would not take her here. He must not do that to either of them. But she must know once and for all how he felt. He owed her that.

His voice drew deeper, huskier, as his touch firmed, skimming the lustrous skin at the side of one breast. “You ran away, my woodland fairy, and I thought I’d go mad with searching for you. Will you promise me, lass, never to leave me again?”

“Aye, Revelin,” Meghan whispered, afraid the sound of her voice might destroy the moment.

His hand moved again, circled under and then rose to cover
the lush fullness of one warm breast. Circling her waist with his free arm, he urged her closer.

Meghan lifted her hands, framing his face as his head bent to hers. His kiss was cool, his lips firm and dry and closed against her expectant mouth. Disappointed, she drew her breath to protest, but her corset would not allow the sudden rush of air into her lungs, and she choked.

“Oh, love!” Revelin murmured between regret and amusement as he gently patted her back. “The hell with proper dress!” With quick efficiency his fingers pulled loose the corset strings and opened the hinged metal and whalebone cage, freeing her.

“’Tis a devil’s torture, that thing. I’ll nae wear another.” Meghan looked down at her rib cage and moaned. “Just look what it’s done to me!”

Revelin swore as he saw the marked flesh. “Poor lass,” he sympathized, and began rubbing the pink pinched skin of her abused diaphragm. Ruefully he wondered how to handle her dress in the future. The thought was quickly replaced by the more demanding exercise before him as his fingers massaged the cruel impressions of the binding corset from her warm, soft skin. “Better?”

Meghan nodded, inhaling deeply under the caress of his soothing fingers. “Aye, ’tis better than anything. Ye’ve found every place.”

“Have I? Let me see.” He bent over to make certain he had not missed a mistreated place. The action brought his eyes on a level with her breasts, and the temptation was too great. He caught her about the waist and opened his mouth to the inviting bud.

She gasped as his mouth closed over her flesh. “’Tis a wicked man ye are, Revelin,” she murmured unsteadily.

“I know, love, I know,” he answered, rising reluctantly and curling a hand behind her neck to bring her head once more against his shoulder. “We mustn’t do this, ’tis sinful,” he murmured absently as his hands continued to slide slowly up and
down her naked back. He held her still for a long moment, willing her not to move and himself not to contemplate the possibilities held within his embrace.

The knock at the servants’ entrance could not have been more welcome to Revelin’s mind. “’Twould seem our supper’s ready.”

He released her slowly and turned her about. He was quite pleased, almost proud in a proprietary way, to find that her gown refastened without the aid of a corset.

Chapter Thirteen

Meghan lay in the dark staring at the dancing shadows thrown upon the ceiling by the fire. She was not the tiniest bit sleepy, though she had been abed for more than an hour. She was confused, hurt, and frustrated. Revelin’s single kiss had not been followed by others. Once he had fastened her gown, he had unlatched the door so that their supper could be served.

Meghan licked her lips, remembering the creamy leek soup and fresh-baked bread that had been served with it. She had declined the slices of smoked ham after a single bite. Revelin had not seemed to mind. He had moved the remainder of the loaf and the crock of butter to her side of the table and smiled indulgently while she finished it.

“Aye, he smiles, but he keeps his kisses,” she muttered as she sat up. Revelin had entertained her with talk of Dublin and what she could expect to see there, but he had not touched her again, not even when she had raised her face to his when he bade her good night.

Meghan swung her legs over the side of the bed and struggled into the new dressing gown Mrs. Cambra had given her.

When she had asked what had happened to the first one, Mrs. Cambra declared she had burnt it.

Meghan gazed at the small bedchamber fire and wondered what things Mrs. Cambra would burn next. Perhaps she should tell Revelin. After all, ’twas his coin that brought those things, he had said so when she asked him. She did not know much about money but she did know the value of good linen. Even though she did not much like the red velvet gown Revelin had given her, she would wear it; for it had been his gift to her.

When she reached the hallway she realized that she did not know where to find Revelin. Like a woodland animal she stood perfectly still a long while in the drafty hall listening for movement below, but there was none. Finally the floor beneath her feet moved slightly as someone moved about the room at the end of the hall. Hoping that it was Revelin so close by, she started toward the room. The door was ajar and the light showing through the crack beckoned her chilled flesh.

Revelin, too, was indulging in a rare sleepless night. He had stripped off his finery to enjoy the feel of the cool night air on his hungry, tensely alive body. It helped only a little and he began pacing before the fire.

He had waited more than three-quarters of an hour before deciding he must follow Meghan up to bed. Three glasses of port had done nothing to blunt his restlessness as he waited for her to fall asleep, so he had turned to
usquebaugh.

The raw Irish whiskey had not helped, either. Rather, he had become maudlin, deliberately calling to mind every vivid detail of Meghan’s undress. With her bodice about her hips she had risen, like Aphrodite, from the folds of the wine-red velvet. Her body was gloriously hued. Beneath a veiling of ebony silk curls, shades of cream and rose had vied for her coloring as a blush had spread delicately across her breasts.

If not for the rap on the salon door, he knew, he would have
taken her there, on the table—on the carpet!—and disgraced them both.

“Fool! Knave! Rutting boar!” he cursed first in English and then in Gaelic as his door creaked on its hinges.

“’Tis nae reason to—” Meghan paused on the threshold, her attention snared by the sight before her.

Her voice startled him and Revelin paused in mid-stride before the fireplace. She knew she should not stare, but she could not help herself. His body was sheathed in the fire’s golden glow, turning his skin to amber and burnishing his waves with coppery highlights. With aching desire she drank in all of him. Then her gaze slipped down past the fine line of golden hair that began below his navel and fanned out into a ruff of curls from which his manhood jutted.

Her gaze flew back to his face, her body tingling with the hunger she now associated with him alone. “I—I come to tell ye something ye should know. Rev—Sir Revelin.”

Revelin inclined his head slightly, realizing that it was too late to order her out or grab his trunk hose, which he doubted he could have donned without making a complete fool of himself. He crossed his arms more casually than he felt. “What is it, Meghan?”

Meghan glanced back into the hallway and then at him. “Could I close the door, it being so cold and all?”

The sense of unreality that often accompanied his conversations with her rose like ether in his mind, leaving him lightheaded as he nodded.

Meghan’s eyes were drawn irretrievably back to his erection. “I—well, ’tis Mrs. Cambra. She’s been burning things again.”

“Again,” Revelin repeated, wondering when embarrassment would get the better of his body’s arrogance.

Meghan moved from the door. “She burnt me first dressing gown.” She caught a fistful of her gown. “’Twas like this, only ’twas a spot on it, here.”

As she pointed to the imaginary stain, the movement of her breasts snared Revelin’s gaze and his hands clenched on his folded arms.

Meghan’s eyes darted downward and then up to Revelin’s face. Nothing moved in his expression; it was as if his lovely face were frozen in stone. It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but they reflected the vivid emotion he struggled to keep under control.

“Are ye in sickening?” she questioned, keenly aware of his agitation, and reached up to touch his face.

Revelin stepped back as if she had slapped him. “I—no. I just—damnation! Don’t ye see? ’Tis wrong, your being here!”

The volume of his voice had not risen but the wealth of emotion had broken his perfect diction. He reached out to prevent her from touching him again. “I’m only flesh and blood, Meghan. You’re tormenting me more than ’tis right. Go back to bed, quickly, before I do something we’ll both regret.”

Meghan smiled with the insight gained from his words. To his utter dismay, she reached out and tenderly clasped his manhood in her cool hands. “Ye’re paining here, are ye not? It must hurt something terrible, ye being so swollen.”

Revelin didn’t trust his voice or any of the emotions of pleasure, torment, anger, humiliation, and tenderness he felt before the girl who behaved as a whore from the most innocent of motives.

Meghan watched him close his eyes and sigh as if the life were draining out of him. And yet she knew it was not, he was warm and tremblingly alive in her hands. “’Tis because ye’re engaged that ye won’t lie with me?”

“Aye.” The one syllable was all he could manage, yet it did not begin to explain the complex reasons for his reluctance.

Meghan felt honey begin to gather inside her where the gnawing hunger had been. She licked her lips. Memory stirred. There were other pleasures for men. She had witnessed one of them in the wilds of Ulster. If she could not lay with Revelin then, perhaps, she could please him in another way.

When Meghan dropped her hands, Revelin thought for one
grateful instant that she would go away. The next, a strangled gasp of astonishment was wrenched from him as the tip of her tongue grazed the most sensitive portion of his body. Blood rushed to his head and erupted through his thoughts in a volcano of scalding desire.