The Dutiful Rake (11 page)

‘Tell me, Meg.’ His voice compelled in its gentle compassion.

Her voice shaking, she told him, in pitiful broken phrases that seemed to tear her apart. He shut his eyes to hold back the hot, pricking sensation. It was even worse than he had thought. She had not only thought it was him, she had been willing, pleased, had welcomed him…or so she thought…and then…she had thought it was him brutalising her. Cold horror seeped into him as he realised how terrified she must have been, thinking that she would have to endure similar acts of savage lechery regularly.

Finally she lay quietly in his arms. He held her tenderly, still burning with desire, but he managed to speak normally. ‘Go to sleep, Meg. I’ll hold you.’

She shuddered as he spoke and he at once released her, drew back, mentally cursing, thinking she had realised his arousal. But she clung to him in frantic terror. ‘No, don’t let me go!’ It came tumbling out as though she could no longer contain the fear. ‘I don’t want to sleep. In case I dream again…’

‘Dream?’ She had said nothing about a dream. He should have realised. He had had nightmares after the siege of Badajoz. ‘Come, Meg. Tell me everything. Trust me.’

Convulsive shudders racked her. ‘No…it…it is obscene,’ she whispered.

‘Then it is better told and got rid of,’ he said softly, his long, experienced fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of her neck, massaging the tension he could feel there. ‘Told and exorcised…not hidden within where it will fester.’

So she told him.

He was silent for a moment and then he said care
fully, ‘One day, Meg, when you are ready, we will do something about that.’

‘What? What can possibly help?’ Her voice sounded hopeless, dead.

He drew a deep breath. Even saying it was enough to threaten his precarious self-control. ‘By making love, Meg. When you are ready to trust me with your body, you will come and tell me. And I swear to you that I will take your gift gently.’ After a minute he said haltingly, ‘I want you very much, Meg, but I will not take you until you ask me to.’ He could not bear that she might think he did not want her.

His fingers were still stroking her soft creamy nape, gentle and compelling, unwittingly casting a tender, seductive spell. She closed her eyes, imagining those fingers at her breast, pressing her thighs apart. And instead of black, choking horror, she felt again that wild, sweet ache…that yearning, beckoning emptiness. She already trusted him, there was nothing else to wait for. If he truly wanted to make love to her, those fiery sensations he evoked might become a blaze that could cleanse and purify her again.

Summoning all her courage, she pressed a small, shy kiss on his chin and faltered, ‘Marc…would you…if you are not too tired?’

It took him a moment to realise what she was saying, for her meaning to sink in. He lay there in disbelief. He had thought it might take weeks, months perhaps, before she would trust him. He couldn’t take advantage of her like this. No matter what his body thought of the idea.

‘Meg…no,’ he said with difficulty. ‘It is too soon for you…’

She pulled away from him, numbed by his gentle
rejection. He was just being kind, he did not really want her. Perhaps he even felt as she did, that she was somehow unclean, that he would be soiled by touching her.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was a mere thread which threatened to snap under the strain of her hurt. And then she felt his hands on her again, bringing her back into his embrace.

His voice, hoarse and shaking. ‘Meg, are you sure? Quite sure?’

She was sure and turned to him, desperately raising her mouth for his kiss. She could feel his trembling hands cup her face as he feathered his lips over hers in a caress so tender, so hesitant that it brought tears to her eyes. His arms were around her, pulling her to lie against his hard, aroused body.

He had been careful earlier to lie so that she did not feel his flagrant desire. Now he held her to it, rocking his loins against her gently, whispering again, ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ Her answer was breathed on a sigh of pleasure as he trailed light kisses over the ivory column of her throat. There was no fear at his blatant demonstration of need, only joy that he still wanted her. She felt one large hand slide down over her shoulder to tease her breast through the cotton of her nightgown, felt those darting fires under her skin as he rubbed a thumb across the nipple. It sprang to painful life, a taut, burning little bud which forced a whimper of delight from her.

His mouth was on hers again, still gentle but imperceptibly more intense, his lips warm and firm as they sipped and sampled her inexperienced sweetness. Shyly she kissed him back, opening her mouth under his instinctively, in response to the subtle pressure. She could
feel his tongue flickering lightly over her lips and arched against him in unspoken longing.

With a tearing groan Marcus succumbed to temptation and slid his tongue into the soft, vulnerable recesses of her mouth. Ready to break the kiss at the first sign of fear, he explored gently and thoroughly, sweeping across the roof of her mouth in slow, sensuous strokes. Then with a surge of joy which stabbed through him like a sword, he felt her tongue, hesitant and uncertain, entwine with his in shy passion.

Endlessly patient and skilful, Marcus kissed her until she was moaning with pleasure, drowning in the sea of sensation aroused by his mouth and hands. She stroked his shoulders, astounded at the shudders of delight that racked his hard, powerful body. She wanted to feel his bare skin under her hands, wanted to feel his hands on her breasts.

His mouth was at her ear, tickling with his warm breath and then she heard him say, ‘Wait, sweetheart.’ He pulled away from her and got off the bed. She lay there, watching his large, dim outline as he crossed to the nightstand. A moment later there was a flare of light as he lit the lamp from the flickering candle.

He turned to look at her and said very deeply, ‘I want to see you, Meg. And I want you to see me. There will be no darkness in our loving.’ And with slow deliberation he drew off his nightshirt to stand naked before her, watching her reaction for the slightest hint of fear.

She stared for a moment with wide eyes and parted lips. He was so beautiful! So very powerful. So very male. Her gaze roamed over his broad shoulders and wide, muscular chest with its thick mat of hair, lower to his narrow hips…and…Her breath came in shallow
gasps as she forced herself to look at his potent, unfettered virility.

For a split second she felt fear, physical, gut-wrenching fear as the darkness beyond the pool of light threatened to close in and overwhelm her. She fought it down and looked into Marc’s face. Desire, concern and acceptance were all there. If she said no, it would go no further. He would shackle his own desire and respect her decision. That was why he had lit the lamp, so that he could know beyond doubt what she really wanted.

She wanted him. Despite her fear, she wanted him. And she knew that if she backed away now it would become harder and harder to face her fear. Somewhere deep down she knew that the only way forward was straight on, through her fear and out the other side. If he would leave the light on…if she could see it was him…

He was picking up his nightshirt, preparing to put it back on when she spoke. ‘Can we have the lamp on while…while we…?’

The garment slipped through his nerveless fingers. He would have sworn that she was about to refuse, that the sight of his aroused body had terrified her. His burning grey eyes held her gaze, searching her face. She
was
afraid…he could see it in the wide eyes and trembling mouth. And something else was there, warring with the fear—desire…and a determination to face out her fear. Of course she wanted the light on. Then she would know it was him…but still he was uncertain.

As he hesitated she held out her hand to him imploringly and said, for the last time, ‘I am sure, Marc, please…’

Her voice trembled and he suddenly knew that if he
refused she might never be certain of his reasons, might always think that he hadn’t wanted her despite the evidence of her eyes. His mind made up, he dropped the nightshirt and approached the bed. Kneeling on it beside her, he drew the bedclothes back and lifted her against him, his fingers at the buttons of her nightgown, undoing them one by one until it hung open almost to her waist.

He sat back and gazed at her partially revealed breasts, creamy, velvety flesh that his fingers ached to cup. Delectable rosy peaks, which seemed to cry out for the ministration of his tongue, peeped out shyly. With incredible restraint he set his hands to her shoulders and, looking deeply into her eyes, he slid the nightgown off, pushing it down to lie around her hips. Then he drew her very slowly into his arms.

Meg thought she would die of the sensation of being held half-naked in his arms. His hands roamed over her gently, possessively, rubbing and stroking as he explored her shape and texture. She could feel the rough hair on his chest rasping against her nipples and shuddered with delight as they burned with joyful pain. And all the time his mouth never left hers, kissing her deeply as his warm strength seduced her completely. Her eyes closed in ecstasy as he fondled her.

At last she felt him gather the nightgown into his hands and with a gentle movement slip it over her head. Then she felt his hand sliding into her hair, tangling in the soft curls as he tipped her head back to expose her throat and rain kisses on it. His other hand was at her breast, teasing and tantalising artfully, evoking little gasps of pleasure from her. Slowly his lips moved lower, and lower, into the white valley between her
breasts and then with a groan of triumph he closed his mouth hotly over one tightly furled, rosy little bud.

All that had gone before was as nothing to the jolt of fire that exploded through her now as she felt his tongue rasp over her nipple in a caress that robbed her of nearly all power to think. She gasped, writhing against him in ecstasy, arching her body in frantic pleading. The only thought that hammered through her veins was how much she wanted him.

She shivered in excitement as he urged her to lie back on the pillows, following her to lie half on top of her, one powerfully muscled thigh slipping to rest with suggestive intimacy between her legs. She could feel his arousal, rock hard, pressed against her. Opening her eyes, she gazed straight into his, burning with desire.

Holding her eyes trapped with his smouldering gaze, he stroked her stomach, his fingers teasing, tickling. And then lower, to drift lightly over the triangle of soft curls. She quivered, and her eyes widened as he deliberately placed his hand over her swelling mound in a gesture of intimate possession. She lay quite still and slowly, gently, he slid his long fingers between her legs to caress her tenderly.

His mouth took hers deeply, as his fingers explored the soft, yielding folds of flesh that melted in welcoming warmth. His tongue plundered in relentless, dizzying passion as he lay beside her and loved her with consummate, devastating skill for what seemed like an eternity. She was going to die, it was so beautiful…explode with the tension that was building inside her. Someone was sobbing…crying out in longing. Dimly she was aware that it was herself and that Marc had moved, was speaking to her.

‘Open your eyes.’ His voice was cracking with the
effort of restraint. If he was going to take her, it had to be now. Her response was so shattering, so complete. It scalded through his veins in racking desire…But he wanted her to know it was him and he had to give her one last chance to stop him…

She obeyed and stared straight up into his flaming eyes. He was lying between her legs, she could feel him hot and hard against her quivering, virgin body. His face was hard-edged with the pain of his longing, but she heard him say hoarsely, ‘Meg, little one, you know what I want…are you sure? It will hurt…no matter how careful I am…there is no help for it the first time.’

Meg’s eyes filled with tears. Even now he would stop. Even now he would let her change her mind, despite his own need. In that moment, as she fully realised his tender compassion, she yielded him her heart, completely and irrevocably. She loved him and she had only one thing to give him that he wanted…

Keeping her eyes upon his face she managed to say in a choked whisper, ‘I am yours, Marc…please…please take me.’

And he did. With exquisite slowness he tenderly positioned himself, parting the soft flesh with gentle fingers, and then, as she clung to him in her inevitable fear, slid into her melting heat until he found the frail barrier of her innocence. Back and forth he moved, until her tension eased, until her body softened and arched against him in need. He breached her with one powerful thrust, sinking deeply and inexorably into her body. He groaned as he fought for control, as she shuddered under him at the hurt he was inflicting. He looked into her face. Her eyes were shut and her lower lip was clenched in her teeth in an effort to hold back the soft whimper of pain. It stabbed into him…gleaming and terrible.

He remained very still for a moment and when she relaxed a little he moved gently inside her with a sigh of pleasure. She gasped and her eyes flew open. He smiled down at her tenderly and said, ‘Now you are mine,’ as he moved again, as if unable to control his response to her yielding softness.

She knew exactly what he meant. He held her in thrall, his gentle motions were spellbinding. She clung to him as he lowered his mouth to hers and took it in a deeply erotic kiss, plundering and pillaging in complete possession as his loins rocked back and forth in the same compelling rhythm which swept her into a whirlpool of stunning sensation as the tension mounted until at last she cried out in ecstasy as wave after wave of passion broke over her and she was conscious of nothing but his body claiming hers forever.

He couldn’t sleep. Meg lay safely clasped in his arms, a peaceful smile on her face as she slept, warm and secure. She had wept in his arms after their loving, shattered by the loveliness of what they had experienced. And he had kissed the tears away, unspeakably moved by her final, unconditional surrender. In resigning her maidenhead to him, she had given him an even lovelier gift; her complete trust.