“I . . .” Maggie began in an effort to explain herself as soon as the carriage door shut, enclosing them in darkness and privacy, but James raised a hand to silence her.
“Not one word. Not one,” he said in a furious hiss. “Or I might very well take you over my knee and . . .” His threat ended on a hiss of air.
Maggie stared, fascinated, at the tic of his eye for a moment, then, deciding she might do better to follow his advice, she turned her head to stare out the window. Neither of them said a word the entire ride back to Lady Barlow’s. Maggie watched blindly out the window, her body stiff as she did her best to ignore the glare boring into her across the dark space between herself and Lord Ramsey.
When the carriage came to a halt, Maggie focused her eyes to see that they had arrived. She had hardly deduced their location when James thrust the door open, snatched her hand in his, and bounded out of the coach, hauling her after him. She was barely able to keep her feet as he dragged her to the door, his boots clacking angrily with each step. It was perhaps telling how angry he was that he did not knock or wait for anyone to open the front door of his aunt’s town house, but thrust it aside as he had his carriage door. He pulled her inside.
Meeks rushed up as they entered, his eyes widening at the sight of them. He opened his mouth to speak, but James held up his hand as he had done with Maggie and merely sailed into the library with her.
The door slammed behind them as he tugged her across the room toward the fire. Then he paused and glanced around. Maggie wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but she’d had just about enough of being lugged around like a horse by its reins. She pulled her hand free, the suddenness of the action probably the only reason she succeeded. James turned on her at once, and Maggie opened her mouth to go on the offensive, but she never managed a word. It seemed James had reached the end of his tether. Grabbing her by the upper arms, he pulled her abruptly against his chest. The action startled Maggie into closing her mouth, which was a darn good thing, since his lips then slammed onto hers with all the finesse of a charging bull. Had her mouth been open, she might have done him injury.
As it was, she winced as the inside of her lips were ground against her teeth in a brutal kiss. Then she began to struggle instinctively against his punishing grasp. James shifted his hold, wrapping one arm around her back, his other hand clasping her head and holding her in place as the kiss changed, becoming less harsh yet more demanding.
Maggie continued to struggle for a moment, then stopped, a gasp of shock escaping her as the arm around her waist shifted. One of James’s hands slapped her bottom lightly through the pants she wore, then gently squeezed even as he urged her against him.
James took immediate advantage of her reaction. His tongue slipped inside her open mouth, but while she wasn’t fighting him any longer, she didn’t respond at once to his kiss. He pulled away and glared at her.
Maggie stared back, knowing that her confusion and a vague sense of hurt at his treatment were evident on her face. It took a moment before he seemed to see past his anger and notice; then he sighed and leaned his forehead against hers, still holding her tightly.
“I have never been so worried or frightened in my life as I was when I realized you were running about on your own. After those accidents, the fire . . . I was so afraid I was going to lose you.”
His voice was low and husky. Maggie’s eyes widened, her hands relaxing against his chest. The basis of this anger was fear. This was all because he feared losing her! And he had every right to that fear, she realized, recalling the man she’d left unconscious in that awful place. Her heart softening, Maggie slid her arms around James’s waist, holding him.
“But you didn’t. I am here. I am fine,” she whispered.
His eyes opening, James pulled away enough that he could look at her again. Seeing her understanding expression, he managed a crooked smile. “I never want to feel like that again. Please don’t go out again on your own like that. I will help you if you need to investigate a story. I—”
“Shhh.” Maggie pressed a finger gently to his lips. “I promise never again to investigate a story without at least telling you. It was very foolish of me to go to meet Maisey alone. I should have known better after all that’s happened, but I thought that I would be fine if I went in disguise. I was wrong,” she added quickly when he would have interrupted. “I see that. And I am sorry I worried you. It will not happen again.”
He remained speechless for a moment, staring into her face; then she felt the hand on her derriere move curiously against her bottom. A small smile crossed his lips. “You look rather delectable in men’s clothing.”
Maggie felt a blush rise from her chest to cover her throat and face, but she remained still in his arms, unresisting when he used the hand on her bottom to urge her lower body tighter against his. She could feel him growing hard against her. His gaze sought hers, and she met it unflinchingly; then his eyes dropped to her lips. She held her breath, letting it out on a disappointed sigh as his gaze traveled up over her face to her hair.
Smiling more devilishly, he reached behind her head and pulled her ponytail out of the back of her shirt, then removed the bit of ribbon she had used to tie it. The pale strands fell free, tumbling around her face and over her shoulders. Maggie remained still as he brushed his fingers through the tousled mane, smoothing it; then he caught her face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her lips.
The kiss started out gentle, James’s lips soothing any hurt he might have caused with his earlier brutality, but it did not stay gentle for long. The moment Maggie opened her lips beneath his, kissing him back with innocent fervor, something seemed to ignite within them both. The embrace became consuming, his hands sliding away from her cheeks and beginning to explore her body, moving over the men’s clothes she wore with curiosity and determination. One moment they were traveling over her breasts, through the shirt and binding that covered them; then his hands had slid back to her bottom, squeezing and lifting her against him so that his swollen arousal rubbed between her thighs.
Gasping, Maggie threw her arms around his shoulders and pressed herself tighter against him—eagerly, as he was pressing into her. He groaned into her mouth, then began to back her up until she felt the hard edge of Lady Barlow’s desk pressing into her behind. Lifting her, gripping her buttocks, he sat her on the desk, then urged her legs apart so that he could step between them. He was still kissing her, his lips and tongue doing things that left her quivering and moaning into his mouth even as she kissed him in return. His hands were busy between them, working at her clothing.
She felt the cravat fall loose, then slide across the back of her neck as he drew it off her, but she hardly paid any attention, easing back slightly at his insistence, uncaring of the inappropriate nature of what he was doing as his hands moved over the front of her clothing. She hardly noticed when he pushed her waistcoat off her shoulders, or when her vest followed—except for a touch of impatience as her arms were briefly forced away from him. All she felt as the cloth slid off her to drop to the floor was relief that she could hold him again. She raised her hands at once to slide her fingers through his silky hair, thrusting her tongue out experimentally to tangle with his.
His fingers slid over her bound breasts, then dropped to tug at her linen shirt. She murmured encouraging sounds into his mouth as he freed her shirt and slid his fingers underneath running them lightly over the quivering muscles of her stomach, then the material she had used to bind her breasts.
Her arms tightened instinctively around him in protest when he suddenly broke away, but when his lips traveled down her throat she sighed gloriously and tipped her head back in delight. He nibbled and suckled at her flesh. She noticed nothing as he found where she had fastened her bindings, undid them, then began to unravel them, drawing the wrap around and around under her loose linen shirt, easing her discomfort with every go.
She moaned her relief into his mouth as the last of the bindings fell away, freeing her tender breasts from their bondage. She almost reached down to rub herself soothingly, but James took care of that, his hands cupping her gently and caressing the irritation away. Her discomfort was quickly replaced by a different feeling entirely. Within moments, Maggie was pressing into his hands, encouraging him to a less soothing touch.
James smiled against her lips, then pulled back and tugged her shirt quickly upward. Maggie felt herself blush as her breasts were entirely bared to him; then he pulled her forward until his lips closed around one erect nipple. She cried out, her modesty forgotten as he suckled and laved the sensitive tip.
Groaning in pleasure, Maggie pushed into the caress, her hands catching in James’s hair, enjoying the soft textures as she pressed him closer. When she felt his hand slide down to cup her between the legs, she opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed.
Peering down at the cloth of her shirt, which he had let drop over his head to free his hands, she touched his hair through the linen with one trembling hand, then moaned in disappointment when he ducked out from beneath the material. His eyes met hers briefly; then he tugged her top away, attempting to lift it over her head and remove it entirely. The back of the shirt, though, was caught under her bottom where she sat on the desk.
James didn’t hesitate; giving up his tugging, he reached for the collar and rent the shirt from collar to hem. Maggie gasped in shock as the garment came open; then she reached out to clasp him by the back of the neck and tug him forward to claim his lips with hers.
She kissed him in just as demanding and hungry a fashion as he usually kissed her, arching her back to thrust her breasts eagerly forward as his hands closed over them. It was madness, and it was delicious, and she ached to feel more of him. Releasing his neck, she felt her way to the front of his cravat, undoing and removing it with an ease that she could not duplicate with the buttons of his waistcoat. Much to her combined relief and disappointment, James’s hands slid away from her breasts and moved to help, undoing and shedding first the waistcoat, then his vest with expedience.
Maggie didn’t bother freeing his shirt from his breeches; reaching for the collar, she bit at his lower lip, holding him when he broke the kiss and tried to draw away. She slid her hands into the collar, pulling at the material. The garment did not rend as easily as her own, its material resisting, but with a little more force she heard the tear and felt the cloth give, splitting to James’s waist. She promptly splayed her hands on his chest, her fingers spreading over his naked skin and nipples. Then she slid her hands around his waist and pressed forward to rub against him, shivering as the hair on his chest brushed her breasts.
He let her play that way briefly, then took over again, his lips mastering her as he urged her body forward slightly on the desk. As his hand slid down to press between her legs, Maggie felt the breath catch in her throat, her body freeze briefly with the shock of the sensations shooting through her. Liquid pooled in her lower abdomen; then James pulled away enough for his hands to work at her breeches.
It wasn’t until the front flap of her breeches was undone and falling open, allowing air to brush against the skin of her stomach, that Maggie felt the first stirrings of the impropriety of all of this. His hand slid inside her breeches so swiftly, though, she couldn’t catch his wrist in time to stop him. Then, as it brushed against her swollen flesh she wasn’t sure she wanted him to stop.
“Oh,” she moaned when he removed his hand from between her thighs. It was over, and, shameful as it was to admit, she didn’t want it to be. Still she stood resignedly when he urged her to her feet.
Her eyes opened wide as James suddenly knelt before her, his hands catching the waist of her breeches and drawing them down. Maggie gave a strangled cry of embarrassment and instinctively tried to cover herself. James ignored this show of modesty, urging her to lift one leg, then the other so that he could remove the breeches from her legs entirely.
She expected him to stand again then, but he had other ideas. Pushing the trousers away, he glanced up at her with a devilish grin, then caught her by the ankles and tugged them swiftly apart—much as he had that day in his library when he’d dumped her in his chair. There was no chair this time, however, and Maggie was forced to stop trying to cover herself and grab the desk behind her for balance. Her alarm quickly turned to surprise, then trembling anticipation, as James’s hands glided up the skin of her legs, tickling and tingling over the flesh of her calves, the backs of her knees, then up to her thighs, where they tightened and tugged, urging her lower body forward.
He pressed a kiss to her lower belly, leaned his forehead there and rubbed it once gently back and forth, then pressed a kiss to the hollow of her hip. Next came the top of her leg, as his hands slid to the inside of her thighs. The first brush of his fingers against her femininity made her buck like a wild horse; her body was assaulted by the same sharp sensations that had overwhelmed her in James’s library. She’d forgotten how violent a reaction her body had to his touch. She remembered it quite clearly now. This was what had haunted her dreams. This had left her trembling and wanting in the mornings when she woke. This was . . .
“Oh, God.” She gasped, closing her eyes tightly, her hands catching in James’s hair. Her legs tried to close against the sensations he stirred as he probed the center of her excitement.
Apparently expecting that reaction, James caught her thighs. Instead of letting them close, he urged them farther apart. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Maggie leaned back, her thighs spread wide now of their own volition. Remembered anticipation flooded her as his head ducked between her legs.
Maggie stopped thinking. Thought was impossible under this assault to her senses. James’s lips and teeth sucked and scraped over flesh burning with want. When he inserted one finger gently inside her, she was positive it was what her body was shrieking for. She shifted violently into the caress, her ability to speak reduced to grunts and groans and mindless begging. She wanted . . . She wanted . . .
She wanted.
She shifted and arched and ground mindlessly into his touch. As he straightened suddenly before her, his hand still manipulating her flesh, she pulled him to her by the hair, pressing upon him, an open-mouthed, desperate kiss. She raked at his shoulders until his upper body was pressed tightly against hers, naked flesh to naked flesh. Some vague memory of his guiding her hand to his arousal back at Ramsey rose in her mind, along with the feverish thought that perhaps, if she did it again, he might give her what she was aching for.
It was a purely selfish thought, but Maggie didn’t particularly care. Sliding a hand between them, she sought and found the rigid length of him through his breeches. She smiled against his mouth when he stiffened. His mouth and hand froze until she squeezed, then ran her hand over the length of his hardness, then his kisses became more like her own desperate devouring.
Maggie didn’t really have a clue what she was supposed to be doing, though, so relief washed through her when he brushed her hand aside. She felt his hand moving between them, but didn’t realize what he was trying to do until he cursed against her lips, then tugged away to glance down. Following his gaze, she saw that he was trying to undo the buttons of his breeches. She started to reach down to aid him, but he didn’t have any patience. Grasping the flap, he tugged violently, snapping most of the buttons and pulling the flap open so that his manhood sprang out.
Maggie’s eyes widened incredulously at the size of the member pointing up at her, but then James moved closer, his lips gliding over her brow, down her cheek, and then to her lips. Her response to his kiss was a little less excited than it had previously been. Apparently noting this, James slipped one hand between her legs, obviously trying to rebuild some of that urgency. It didn’t take much effort before Maggie was moaning and arching into his touch again. He left off his caresses to pull her a little further forward on the desk, and press her legs apart. Then, he paused.
Confused, Maggie glanced up to see the question in his eyes. He was awaiting permission. Biting her lower lip, she gave a slight nod. That was all he needed. Holding her firmly by the bottom, he plunged into her.
They both froze. For a moment the only sound was their labored breathing; then James lowered his head to glance at her uncertainly. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes.” Maggie’s voice was slightly strangled, but understandable for all that. His penetration had caused a slight pinching sensation, but it was already gone. Feeling heat rise into her face, she cleared her throat. “You?”
A tiny laugh slipping from his lips, James leaned his forehead against hers and nodded. “Tell me when you are ready to continue.”
Maggie hesitated, prepared to say, “Right away,” then thought perhaps this would be terribly indelicate. She waited a twelve count before murmuring, “I think it would be all right to continue now, my lord.”
She felt James begin to shake, and it took a moment to realize that he was laughing. Scowling, she drew back. “What is so funny?”
“You. Me,” he admitted wryly—then all humor was gone from his face and his dark eyes seemed to swallow her. “God, you make me burn.”
Maggie felt herself melt; then his mouth descended on hers. It was a hard, branding kiss, and he began to move out of her, then back in. Maggie wasn’t impressed with the activity at first. It was pleasant enough, she supposed. At least, it wasn’t unpleasant—but it did leave her wondering where all the fire and excitement had gone. That thought had barely crossed her mind when James used his hand on her bottom to change the angle of her hips, shifting himself at the same time to add a friction that had been absent.
Maggie gasped. Her earlier excitement returned in full force. Her nails dug unconsciously into the skin of James’s shoulders as she arched into him, doing what she could to increase the fire that was building within her. Reaching and striving for the unnamed reward that awaited, Maggie instinctively closed her legs around his hips, her heels digging into his backside, urging him on.
“Oh, God, Maggie, I—” Breaking off that thought, whatever it had been, James reached between them, his hand searching the center of her desire, and Maggie cried out as his touch helped her finally find what she sought. She was so overtaken with the shattering discovery of her pleasure, she was barely aware of the way James suddenly thrust into her—or how he held still, his face contorted in what looked like pain as he gasped her name through gritted teeth.
Maggie was the first to recover. Aware of the echoes of a pulsing throb in her body, she turned her head against James’s chest, her hands moving soothingly over his shoulders. He murmured something she couldn’t understand where he slumped against her, then turned his head to press a kiss to the side of her throat, his arms tightening possessively around her.
Maggie was a little concerned to see the solemn expression on his face as he straightened. It rather pointed out just what they had indulged in and the possible ramifications. She knew instinctively she wasn’t going to like what he said when he opened his mouth to speak, but wasn’t any happier that he was cut off by the sudden opening of the library door.
“Really, my lady, I do not think—” Meeks’s voice cried out in alarm. Maggie and James both watched in horror as the door opened.
“Nonsense, Meeks. I just want James to tell Lady Wingate here—” Lady Barlow’s voice died abruptly as she stepped into the room and caught a glimpse of her nephew and her houseguest.
There was a moment of utter silence; then Lady Wingate—who—Maggie had unfortunately had the pleasure of meeting in previous, much more socially acceptable conditions—stepped around the frozen Lady Barlow and into view.
The old woman was a sweet, dear old friend of Lady Barlow’s, one Vivian had known since her youth. She was also blind as a bat. Squinting at the tableau, she adjusted her glasses and tried to make out exactly what she was seeing. “What the devil? Is that you, James? Who is that with you? And what in heaven’s name are you doing on Vivian’s desk?”
The woman’s screech set everyone in motion at once. James stepped around to try to shield Maggie from view: a poor choice that left him hanging out for the world to see, and left little doubt as to what had been going on. Meanwhile, Maggie had slithered off the desk. Well, once she unstuck her behind from the wooden surface to which she seemed to have become somehow adhered, she slithered off, dropping out of sight behind it.
Lady Barlow shook herself out of her own shocked state. She promptly turned to push her dear old friend out of the room. Meeks, always quick to help, muttered unintelligibly, grabbed the door, and tugged it abruptly closed behind himself as he followed the women out.
The room fell silent as James’s aunt and her friend departed. James stood frozen for a moment, hands on his hips, his eyes closed against what had just happened, and a miserable sigh slipped from his lips. This was not what he had intended. Hell, he hadn’t intended anything at all—but if he had planned anything, it would not have been this! He could hardly believe he had been caught in such a compromising position. Dear God! His brains had apparently gone a-begging. How had he been reduced to this? It was bad enough that he’d allowed his passions to overtake him and had taken Maggie on a writing desk like some rutting bull. But he had done so in his aunt’s damned house, with her in the next room, where discovery was almost a certainty. What had he been thinking?
He knew what he had been thinking: he had been thinking of Maggie’s silken thighs around him and her small, full breasts in his hands. He had been thinking of her lips soft and warm under his, and her warm, slick flesh wrapped around him. Dear God, I’m thinking it again, he realized with dismay, feeling himself swell with desire at the memories dancing through his poor beleaguered mind.
“James!”
Giving a start, he opened his eyes, guilt filling him as he met his aunt’s furious gaze. She stood in the open doorway, obviously having returned to chastise him. Closing the door with a snap, she propped her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “Put yourself away, young man, before I put that away for you!”
Brought to the realization that he was standing naked with a rather impressive—if he did say so, himself—erection in plain view, James turned quickly away. He tucked himself inside his breeches and did up the few buttons remaining after his earlier recklessness. That done, he started to turn back, then paused to tuck his shirt into his waistband and smooth his hair. He paused to take a long, deep, steadying breath, then turned to face his aunt’s puckered expression.
“I . . .” he began, unsure what to say but ready to try. He needn’t have bothered. Aunt Vivian wasn’t up to listening to any of the nonsense he might have trotted out.
“I have managed to hustle every last one of my guests out. Where is Maggie?” she asked fiercely. James glanced over his shoulder, frowning when he saw the empty desk. A movement drew his gaze downward, and he spotted her barely covered derriere and ankles sticking out from beneath it. Knowing from experience how cramped and hot she would be, he sighed then stepped around the desk and bent forward to peer into the nook. Maggie sat curled inside, her knees up, covered by her shirt and her arms. Her head was bowed, her eyes pressed firmly into her linen-obscured knees.
“Maggie?” he called gently. Her only response was to curl up tighter, like a child hiding from an angry nanny. Biting back a smile, James dropped to his haunches and reached out to brush one hand over her elbow. “Come out, love,” he said.
Her head shook violently.
James was about to try again when a rustle of material warned him of his aunt’s approach. He glanced up to see her expression soften as she saw Maggie, and he felt relief. This was a bad enough situation; he really had no desire to see his aunt blame her for it. It was entirely his fault, after all. She’d been an innocent. He was experienced, skilled, had overwhelmed her with his passion. . . .
His smugness died an abrupt death when his aunt snapped at him. “Get out of the way, James. Leave the girl alone. Haven’t you done enough to her?”
Wincing at her sharp tone, he straightened and moved around the desk. His aunt paused to murmur something to Maggie, then followed James, her expression becoming grimmer with each step. He was not at all surprised when she launched her attack.
“So this is how you repay her brother for saving your lecherous life?”
“I am marrying her,” was all he said.
“I have never been so ashamed in all my born days. That poor—What did you say?”
James nearly smiled at her astonishment, but managed to contain himself and repeated, “I shall marry Maggie, of course.”
Aunt Vivian deflated like a sail losing its wind, then raised her head, her nose high. “Yes. Of course.”
“A quick marriage would probably be best.”
“Dear God, yes,” she agreed. “Hazel Wingate is not known for her ability to keep a confidence.” Moving toward the door, his aunt announced, “I shall start to make the arrangements. Perhaps you should coax Margaret out from under the desk. I will order a bath sent to her room . . . it should help her feel better.”
Lady Barlow sailed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her. Oddly, James would swear he had spotted a satisfied smile on her lips in that last moment. He frowned over it briefly, then turned to the desk as the chair squeaked, announcing Maggie’s emergence from beneath.
Quickly rounding the desk, James took Maggie’s hand to help her up, his heart aching when he spied the mortified expression on her face and the dark, rosy flush of humiliation on her skin. She ducked her head. This had been a lousy way to end her first experience in lovemaking, and he wouldn’t have wished it on her for the world. She deserved better. The woman should have had a soft bed beneath her, a wedding ring on her finger, and a slow, passionate seduction. Instead she’d gotten a quick hump against his aunt’s desk. He was an animal.
“This is awful.”
Those muttered words from Maggie merely added to James’s guilt. He pulled her body against his, a hug being the only thing he could think of to soothe her upset. It didn’t appear to be working, he realized when she did not melt against him with relief, but stood stiff in his arms, her head shaking repeatedly in denial.
“Maggie,” he murmured gently. “ ’Tis not as bad as it seems. There will be some gossip, but once the marriage is accomplished, the rumors will die down and—”
“No.”
“Yes, they will,” he assured her, thinking she didn’t believe him.
She pulled away and frowned at him. “I am not marrying you.”
James blinked in amazement at her announcement, then, deciding she was too upset to think clearly, again tried to draw her into his arms. “Of course you are, my dear. We—”
“Nay, I am not,” she argued, fighting her way out of his embrace. Bending, she snatched up her breeches from where they lay crumpled on the floor. “When my brother asked you to look after me, he hardly meant for you to sacrifice your life to my honor.”
“That is a bit melodramatic, is it not?” he chided gently, a touch embarrassed that he couldn’t seem to get his eyes off her derriere as she tugged the breeches onto first one leg, then the other. “I am not sacrificing my life. I had to marry sometime, after all.”
“Yes, but—”
“And there is always the possibility of a child.” Much to his satisfaction, that thought seemed to give her pause. The horrified expression that suffused her face was almost gratifying. That last had definitely been a winning argument. Quite inspired really, he thought.
She turned on him pleadingly. “Can we not wait and see? Perhaps we will be lucky.”
James gaped. He already had gotten lucky, as far as he was concerned. Glaring at her, he shook his head. “Honestly, Maggie, you are harder on my ego than any woman I have ever met! Most women would be leaping for joy at having to marry me. Hell, many women would have arranged for us to be caught as we were, but you—”
James paused, his mind suddenly stuttering over the idea of an arranged scandal. It occurred to him that making love to Maggie with a passel of women in the next room had been the height of stupidity. James was not generally a stupid man. One might almost think he had been hoping to get caught and forced into this marriage. Was it possible he had played such a trick on himself? he wondered in amazement. He shook such thoughts away as Maggie finished doing up her drawers and bent impatiently to collect her waistcoat.
“I do not care what most women would like or want, my lord. You should not be forced into an arrangement to save my reputation. I was hardly fighting you off or crying rape. I was a willing participant in this affair and shall suffer the consequences for it without regret.”
“There is no need for anyone to suffer,” James snapped. “Good Lord, woman, it is no sacrifice on my part. In case you missed the fact, I quite enjoyed ruining you. I already look forward to being able to enjoy you again, and on a regular basis. In fact, the idea of being able to do so in the comfort of a bed makes me quite eager.”
To prove that fact, he grabbed her hand as she tried to shrug into her waistcoat, and drew it down to press against the proof of his claim. Maggie stilled, her eyes widening, surprise on her face.
With her ripped linen shirt gaping open, James could hardly miss the way her nipples hardened. Releasing her hand, he lifted his fingers to catch one nipple between thumb and forefinger and pinched it gently. Maggie closed her eyes and swayed, her fingers tightening on his erection. It was enough to make James forget the situation and pull her into his arms. Catching her by the bottom, he pulled her forward, grinding himself against her.
If it weren’t for a knock at the door right then, James very well might have taken her again—standing right there. But the knock made them draw apart.
“Yes?” James snapped as Maggie turned away to don her waistcoat. She began fastening the buttons to hide her torn top.
The door opened, and Meeks warily poked his head inside the room, relief on his face when he saw they were both dressed and behaving. “Lady Barlow asked that I tell you Lady Margaret’s bath is ready, and that she would like to see you in the salon at once, my lord.”
“Very well, Meeks. Tell her I shall be right there.”
Nodding, the butler pulled the door closed, leaving him and Maggie alone again.
“I had best go above stairs,” she murmured, moving to the door. James followed her, his eyebrows rising when she paused with her hand on the doorknob. Staring down at the floor, she asked, “Have you considered that you might find someone else you would rather marry? That if you marry me, you may come to regret it?”
“There is no one I would rather marry,” James assured her with a smile.
She twitched impatiently, then said, “But what if you find someone you could truly love? What if—”
“Love?” James interrupted with a frown. “True love is a fairy tale for children, Maggie. We have friendship and mutual desire, which is the best anyone can realistically expect in a marriage. Actually, ’tis more than most people get. Do not trouble yourself about such nonsense. We will be married. We will get on famously. Now go take your bath.”
Shoulders slumping, she opened the door and stepped out of the library. James watched her go with a frown. The woman looked terribly unhappy as she ascended the stairs to find her room and the waiting bath. He had to admit, it wasn’t very flattering that the idea of marriage to him should be so unattractive to her.