So now he had the answer to the question he had asked himself back in London. He was not, in fact, able to control himself with Mary. He thought of her tears, the tears she had wept silently so he would not hear. But he had heard. He was so perfectly attuned to her now, and those tears had made his heart ache like nothing else ever could.
Dominick rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand to watch her as she slept. She had drawn her clothes around her against the chill, but her dark curls were still wild around her face. Her cheeks glowed pink with the aftermath of lovemaking, her parted lips cherry-red. She looked wanton and sweet, and he longed to kiss her awake, to hold her in his arms again and feel her passion stir to life. Her passion for him.
A strange, fierce possessiveness swept over him like a rainstorm. He had made love to Mary, to the woman he had once wanted above all others—the one woman who couldn’t be his. He had kissed her, felt her cry his name against his lips, felt the fierceness of her desire as she wrapped her legs around him and he drove inside her.
That passion had seemed to startle her, too. He remembered the look of surprise and delight that had spread across her face, the gasp of pleasure she had been unable to contain. He held tightly to that memory; it was an image he would always carry with him now.
Gently, so as not to wake her, he brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. Her skin was soft as rose petals. She sighed in her sleep, turning her face towards him as if to follow that touch. But she did not wake.
Dominick lay back down on their straw bed, drawing her against his side. She murmured softly, burrowing into his warmth. He was tired, too, his body relaxed as it had not been in such a very long time. Usually a terrible restlessness overtook him after sex—a pounding need to escape. But now he just wanted to hold onto Mary, to drift down into sleep with her.
But he kept himself awake and alert. Their time together was very short, this second chance, and when it was gone it would never come back again. He could offer her more than when they were young—a title, though one less than the title she already bore, and a house—more than one if she wanted them—sexual passion—they obviously had that.
But he still could not give her the respectable life her husband had. He could not give her an untainted name. She had not cared about such things once, or had claimed not to. She was older now, though, and would think of their children as well as herself. Could he ever be a fit father? Once, when he’d first met pretty young Mary Smythe, he had dreamed of a family, a home. But the years had shown him he was unfit for such a life. Could he change now?
Mary sighed in her sleep, her breath cool and soft against his neck. He gently kissed her temple. This night was his second chance. He would never forget it. But once their little adventure was over, once her errant sister was found and they went back to their own lives, he would have to let her go—for ever this time. His soul was not entirely blackened.
Only partially black, he thought as she threw her leg over his, curling her body around him. His manhood hardened in response, and he was ready to leap on her all over again.
‘Mmm,’ she murmured, her eyes fluttering open. A lazy, sensual smile curled her lips. ‘So it was not a dream.’
Dominick couldn’t resist kissing her, but he held himself firmly in check and didn’t deepen the caress as he longed to do. He didn’t jump on her and rip her gown off.
‘It’s only a dream if you want it to be,’ he said.
Mary’s smile widened. She curled her hands into his rumpled shirt, pulling him back for another kiss. ‘No—I want to remember every single real second.’ No matter what happened to them tomorrow, she wanted to keep this. She needed to keep it.
He traced her parted lips with his fingertip, the bruised softness of them. She bit at him lightly. ‘I think the rain has ceased,’ he managed to say.
She tilted her head to the side, as if to listen to the silence outside their rough shelter. ‘So it has.’
Dominick forced himself to ease away from her, to rise to his feet and reach for the rest of his clothes. ‘We should leave while the weather is still clear. I’d like to make it to my aunt’s house today—perhaps she has had word of Arthur and your sister.’
‘Oh, yes. Ginny.’ She sounded a bit startled. Had she, too, forgotten their errand in the firestorm of last night? Yet another sign they should not be together—good sense flew away when they touched. ‘I hope they have found shelter.’
‘I know it does not seem like it, but my cousin is a sensible enough man. He won’t let your sister suffer.’
Mary reached for her boots, tugging them over her feet. ‘I know. He is a military man, after all. I just … ‘ Her words trailed away into heavy silence.
Dominick knew how she felt. What words could there possibly be for them now? What could erase the past, make it all right again?
She struggled to fasten the stiffened leather of the boots, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips.
‘Here, let me,’ Dominick said. He knelt beside her, taking her foot onto his lap.
Mary watched solemnly as he worked at the fastenings. ‘First you put right my tangled hair, now my shoes. You do know what a lady needs.’
He automatically gave her a flirtatious smile. ‘Ah, well, I aim to please, my lady.’
‘And you are very good at it.’
He finished fastening her other boot, but somehow could not quite let her go. He smoothed a gentle touch over her ankle, the water-stained white stocking, along the soft curve of her calf. Her breath caught and she went very still. Dominick bent his head and pressed a kiss to her leg.
She touched the top of his head, one fleeting caress as quick as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then it was gone, and he lowered her foot back to the floor.
‘We should go, then,’ she said, ‘if we want to reach your aunt’s today.’