Page 22

T onight is only the beginning .

The notes of Finn’s husky voice whispered in Macie’s thoughts, stirring her to restlessness. With a sigh, she fluffed her pillow, then stared aimlessly at the darkened ceiling. Finn’s kiss had ignited a spark in her, a simmering heat she did not want to extinguish. Even her sweet fantasies of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Rochester could not quench this yearning.

She pictured Finn alone in his room in the downstairs quarters. Alone... in his bed. With the image of his unclothed body, his bedcovers arranged just so to reveal his powerful chest to her gaze, a fresh current of need rippled through her body. Her cheeks heated at the thought.

Could he be thinking of her at that very moment? Did he long for her touch? For her kiss?

Just as she longed for him?

With a sigh, Macie lit the lamp on the chest and flopped back onto the mattress. Curled by her feet, Cleo lifted her sleepy head. Her green eyes glowed with the reflected light. Was the cat actually frowning at her? Well, the indulged feline would simply have to get over her little snit.

An idea Macie might have dismissed as near madness tempted her. No. She immediately swatted away the notion, banishing the tempting mental image of Finn not quite asleep in his room. Alone. In who knew what state of undress.

She simply could not consider joining him in his plain yet sturdy bed.

Could she?

No man before him had stirred this tender desire within her. She hungered for Finn’s touch. Longed to caress his skin. To learn what brought him pleasure. But above all, she thirsted for the connection of their hearts. Their minds. Their souls.

Whenever she was with Finn, he saw her for the woman she was. Not the woman society deemed she should be. In his eyes, she was a beauty. Not because she wore the most fashionable clothing. Not because her hair was coiffed just so. Not even because he found her face to be pretty and appealing. No, it went far deeper.

When she was with Finn, she could see the truth in his eyes. They were connected in a way she’d never experienced. Never expected. Two kindred spirits who’d finally, maddeningly, stumbled upon each other.

Earlier that night, standing with Finn in the garden of Lady Fenwick’s elegant home, she’d taken the risk of being found alone with him. In his arms. Savoring his kiss. She’d thought herself quite daring then.

But now, she contemplated taking a risk which might well make her heart soar.

Or leave it in tatters.

Macie slipped her dressing gown over her shoulders, donned her slippers, and tugged the ribbon tie of the dressing gown tighter around her waist.

Would Finn be shocked to discover her in his room? She smiled at the thought. Would he take her to his bed? Or send her away? She simply had to find out.

She had to take this chance.

Macie quietly navigated the stairs to the downstairs quarters. Steps from Finn’s room, she hesitated. The sound of Mrs. Tuttle’s voice drifted through the sturdy door to her room. Macie’s breath caught. She listened more closely. Rumbles of loud snoring reached her ears, with a few mumbled words thrown in for good measure. The tension eased from her shoulders. The housekeeper was deep in her slumber.

Macie bit back a giggle at the noise. Poor Finn, trying to sleep through this racket each night.

Shoring up her courage, she went to Finn’s door. She pulled in a breath, as if that might ease the sudden surge of her pulse. Could she do this? Had she truly gone mad with her hunger for this man?

It wasn’t too late. If she tiptoed back to her room, he’d be none the wiser. He wouldn’t even know she’d stood inches beyond his door.

She could simply come to her senses and return to the quiet of her own bedchamber... to her own bed.

The door opened with a mild creak of protest. The faint illumination of her lamp cast light and shadows over Finn’s long, lean form. The bedclothes had slid low, resting over his legs and lean hips. His powerful upper body was bared to her sight.

Macie’s gaze trailed over his broad shoulders to his chest, sleek-muscled and firm. Curly light-brown hair feathered over the taut muscles. Then lower, tapering over the contours of his chiseled abdomen she instinctively yearned to explore with her fingertips.

Her mouth went dry. Oh, dear .

Finn blinked against the lamplight, his eyes adjusting from what had been near-complete darkness. “Macie, is something wrong?”

She pressed a finger to her lip, signaling him not to speak. “We mustn’t wake Mrs. Tuttle,” she whispered. “May I come in?”

Tossing aside the quilt, he wore only a pair of loose-fitting trousers. His expression was still drowsy when he came to her.

“Did ye hear a noise?” he asked, motioning her into the chamber. “Did something frighten ye?”

She shook her head and set the lamp on the table. “Nothing is amiss,” she said, closing the door behind her.

His brow furrowed with confusion. “What’s this about?”

“This.”

Summoning every whit of daring she possessed, Macie curved her fingers over his bare shoulders, rose up on her toes, and pressed a kiss to his tempting mouth.

A soft sound of pleasure escaped him, and his arms coiled around her. Pulling her to his muscular body, he held her close and threaded his fingers through her hair. “So bloody beautiful,” he whispered in a husky rasp.

And then, he deepened the kiss. Searching. Seeking. Seducing. All melded into this delicious caress.

Her knees suddenly went weak. She melted against him, the heat of his body blending with hers as he held her in a possessive yet deliciously tender embrace.

“Ye drive me mad, Macie,” he whispered against her lips.

His hands glided down her back, the heat of his touch penetrating the thin cotton of her clothing. Boldly, he cupped his hands over her bottom and held her nearer still. The undeniable evidence of his desire pressed against her softness. Utterly male. Unyielding. Demanding.

“Ye see what ye do to me, lass?” His voice was low, edged with gravel.

Ah, she did. And she liked it. So very, very much.

She answered his passionate query without words. Canting her hips to draw him even closer, she kissed him again. Parting her lips, she drank him in. The taste of his caress. The feel of the crisp, dark curls on his chest beneath her eager fingers. The sound of his low moans of need.

A hunger more powerful than physical desire kindled deep within her. Her pulse raced as a wave of anticipation crashed over her. For so very long, she’d lived without passion. Without tenderness. Without love. But now, she could not deny the yearnings of her heart.

Without warning, he broke away and raked his fingers through his hair.

She could only gaze at him, stunned. Suddenly, it felt as though the air had been squeezed from her lungs. “What is it?” she murmured after the span of several heartbeats.

“Macie . . . lass . . . this isn’t right.” His words seemed a raw confession.

“You’re wrong,” she whispered. “Everything about this is right.”

“Ye don’t know what ye’re saying.” Finn caught her hands in his. “What ye’re doing.”

She gulped against a sudden rush of emotion. “Tell me you don’t think this is merely a game.”

Slowly, he shook his head. “To the contrary, this is all too real.” He brushed a butterfly kiss over her cheek. “But that doesn’t change the fact... this is not the way it should be.”

“And if I disagree?”

His lips slid over hers, tender and undemanding. “Ye deserve so much more than this.”

She pulled in a breath, inhaling the crisp, masculine scent of bergamot and man.

“I want you, Finn. Can’t you see that?”

His hands framed her face. For several beats of her pulse, he simply looked at her, as if to memorize every nuance of her expression.

His lips brushed a light kiss over her temple. “I do, lass. And bloody hell, I want ye more than ye can imagine.”

“And if I want to spend this night with you?”

“Macie, I can see the truth. Ye’re more innocent of the ways of men and women than ye like to let on. I’m not wrong, am I?”

Pressing her lips together to steady her emotions, she shook her head. “Why does it matter to you?”

“Because ye deserve better than this.” A soft smile curved his mouth as he studied her. “Tell me the truth, lass.” His lips brushed a feather-soft caress over hers. “Are ye a virgin?”

“Is it so very obvious?” she whispered.

“Only to a man who has seen the wonder in yer beautiful emerald eyes.”

She cocked her chin, summoning a bit of boldness. “And if... if I think it’s time.”

“That moment will come.” His voice was a husky rasp as he lightly stroked the curve of her cheek. “But not tonight.”

She turned away. Suddenly, the delight she’d felt in his arms had transformed to something far different. Her heart felt as if it had been caught in a vise, and there was only one choice. She had to get away. Now.

Macie rushed to the door, but he caught her wrist. “Don’t go, lass. Not yet.”

She gulped against the sudden burning pain in the back of her throat. “I must return to my own room... to my own bed.”

Where my heart is safe .

“Turn around, Macie.” Each syllable seemed a husky plea. “I need... I need to tell ye more... I need to tell ye what I’m thinking.”

She choked back tears she could not bear to shed. Not in front of him. “You made yourself quite clear.”

He moved to stand in front of her. Not quite blocking her from the door, yet making it clear he wanted her to stay.

“Ye came here tonight of yer own free will. And ye’ll leave of yer own free will.” He stepped to the side. “But I am asking ye to give me time... time to explain.”

“Very well.” She forced out the words.

He took her hand within his and led her to the bed. “Shall we sit?”

“Aren’t you afraid of the scandal? A virgin sitting with a half-clothed man on his bed?”

“I don’t give a damn about scandal.” He studied her with hooded eyes as his thumb caressed her palm. “Ye’re all I give a damn about, Macie.”

She met his eyes, even as she struggled against a fresh wave of feeling. “Is that so?”

The fine lines around his eyes crinkled in what seemed genuine confusion. “Why do ye doubt it, lass?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I came to you.” She dropped her gaze to the braided rug beneath their feet. “But you rejected me.”

“Ye’re wrong, my sweet lass.” He swept his lips over the back of her hand. “I want ye... more than ye can imagine. But yer first time with a man should be special.”

Macie’s heart raced. She turned to him and caressed his cheek. The dark-brown stubble on his jaw was rough and crisp against her fingertips. With a little sigh, she relaxed.

“It will be special, Finn,” she said. “Just being with you... being held by you... is special.”

“Ye deserve fine sheets and luxury. Ye deserve to awaken in my arms in the morning without fear of stirring a scandal.” The faintest of grins tugged on his mouth. “Ye deserve to be kissed to distraction. Not stolen moments with the sound of Mildred Tuttle’s snores and gasps in our ears.”

“Oh, dear, that is a valid point, now isn’t it?” Macie said, just as Mrs. Tuttle cried out for someone named Phil.

“I told ye, lass, and I meant every word—tonight is only the beginning.” He drew the pad of his finger over her bottom lip. “Someday, when the time is right, I will teach ye how good making love can be.” His small grin broadened. “For now, I’ll teach ye a bit about pleasure. If ye still want my touch.” He hesitated for a heartbeat. “If ye still want me.”

Macie’s breath caught in her throat. Oh, my.

“I do like what you are up to.”

“Do ye now?” he teased.

She nibbled her lower lip. “Indeed.”

“First things first.” He untied the ribbon on her dressing gown and opened the robe, revealing the nightdress that hid little from his heated gaze. “May I?”

She nodded, and he slid the dressing gown over her shoulders. It pooled behind her on the mattress.

“And now, shall we free yer hair from this braid? It’s lovely when it flows free and loose down yer back.”

“Yes,” she murmured.

With great care, he freed the strands in the carefully woven plait that reached past her nape. Her unbound hair fell free to her back.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “So blasted beautiful.” He touched the lace at the collar of her nightdress, then released the tiny mother-of-pearl button at her neck. “I’d like to see ye, love. May I?”

“I’d like that,” she whispered as his fingers skimmed along the sensitive column of her throat.

Taking his time, he freed the column of buttons, parting the lacy cotton fabric a bit more with each until he reached the fastener at her waist. And then, he eased the dress from her shoulders, baring her to his gaze.

As she met his eyes, a shiver of awareness ran through her body. No shame. No fear. Simply awareness of his intense male gaze taking her in. She saw the passion in his eyes. Saw the way his amber-brown irises had darkened with the force of his desire for her. Suddenly, she felt a power unlike any other she’d ever felt.

“My God, ye’re lovely.” His husky rasp unleashed a current of pure yearning through her—heart and soul. And in that moment, she felt truly, utterly beautiful.

He drew her close, kissing her with a burning heat. “I want to feel ye, my sweet.”

“Oh, yes,” she whispered.

She wanted his touch. She wanted his kiss. She wanted him .

As she reached to touch him, he stilled her hand. “Not yet, love.”

His slightly roughened hand traced a slow path along her collarbones. He pressed tender kisses along the path. And then, he moved lower, trailing feather-soft touches from her throat to her breasts.

She tingled with pure sensation as he teased her delicate skin with tiny kisses. Dipping his head, he caressed her, each touch and press of his mouth more delicious than the last.

Kindling the heat within her, his hand found the hem of her gown. “Tell me what ye want, love?”

“You,” she murmured.

He slid his left hand under her nightdress, brushing lightly against her calf. “Ye want my touch... here?”

“Yes,” she murmured.

His hand glanced over the back of her knee, and she realized she’d sighed.

“And here?” His fingers skimmed along her thigh, stirring a delicious tingling.

“Yes,” she whispered against his mouth.

“Ah, love, I want to drive ye wild.”

“You already have.” She kissed him then, weaving her fingers through his hair and savoring the pure masculine scent of the man she adored. His low groan of pleasure unleashed a fresh little thrill through her body.

“Ye do know how to test a man’s restraint, don’t ye, love?” He eased her down against the bed, one arm curved around her back, while the other rested upon her hip.

Macie nestled into the crook of his shoulder. Her fingers glided along his collarbones, mimicking the path he’d taken over her body, before skimming over the contours of his powerful chest. Dark, crisp hair feathered over muscles well developed by his athletic pursuits. Her fingertips danced over the satin-smooth skin, even as she drank in the subtle scent of shaving soap on his skin.

Growing more adventurous, she trailed her fingers along the tapering hair that led to the dark line over his belly, he caught her hand again. “Is this yer idea of torture, lass?”

“Well, that is rather peculiar,” she teased coyly, knowing full well what he meant. “Judging from the sounds you’re making deep in your throat, I’d say you rather enjoy it.”

“I do, lass. Too bloody much,” he said in a voice edged with gravel.

“I rather like that. It’s so deliciously wicked.” She brushed a kiss against his stubble-roughened jaw. “The very thought of tempting you too bloody much makes me weak.”

“This night, I want only to make ye mad for me.” His voice was delightfully confident. “And me alone.”

He propped himself on one elbow, gazing down at her. “I’m going to touch ye now. Tell me... tell me if ye want me to stop.”

The very thought of his skin teasing hers spurred all manner of heady thoughts. Wicked. Delicious. Stirring her desire to a fever pitch.

With a delicious blend of tenderness and hunger and sweet delight, he claimed her mouth. His barely leashed passion stirred the fire within her to a blaze. Whispering sweet words of adoration against her mouth, his words were a sensuous rasp. And when he dipped his head lower, anointing her body with kisses, she curled her fingers over his muscular arms, pressing her fingers into his skin, savoring the feel of his powerful male body.

She heard herself moan, sounds like little gasps from her parted lips. And then, his warm touch glided over her thighs. Each moment of contact was a tender melding of sweet pleasure and torment. How she needed him. His touch. His kiss. And more.

Instinctively, she canted her hips, a silent plea. His eyes flashed, and she knew in her heart he’d understood. He knew what she needed. He knew how to ease the bone-deep need that had overtaken her senses.

His fingers lightly brushed the triangle of curls between her thighs. His clever fingers stirred her wanting, seeking and finding the core of her pleasure. Gently, he teased her with his touch, stirring the flames within her body. Within her heart.

“Do ye want this, love?” His words were quiet and raw and heated.

“Please,” she whispered as he kissed her again. “So very much.”

“Yer wish is my command.” A subtle smile played on his mouth. “Ye’ll like this, my sweet. I promise.”

His clever fingers worked their magic. Touch upon touch. The pleasure grew from tiny ripples of delight to waves of pleasure so very intense, she was in danger of being swept away.

A rogue wave of sensation washed over her, seeming to carry her away. The rush of feeling carried her out of reality, so intense she felt a bit mad. Sheer pleasure swirled around her like a whirlpool from which she had no desire to free herself, wave upon wave upon wave of pure joy.

A sense of utter contentment filled her heart. She felt as if she drifted back to shore, into the safe haven of his embrace.

When she met his gaze, the heady blend of primal desire and tenderness in his eyes melted her heart. God above, did he have any idea how she longed to look into his eyes every night? Every morning. Every day.

“Do ye have any idea how beautiful ye are, lass?” He skimmed over her bottom lip with his thumb. “If I live to be a very old man, nothing could ever compare to those beautiful green eyes, radiant with pleasure and desire.” His mouth curved, the most subtle of smiles. “Desire for me, my love.”

She nestled against his lean, strong body. For a long moment, she watched the rise and fall of his chest, delighting in the sight. He was vital and strong and, hopefully, he was hers. Just as she was his.

“Ah, Finn, I’d say you’ve succeeded in your quest. I am wild for you.” She kissed him again and smiled to herself. How delightful that she could lie with him and kiss him simply because she wanted to. “Truly and deeply and utterly mad for you, Mr. Caldwell.”

*

The sun’s first rays shined through the curtains, rousing Macie from a thoroughly delightful sleep in Finn’s bed. In Finn’s arms.

Ah, she could easily become used to mornings like this.

Macie scooted to the edge of the bed and pressed her feet to the cool wooden floorboards. She turned back, and for a long moment, her gaze lingered on Finn.

Goodness, he was such a handsome man. He lay on his back, the hazy light dancing over the contours of his muscular chest. One arm stretched out against the mattress, as if he dreamed of holding her to his body.

A little sigh escaped her. She’d delighted in those moments of pleasure in Finn’s arms. Were they simply stolen moments of joy? Or had she found a man she could love for the rest of her days?

Time would tell the tale. Donning her dressing gown and slippers, she tiptoed back to the bed just long enough to press a soft kiss to Finn’s mouth.

It wouldn’t do for anyone—especially Mrs. Tuttle—to encounter her leaving his room.

So of course, as luck would have it, Mrs. Tuttle peeked out of her chamber at the precise moment Macie closed the door to Finn’s room behind her.

Their eyes met. An awkward silence followed, broken when Mrs. Tuttle smiled even as she gave her head a regretful shake.

“Miss Macie, are you waiting for me to say something?”

“Honestly, I was hoping you were walking in your sleep,” she said with a brief grin.

“Not a chance.” The older woman regarded her with careworn features. “I can only hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I believe I do,” Macie said, sounding perhaps more confident than she felt.

“I do hope so.” Mrs. Tuttle shuffled out of the room, clutching her flannel dressing gown around her. “Promise me you will do this one thing for me, Miss Macie.”

“And what might that be?” Macie asked gently.

“Take your time, dear.” The housekeeper reached out and tucked a wayward curl behind Macie’s ear. “Promise me you will guard your heart.”