Page 51 of Single Desire
Her stays landed atop her skirt, her chemise tugged over her head.
No longer confined, her breasts spilled free. Some faint sound escaped her lips as she glanced down and confronted her nudity.
“Hush, Irish. Modesty is not a word that should exist between husband and wife, don’t you agree?” A kiss was planted at the rise of each breast even as he stripped her drawers down her legs. “Beautiful, Irish. Beautiful.”
His hands in her hair, he tugged the pins that held it. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, over his hands. Her shoes were next, her cotton stockings peeled away. “There, you see? No need for a maid after all, not with a considerate husband at hand. Now then, let’s get you into bed.”
In all honesty, Maura wasn’t sure she’d have made it under her own power. She was about to swoon from embarrassment—or shock. Perhaps both, she decided in utter mortification, just as a muscled arm slid beneath her knees and she felt herselflifted. And then all she could think was how he accomplished it with such effortless ease.
Then he did the unthinkable. In seconds his jacket and shirt were off, revealing the powerful plane of hair-roughened chest.
At last she regained her powers of speech. “What if this malady is catching?” she cried. “Perhaps you should sleep elsewhere tonight.”
“Nonsense! Unfortunate, I admit, if that proves to be the case.” An exaggerated sigh. “But I won’t stand accused of being an insensitive husband. And if so, at least we can make our recovery together. And if we are not ill, well, who knows? We may decide to stay a few days longer—our honeymoon—and languish here in bed if we choose.”
Maura’s thoughts were a wild jumble. Oh, but he was so pleased with himself! His ploy was utterly transparent, his amusement unmistakable, his audacity boundless. Why bother to mask it behind so-called concern?
And why did she even care, when it was already done?
But it appeared he wasn’t done. His hands were at his waistband. A few swift moves and he stepped from his trousers. Her mouth grew dry. He was close enough to touch. His buttocks looked hard and taut. He turned.
Naked.
She could have looked away. She should have looked away.
She didn’t. Some crazed madness had come over her that she didn’t, and this was the most mortifying of all! Inhaling sharply, she flung herself over, pillowing her face against her arms with a moan. Imprinted in her mind’s eye was the image of raw, stark virility.
Alec extinguished the bedside lamp and slid into bed beside her.
“Come, Irish, let me warm you. Let me keep away your nightmares.”
A strong hand descended on her hip. A long arm captured her, snared her close, as close as a man and woman could be without being joined. It was as if she lay cocooned within every inch of him.
She struggled to still the frantic throb of her pulse. She was half afraid to breathe, to move, for fear of stirring the part of him that so dominated her mind.
His body radiated heat. Her heart hammered. But Alec did nothing more than stroke her arm and shoulder, a featherlike touch that was oddly soothing. Little by little she felt herself relax, drifting into the world of dreams.
Much, much sooner than Alec had hoped.
Chapter Thirteen
When Maura woke, the bed was empty. She had slept soundly, more soundly than she expected in light of the fact she lay nestled against Alec the night through.
She was bathed and dressed when he reappeared. They breakfasted in the hotel dining room, then it was off to the train station. Alec’s coachman Douglas met them at Ayr. Alec handed her into the coach and settled across from her. He remained coolly polite, if a bit distant. Or did he merely ponder? Regardless of the reason behind his silence, it rattled her nerves. And in her nervousness, she began to prattle.
“It’s dreadfully dreary, isn’t it? We’re in for a spot of rain, from the look of those clouds. Oh, look, there is a peat bog! And you dared to call Ireland a soggy bog of an isle, do you remember? There are no more peat bogs on McDonough lands, you know. One year my father traveled all the way to Donegal so the castle and our tenants would have fuel for the winter. The weather was horribly brutal that year, I believe. I couldn’t have been more than ten or so, but I shall never forget.”
Ten minutes later she spied a pony. “Is that a Shetland?” She gave a delighted laugh. “It reminds me of the ponies in Connemara. Have you ever seen a Connemara? Connemaras pulled the carts of peat back to McDonough—”
She broke off. Alec surveyed her, his expression rather vexed.
Maura turned defensive. “What?”
A brow quirked high. “I had no idea I’d wed a mockingbird,” he drawled. “I wish your uncle had seen fit to tell me.”
“Well, if you weren’t so rude as to sit there like a stump of wood and instead make the effort to converse now and again, there would be no need for me to fill the silence,” she informed him loftily.
“A spate of temper! Why am I not surprised? You’re a fierce little creature, aren’t you?”
