His right hand left the sensitive spot at her core and moved to adjust her hips, easing them back into the folds of the bedding. With that done, he started to lever himself backwards, his shaft easing from her, so that Maeve, who was now familiar and rather liking the pressure within her, cried out.
“Hush.” His tone was gruff. “Let me show you.”
His body arched and pressed once more into her, and Maeve gasped as his movements grew. With each pump and shift, the tension between them seemed to tighten. As if there was a length of string winding its way closer and closer between the pair of them, Maeve could only look into his eyes, the rest of the chamber seeming almost to vanished. The delicious pressure caused her body to tense up before, finally, the rigorous movement caused something deep within her to splinter and shatter. With a cresting wave of pleasure, Maeve was dragged away from herself, the intensity of his gaze, and every worry that normally flooded her. She was free in that happy moment. The sheer momentum made her shout out his name again, “Gregory.”
It echoed through her and made her want to curl up closer, whilst her body tightened and stretched as he too gasped, his face contracting and his movements quickening. Gregory’s face pinkened beneath the beard, and then he too seemed to be swept up in a similar reaction to her own, his expression taking on that of surprise as a wash of what Maeve hoped was a similar pleasure to hers overtook him.
They stayed close and still as their shudders and shallow breathing washed through them. Occasionally he would move to lift a piece of hair from her face or perhaps yawn. But otherwise, they were too drowsy to move much. When he eased himself away finally, he looked down at Maeve, whose fleeting moment of embarrassment seemed to have passed.
“How are you feeling?” Gregory asked as he walked to the side table. He poured out some water from the jug and proceeded to dampen a cloth, which he brought back to bed for her. “You may want to clean yourself.”
Accepting it, Maeve found there was moisture between her legs. She sat up and leant against Gregory, who stroked her back with a care that pleased her. There didn’t seem to be any blood. When she handed the cloth back, he kissed her cheek and settled her back amongst the pillows.
“I was a virgin,” she told him.
“I know. It is a myth that every woman bleeds on her first time.” He moved brusquely back to the side table and deposited the cloth there.
From her position in the bed, Maeve’s eyes travelled the length and shape of her future husband, her eyes shyly delighting in the naked sight of him. She had not had the time earlier to properly appreciate what a specimen he was. The masculine appeal was not limited to the dark beard that framed his face or the equally impressive folds of hair on his head, but there was a scattering of a similar shade that coated his agile but muscular chest and snaked down over the planes of his stomach.
He moved then, so her eyes could not dip to his male appendage but instead sidled to look at his bottom. It had never previously occurred to Maeve to think of someone’s arse as a thing of beauty, but Gregory’s was. She had a sudden funny urge to bite the perfect, rounded curves, but she doubted he would want to hear of that.
Gregory turned back and raised a cynical eyebrow at her. He was all too aware she was ogling him. In haste, Maeve dropped her eyes.
“I should go,” he said. Then he saw her expression and continued in a hurry, “I need to arrange a special licence. I will see us wed within the week. You need not fear on that score.”
All the earlier softness he had displayed when they had made love was gone from his voice. With hurried movements, he snatched up his clothes before vanishing into the nearest side room to dress.
Maeve felt a question bubble up inside her; how could something feel so good, so right and so delicious, and yet make her think she may have made a terrible mistake?
All the bravery she had felt earlier fled from Maeve, and she stayed still until she had heard Silverton leave the side room and proceed away from her.
It was only then she crept out of the bed and snatched up her clothes, donning her shift and hurrying into her own bedchamber. She wondered if any of the maids had realised where she had gone. Determined to ignore how scandalous they presumably thought she was, Maeve scrambled under the coverlet and lay still.
She closed her eyes, ignoring the rest of the house, still confused and conflicted about the sensations that he had wrought in her body. How could she behave so wantonly? What had driven her to do it? If it was merely her curiosity, then why had she never been tempted with Dr. Copeland?
When someone knocked at the door of her room, she called out, “Come in.”
Turning, she was relieved to see Betty, her maid from yesterday. The young woman had an open face, with pretty doe-like eyes and a gap-toothed smile that created the impression of honesty and trustworthiness. She curtsied and swept into the room with a breakfast tray.
“Is there anything you especially prefer to break your fast with, ma’am? I can make sure it’s arranged for you.”
Maeve sat up and distracted herself for the next hour with her maid, going through her food choices, being helped into one of her day dresses, and hearing a little more about the extensive running of the household. It did not take much to realise how out of place Maeve was, compared to the sort of lady Silverton really should have been marrying. It was not from Betty herself that she received this impression, but from a few things the girl let slip that Danes had mentioned. Servants always knew more than they let on; in fact, it was Danes who, a good hour later, knocked on Maeve’s door and informed her that Silverton was awaiting her presence in his study.
Maeve followed Danes through the townhouse, feeling a growing sense of unease at how far above her Silverton was in class. It was obvious, the more she saw of the townhouse and its fine and stately interiors. Clear too, in the way Danes looked down his nose at her. The butler, whether from consideration or distaste, kept his silence, and when he opened the study door and ushered Maeve inside, she was almost ready to beg Silverton to let her leave the house. He might make her blood sing and her body betray itself in the most delightful of ways, but surely, he could see how ill-suited they were socially? And suddenly, Maeve was all too aware of how much that mattered.
Stepping forward from behind Danes, Maeve felt Silverton’s cold gaze sweep over her body, and that uneasy blend of push and pull surged through her again. What was she doing here, and would she forever regret that curiosity that had trapped her with this man?
Silverton pointed Maeve towards a chair. “Thank you, Danes, that will be all.” He followed the manservant out with his gaze. “You will be pleased to hear that our wedding is due to take place tomorrow.” His eyes turned to her, and Maeve knew she had no more time to feel out of place. Their marriage would happen, even if he had to drag her there himself.
CHAPTER9
As soon as he had Maeve in his study, Silverton realised his mistake. For his own peace of mind, it was best if he kept Maeve in a location that he could control—ideally the bedroom. Outside it, her presence unnerved him. If he could ensure they kept their arrangement strictly business, under the cover of darkness, then he would be able to maintain the urbane exterior that was crucial to his life. But here she was, sat just a few feet from him and watching him expectantly, undermining his stance without even speaking.
Breaking from her gaze, Silverton went to his desk, his eyes moving over the scattered paperwork. She was here; he had asked her to be here. Her presence emitted a warmth and pulled his attention to every detail about her—the movement of her hands, how her breath coloured her face, the shell-like shape of her ears. She was looking over his study, in particular the bookcases, completely unaware of his scrutiny.
How was he supposed to explain what that interlude in his bedchamber had meant to him? Both their love making, and before that, her gentle, caressing kindness. She frightened him in a way that spying for the Home Office could not compete, with her watching hazel eyes and an inquisitive mouth that seemed so inclined to laughter.
“You must have paid the archbishop quite a sum to secure a marriage license so quickly.” She wetted her lips as she spoke, and Silverton dropped his eyes to the sheen of her mouth and feasted on the sight.
