God, she was so delicious. She had a willingness to smile, to dimple, which beguiled him completely. A desire rose in him to tell Maeve that she was his. He wanted to claim her mouth, to slip his tongue between the seam, and kiss her until she moaned and begged him to make love to her again. A vivid image of her, spread out on the desk before him as he hiked the skirts of her grey dress up and lowered her drawers to expose the sleek limbs below.
Focus—he would not allow himself to be distracted. It was merely the novelty of sexual congress after such a long gap that was his downfall. If anything, it was good he found Maeve so physically appealing. The more he indulged, the sooner she would be with child.
He wanted her again. Lust had been something that Silverton had experienced on occasion, but he had learnt to ignore it by concentrating on more important matters. Now it seemed his body had other ideas, as if his one night with her had lit a spark within him. One he doubted would be easy to extinguish. All his senses seemed more alert. His prior lack of sexual indulgence had simply heightened the strength of his desire. Now he might as well be a randy schoolboy, as if he were the virgin rather than her.
Bugger it. She was frowning at him and looking concerned. Had she said something, with him too distracted to pay attention?
“I regret to inform you,” Silverton said, “given how pressing the matter is, only a select number of witnesses will be present. That is to say, your family will not be able to attend our wedding.”
“I beg your pardon?” There was a hearty splash of colour on Maeve’s cheeks, and she stared at him, clearly upset by his statement.
“You may write to them when the matter is resolved.”
“I want them to be there.”
“No.” How was he to explain that it was not safe? His decision not to tell her about his twin weighed on his mind, but he needed to be ruthless. There was no time for anything else. Especially after Charles had so recently attacked him, her safety was vital, and secrecy almost as important. But he could tell her none of this, not without mentioning Charles. So instead, he drew himself up with a firmness that defied her objections and said, “That is what I have decided as the best and fastest approach.”
Maeve’s eyes filled with tears, but she stayed in the room and asked, “Who will be our witnesses?”
Silverton was entirely sure that when he did die, he would go to hell; her pained face would condemn him. With each intake of Maeve’s breath, the tension between the two of them in the small, bleak, and messy study seemed to creep higher.
Despite the coolness of the January day, Silverton could have sworn he was close to sweating in anticipation, watching her. His resolution nearly crumbled at the sight of her sorrow—it baffled him to react so. Never had he felt so vulnerable before another. “I will ask one of the servants to accompany you,” he replied. Even to his own ears, his answer did not sound overly celebratory.
His mind turned back to the recent marriage ceremony of Lord Nicholas and Lady Isabel, and the bright, festive celebrations that had been part of their day. With Isabel’s glittering dress and her lace veil, she had been a picture of what a bride should be. The poinsettias and all those wintry flowers had scented the air. And the chapel was filled with her friends and family. He should have offered that to Maeve. Stop it, he told himself,stop it. They were not having that kind of marriage. He remembered the looks that Nicholas and Isabel had given each other, ones of affection, trust, devotion—well, that was not what Maeve and he had agreed to. After he was dead, Maeve could have all that with another man. His stomach twisted with jealousy at the thought—no, he did not like that idea at all.
“I have little choice.” Maeve’s voice cut into his marauding thoughts, “Do I?”
“No.” It was brutal, but now that she was compromised, it did play rather neatly into his hands.
“It does not say much of a man, who takes advantage of a woman as you have.” Maeve said.
“Perhaps not, but you knew that about me already.”
“I should like my father to give me away.”
“It is not possible.”
“I do not understand why you would object to his presence.”
Silverton sought through his mind for a solution, and then he landed on one that suddenly seemed perfect. A distraction. “I will take you on a honeymoon. And we will visit your father on that trip.”
“A honeymoon?” Maeve sounded dubious, and in fairness, he could hardly blame her for that. But with Charles haunting his London address, leaving town seemed suddenly a very wise idea. Besides, a honeymoon was the perfect opportunity for him to lock the bedroom door and spend hour after hour exploring Maeve’s delightful body. He could imagine it now, twisting and positioning Maeve into different poses as he seduced her again and again. Yes, perhaps a honeymoon was not such a terrible idea.
“We could go for a good week,” he suggested. He could not risk being self-indulgent, or taking his eyes away from the flow of information from his informants at the Home Office, for too long. Besides, the prospect of spending an elongated amount of time in her presence was creating a dizzying feeling of unreality in Silverton. It did not suit his calm, well-ordered existence, so limiting the timeframe seemed wise. He sank into his seat in what he hoped was a decided manner.
“Four weeks.” There was such a gleam of challenge in Maeve’s gaze that animated her face wonderfully, bringing a sheen to her cheeks and a glint to her eyes. She even got up and moved around the table, coming to stand close to him, her body imprisoning him in a way he would never have predicted. It forced him to stare up into her face. The sway of her skirts brushed against his boots, and there was a familiar sensual pull in the air now she was closer to him.
“Ten days,” he snapped.
“Three weeks, or I will expect my family to be present at the wedding.” She offered out her hand and nodded when he shook it.
A ghost of a smile played around his mouth at the warmth and soft texture of her skin. He did not let go of her hand immediately, and with his eyes fixed on her face, he could see her nostrils flare slightly. Was she wondering what he was thinking about?
A desirous beast reared its head inside him, one which shocked Silverton with how all-consuming it was, as well as previously unknown. It was telling him to pull Maeve down, onto his lap. To secure her narrow waist between his hands, and for his mouth to kiss its way up to her lips. If not that, then it urged him further, begging and demanding that the pair of them descend to the carpeted floor and—
But it was she who moved, closing the distance as she carefully stepped forward and lowered herself into his lap. If he had not been more shocked, Silverton would have been impressed by her courage. No females that he knew would have acted so. But then again, he reminded himself, she was full of surprises. Maeve lifted her arms and placed one hand flat on the lapel of his jacket and the other on top of his left hand.
“I have a question which has been bothering me.”
