“I owe it to my mother that she be informed first. I want her to understand that we cannot keep hiding Charles’s treachery. He must be shown to the world as what he is. I will inform my mother that Charles’s name is to be revealed, and he is to be branded a traitor, no matter the scandal. You will be safe then.” It was visible to her how much this hurt Silverton, and unable to resist, she came forward and rested her head against his chest.
She could feel the uneven beat of his heart and sense his restlessness, as if he wanted to break away from her. But when she raised her head, he bent his and captured her lips in a devastating kiss.
It was a kiss that spoke of her keenness, her desperation for Gregory to understand the muddled, swirling feelings she had for him. As her lips found his, her tongue darted out to taste him, and she heard him utter a groan that sent a rush of sensitivity through her body, straight down to her core. His head found the gap between her neck and the edge of her dress, kissing the section of exposed skin as his mouth tasted the heated decolletage. One of his arms wrapped around her waist whilst the other pulled Maeve’s chest to him.
Moving his mouth up, he captured the sensitive point close to her ear. She let out a little gasp. Lord, how had he missed those noises and sighs she made. His tongue nipped and licked her neck, and she wriggled into him more firmly. All the tiredness he had been feeling for the last few days vanished, replaced with a need he had never known before, a thirst that could only be quenched by Maeve. His caress moved from her back to crush her bottom against his growing erection, and the heated friction threatened to swamp her until Maeve felt sure she was dizzy with wanting him.
“Come,” he said, loosening his hold on her. “We should not be in the hallway. I will escort you home and then be off to Kent. I think you should take the time to truly consider this arrangement. Our arrangement.”
“Our marriage.” She couldn’t help it. If Silverton wanted to try to force a separation, then she wanted him to be as clear as possible.
“Our marriage,” he agreed, and then he let out a sigh and rested his forehead against hers. She could feel the pull of him, and desire reared its head in her, a passionate longing to feel his body against her again. She had missed their coupling. Looking up, she saw a similar look on his face again—but was that sufficient to maintain a marriage? Was the kind of passionate physicality they shared enough, and would she always be the one to compromise, whilst Silverton continued in his own course of actions?
His hands caressed her and drew her back through the doorway of the office. “I missed you,” he said, his voice close to her ear. Maeve let herself be lulled by the heat in it and the strength of his hands against her back. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“What is it about you, that I cannot seem to ever have enough of you?” Silverton sounded so desperate that it caused Maeve to gasp. His desire for her, so clearly displayed, caused her body and mind to quicken. She pressed herself more firmly against him.
“I missed you too.”
“Even with your devoted doctor close by?” This question caused Maeve to look into her husband’s face in surprise, wondering if she detected a note of jealousy there. His hands were brushing down her back, cupping her bottom, and then he abruptly turned her, so she faced away from him. The switch caused Maeve to gasp, but there was solace in the fact he immediately pulled her back against him, his right hand running flush against her stomach, and the other lifting and hiking up the folds of her skirt to delve between her legs. The much-missed feel of his lips stroked her collarbone as Maeve arched against him, the tension and pressure within only partly relieved when he found the gap in her undergarments and started to press inside her.
“I can feel you want me.”
I always want you, Maeve thought. That might be my curse. Unable to voice that, she reached back and kissed him.
Silverton only broke their kiss to bend at the knee and carry her over to the desk in the corner of the office. He laid her down on the wood and immediately started kissing his way over her breasts, his hand busy at work, pressing, stroking, and teasing her until Maeve felt her body was close to bursting.
“Please.” She grabbed his shoulders, pulling him up towards her. She had no time for the long, elaborate seduction. No, she wanted him inside her, and now.
With a brisk nod of his head, Silverton eased back slightly from her to loosen the folds of his trousers, then he pressed himself close once more, the thick feel of his manhood close to her centre.
For the briefest of moments their eyes met, and the vulnerability, the heat, and the heart of him glanced down at her imploringly. There seemed to be a hundred questions in his gaze, hidden behind his eyes, and Maeve wanted nothing more than to answer each one of them in turn.
“Gregory,” she whispered, lifting her hand, and cupping his left cheek, offering him the reassurance he appeared to be craving.
He plunged into her, pressing inside her deeply, filling her in the way that Maeve had missed so much. Unable to help herself, she screamed; the sensation was so strong and so needed it seemed to scorch her very soul. Nothing mattered to her more than the feel of being with him. He rocked against her with the kind of urgency that drove them both wild, feeding and escalating the spiralling pleasure which burnt and inflamed them both. Panting, Gregory reached down between their bodies to stroke once more at the tiny pearl at the top of Maeve’s sex. The combination of the rough wood of the table beneath her, the feel of Gregory’s coaxing fingers as he caressed her more strongly, and finally the sensation of oneness with him caused the pleasure within her to crescendo, leaving Maeve gasping out her release.
The reunion, the feel and then the release he gave her, caused Maeve to fight back the tears that bubbled up in her eyes as the sensations flooded through her. A moment later, Gregory crashed down around her, his body coming to a rest. Their mutual gasps echoed around them as each held on to the other, desperate not to let go.
“I took advantage—I was overcome,” he said, the uncertainty and vulnerability visible as he leant away from her.
“No,” Maeve said. She wanted him to know what being with him so intimately meant to her, how she had missed not just their coupling but his very presence. “Besides,” she tried to joke, “you often take advantage of me.”
Her teasing fell flat. Silverton gave her a stricken look as he backed away from her. When she righted herself, adjusting her gown and sitting upright, he had morphed back into the formidable and cold Silverton.
“When I come back to London, we will resolve this. In the meantime, I shall ensure Fischer remains by your side for your protection.”
“Thisbeing our marriage. If you can bear to continue it.”
Silverton had drawn closer to her, his dark brows creasing over his eyes, his hand pausing as if caught between reaching out for her and forcing himself to stop.
She raised her eyes to his and gave him her coldest, most teacher-ish look. “Then I will await your return from the country, my lord.” With that she turned on her heel and marched towards the door, her mood moving between a desire to cry and to scream all at once. She paused only to snatch up her cloak. Her facade, of the sensible and principled woman she was, was about to crack and certainly would if she spent another minute in his presence.
* * *
Sunlight was streamingin through the nearby window, illuminating the parlour, and the inklings of warmer weather were beginning. Invites had started to arrive from thebeau monde, naturally only addressed to her husband, not to her. Aside from the announcement of the banns in January, many in high society would not have realised Lord Silverton had wed. They certainly would not have dreamt he was married to someone so far below him, which was the refrain that echoed through Maeve’s mind. This knowledge brought home to Maeve how little she belonged in his world, and yet she lingered; she had returned to tell Silverton that he was being poisoned, with a desperation that tore at her very skin, bones, and soul in her haste.
She had felt an odd mixture of terror and relief when Dr. Copeland had talked through the details of how the arsenic had been masked, how its deadly symptoms were visible and would have weakened Silverton terribly. But the doctor had reassured Maeve that her husband need not die. Maeve knew her husband had been taking the poison for months, so her eagerness, the sheer frenzy when she realised someone was trying to murder Gregory, had almost driven her mad. She had no idea of who it might be, but now it was clear who was guilty: Silverton’s murderous, unknown twin. He haunted her, seemingly twisting here and there, always imagined in her mind’s eye, but she hoped never witnessed in person.
