Miss Wonderful (The Dressmakers 1)

He poised himself to enter.

She slid her hand down his belly, and he groaned against her mouth. She was murmuring. He couldn’t understand. His mind was thick and dark and hot.

Then he felt her hand close over his rod. The thick, black world went blinding white, her touch a lightning strike, blasting through him. It jolted through muscle and pumped through vein…and he exploded, spilling himself onto her belly.

HE took Mirabel with him when he rolled off her and she, mere putty in those long, knowing hands, went easily. A delirious happiness filled her being, while pure physical pleasure cascaded over her skin and through her veins and made her tremble.

He drew her close and tucked her up against him, her backside pressing against his groin. She nestled there comfortably and thought hazily that this was where she belonged, must have always belonged. He was big and warm and wonderfully solid. She reached back and stroked the taut, muscular thigh pressed to hers. She felt him wince, and consciousness stumbled back, and she realized she’d run her hand over the wounded thigh. What she felt against her palm was a tangle of smooth, raised scar tissue.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Does it pain you?”

He made an odd sound, a laugh or a groan or something in between. “No, sweet, not at all. Another kind of suffering.”

He pressed his mouth to her neck, and she shivered.

“Like that,” he said.

Pleasure. It pleased him when she touched him. She knew that. She’d felt his pleasure, an echo of her own, with every caress. It was as though he were an echo of her and she of him. It was as though they’d always known each other, been part of each other, but some interruption had come, separating them for a time.

She could not speak of it yet. What had happened to her was too magical. What she’d felt was beyond any words she possessed. To have him touch her so intimately, to give herself up completely—it was so wonderful it hurt. If only she’d realized what would happen when she touched him so brazenly, she wouldn’t have done it. She’d wanted him inside her.

But no, it was better this way, for both of them. No consequences.

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat.

“It’s that tyrannical leg,” she said. “Always wanting attention. Let me look at it.”

“It isn’t pretty,” he said. “But what do you care? You see the beauty in the black moorlands, where others see ugliness and bleakness. And anyway, you’re a countrywoman. You’ve no doubt watched cattle, sheep, and pigs give birth. You must have a wonderfully strong stomach.”

“Women are not so squeamish as men,” she said.

“Squeamish?” He laughed.

She turned in his arms, paused to kiss his neck and shoulder, then regarded the damaged limb.

The injury was more extensive than she’d imagined. Not one, but a large tangle of scars spread from his hip nearly to his knee.

“It must have been a fearful wound,” she said. “Wounds, I mean. It is amazing you were able to keep the leg and live.”

She felt him stiffen.

“Shall I change the subject?” she asked.

It was a while before he answered, his voice very low, “The surgeons said they must take it off. I wouldn’t let them. I was…” A long pause. “I’m not sure I was rational at the time. But Gordy was, and he seconded me.”

“You must have lost a great deal of blood,” she said. “That would make it hard to think clearly.”

He buried his face in her hair.

“And your having lost so much blood would make it very risky to amputate,” she went on. “I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose the surgeons did not know what else to do. Neither would I, come to that. I don’t know how you found the Turkish healer, but he—or she—seems to have saved your life. You were fortunate your friend was there. Lord Gordmor.”

She owed this magical interlude to her enemy, then. She’d soared to the stars and back because of him. The man aiming to destroy her world had saved this man’s life.

She would not think about it.

She stroked over his chest, over the silky hair. “There’s more gold,” she murmured.

“There’s what?”

“More gold in the hair on your chest than on your head.” She looked up and met an unreadable amber gaze. “I have paid very close attention to these little details,” she added.

She’d been memorizing him, so that later…

She put that thought aside, too. She wanted to concentrate on now. It would be over all too soon.

Now she was warm and content and safe, and still at one with him. Soon…

Soon. Oh, Lord, how long had she been here?

Pleasure and warmth began to dissolve as reality slithered back in, the snake in the garden.

She looked up at him. “I must go,” she said.

His arms tightened about her.

“I must leave now,” she said. “I cannot stay all afternoon…though I wish I could.”

His gaze darkened. “We need to talk first,” he said.

“We can talk another time,” she said.

“About us,” he said.

“There isn’t—won’t be—any ‘us.’ ”

“I think we must talk about marriage,” he said.

Her heart skipped and fluttered, exultant and fearful at once. Mad and sane at the same time.

She drew in a long, steadying breath and let it out, and rested her head upon his chest. “I’m a countrywoman, as you pointed out,” she said. “I know how animals are impregnated. You did not impregnate me.”

He gave a short laugh. “It was not for want of trying. But you—Gad, with you I have all the control of a horny schoolboy.”

She lifted her hand and laid the palm against his cheek. “I regret nothing,” she said. “You must not, either. You are not responsible for my virtue. You did not trick or deceive me. I knew what I was doing.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I knew what I was doing, too—or thought I did. I never meant for it to go so far.”

“I did,” she said.

“That makes no difference,” he said.

“Don’t tell me it’s a question of honor.”

“Not simply honor,” he said. “Honor and affection. I care for you.”

It came then, all unbidden, the memory: William, storming through her ravaged plantation, pulling her into his arms. I love you, Mirabel. Don’t ruin two lives. Don’t make me go away without you.

She’d held firm then, though she was so deeply in love, because too much was at stake.

This was mere infatuation, she told herself. Yielding to it would render everything she’d done pointless. She would have sacrificed William’s love for nothing. All these years of working to save the place she loved, the place her mother had loved—all for nothing.

She tried to wriggle free. The powerful arms did not give way one iota. “Mr. Carsington,” she said.

“Alistair,” he said.

“Mr. Carsington,” she said firmly. “Pray use your head. Marriage is out of the question. In a very short time we shall be at odds, and you may be certain I shall fight you, mercilessly, with every weapon at my disposal. This—this interlude, as agreeable as it has been…” She trailed off, honesty getting the better of her. “Not agreeable. It was…perfect. And I care for you, too, but I do not see how any woman could help it. I cannot allow these feelings or our…intimacy to influence me.”

He kissed her forehead.

She wanted to cry.

“I refuse to believe the situation cannot be resolved more happily,” he said. “We have not even had a proper discussion about it.”

“There is only one feasible route for your friend’s canal,” she said. “Believe me, I’ve searched for alternatives. There aren’t any.”

“The route can be shaped in various ways,” he said.

“The result will be the same,” she said. “You will make a public highway through my peaceful, backward world, and it w

ill change beyond recognition and beyond recall. I cannot let that happen. To an outsider, Longledge is like a hundred other rustic places. But to me it is unique and precious.”

“My dear, I understand that.”

The gentleness of his voice nearly undid her. Tears itched at the corners of her eyes. Her throat ached.

She set her fist against his chest and pushed. This time he let her go.

She started to get up. He sighed and said, “Wait.”

He got up, crossed the room to the washstand, and filled the basin.