Practical Widow to Passionate Mistress (Transformation of the Shelley Sisters 1)

But there were things that had to be said. ‘I did not tell you about James and our marriage that was no marriage because, at first, it hurt too much. No one ever asked me for the truth about it, how it had felt to run away with him, how our marriage had been. So I hugged that inside me and the more time passed, the harder it was to speak of it. I called myself Mrs Halgate because otherwise, who was I? Those five years had been…nothing.’ It was harder to say than she had imagined, even to Ross, who sat watching her face, his eyes soft with an emotion that made it hard not to cry.

‘It never occurred to me anyone would know who I was, down there in Cornwall. We met no one with army connections. I thought, as your housekeeper, I was safe.’

‘And then I asked you to marry me.’

‘And London—anyone might know the story there. And you are hardly nobody, despite your pretence of being just a country squire. One day you would want to take your seat in the Lords, do something that would make me an embarrassment to you.’ Realisation hit her. ‘What am I thinking of, saying yes? Nothing has happened that makes the scandal any less.’

‘Nothing except that I had hoped I had convinced you that I do not care that my romantic love once eloped and was misled by the man she trusted. I was angry and shocked by the story and I should have mastered those feelings before I spoke to you. Forgive me. Meg, with your permission I will see that the story is spread far and wide. You were young, impetuous and entirely innocent. Anyone who shuns us because of that, we can live without. Anyone who criticises you will have to deal with me. I will be open, you will hold your head up and the gossips will see there is no sport to be had from us.’

‘You truly do not mind?’ His shoulders were reassuringly broad and strong when she got up and wrapped her arms around them from the back. His neck, where she nuzzled her mouth, needing the comfort of the scent and taste of him, was warm and his over-long hair tickled her nose.

‘I confess that were Lieutenant Halgate alive, poor devil, I would kick his sorry backside from here to Oporto. But, no, I do not mind.’ Ross twisted in his seat so she ended up on his lap. ‘Are you by any chance making advances to me, madam? With our dinner half-eaten and in broad daylight?’

‘You do not want to wait until we are married?’ The very thought was agonising. The proof that he would find it difficult indeed was reassuringly evident as she wriggled round on his lap to regard him anxiously.

‘It will be at least a month, six weeks, will it not? I would like a proper country wedding and that will take some pl

anning. And you have your bride clothes to buy. I think we should be celibate, don’t you, Meg?’

He said it so solemnly that she was quite taken in for a moment, then the teasing sparkle in his eyes gave him away. ‘Ross Brandon, you are a very wicked man.’

‘I could be,’ he admitted. The room swooped and swayed as he got to his feet with her in his arms. ‘Shall we go and be wicked together?’

‘Yes, please.’ It was ridiculous how feminine and fragile he made her feel, carrying her up those stairs, even when he bumped his head on the low beams and swore as he clouted his elbow on the rail. They were both laughing when he dropped her on the bed and went to turn the lock in the door, but as he turned back the laughter died away and she saw the same aching need in him that filled her own chest and made her throat dry.

Ross undressed with his eyes never leaving hers while she sat in the tangle of her skirts. She looked at his body in the evening sunlight that filtered through the thin old chintz curtains. ‘When they brought you on board and stripped your clothing off I did all the things I needed to do for a patient. You were another wounded man, a matter of damaged muscles and torn skin. And then I went to draw the sheet over your body and I found myself looking at you, shamefully aroused because you are so very male and so very beautiful. I was ashamed of myself, but I could not get the image out of my mind.’

‘And I fixed the feel of your body when I lifted you into bed in my memory and the heat and softness of you that night as you lay close to me,’ he confessed. ‘Undress for me, Meg.’

It was slow and languorous to slip out of each item of clothing, to toss them aside until she was naked for him. It felt good and powerful to see the effect she had on his body and watch him as he watched her, the heat and the tenderness mingling into an expression she thought never to see on that strong, harsh face.

She had plans for later, but she let him push her gently back on to the pillows, lay still, her hands fisted in the patchwork counterpane as he licked and kissed his way from ankle to knee, up the inside of her aching thighs to the wet, quivering, needy core of her.

Plans fled, thought dissolved into instinct and reaction as he kissed the intimate folds, used his tongue to lash her into frenzy and soothe her into whimpering yearning. He held her with those big, calloused rifleman’s hands, open to every sinfully loving thing he did, held her until she cried out and reached for him and he came to her, sinking into the heart of her, driving her over the edge into the swirling pleasure-filled oblivion.

He was still sheathed in her as she came to herself, still moving gently, just enough to send aftershocks of delight whipping through her. Meg tightened herself around him and he closed his eyes, off guard for a second as she twisted beneath him and came up straddling the narrow hips, her hands flat on his chest, her palms rubbing over the hard knots of his nipples.

‘You want to ride?’ He sounded interested, if rather breathless. He was hard as iron within her.

Oh, yes. Meg rose and fell, slowly, by half an inch of exquisite torture. Up, down, gripping, teasing and then as the tendons in his neck became rigid and his head began to move on the pillow she rose higher, down harder, riding him, driving them both while he gripped her hips and gave her back every thrust so when she shattered again he was with her, crying out her name, pulsing his heat into her as he filled her with love and delight and promises.

‘For ever, Meg. For ever.’

The sun shone as they stepped out of the granite porch into the dappled shade of the churchyard. The waves in the creek lapped at the mossy edge of the greensward and the ancient tombstones that lined every path that wound down the little valley to the church spoke of ages of families and community and love in this place.

And the community of their times was there in force, lining the paths, throwing rose petals and rice, clapping their hands and calling their names. At the point where one path led off to the ancient sacred springs there were girls with roses in their hair and garlands in their hands.

Meg paused and turned, one hand fast in Ross’s grip, and smiled at the guests following them. William, as smart as any London gentleman, bursting with pride as best man, Lily, serene and lovely with tears in her eyes and old Billy, startlingly clean and besuited with his dog at his side, its collar tied with flowers.

‘Our family, Lady Brandon,’ Ross murmured. Together they glanced up to where Giles lay under the flowery turf, then she turned again and threw her flowers up and over her head, aiming for Lily, thinking of rumours that she was courting. ‘Your sisters are with you in spirit. We’ll never give up on them.’

‘Not quite all of our family,’ she murmured back, bringing his hand down to rest on her belly. ‘Just all the ones you can see.’

‘Meg? A baby?’

‘Yes, I think so.’ She tucked her hand more securely into the crook of his arm as he stared at her, an incredulous smile spreading over his face.

‘Then let us go home and start filling that old house with love for her to come home to.’