Pendragon

  She was looking over her shoulder at him. “Thomas, perhaps I could have a glass of water?”

  “No, Meggie. Hush. Don’t worry about any of this. Let me do the worrying. It will be all right. Trust me.”

  “You certainly are very efficient with all those buttons.”

  He smiled, couldn’t help it. “Yes. Some men believe it to be a calling. Others must practice assiduously to be competent at it. Be quiet.”

  “Thomas, is this going to be a nice thing? Despite the blood?”

  At the sound of her quavery thin voice, his fingers stopped, three buttons from the bottom. He looked at her back, at the soft batiste chemise, the lace straps, all of it so feminine, so unlike him, alien from him, this soft creature who now belonged to him. Not to anyone else. To him. No, nothing hard about Meggie at all, particularly not her heart, and he knew it, but he didn’t want to let it matter. He had to be strong about it, couldn’t let her know. He couldn’t. A man had to have his pride. He said, “I will try to make it a nice thing.”

  “All right, then I will try not to worry overly about this.”

  Slowly he turned her to face him. He pulled the gown down until her arms were trapped against her sides. He lightly stroked his fingers over her jaw, her throat, came to rest lightly on her bare shoulders. She was so bloody soft. “Meggie?”

  “This isn’t quite what I had expected, Thomas.”

  “What did you expect?”

  She shrugged, but he saw that she was embarrassed.

  “Come, tell me.”

  “Perhaps a small dinner by the fire, though it’s quite warm, isn’t it, so a fire might make us uncomfortable. All right then. We could leave the table by the window. We could speak quietly to each other, perhaps watch the moonlight play over the water, and comment on the feelings it brings to our souls.”

  “That is a bit sentimental for my tastes.”

  “I thought it might be. All right, some champagne then. You didn’t want any in the carriage. Were you afraid that I would become ill? Were you afraid I’d really force you to sip it out of my mouth?”

  He just smiled down at her. So young, he thought, too young. She didn’t deserve that he maul her. He leaned down, pressed his forehead against hers. “You array yourself in your nightgown and I will go downstairs and order up a bit of food and champagne from Mrs. Miggs. I believe she is quite pleased that I chose her inn for our wedding night.”

  “Maybe she was, but Mr. Miggs just grunted at me and stared down at his shoes.”

  “It is Mrs. Miggs who deals with the patrons. Now, do you need a maid to help you?”

  “No. I can reach the rest of the buttons.”

  He turned to go.

  “Thank you, Thomas.”

  He paused a moment, and she wondered what he was thinking. At the moment she was afraid to ask.

  Thirty minutes later they were seated opposite each other at a small table next to the window, Meggie wearing a very lovely peach silk peignoir that her aunt Sinjun had brought her from Edinburgh. Thomas, however, was still dressed in his very nice trousers and jacket and his beautifully polished boots. His cravat looked as fresh as it had in the church that morning. So many changes on this one single day. Tomorrow she wouldn’t wake up the same Meggie as she had just this morning. So few hours had passed, and yet her life had changed irrevocably. She wondered if Thomas felt the same way. Surely he must. Men couldn’t be that different from women.

  “It’s strange,” she said, nibbling on a piece of bread, “to be sitting in my nightclothes across from a man who isn’t either my father or one of my brothers, or one of my dratted boy cousins, for that matter.”

  “Come, Meggie, I cannot imagine you ever wearing that delicious confection to bed in the vicarage.”

  “Well, you’re right about that, but still, you’re still dressed, Thomas, and I’m not.”

  Thomas just smiled and held up a glass. “To our wedding night,” he said.

  Meggie was slow, but at last she did tap her glass lightly against his.

  He’d given her too much time to fret. He said, “After we have eaten and drunk just a bit more, what were you thinking would happen?”

  “Since I don’t know anything specific beyond kissing, as you well know, I admit things get a bit muddled. All right, really muddled, perhaps even incoherent. Right now I know I’m happy and that you’re smiling. Do you think maybe that could be enough for you to go on?”

  “There will be a lot more than just smiling, Meggie.”

  “Like what?”

  “You are endlessly curious, aren’t you?”

  “Since this will involve me very personally, I don’t think it all that strange.”

  “What will happen is pleasure, hopefully for both of us.”

  “I have already felt pleasure when you kissed me.”

  “Different, stronger pleasure.”

  She looked very skeptical about that.

  He didn’t move from the table until she’d drunk a half glass of champagne. He sat back, his hands laced over his lean belly. “Why don’t you get in bed, Meggie. I will blow out the candles.”

  “Do you really wish to?”

  “To what?”

  “To blow out the candles.”

  “Ah, a dollop of interest in me?”

  “Well, yes, to be honest about it. It’s difficult to think about this, but since Mary Rose and my father are married and they do sleep in the same bed, I suppose they do see each other without their clothes. That is difficult for a daughter to imagine.”

  “A son as well. Does this mean that you wish to see me naked?”

  She met his dark eyes and very slowly she nodded. “I have been thinking some more about what I want to have happen. I want to add you to my fantasy. I want you to be my main character.” She gave him a nervous smile.

  He didn’t say a word.

  “All right, you force me to be blunt, Thomas. I want you to take all your clothes off.”

  “And will you undress for me as well?”

  She rose from her chair and walked over to the bed. She paused a moment, and said over her shoulder, trying to smile a siren’s smile, not all that successful, but she tried, “Well, this is my fantasy, not yours. However, to be fair, perhaps I can think about that later, much later. You are the one who knows what is going to happen. Let me at least decide how we will begin it.” She sat on the bed and let her feet dangle over the side.

  He too rose and walked to the bed, stopping not three feet from her. He stood in front of her for a moment, then pulled off his beautiful buff jacket. “You say I’m beautiful, Meggie, but I’m about to prove you wrong. I’m a big hairy man.”

  “I think since it is you, I shall quite like big and hairy. Show me.”

  She watched him remove each and every item of clothing, fold each and every item and lay it neatly on a chair, watched him so closely that when he straightened, naked, he was already hard as the oak floorboards beneath his bare feet, and surely that would alarm any virgin.

  She stared at him as he stood there, his arms at his sides. He wanted to ask her if she believed him to be as well-looking as Jeremy, but he couldn’t, of course, he wouldn’t.

  “I was wrong,” she whispered, her eyes never looking away from his sex.

  He was shaking, getting even harder, something he wished didn’t have to happen, but there was no hope for it, not with her staring at him like she wanted to—no, he wouldn’t think about her in front of him, her mouth on him. For God’s sake, she was a vicar’s daughter. But to the best of his memory no woman had ever looked at him like that. Now that he thought about it, neither had he ever before stripped off his clothes in front of a woman in order to advance her education. He cleared his throat. “What were you wrong about?”

  “You aren’t beautiful, Thomas.”

  “You see, I told you I was just a big hairy creature, and that—”

  “You are magnificent. I did not know what a man really looked like. But I do kno
w, all the way to my toes, that no man could be as fine as you.” And, really without thinking, she reached out her hand to touch him.

  He closed his eyes, so tense he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to spring, jump right on her, but he held himself perfectly still. He felt her fingers lightly touch his belly, just stay there, not moving, her fingers warm, until he thought he’d yell with it, then she stroked her fingers down the line of black hair over his belly, lower and lower, tangling her fingers in the hair at his groin, moving, still moving until she touched him, so lightly, as if she didn’t know what to expect, but she didn’t stop. When her fingers went around him and he felt the warmth of her hand, his breath whooshed out, nearly bowing him to his knees. All things being equal, he didn’t want this ever to end. Yes, maybe her mouth as well as her fingers, oh God, this was too much, just too much.

  He could stand it—a man could stand this sort of exquisite torture forever—maybe even beyond forever, but then, of course, he knew he couldn’t, and it nearly killed him when he gritted his teeth and whispered, in obvious pain, “Meggie, please remove your fingers. Back away. Get to safety. I simply cannot bear that.”

  “I don’t want to, Thomas. You feel so very different from me. Your belly is all hard and hairy and it makes me feel very strange to touch you.”

  That gave him a moment’s respite. “It does?”

  “Yes, so let me keep—” Her grip tightened, moved up and down a bit.

  He nearly lost control of himself. He couldn’t allow himself to spill his seed in her hands, he wasn’t that great of a clod. He groaned in despair, in utter misery, as he forced himself to pull away from those hands of hers, drew a very deep breath, knew it was going to be close. He couldn’t help himself, he had to be inside her, and it had to be now. He came down over her, nearly knocking the breath out of her. He was flat on top of her, pressed against her closed thighs, aware that she was stiff and so soft he just couldn’t stand it. He tried to smile. He knew she was worried about all this. And now he was naked and on top of her, and he was big and hairy, so much physically stronger than she was, and his control had gone into hiding, far away, on the other side of the planet.

  “Oh God.”

  She tried to rear up at the pain in his voice, but he was holding her down. “Thomas, whatever is the matter?”

  “You’re still wearing your nightgown, Meggie. That will never do.”

  “Perhaps I could leave it on for a little while longer?” She was afraid now, he heard it, but it just didn’t matter.

  He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath hard and fast, his body pulsing with lust. “I’m in a bad way. Give me a moment, and I’ll give you a moment as well and then we’ll proceed.”

  It wasn’t even a moment before all he felt was his climax building, building, overwhelming him, and he reared up, slid his hand between her legs and came down on his knees between them. “Sit up.”

  “Well, I—”

  He pulled her up, raised her hips off the bed, lifted her nightgown off her, and threw it over his shoulder. “Oh dear,” Meggie said, but he was kissing her, not looking at her, just kissing her and kissing her, her neck and her breasts, kissing each rib, going down her stomach and then he was actually between her legs and she felt his mouth touch her—no, surely that couldn’t be right—and he groaned, and then his breathing was sharp and he was looking down at her while his fingers were touching her, pressing against her, and she was staring up at him as he eased one of his fingers inside her. Actually inside her. She’d never imagined such a thing. It wasn’t nice at all.

  It hurt.

  She tried to push him off, but she couldn’t. “Meggie, Meggie, just lie still, relax, trust me.”

  “No, no,” she said, trying frantically to scramble away from him, to get his finger out of her, “it’s far too late for any trust. This isn’t going to be nice, it’s going to be bad. That’s just your finger, Thomas. I held you between my hands. You are much more than just one of your fingers, and that’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it? You’re going to stick yourself inside me.”

  He managed a “yes.” It was bad? What he was going to do to her was bad? He eased his finger a bit deeper, then stopped. Oh God, he wanted her so much he ached to his feet, and she was claiming his damned finger was bad? He wanted her this very instant, and by God, he wasn’t going to wait. He just couldn’t. He came over her, his eyes on himself and on her, and came slowly inside her. Slowly, he moved forward. She was stiffer than a board. Her hands were fisted at her sides. Well, damn. He went just a bit more, felt her maidenhead.

  “Meggie.”

  He looked down at her, really looked at her despite feeling like he would explode inside her at any instant, and this time he looked into those bright blue eyes of hers. Seemingly so guileless, those blue eyes of hers, filled with openness, no shadows lurking about anywhere at all in the depths of those eyes, but he knew it for a lie, a lie that had cut him to his knees, just hours before, but there was no going back. He hated her at that moment because of her goodness, because of her damned sense of honor, because of her betrayal. He hated the man she obviously still adored, hated that she adored him, and not her husband. She shouldn’t have led him on, shouldn’t have made him want her so quickly, so effortlessly, made him want to marry her. The fact was, she was betraying him in her heart and it was their wedding night. Was she thinking of him even as he pushed into her? He saw Jeremy’s face, heard Meggie’s voice. It all mixed with his lust and he butted her maidenhead. She yelled, struggling beneath him, trying to throw him off, but unable to. He paused for just an instant when he butted against her maidenhead.

  “Thomas, no!”

  She’d forced him into a life of lies. He looked into her eyes as he yelled his pain, his fury, his lust, and pushed through her maidenhead.

  Meggie didn’t have the breath to yell again or to curse or the will to move. It was very simple, really. She knew he’d killed her, a body couldn’t continue after what he’d done. She realized that she’d been told a very big lie. Surely a man didn’t treat a woman like this if he loved her, surely. But then again Thomas had never said he loved her.

  He suddenly stopped cold, and he was staring down at her again, looking right into her eyes, and he seemed to be fighting with himself about something she couldn’t begin to understand. He said, “No, I can’t do this. Not with you feeling the way you do. I can’t, just can’t.” And he moaned, deep in his throat even as he jerked out of her, came to his knees, stiffened, and climaxed. Then he hung there, his head bowed.

  Meggie hurt inside, he’d made her bleed, she just knew it, and then he’d left her, rejected her. She yelled now, but not with pain, it wasn’t all that bad now, truth be told, but she yelled at the top of her lungs with resentment, with rage that she’d actually been excited, actually anticipated this lovemaking business, and just look what he’d done—he’d hurt her, then left her. A man wasn’t supposed to do that, was he?

  He was breathing hard, his head bowed, and he’d not wanted to stay with her. And now she’d bleed. She should have demanded to know about the bleeding business before she’d even let him unfasten all those nice safe buttons on her gown. But no, she was an idiot, she’d trusted him, and now he was on his knees between her legs, heaving, looking at if he were dying. It was as if a sort of cataclysm had racked him all the way to the soles of his wretched feet.

  He looked up at her then, and she saw that his jaw was locked, his eyes glazed, and all of him was pulsing madly. His seed was on himself, on the sheet, on her belly. It was an overwhelming upheaval that she couldn’t begin to understand, really didn’t want to understand, but she did know one thing for certain—he was a liar. It was obvious he knew very little about this lovemaking business.

  She hurt really badly. She hated what he’d done to her and wanted to hurl him out of the window. And what had he meant that he couldn’t do it? Do what? Stay inside her? What was he talking about?

  She didn’t care. Then he
stopped his quivering, his shuddering, and just hung there over her, not breathing quite so hard now, his eyes closed, saying nothing, doing nothing.

  She said loudly, right up into his face, “You shouldn’t have done what you did. It wasn’t right. You hurt me and then you just came out of me. I am going to kill you.”

  15

  THOMAS COULDN’T THINK, just couldn’t gather his wits together. He’d managed to come out of her, he’d actually managed to make his body obey his will, and he hated it.

  Suddenly Meggie lurched up and bit his shoulder as hard as she could. She hoped she’d make him bleed.

  That brought him back to his brain and miserable body. He managed to straighten. He blinked at her. “My God,” he said slowly, disbelieving, “you bit me.”

  “Yes, you hurt me.”

  “It happened.” She’d actually bit him. He’d come out of her, not his fault, he’d simply had to. Well, for the moment, he didn’t give a damn about her feelings, about that damnable Jeremy. He wanted to punish her for what she’d done to him. He came down hard over her and went inside her again just as she yelled, “Don’t you dare have the nerve to hurt me more, you bastard.”

  Then she shuddered.

  He felt her muscles clenching around him, he was deep inside her, it was driving him mad, and this time, the rage banked, the desire to punish, to gain revenge on her both for what she’d done and hadn’t done, fell to his own need, his own wild urgency and that was more powerful than anything else. He pushed again. “Oh God,” he said, panting until he thought his heart would burst from his chest, “I don’t want this. Damnation. This will kill me.”