Again the Magic (37 page)

While she lay gasping on the bed, McKenna stood and shrugged out of his coat, his gaze locked on her supine form. He undressed before her, dropping his shirt to reveal a tautly muscled torso and a chest covered with black hair. His big-framed body was clearly built for power rather than elegance. Yet there was something innately graceful about the long lines of muscle and sinew, and the heavy breadth of his shoulders. He was a man who made a woman feel safe, and at the same time, deliciously overpowered.

Joining her on the bed, McKenna slid a large hand behind her neck and settled over her, nudging her legs apart. Aline’s breath caught as she absorbed the sensation of his naked body pressed all along hers… the hard, hair-roughened limbs, the stunning breadth of his chest, and the places where satin skin stretched over rippling muscle. McKenna grasped her right thigh, carefully adjusting her knee to keep the contracture scar from pulling.

Wonderingly she lifted a hand to the side of his face, caressing the close-shaven surface of his cheek. The moment was so tender, so sweet, that tears spilled from her eyes. “McKenna… I never dared to dream about this.”

His thick lashes swept downward, and he pressed his forehead against hers. “I did,” he said gruffly. “For thousands of nights I dreamed of making love to you. No man on earth has ever hated sunrise as much as I do.” He bent to kiss her lips, her throat, the rosy tips of her breasts. Drawing on her lightly, he stroked her nipple with his tongue, and as she quivered in response, he reached down to guide himself inside her. He entered her, filling her until they were matched hip to hip. They both gasped at the moment of joining, hard flesh immersed in softness, the deep, unbearably sweet fusion of their bodies.

Aline drew her hands over McKenna’s flexing back, while he slid his hands beneath her bottom, pulling her neatly into his savoring thrusts. “Don’t ever doubt my love,” he said raggedly.

She shuddered hungrily with each wet, hard lunge, and whispered obediently through kiss-swollen lips. “Never.”

McKenna’s features gleamed from mingled exertion and emotion. “Nothing in my life has ever compared to what I feel for you. You’re all I want… all I need… and that will never change.” He groaned harshly as the headlong rush of release began. “God… tell me that you know that… tell me…”

“I do,” Aline whispered. “I love you.” The ultimate pleasure rippled through her once more, silencing her with its power and acuity, causing her flesh to enclose his with pulsing heat.

Afterward, Aline was barely conscious as McKenna tenderly used a corner of the sheet to wipe the film of sweat and tears from her face. Cuddling against his bare shoulder, she closed her eyes. She was replete, and exhausted, and filled with wholesale relief. “I’m so tired, McKenna…”

“Sleep, my love,” he whispered, smoothing her long hair, lifting the damp locks away from the back of her neck. “I’ll be here to watch over you.”

“You sleep too,” she said groggily, her hand creeping to the center of his chest.

“No.” McKenna smiled and pressed a soft kiss against her temple. His voice was husky with wonder. “Not when staying awake is better than anything I could find in a dream.”

It was late afternoon by the time Gideon returned to his rooms at the Rutledge. He was tired, gray-faced, and irritable, wanting a drink so badly that he could hardly see straight. Instead he had downed enough coffee to float a timber barge. He had smoked too, until the smell of a cigar had started to make him nauseated. It was a novel experience, this pairing of exhaustion and over-stimulation. Considering the alternative, however, he supposed he had better get used to the feeling.

Entering the residence, Gideon was immediately met by his valet, who had some rather surprising news to convey. “Sir… it seems that Mr. McKenna did not depart for New York as scheduled. He came
here,
as a matter of fact. Accompanied by a woman.”

Gideon gave the valet a blank look. Considering the information for a long moment, he frowned inquiringly and rubbed his jaw. “Dare I ask — was it Lady Aline?”

The valet nodded at once.

“I’ll be damned,” Gideon said softly, his surliness replaced by a slow smile. “Are they still here?”

“Yes, Mr. Shaw.”

Gideon’s smile broadened into a grin as he speculated on the unexpected turn of events. “So he finally got what he wanted,” he murmured. “Well, all I can say is, McKenna had better get his hindquarters back to New York soon.
Someone’s
got to build the damned foundry.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wondering how long McKenna was going to make use of his rooms, Gideon headed to the bedroom and paused at the door, discerning that no noise came from within. Just as he turned to leave, he heard a brusque summons.

“Shaw?”

Cautiously Gideon opened the door a crack and ducked his head inside. He saw McKenna propped up on his elbow, his tanned chest and shoulders contrasting with the gleaming white linens. Little was visible of Lady Aline, save for a few locks of dark brown hair that draped over the edge of the mattress. She was snuggled in the crook of his arm, sleeping soundly as McKenna drew the bedclothes protectively over her bare shoulder.

“Missed your ship, did you?” Gideon asked mildly.

“Had to,” McKenna replied. “It turns out that I was about to leave something important behind.”

Gideon stared at his friend intently, struck by the difference in him. McKenna looked younger and happier than Gideon had ever seen him. Carefree, in fact, with a relaxed smile on his lips and a lock of hair tumbling over his forehead. As Lady Aline stirred against him, her sleep disrupted by the sound of their voices, McKenna bent to soothe her with a soft murmur.

In the past Gideon had seen McKenna with women in far more licentious circumstances than this. But for some reason the brilliant, unguarded tenderness of McKenna’s expression seemed unspeakably intimate, and Gideon felt an unfamiliar heat creeping up his face. Damnation — he hadn’t blushed since the age of twelve.

“Well,” Gideon said flatly, “since you’ve helped yourself to the use of my rooms, it seems I’ll have to find other accommodations for the night. Of course, I wouldn’t think twice about putting
you
out… but for Lady Aline, I’ll make an exception.”

“Go to Marsden Terrace,” McKenna suggested with a sudden gleam of mischief in his eyes. His gaze returned compulsively to Lady Aline’s sleeping face, as if he found it impossible to look away from her for more than a few seconds. “Westcliff is there alone — he might welcome the company.”

“Oh, splendid,” Gideon replied sourly. “He and I can have a lengthy discussion about why I should stay the hell away from his youngest sister. Not that it matters, since Livia will have forgotten all about me in six months.”

“I doubt it,” McKenna said, and grinned. “Don’t give up hope. Nothing’s impossible — God knows I’m proof of that.”

T
he blustery February wind whistled against the parlor window, diverting Livia’s attention from the letter in her hand. Curled in the corner of a settee with a cashmere blanket over her lap, she shivered pleasantly at the contrast of the damp, bitter winter day outside, and the cheerful warmth of the parlor. A mahogany letter box sat open beside her, one side of it filled with a neat stack of letters, and the other side stuffed with a far more ungainly pile tied with a blue ribbon. The smaller stack was from her sister Aline, whose letters from New York had been surprisingly regular, considering her notorious laxness in matters of correspondence.

The other mass of letters was from an entirely different source, all written in the same masculine scrawl. By turns playful, touching, informative and searingly intimate, these letters told the story of a man’s struggle to change himself for the better. They also spoke of a love that had deepened and matured during the past months. It seemed to Livia that she had come to know a different man than the one she had met at Stony Cross, and while her attraction to the original Gideon had been impossible to resist, the former rake was turning into a man that she could trust and depend on. Reaching down to the blue ribbon, she stroked the satiny surface with her fingertip, before turning her attention back to the letter from Aline.

… they say the population of New York City will reach a half-million in the next two years, and I can well believe it, with foreigners such as myself pouring in every day. This blend of nationalities gives the city a wonderfully cosmopolitan aspect. Everyone here seems to take a large, liberal view of matters, and at times I have actually felt a bit provincial in my opinions. I have finally begun to adjust to the pace of things here, and have caught the New York mania for improving oneself. I am learning a great many new things, and have acquired the art of making decisions and purchases with a rapidity that will no doubt amuse you when we meet again. As you can imagine, Mrs. Faircloth has a firm command of the household staff, and seems quite enamored of the markets west of Manhattanville, where every conceivable variety of produce is available. It is remarkable, really, that two miles away from towering eight-story buildings, one can find rural country with an abundance of miniature farms. I have barely begun to explore this handsomely built city, and I am pleased to say that I generally accomplish more in a week here than I did in a month back at Stony Cross.
Lest I mislead you, however, I will confess that McKenna and I do have our lazy days now and then. Yesterday we went sleighing through Washington Square, with silver bells jangling on the horses’ harnesses, and then we spent the rest of the day snuggled by the hearth. I forbade McKenna to do any work at all, and naturally he obeyed me, as an American wife is ruler of the home (though we cleverly give all outward appearance of authority to the husband). I am a benevolent dictator, of course, and McKenna seems to be quite content with the arrangement…

Smiling, Livia looked up from the letter as she heard the sounds of a carriage outside. As the parlor was conveniently situated at the front of the manor, she had the advantage of seeing all the comings and goings at the entrance drive. The sight of a black carriage and a team of four was hardly unusual at Stony Cross Park. However, as Livia stared at the horses, whose breath was blowing white from their nostrils, she felt a tug of curiosity. Marcus had said nothing about visitors arriving today — and it was too early in the day for anyone to make calls.

Standing from the settee, Livia wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and peered through the window. A footman headed for the front door, while another opened the vehicle and stood back. A tall, lean form emerged from the carriage, eschewing the use of a step and descending easily to the ground. The man was clad in a black coat and an elegant hat, beneath which a gleam of blond hair was visible.

A thrill of sudden, intense excitement stole Livia’s breath away. She watched him without blinking, rapidly calculating… yes, it had been six months, almost to the day. But Gideon had made it clear that he wouldn’t come for her unless he was certain that he could be the kind of man he felt she deserved.
And I’ll come armed with honorable intentions,
he had written —
more’s the pity for you
.

Now Gideon was more handsome than before, if that was possible. The lines of strain and cynicism had been smoothed away, and the dark smudges had disappeared from beneath his eyes, and he looked so vibrant and vigorous that her heart thudded wildly in response.

Although Livia didn’t move or make a sound, something drew Gideon’s attention to the window. He stared at her through the glass panes, seemingly riveted by the sight of her. Livia stared back at him, wrenched with exquisite longing. Oh, to be in his arms again, she thought, touching the window, her fingertips leaving watery circles in the thin glaze of frost.

A slow smile began on Gideon’s face, and his blue eyes sparkled. With a shake of his head, he put his hand on his chest, as if the sight of her was more than his heart could bear.

Smiling brilliantly, Livia tilted her head to the side, gesturing to the front entrance.
Hurry!
she mouthed.

Gideon nodded at once, throwing her a glance rife with promise as he strode away from the window.

As soon as he was gone from sight, Livia tossed the blanket to the settee and found that her sister’s letter was still half crumpled in the clutch of her fingers. She smoothed the sheet of paper and pressed a kiss to it. The rest of the letter could wait. “Later, Aline,” she whispered. “I’ve got to see about my own happy ending.” And laughing breathlessly, she dropped the letter into the mahogany box as she rushed from the room.

Lisa Kleypas
is the author of eighteen historical romance novels that have been published in twelve languages. In 1985, she was named Miss Massachusetts and competed in the Miss America pageant in Atlantic City. After graduating from Wellesley College with a political science degree, she published her first novel at age twenty-one. Her books have appeared on bestseller lists such as the
New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly,
and
WaldenBooks.
Lisa is married and has two children. Please visit her at www.lisakleypas.com.

A
GAIN THE
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REAMING OF
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