Elaine Coffman - [MacKinnon 04] (19 page)

She wanted to tell him that she didn’t want to leave, but
his mention of the Cape reminded her again of her children, who would be coming
soon.
Tell him. Now.
But Maggie told herself she had a little time, and
time with Adrian was something she sorely needed. A moment later, Adrian stood,
coming around behind her to pull out her chair.

“Would you play for me again?” he asked, his breath warm and
stirring upon her neck.
Oh, Adrian, will it always be like this between us?
Strained. Artificial. Me afraid to talk. You afraid to let me.

Maggie’s face darkened with distress. Well she remembered
the last time she had played for him. What if she forgot tonight? What if she
found herself carried away and said something about the children? A choking
pain swelled in her throat.
Dearest God,
her mind screamed.
Tell him.
Tell him
. She
wanted
to tell him, but she was afraid. It wasn’t like
her to keep secrets, to present herself as something she was not. But as she
thought this, she knew it was too soon. Adrian was just recovering from the
news of Bruce. Their marriage would not stand the shock of children. Not yet.
She needed time. But the children were on their way here. Time worked against
her. The fear of revealing it weighed her spirits down. The fear of losing out
on this marriage forced her to be jovial. Maggie felt herself lost somewhere in
between. She had never felt so desperate, so alone. She glanced at Adrian. He
was looking at her strangely, waiting for her answer. For a moment, she had
forgotten the question.

Would you play for me again?
Thankfully, it came to
her. With a sigh of relief, she forced a smile and nodded, unable to do any
more than gather her skirts gently in her hand and turn toward the doorway. He
walked to the music room with her, and like her, he was silent.

She sat at the piano, her fingers skimming over the keys,
her mind unaware and unconnected from what her fingers did. Once or twice she
looked up to see his eyes upon her, deep and brooding, and she wondered about
what he was thinking. Three times he got up to pour himself another brandy, yet
during it all he never said a word, never took his eyes from her.

At last the strain was too much. Her composure snapped. Her
fingers froze on the keys and she came to her feet. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I
can’t play anymore. Not tonight. Please…” she said, looking at him as if there
was some great burden she wanted him to share, but she quickly looked away and,
collecting her skirts in one hand, said, “I’m sorry, Adrian. Please excuse me.”

He watched her go in silence. After she had gone, he
continued to stare at the place he had seen her last, wondering why everything
concerning Maggie was so intense—whether it was his anger or his desire. And it
was intense.

Did that mean it was lust then, after all? He knew he had
never felt this sort of intensity in his feelings for Katherine, and yet he
knew he loved her, and it was nothing like his feeling for Maggie. What he felt
for Katherine was like a pond, still, silent, reflective. But his feelings for
Maggie? They were like a waterfall, turbulent, swift, and churning. And like a
man going over a waterfall, he knew how it would all end up. By destroying one
or both of them. No one could live with such intense feelings of passion. He
could not eat. He could not sleep. He couldn’t even work for thinking about
what it would be like to make love to her.

So why don’t you?

He didn’t know the answer to that, but he sure as hell was
going to find out.

Downing the rest of his brandy in two gulps, he left the
glass on the table and made his way upstairs. He fully intended to go to his
room. He told himself it would serve no purpose to stop by hers. But somehow he
found himself standing in front of Maggie’s bedroom door. The hand that reached
out to knock locked around the doorknob instead, turning it slowly and pushing
until the door opened.

Maggie stood in a cream satin dressing gown, next to her
bed. His eyes went from her to the bed, seeing the covers turned back like an
invitation.

It was all he needed. He pushed the door shut with one foot
as he stepped farther into the room.

Maggie turned to face him, making no effort to hide herself
from him, in spite of the fact that he could see clearly that her breasts were
full and high and pointed, and that her nipples were hard and thrusting against
the lace-trimmed fabric. He felt response between his legs.

“I dinna hear you knock.”

“I…I guess I was a little too nervous about coming in here.
I didn’t think.” The moment the words were out, Adrian wanted to slap himself.
Nervous?
How could you? Fool. How could you say something like that? Why don’t you tell
her some more stupid things, like how awkward you feel around a lady like her,
or how much you want to make love to her? Go on. Why don’t you make a bigger
fool of yourself?

She seemed to relax, her face lighting up with a smile.
“Aye, I can understand being nervous. I’m nervous now.”

He felt the urge to smile back at her, but he was afraid,
afraid of showing her too much. “I came by…that is, you were upset when you
left. Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

“You came in here to
talk?
”

He made a half shrug and rammed his hands deep into his
pockets. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I wonder if I have
the confidence for it.”
Shut up, Adrian. You’re digging your own grave with
your big mouth.

Maggie looked off for a moment, as if collecting her
thoughts. The stretch of silence was more than Adrian could bear. “Tell me
about your husband,” he said, thinking as he did,
God strike me dumb if I
open my mouth again.

“You want to know about Bruce?
Now?”

He nodded. “It’s as good a time as any, and I’ve had enough
fortification, so I’m sufficiently mellowed to hear it.”

“I wonder,” she said, then added, “what, exactly, do you
want to know?”

“I want to know what he was to you, how you felt about him,
and what happened—how he died.”

She looked at him for some time before she spoke. “I dinna
think that’s what you want to hear. I dinna think that at all.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, looking at him. She smiled faintly
and shook her head. “Perhaps it’s because you don’t look like a man who’s in a
talking mood.”

That brought a lifted brow and words spoken in a slow, lazy
way. “What kind of mood do I seem to be in?”

“Argumentative, perhaps, or maybe…” She stopped, the loveliest
blush of color rising to her face.

“Or maybe what?”

“Nothing. I don’t think this is the time to talk.”

“I think it’s the best time. I’ve had two weeks to think
about it, and all that thinking has raised a few questions. I want answers to
them tonight.”

“I ken what you’re about, Adrian. You’ve nursed the idea of
another man making love to me, of another man doing the things you want to do.
You want me to tell you my husband was a bastard, or that he was a weakling,
that he beat me, that I despised him. But I canna say those things because they
are’na true. Bruce Ramsay was the kindest, most loving man I’ve ever known. I
adored him. We had the perfect marriage. It almost killed me when he died.”

“And there’s no room for another man in your life?”

“I never said that. I couldna. Not to you. Bruce is dead.
I’ve done my grieving for him. Whether or not I love again—well, it all depends
on you, you ken?”

He gave her a blank look.

“If it’s your goal to replace him in my heart, you are
doomed for failure before you start. There are many things I admire about you,
Adrian. I ken I could come to love you for yourself, for who you are, if you
give me the chance. But dinna think you can replace Bruce. Dinna even try. You
will have to carve your own place in my heart. You aren’t Bruce. You aren’t a
branch of him…you aren’t his replacement. I will grow to love you for a hundred
different reasons that have nothing to do with Bruce Ramsay or my life in
Scotland.”

She turned to her dressing table and picked up a satin
ribbon. He realized she intended to tie back her hair. He had been so taken
with the way her body responded to the clinging, smooth fabric of her dressing
gown, he hadn’t noticed her hair was down.

She had beautiful hair. And the color—he must be becoming
accustomed to it, for it didn’t chafe him as it had at first. Yes, her hair was
beautiful—a woman’s crowning glory. It belonged down. Or entwined in a man’s
hands…his hands. The lamplight turned it to the color of a red sunset,
throbbing with fire and life. Down, her hair softened her strong features. He
felt the confusion return. Tonight she was beautiful. He wanted to step closer,
to take her in his arms, to look down into her face and see the color of her
eyes.

She slipped the ribbon beneath her hair.

“Leave it down,” he said. “It becomes you.”

She shrugged and tossed the ribbon back onto the dressing
table. “You asked me about Bruce. I’m not sure I can explain it. It’s a chapter
of my life that has been read, not one that has been taken out of the book. You
canna compete with the ghost of Bruce any more than I can compete with the
ghost of Katherine.” She looked at him squarely. “The difference between us is
that I dinna want to try.”

He crossed the room swiftly, coming to stand before her, his
gaze one she had never seen before. His arms came around her as he drew her
against him, pressing her head against his chest, stroking her hair.

“I can make you forget him,” he whispered into her hair. “I
can, and I will.” His hands came up to press against her temples. “Even if I
have to crush his memory from your mind.”

“You can try,” she said with that infuriating calm he found
so antagonizing.

He held her tightly as his mouth slammed down upon hers, as
if he could kiss the memory of another man away. “If you’re going to make love
to me,” she whispered, “at least do it for honest reasons. Do it because you
are a man who desires me as a woman.”

He drew back, his hands gripping her arms. “What is that
supposed to mean?”

“Dinna make love to me for the wrong reasons, Adrian. Dinna
do it to prove something to me, to show me you are just as good in bed as my
first husband was, that you can bring me as much pleasure. I can pleasure
myself, but it isna the same.”

His body stiffened. He pushed her away.

“Why are you angry?” she asked. “Is it because of what I
said, or because I spoke the truth? Is that why you came in here tonight? Or
was it to prove to yourself that you can feel something for another woman after
loving
her
for so long?”

“I told you before to leave Katherine out of this.”

“Why? You have no qualms about dragging my past out in front
of me. Is yours more sacred because you never made love to her?”

The veins on his forehead stood out. His face darkened.
“Maggie, I’m warning you.”

But Maggie would not be stopped. Not tonight. She was
running out of time. “Warn all you like. It willna do any good. I’m no afraid
of you, Adrian, no matter how hard you try to frighten me.”

“Keep talking like that and you may change your mind.”

“What are you afraid of?” she asked.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” he said, coming closer. “Want
me to show you?”

“Which ghost are you trying to stifle, Adrian?” she asked
calmly. “Mine, or yours?”

His heart lurched. The shock of her words stopped him. Was
Maggie right? Was that what he was doing?

Adrian was feeling just a little annoyed with himself now,
for pushing her, for trying to get her riled, knowing that even if she had lost
her temper, it would have been his fault. What was it about her that made him
lose touch with himself like this?

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, not certain
what direction he should take from here. “Has it ever occurred to you,” he said
at last, “that maybe, just maybe, I want you because it’s been a long time
since I’ve had a woman? Maybe it’s for no other reason than the fact that I
need a woman, and you happen to be convenient. You are my wife.” He wanted to
kick himself the moment the words were out, for they sounded hurtful and
childish, even to his ear.

“At least those would be honest reasons,” she said, her
hands going down to the sash at her waist.

Adrian watched, his heart in his throat, as she untied the
satin sash, then pushed the robe from her body, first one shoulder, then the
other.

When both shoulders were bare, she dropped her arms to her
sides, and the fluid fabric slid like water over the perfect lines of her body
to puddle around her feet on the floor. She stood before him now, proud and
humble, and so gloriously naked, he hurt. It occurred to him that in humbling
herself, she had humbled him even more. Yet even then, he could not take his
eyes from her, from the way she stood there, pale as a moonbeam, slim and white
as a narcissus, the lazy red-gold curls of her hair nearly covering her lovely
breasts.

Turning to the bed, she lay down.

Adrian didn’t move. He couldn’t. His throat was bone-dry.
His muscles were hard and frozen in place. His heart pounded painfully in his
chest. The blood gushed in wild, runaway rivers to his head.

He had never seen anything so lovely.

He had never desired a woman so much.

She lay as still and quiet as a marble statue; pale and
smooth and cold. There was no coyness, no flirtation, no frank gaze that
wandered hotly over his body, or stared blatantly at the swelling between his
legs. Nothing. She was as impersonal as stone. He felt his desire shrink away;
felt his penis grow limp.

He hated her.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked. “It’s what you
wanted, isn’t it? After all, I am your wife. If you need a woman, why not take
me? I am, as you said, convenient. We women are all made the same, aren’t we?
Go ahead. What you want to do is legal and morally right, recognized by the
laws of man and the church. What more could you ask for?”