Miss Wonderful (47 page)

She
smiled stupidly up at him. "Oh," she said drunk-enly. "It
feels good."

He
made the strangled sound again. "Yes," he said. "Yes,
it does."

"Can
we do it again?" she said.

"We're
not nearly done yet," he said.

Then
he began to move inside her; and the world changed again, completely.
She held on, letting him take her where he would. They went slowly at
first, until the wild pleasure again took hold. Then she was moving
with him, seeking something, some place in the hot darkness. The
world went away and with it whatever remained of thought. Only
feeling remained, for him, given by him, a happiness almost painful
and a need she couldn't satisfy. She thrust against him,
instinctively seeking more, and her fingers dug into his back.

"I
love you." His voice, low, reverberated through her. "I
love you."

Her
lips formed words, but she was beyond speech. Her body was caught on
a powerful current, tearing along faster and faster, then flinging
her onto a wild, stormy shore. A heartbeat later, a powerful tremor
went through him and traveled through her, like lightning, and
blasted the world into shimmering pieces.

Chapter
18

FOR
a time afterward, Alistair lay stunned. Then he drew her up against
him, and they nestled like spoons.

The
perfect derriere snuggled against his groin. His hand clasped one
perfect breast. Silken curls tickled his face. He pressed his mouth
to her neck and inhaled her scent, and that was perfect, too.

His
life, at this moment, was absolutely right.

She
reached back and stroked the scar. When it wasn't actively harassing
him, the pain always hovered in the background. Yet it retreated
under her gentle touch.

She
didn't mind touching it or looking at it, though it was hideous, the
gnarled, shiny lumpish skin.

"Do
you hate it?" she said, her voice still husky in the aftermath
of passion.

The
huskiness confused him. "Hate what?"

"Your
injury."

He
wanted to say he never gave it any thought, but that was a black lie.
"It is an infernal nuisance," he said. He hesitated, then
added, "And it is ugly, and I can't…" He dragged in
air, let it out, and buried his face in her neck. "Must I tell
you everything?" he murmured against her skin.

She
turned in his arms and brought her hand up to his cheek. He turned
his head to kiss the palm of her hand. He loved her hands. He loved
her touch. And she seemed very well pleased with his lovemaking. He
had nothing more to wish for, except a speedy wedding.

"What
can't you do?" she said.

"I
wish it did npt make me walk so awkwardly," he said, and winced
inwardly. It sounded so childish, so ungrateful. He was lucky to be
alive, and he whined about being lame.

"I
don't doubt it seems more awkward to you than to others," she
said. "You will not believe me—you will say I'm blinded by
love—but the way you walk has a strange effect. Perhaps it is
me. Perhaps it is part of the derangement of my advanced age, but the
small hitch in your walk awakens carnal feelings in me. I did not
know what they were at first, only that they were both pleasant and
disturbing."

The
invisible club struck again. "Carnal feelings? You mean lust?"

She
nodded.

"You're
roasting me," he said.

She
laid her head on his chest. The unruly curls tickled his chin. "I
would never tease you about such a thing. It is embarrassing enough
to admit it—but then, I am past all shame now."

She
thought his limp was erotic.

Of
all the notions that might have occurred to him, that was not even
last. It was nowhere within the realm of possibilities he'd imagined.
But then, she had not been within his realm of possibilities. He
could not have imagined such a woman, and he'd only begun to discover
her.

She
sighed. "Even if I am past all shame, I must conceal it and
pretend to be good. How I wish I had thought to drug everybody in the
inn before I came! But since it did not occur to me, I must return to
my room. At least I have devised a plausible excuse for having left
it."

He
did not want her to leave, ever again. But he didn't want her
reputation sullied, either. He shifted up to a sitting position,
taking her with him. "I long to hear your excuse," he said.

"I
had a bad dream and woke up disoriented, thinking I was in my own
house," she said. "After wandering about for a time in
confusion, I gradually regained my wits and made my way back to my
room." She leaned toward him and kissed him lightly on the
mouth.

The
perfect pink buds brushed his chest. Her mouth was so soft, the taste
of her so sweet. Her scent swam in his head and wafted from the
bedclothes.

He
told himself to be a man and endure it. He dragged himself from the
bed. "I will let you go, and you may tell whatever fib you
wish," he said, "as long as you remember that we are to be
wed, as soon as possible."

"Does
that mean you will marry me, canal or no canal?" she said.

He
was aware of her watching him as he limped to the washstand. "It
means I will solve the problem," he said. "And don't say,
'What if you cannot solve it?' because I shall. I have made up my
mind.". He poured water into the washbowl, collected a towel,
and carried them to her.

She
washed quickly, too quickly.

He
gathered up the frothy dressing gown and night'-gown, allowed himself
one last, lingering study of her sweetly shaped body, then helped her
into her garments.

As
he tied the ribbons of the dressing gown, he said, "Does your
aunt send you such fetching attire often?"

"No,"
Mirabel said, and blushed.

She
did not blush often or easily.

"I
thought not, else I'd wonder why you dress as you do. Why did she
send it, then?"

"She
didn't say. I must leave."

"Mirabel."

"I
shall be staying with her in London. I shall ask her. I am glad you
approve of her taste." She spoke hurriedly. "She will take
me shopping. I had been dreading that. It takes so much time, and I
had so much to do, with my political machinations. But now I shall
have plenty of time to shop." She darted him a smile: "For
my trousseau."

"No,
no, no," he said.

Her
startled gaze met his.

"Yes,
you will shop for a trousseau, but later, with me," he said.

"You
don't approve of my taste," she said.

"With
the present exception, you have no taste to speak of," he said.
"That is not the problem. The problem is, you must not abandon
your campaign."

"Mr.
Carsington," she began.

"Alistair,"
he said.

"Alistair,"
she said, and his Christian name had never sounded like this before.
It was infinitely different when uttered in that whispery night
voice. And he, he realized, was a different and better man, here,
with her.

She
laid her hand on his chest. "Pray recall that the object of my
campaign was to destroy your canal scheme," she said. "This,
it turns out, would ruin your best friend as well as your younger
brothers. I cannot be responsible for so much carnage, certainly not
on account of a narrow strip of waterway hardly twenty miles long."

"A
better solution exists," he said. "It is there, in the back
of my mind somewhere. I will never get to it unless you keep
challenging and provoking me."

He
gently grasped her shoulders and gazed into the twilight of her eyes.
"All my life, it has been too easy," he said. "I
always knew someone would be there to solve my problems. As a result,
nothing was ever at stake. Nothing was important enough to make me
exert myself. Nothing ever tested my intellect or ingenuity. Until
now. Until you. You will not let anything be easy. You have made me
re-examine everything. You have made me think, and plot and contrive.
You must not surrender now. I have never been so plagued and beset
with problems in all my life—and I know it is good for me. I
have not felt so alive since—gad, I can't remember when. Do you
understand, my dear, troublesome girl? I need the aggravation."

She
studied him in that direct way of hers, not hiding her attempt to
puzzle him out. Then, "Oh," she said. And, "Oh, yes, I
quite understand." She smiled, a great rising sun of a smile. "I
am so relieved."

She
kissed him, hard, upon the mouth, the way he'd kissed her good-bye
that day at the mausoleum. Then she hurried from the room in a
flutter of ruffles and lace.