Simply Magic

“Mercy, woman,” he said.

She lifted her head and smiled down into his face, her cheeks flushed, her eyes heavy with desire.

“But I have no wish to show mercy,” she said, her voice low and throaty as she brought her lips to his and teased them with the tip of her tongue.

This was beginning to be agonizing.

And then she brought herself right over him, straddling him with her legs, her knees on either side of his hips, her hands supporting herself on either side of his head.

He skimmed his hands down the lovely curve of her back to spread over her firmly rounded buttocks. She had lovely breasts, not overlarge but firm and nicely shaped. He felt the hardened nipples brush against his chest as she lowered her mouth to his again. With the lower part of her body she rubbed lightly over his erection.

Agony had passed its beginning, but this was her lovemaking-he would proceed at her pace.

“Witch,” he murmured.

She raised herself then onto her knees, holding herself above him and biting on her lower lip as she took him in one hand, set him against her opening, and brought herself down on him.

Ah!

She was hot and wet, and her inner muscles clenched about him as she drew him deep.

He set his hands lightly on her hips and drew a slow breath. There was a certain type of agony that was also exquisite, and this was it. He would not spoil it with urgency. He smiled slowly up at her.

“To repeat myself,” he said, “there is nowhere I would rather be.”

She set her hands on either side of his waist, hugged his hips more tightly with her knees, lifted herself almost away from him, brought herself down again, and repeated the motion over and over again. She closed her eyes and lowered her chin to her chest.

Good Lord, he thought, before sensation engulfed him, she was riding him. He let her ride for a while, awash in pleasure and desire, and then his hands pressed more firmly on her hips, and he rode with her for a few minutes until they both broke rhythm, she to press downward, he to thrust upward, both to shatter into fulfillment at the same moment.

It was beyond extraordinary.

It was beyond bliss.

And it was not sex, he thought as she came downward to lie on top of him and he covered them both with the bedcovers. Not just sex.

It was love.

He had never before seen much connection between the two.

He held her for several minutes, not sleeping, knowing that she did not sleep either, knowing that she was telling herself that this was the end.

It was not the end. If someone cared to bring on a whole regiment of dragons, all of them armed to the fangs with fire and brimstone and other assorted deadly weapons, he would take on the lot of them bare-handed.

This was not the end.

This was the end, Susanna thought, her shoulder pressed to Peter’s, drawing some warmth from him as the curricle turned onto the driveway leading to Fincham Manor. Oh, she would quite possibly see him again after today. It was even probable that she would have to go to the ball at Sidley that he had mentioned earlier, though she would not even think about that yet.

But really today was the end. The end of an affair of the heart that could have no future. Now was the end.

It was also the beginning of something else. She wondered if her grandparents had arrived yet.

Her grandparents.

She still felt partly numbed at the unfamiliar thought.

Today she was going to meet three people who were closely connected to her by blood after believing for eleven years that she was all alone in the world.

But they were strangers.

Would they even like her?

Would they hold it against her that she was the product of a marriage that ought never to have been?

But they were coming here, were they not?

Would she like them?

How would she even greet them?

“It looks,” Peter said, “as if the visitors have arrived.”

And sure enough, there was a large old carriage standing outside the stable block. Her heart sank.

“Afraid?” he asked, turning his head to look down at her.

“Very.” She drew her cloak more tightly about her.

“Is it not strange,” he said, “how life can plod along placidly for years and then, for no clear reason, can be suddenly filled with one turmoil after another? And it has happened for us both in differing ways-and began for both of us at the same moment, when we arrived together at the fork in a narrow lane in the quiet Somerset countryside one summer afternoon. Such a seemingly innocent encounter! And here we are as a result of it all, and you are facing an ordeal that has nothing really to do with me. May I come in with you?”

“Please do,” she said as he drew the curricle to a halt before the doors into the house and jumped down to assist her.

She thought as she entered the house a few moments later that perhaps she ought to have said no. Perhaps her grandparents would recognize the name Whitleaf as she had during the summer. But it was too late now. Besides, she could not bear to say good-bye to him and then have to go upstairs to the drawing room alone.

The newly arrived visitors were there and expecting her, the butler informed her as he took her cloak and bonnet from her and she fluffed up her curls and brushed her hands over her dress. He turned to lead the way.

She did not take Peter’s arm. If she did, she might cling. This was something she must do herself, even if she had chosen to have him accompany her for moral support.

Lady Markham, Edith, Mr. Morley, Theodore-they were all in the drawing room, Susanna saw as soon as she had crossed the threshold. So were three strangers, all of whom got to their feet at sight of her. Theodore came striding toward her.

“Susanna,” he said, taking her hand in both of his and squeezing it before letting it go, “you must come and meet Colonel and Mrs. Osbourne and the Reverend Clapton, your grandparents.”

The lady was slender almost to the point of thinness, with white, carefully coiffed hair, a lined face, and a sweet mouth. The colonel was broad-chested and tall and very upright in bearing. He was bald and had a thick white mustache, which drooped past the corners of his mouth almost to his chin. He looked very distinguished. He looked like an older version of Susanna’s father. The clergyman was shorter and thinner. He had fine gray hair and eyeglasses and supported himself with a cane.

Her grandparents, Susanna thought, gazing one at a time at the three strangers.

She dipped into a curtsy.

And then the lady came hurrying toward her, both hands outstretched, and