Chapter 15
Meghan watched as August moved throughout his quarters with a surety of step and command of the space.
A shrug and he was out of his jacket. A toss, without so much as a glance, and the garment found a hook.
I am going to bathe you…
He had spoken those six words to Meghan before.
The eve before.
And yet the intonation, the dip in his mellifluous baritone, didn’t carry the same quality.
Much like when she had been a mischievous lass and gotten the Come here right now, Meghan McQuoid Smith, all slow and drawn out—the kind that just shouted to keep running because she had found trouble.
But this was a different kind of trouble.
Oh, it stirred the butterflies in her belly.
But these were like thousands of fluttering wings set loose and not the kind of your-bothersome-big-brother-knocked-you-from-the-swing kind of tummy shivers.
August used one hand to tug his billowy white lawn shirt from his trousers when he seemed to remember her.
Which was strange—or unfair—because Meghan could not take her eyes off him.
She swallowed a sigh.
Such was to be her fate.
He arched an eyebrow. “That was a long sigh.”
“I did not realize I sighed.”
“They usually are involuntary,” he pointed out.
Meghan considered that a moment. “I disagree.”
Her contrary remark stopped him just as he reached for the other side of his shirt.
Meghan cleared her throat. “One can use a sigh to one’s benefit. I do so when I’m frustrated or trying to make a point. It is very common with the Mc—”
Meghan pressed her lips flat and cursed her tongue.
She cursed that he hated something she could not control.
August pulled his shirt overhead.
Oh, God.
Her mouth went dry.
A gentle brush of knuckles under her jaw guided her head up.
“Your head is in the clouds.”
“Sometimes it is better there,” she confided.
From the moment he arrived, carrying her injured sister after a fall last winter, that’s where Meghan lived.
“I would argue all the fun is to be had here on the ground,” he murmured.
August kept up that smooth, rhythmic stroking until her eyes fell shut.
“We aren’t really on the ground.”
The hint of a smile touched his lips.
“Very astute.”
Her heart shifted.
Closer to him than she had ever believed she would be, Meghan discovered it still wasn’t enough.
Creeping up on her tiptoes, she drew herself nearer to study his mouth.
“The Secret Snapdragon smile,” she said, caught between that faraway day and the improbable now.
He had worn it the very day she fell tips over toes in love with him.
Well, at least, that had been when she acknowledged it to herself.
She wanted him to wear this smile forever.
“You were playing in the conservatory,” she said, thinking back on that day.
So many of their meetings had happened in a conservatory.
Maybe that was why Meghan ran to Lord and Lady Rutland’s orangery.
Somewhere deep inside Meghan, she knew August would go there—or that he would be there.
August let her speak.
He let her fill in details of moments he did not even realize—remember?—he shared with Meghan.
“You were ducked beneath the green-painted iron gardening table and looked so ridiculous because there is no way you—”
August slipped a playful hand under the right curve of her buttocks and used it to drag her closer.
“Calling me rotund, are you?”
Meghan laughed and playfully swatted him.
“Would you really like me to pay you pretty compliments? Are you truly in need?”
“Only if they are due.” He winked.
Joy pulled another laugh from her.
“You commandeered me,” he said solemnly.
Meghan’s throat worked rhythmically.
He remembered.
“I asked. You came.”
To keep you from Linnie. To keep you for myself…
He had not known that.
Now Meghan had him.
In a way.
He smiled. “We shall split the difference.”
Meghan’s own smile slipped.
No, they needn’t do that.
You commandeered me…
I asked. You came…
Only one of those insistences was correct—and it was not Meghan’s.
If only she could memorize the feel of his smile for when sadness came.
Meghan reached up between them and traced the seam of his smile.
August’s body stilled.
She wondered at his reaction, but she wondered even more what his lips felt like.
“I did wonder what your mouth felt like,” she felt inclined to share, given the attention she was paying his mouth.
“Did you?” His voice sounded strained.
Since she had just said she did, she did not feel inclined to clarify.
“Share your musings with me, love.”
Meghan did not take offense at his order.
Had August admitted to her that he thought about her, she would have urged him just the same.
“You wore a beard,” she murmured.
“Sometimes I do that.”
Meghan canted her head. “Why?”
“It provides some warmth from the elements.”
Meghan eased back to better see him.
She framed his clean-shaven face between her palms.
Though smooth, there was a slight coarseness that made his skin rougher, more rugged than her own.
“Why—?”
The storm from before was reflected in his blue eyes.
“It helps as a disguise.”
Because he had taken her…
She could not regret it.
Shamefully, she never had.
Meghan traced his mouth again.
“They are firm, but somehow like velvet.”
“You are like velvet,” he said thickly.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid you must find your own descriptor. I have already used velvet.”
His lips quirked, and this twist of his glorious mouth was slightly harder and harsher.
August stroked the small of her back, and after the morning and afternoon she had spent aboard the ship, it felt so very wonderful.
“That feels very good, you know.” She made another confession.
“I know.”
Meghan rested her cheek upon his chest and inhaled.
“You smell like salt and tobacco. I did not know you smoke.”
So many mysteries. So many secrets.
“It is forbidden on my ship,” he explained hoarsely. “And on shore, it provides a release from stress.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I stink.”
“I don’t care.”
His heart thundered against her ear.
She believed him. His heart told her so.
Meghan closed her eyes and absorbed his solid life force.
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.
She smoothed along his ribcage.
Meghan made that powerful organ race faster.
She breathed in slowly.
How empowering.
How heady that she, a small woman, should make this man quiver.
“Do you know what else helps release tension, August?”
He made a strangled sound in his throat. “What, love?”
“Riding. But we do not have horses here.”
August breathed loudly. “We do not need a horse.”
Meghan eased away to gauge his seriousness. “Truly?”
His eyes grew hooded. “Aye.”
“Hmm.” She marveled at that. “I believe I would like that.”
His body shook against hers.
Shaking?
“August, did I make you tremble?” she asked softly.
“Aye, love. You did.”
His body did it again.
Meghan marveled that her small confession altered his breathing—made it harsher and faster and come in little noisy spurts.
As though with her throwaway acknowledgment she had given his body a chore.
Dangerously wanton heat spiraled through her.
She thought of his touch last night.
She had thought of little else since.
Well, that wasn’t altogether true.
So much had happened.
Everything had happened.
“A-again?” she whispered.
He loosened his cravat.
“Again, love.”
“I believe you enjoy bathing me, August,” she said softly. “Would you like me to bathe you?”
“The only thing I would enjoy more is taking care of you, Meghan.” He took in another billowing breath.
Now imagining him bathing her—this powerful man, hateful enough to wage war against a dynasty of dukes—caused a tightening in her core. She pressed her legs together and moved.
The hot glint in his eyes said he knew her naughty shifting too.
And just as she thrilled in her power over him, he felt the same. His dimpled cheeks. The three pulsations of his fists.
Unable to help herself, she dipped her head to steal a peek. August’s big, very big, member made a tent of his black trousers.
“Meghan?”
She whipped her head up. “Hmm?”
His eyes were the dessert-eyes. The one a person got when only blancmange and poached pear and whim wham were about.
“Did you see me staring?”
“I saw you staring.” He smirked and ran his hand over that big bulge.
She lifted her hopeful expression to him. “Are you going to show it to me?”
“In due time,” he said.
When he held out a hand, she placed her fingers in his, trusting him because she wanted to. August turned her so her back was to him.
His fingers moved to the ties of her dress.
The hot sigh of his breath caressed her neck.
“Do you trust me, my love?”
“I—I would be foolish to.”
He chuckled. “We are both fools for each other.”
That she doubted, but he said it, and it sounded so lovely she decided not to contradict him. Plus, she wanted it to be true.
August chuckled. “I shall take your lack of denial as a yes.”
He purred like a panther. “Foolish girl.”
Even his insult sounded like praise.
The delicate brush of his lips ghosted her neck.
Meghan’s body quickened.
He loosened the stays at the back of her gown.
She stood breathless, barely daring to move, afraid he’d stop.
“I’m going to take care of you, Meghan,” he vowed.
Though suggestive, his tone was gentle, not crude.
“August?” She stopped him, even though she really didn’t want to.
He paused. “Yes, love?”
“Will you help me take care of my mouth?”
She pinkened and looked at his chest. If she could not look him in the eyes, then she decided staring at his chest was a very good option.
August nudged his knuckles along her chin. “We are not shy around one another.”
“You aren’t shy around anyone,” she mumbled. “I am.”
That smile of his she loved chased away her embarrassment. Just as he had promised, he helped her brush her teeth, and her heart picked up like the beat of a song.
With slow deliberation, August loosened her ties.
Cool air rushed across her back.
He slipped his fingers beneath the velvet puffed sleeves, easing the garment down.
Her body came alive—resurrected with every inch of skin he bared.