A Very Tudor Christmas. Amanda McCabeЧитать онлайн книгу.
but their new coach is too slow for me. I’m most happy I came on ahead now, if it means I can see you.”
Meg laughed as she tilted her head to look up at him—he was so wondrously tall. And he laughed with her, too, his face even more beautiful in mirth, if that was possible.
“Pretty Mistress Margaret,” he said. “I have thought of you often since our New Year’s dance.”
Meg felt a burst of raw, pure joy that he remembered, as she did. “Have you indeed, Master Erroll?” she answered pertly. A country miss she might be, but surely she knew better than to seem too eager. Especially with a man like this, a handsome, strong court gentleman. “Most extraordinary of you.”
His laugh rang out even louder, sweeter. “Do you mean to say you have not thought of me at all?”
“Life is busy here, you know. Not so busy as at the queen’s court, perhaps, but we have little time for idle thoughts.” Meg turned and slowly strolled along down the lane, wondering wildly all the time if he watched her, if he would follow.
And follow he did. She heard the fall of his booted feet on the dirt, and he quickly caught up to her as they reached a low stone wall. He caught her arm in his gloved hand.
Meg swung around to him, startled and excited and scared all at once.
“Court is full of color and scandal and events of all kinds, assuredly,” he said. “But you would rival any lady there with your beauty and sweetness, Mistress Margaret. I’ve never seen eyes like yours....”
The tips of his fingers trailed over her cheek, the merest featherlight touch, but it made Meg shiver as she stared up at him. Oh, how she wanted to believe him! How she wanted his sweet words to be true. And indeed he looked at her as if she had always dreamed a handsome suitor might, with a solemn wonder writ on the chiseled planes of his face.
But she also knew that her eyes were the plainest of browns. And she knew, too, that what she was doing here with him was not something a proper young lady should do. That if her parents saw her they would be angry, and part of her wanted to run away from these feelings.
The bigger part of her, the part she feared meant she was not entirely proper, made her stay.
“I—I fear you seek to flatter me, sirrah,” she said, trying to laugh.
“No flattery. If you could see the women at court...” He gently traced a strand of her brown hair that had escaped her hood. “There are none like you.”
His hands slid down her arms, his touch light, teasing. Until suddenly his arms were around her waist, tugging her closer to him. She went with him, unresisting. She was overcome with curiosity, with that heady, overpowering emotion he always evoked when he came near her. It made her feel dizzy with it, with his nearness, and she clutched at his shoulders to hold herself up.
How wonderful it was to feel like that, Meg thought giddily. Like too much spiced wine, or lying in warm grass on a summer’s day. He made her senses whirl and spin, just from the feel of him under her hands, hard and warm and alive.
It frightened her, but it was also so very exciting.
As she looked up into his blue eyes, she felt as if she was caught in a dream. Yet everything was so much more immediate, so much brighter and clearer than anything else she had ever known. Then, wonder of wonders, his eyes grew darker. His head bent toward hers and he kissed her.
The touch of his lips was so soft at first, like the brush of warm velvet, sweeping over her mouth teasingly. When she swayed closer, her hands clutching at his shoulders, that kiss deepened.
“Beautiful Meg,” he whispered hoarsely before claiming her mouth again. Hotter, more urgent, rougher.
Something hidden deep in Meg’s heart responded to that urgency, growing and filling her until she feared she would burst with the splendor of it all. Her lips parted on a moan, and she felt his tongue slide shockingly against hers. His hands twined in her hair, sending the pins scattering to the ground as he used the dark strands to hold her with him. She moaned and opened her mouth willingly to his passionate kiss. His touch, the taste of him, made her feel wonderfully as if she was flying.
In his arms she felt free at long last. She felt truly alive, and she wanted that so very much, even if it was only for a moment and then she had to go back to her dull life. Surely a moment couldn’t hurt her?
Or maybe a moment could end everything she had ever known. She didn’t care. She only wanted him.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders to keep from falling to the ground. His hands fell free from her hair to unfasten the ties of her cloak and let it fall from her shoulders. The cold wind brushed over her, making her shiver, but then there was only the heat of his body all around hers.
His open mouth slid from hers to kiss her neck, the soft curve of her shoulder above the neckline of her plain gown. His teeth nipped lightly at her skin, making her gasp and shiver all over again. Her head fell back as she hoped he would kiss her even more, even further, letting the delicious feelings wash over her.
“Beautiful Meg,” he whispered roughly. He caught the hem of her skirt in his fist and dragged it up until she felt the cool wind rush over the bare skin just above her stocking, just as she had hoped he would. He caressed her through the thin knit of her stocking, his fingertip dipping behind the ribbon of her garter.
It was shocking—and wonderful. No one had ever touched her thus, and she wanted yet more and more. His hand slid higher, enticing, teasing, and when she moaned he gave a hoarse laugh.
“Passionate Meg,” he said.
“Passionate for you,” she answered, holding him tighter.
Everything vanished until there was only him and her and that kiss, that touch. Only that one perfect instant she wanted to go on forever and ever.
But it was a forever that was shattered all too quickly.
At first Meg was sure the rumbling sound was her heart, pounding inside her with such joy she knew it would burst. She held even tighter to him, for he was the only thing that could keep her from shaking apart. But he tore his mouth from hers and stumbled back, letting the cold wind rush over her again. Her skirts fell around her in disarray.
Then she heard it, closer with every second. A carriage rolling on the lane, not her heart at all.
“Quickly!” Robert said. “We can hide behind the wall.”
Before Meg’s whirling mind could make sense of what was happening, he wrapped his strong, warm hands around her waist and lifted her over the stone wall. He caught up her fallen cloak and leaped after her, drawing her down with him until they crouched on the chilly ground, their backs to the rough stone.
Meg could hardly breathe. He was still so close to her, the heat of his hard, strong body wrapping all around her, but it felt as if he had gone from her entirely. He turned away from her to peer over the wall as the crash and rumble of the coach came closer.
A cold hollowness crept through her, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She still could not fathom being torn from such pleasure. What had happened?
Had she kissed him all wrong?
She turned to peek over the wall. The coach was almost upon them, a glossy brown-and-gold vehicle splashed with mud and frost and drawn by a team of splendid matching bays. Ordinarily, Meg would have been fascinated to see it; only the queen and her highest nobles had such things for traveling. But now she was all too aware of Robert Erroll next to her, watching the coach with narrowed eyes.
Meg glimpsed a woman’s pale face at the window as it bounced past, the feathers on her velvet hat waving. The hair pinned beneath it was the same shining black as Robert’s.
Then they were gone, as suddenly as they came. Robert slumped down beside her, and Meg suddenly realized something.
“That was your parents,” she said. And he had hid her from them.