They sat in silence for a time, each lost in their own thoughts. Lyra’s final plea to grasp these last few, stolen moments with Roarke weighing heavily upon on Mara’s mind. In the end, she set aside her soup spoon and waited for the next course to be brought out while she tried to conjure up the best way to tell Roarke that she was leaving first thing in the morning.
But as the second course was served—a sumptuous display of roast pheasant, boiled turnips, gooseberry cheese, Yorkshire pudding, and freshly baked bread, Mara froze in the process of taking a sip of her wine.
Roarke was cutting the meat on his plate.
At any other time, it would have been such an ordinary task, but Mara found herself mesmerized by the play of muscles in those lightly tanned hands. She knew they could be equally strong and gentle, for they used to help old Mr. Edwards pitch hay in the stables when one of the other servants fell ill, but then those magical fingers would turn around and caress her with the utmost care. She used to love the feel of his palms when they were lightly calloused from manual labor, for her body was even more sensitive to his touch.
“Mara? What is it?”
She jumped at the sound of her name and instantly set the wine aside. She felt flushed, but she had the feeling it had nothing to do with the alcohol she’d just abandoned. Thrusting the past back where it belonged, Mara clenched her fists in her lap. Being in such an intimate setting with Roarke again, it was hard for her to think straight. Lyra had no idea how easy it would be for her to just give in and become ensnared in Roarke’s enticing web once more. How freeing it would be to throw caution to the wind and live in the moment, but she had to think of Lily and not her own selfish desires.
Why, oh why, did Roarke have to come back into her life? She had been perfectly content in her role as Miss Anna Smith, haberdashery owner, but with one twist of ugly fate, everything that she’d built to forget him had crumbled. She’d been tossed back into the circumstances that she’d dreaded for more than seven interminable years, while trying to convince herself that she’d done the right thing in leaving Eversleigh Hall and throwing away the only man she’d ever loved.
Thus, irritated and angry at herself, she spoke without thinking better of it. “I’m moving out in the morning. If you try to stop me, I’ll go to the authorities and say that you’ve been holding me hostage.”
Roarke went absolutely still. “Is that so?” he said quietly, almost menacingly. “And where is it that you think you shall be going?”
“You can send word to me through Lord and Lady Rockford.” When he didn’t reply, but merely eyed her with that piercing, hazel stare, Mara pushed back her chair and stood, unable to bear his scrutiny any longer. “Good night, my lord. And goodbye, for I doubt I shall see you when I depart.”
She saw the muscle in his jaw working.
“It seems you have it all figured out.” With that, he threw down his napkin and stalked out of the room before she even had a chance to take a single step.
Mara wilted as he left. What had he been expecting her to say? She’d told him more than once that a reconciliation was out of the question and he had to have known that her stay at Eversleigh House was only a temporary one, especially if his mother was returning soon. Yes, she was appreciative of his hospitality and everything he was doing to help her find Bentley. But surely he realized that was as far as it could go. She had been right when she told him that their time had come and gone.
Some things were simply not meant to be.
* * *
Rain had begun to fall in earnest late into the night, the large drops of water splattering on Mara’s window, but she was oblivious to the storm. Lying in bed, she stared up at the counterpane and wondered if Roarke was as wide awake as she was.
After she’d quit the dining room, she’d had the maid, Amy, help her into her nightclothes, then climbed under the covers, as if the bedspread could shield her from Roarke and the sudden, aching desire coursing through her neglected body. Even now, her womanhood pulsed with the need for Roarke’s hands, his tongue, his cock…
Closing her eyes, she wondered when she had turned so wanton. Alone for so many years, with only Big B for quiet companionship, had she felt even a modicum of the feminine longing that she did now. But a few charged minutes in Roarke’s virile company and she was a panting, sexual mess.
Frustrated, she threw back the covers and got out of bed. Deciding to head to the kitchens to warm up some milk to ease this craving inside of her, she slowly turned the knob on her bedchamber door and gazed out into the hallway. All was quiet and dark, other than the few sconces lit along the length of the grand staircase.
On bare feet, Mara tiptoed toward the stairs. Gripping the rail for support, she silently made her way to the lower level. For some reason, her heart was pounding so hard that she was sure it might rip out of her chest. She paused to put a hand on her breast to still the commotion—and that’s when she heard a slight noise coming from Roarke’s study. She froze as she spied a dim light coming from the slightly ajar door.
She hesitated, and against all her better judgment, she walked forward to peer inside.
Roarke was seated behind the massive mahogany desk in his leather chair, but it wasn’t his presence, or even the fact that he was also awake well into the night that captured her fascination. While she couldn’t see precisely what he was doing, it was apparent that he was pleasuring himself, for every once in a while a soft, guttural groan met her ears. His back was to her while he faced the dying fire and worked his arm in a timely rhythm below his waist.
She couldn’t move she was so mesmerized.
Spellbound, Mara gripped the door frame with one hand, while her other slowly found its way down the length of her gaping robe. With her lips parted slightly, her cheeks undoubtedly flushed, she dared to touch herself through the thin cotton, the material quickly growing wet with her heated, inner moisture. She bit her lip in an effort to keep silent as she started a rhythm on herself. She wondered what Roarke would think if he turned at that moment and saw her. Would he be appalled at her boldness, or just as excited by their shared passion?
Denying herself of his touch for so long, it was easy enough for Mara to imagine that it was Roarke’s hands touching her in her most secret places, that it washisfingers heightening her pleasure. A soft, husky moan met her ears, and Mara watched as the veins in Roarke’s neck popped out as he came close to a release. Her entire body pulsed with need at the erotic sight. Thrumming with exhilaration, she must have made some sort of sound, for Roarke’s head abruptly turned.
Their eyes met.
With a gasp, Mara hastily spun around on unsteady legs.
She was intent on closing herself in her room before he could catch her, but she didn’t even make it as far as the bottom step of the grand staircase before his arm closed around her waist. He didn’t say a word, as his mouth suddenly found hers, feasting hungrily. Without breaking contact, he lifted her in his arms and carried her back to the study, where he kicked the door shut behind them.
Mara knew what was coming when he laid her gently down on the cushioned, velvet settee, but she was incapable of stopping him. Her body was on fire, the pleasure that had been denied moments before flaming to brilliant life. It was Roarkewho incited her passion, and it was only Roarkewho could truly assuage it.
Freeing himself from the confines of his breeches, his engorged cock at full attention, he swiftly impaled her, causing Mara to cry out in sheer elation.
