Her Favorite Duke (The 1797 Club #2)(17)

Perfect for her.

Except that he was forever out of reach. At first because she’d been far too young for him to consider. Then because James had set her marriage to Graham, ending all possibility of a different life or future.

But tonight Simon moved toward her and she could almost pretend this was their wedding night. That he was hers and tonight he would make her his. Her body reacted to that fantasy, her nipples abraded by the rough blanket and her thighs getting wet with excitement she should not feel.

He turned his back to her, and she supposed she was meant to close her eyes. She did so, but only partially, still wickedly watching him as he dropped the blanket around his waist and added it on top of the covers that would protect them from the outside temperatures. Her mouth went totally dry as she stared at his muscular backside, his strong thighs. Then he turned and she almost gasped out loud and gave away her naughty observation of him. His member—she knew men called it a cock—was…well, it was very large and it appeared to be semi-hard. How he roamed about in the world with that thing between his legs, she did not understand.

He pulled the blankets back and she squeezed her eyes shut the rest of the way as he moved himself into position next to her. The bed was narrow, only barely fitting two people, and their arms touched as he settled into place on the flat pillow.

“Good night, Meg,” he said, his voice rough and low beside her.

“Good night, Simon,” she whispered back as she stared up at the ceiling.

They lay like that for she didn’t know how long. It could have only been moments, but it felt like hours. She was so fully aware of the brush of his arm against hers. The weight of his body on the uncomfortable mattress. The sound of his breathing in the silence of the room.

Her mind spun on all of it, wildly out of control. No matter how much she wanted it, this night should not have happened. And Simon would likely suffer for it more than she would. Oh, people would whisper and hiss and she might lose some friends who judged her or called her a wanton without any basis for such censor. But once she married Graham, people’s memory of this mistake would fade.

But for Simon, the effects would likely go on longer. And she could imagine James and Graham would not be happy with him. She would protest their judgment, of course, but would it matter? She could well picture James telling Simon he shouldn’t have followed her at all or should have taken a horse to get back sooner or should have, should have, should have…

Her upset, created during the party when she’d seen Simon and Graham standing together—the future that had been thrust upon her and the one she would never have—had caused a great deal of problems now. And for the one person she would never have hurt in this world.

She rolled slowly, facing him in the dark. “Simon?” she whispered.

There was no answer. His face was turned slightly, so she couldn’t tell if his eyes were closed or open.

“Simon?” she repeated, this time with less certainty.

“What?” he responded, his voice tight.

“I-I’m sorry I ruined today,” she said slowly. “I’m sorry I caused all this trouble by running off from the party.”

He didn’t say anything, but he shifted just a little. His shoulders relaxed a fraction. She took that as the encouragement he didn’t say out loud and continued.

“I feel like I should explain myself,” she said with a sigh. The darkness, the intimacy of lying in a bed together, it all made it seem safe to say what was in her heart. Not all of it, of course. But some. If Simon understood, then perhaps this would be easier, somehow. “I-I don’t want to marry him.”

There, the words were out. Words she had never spoken to any other soul. She’d somehow expected when she said them for them to lose some of their rotting power. But instead, it made her anxiety about her future all the stronger.

“Meg…” Simon said, his tone a warning.

But she was past warnings now. Now the words seemed to fall from her lips even if she didn’t want them to. “It isn’t that I don’t like Graham, or that he isn’t a fine match. God knows he is a fine match—any woman would fight to be in my place. But that doesn’t change the facts. And the fact is that there isn’t a connection between us.”

“Meg,” Simon said again, this time with more urgency.

“Not the connection that there is when I’m with—”

Simon rolled unexpectedly, pushing her onto her back on the mattress, his hands coming to grip her upper arms as he loomed over her, his body covering half of hers as he stared down into her face with wild eyes. Her jovial, playful friend Simon was not there in this man’s face that was so close to her own. He had been replaced by a dark, hard, passionate Simon who held her down and made her body ache even more with a wanting that was wrong and right all at the same time.

“Stop,” he hissed. “Don’t say another word, Margaret, or I’ll—I’ll—”

What little breath she had left in her lungs caught in her throat. “What? What will you do?” she asked.

He groaned deep in the back of his throat and then his mouth crushed down on hers. Simon was kissing her. The shock of that was so powerful she didn’t think to fight it.

His grip loosened on her arms and she lifted them up, wrapping them around his neck and drawing him closer as relief flooded her. It was like a dam had been broken, one built from years and years of stolen glances and hidden longing. Now everything she’d ever felt or wanted from this man was cascading over her and she was lost to its power. To his power.