Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(88)

She shook her head against the pillow—in denial of him or their lovemaking or of her own urges, she was no longer sure. But he pursued her, catching her head between his hands, holding her and making her look at him as he thrust himself into her body.

“Do you love me, Hero?” His pale green eyes were full of torment. “Do you love me like I love you?”

And she cracked apart on his words, a stream of liquid heat pouring forth from her center. She trembled beneath him, trying to tear her gaze from his as her passion exploded within her. As rivers of sweet pleasure spread through her thighs and belly. As her heart fractured and re-formed.

But he wouldn’t let her look away. He held her gaze as his own eyes half closed and the muscles of his face, neck, and chest tightened. She watched helplessly as he convulsed above her, his big, strong shoulders gleaming with sweat.

He thrust into her once, twice, three times more and held himself there, tight against her, their bodies locked, as he orgasmed. His eyes pled silently with hers, defiant and proud.

Her vision blurred.

He slumped onto her, his chest heaving.

Hero closed her eyes, running her hands over his slick shoulders. She wanted to imprint this memory on her mind: the musk of their lovemaking, the weight of him on her, the sound of his harsh breaths in her ear. Someday, perhaps soon, she would want to draw upon this memory, to cherish and hold it in her heart.

He suddenly rolled off her, and her hands clutched after him, but he wasn’t leaving her bed. Not yet at least.

He gathered her close, nestling her bottom into his groin, surrounding her back with his wide shoulders. He brushed the hair from her nape and kissed her there.

“Sleep,” he said.

And so she did.

THE DAY WAS gray, but then every day seemed gray now, Silence thought as she gazed out the grubby kitchen window.

“Mamoo!” Mary Darling cried, clutching fretfully at the front of Silence’s dress with grubby hands. “Mamoo!”

“Oh, Mary Darling,” Silence sighed.

She’d forgotten to don an apron before sitting down to a late breakfast with the toddler. Now there were two smears of grease across her black bodice. She stared down at herself, feeling helpless and blank. She ought to rise and wash herself off—or at least find an apron—but she didn’t seem to have the energy.

“Give the child to me, sister.” Winter hung his round black hat by the door as he entered the kitchen, then placed a plain wooden box on the table. He plucked Mary Darling from her arms and flung the child in the air, catching her easily as she squealed and giggled.

Why must men fling babies about? Even Winter, the most staid of her brothers, was prone to the disease. “I’m always afraid you’ll drop her when you do that.”

“But I never do,” he replied.

“What are you doing home in the middle of the morning?”

“Half the boys were absent, sick from some type of fever, and the other half could not concentrate.” Winter shrugged. “I sent the remaining boys home. Where is everyone?”

“The children have already eaten. Nell has taken them for a morning walk.”

Winter glanced over the baby’s shoulder, eyebrows raised. “All of the children?”

“The ones big enough to walk anyway,” Silence said, feeling guilty. “I should have gone with her.”

“No, no,” Winter said hastily. He tucked the baby against his side and took down a plate from the cupboard. “We all must take a respite from work now and again.”

“You don’t.”

“I haven’t lost a dear one recently,” he replied softly.

She pressed her lips together for a moment, then rose and took the plate from her brother. Silence crossed to the hearth and filled the plate with porridge from a pot hanging there. She brought the plate back to the table and set it in front of him.

“Let me take Mary. She’ll have the porridge all over your coat in no time.”

“Thank you,” Winter said. He spooned up a mouthful of the thick porridge and murmured in contentment as he ate it. “That’s very good.”

“Nell made it,” Silence said drily. Her own cooking left much to be desired.

“Ah.” Winter swallowed and gestured to the wooden box. “I found that on the front step.”

“Did you?” Silence felt a spark of curiosity and looked at the box with more animation than she’d had in days. “Do you think it’s Mary Darling’s admirer?”

Winter smiled gently. “I could venture a guess, but it seems more logical to simply open it and find out.”

Silence stuck out her tongue at her brother. She turned the box over in her fingers. It was no bigger than the size of her palm. As she examined the box, she realized that although it was very plain, without marking or paint, the box was finely worked. It shone with beeswax. She frowned uneasily. The box was much dearer than Mary’s other gifts.

Mary Darling grabbed for the box, held so temptingly in front of her.

“Not yet, sweetie,” Silence said. “We need to see what’s inside first.”

She laid the box on the table, opened the lid, and gasped.

“What is it?” Winter half rose to look.

Silence turned the box so that he could see the strand of pearls coiled inside.

He was quiet a moment; then he lifted the necklace with his long, elegant fingers. He held the pearls up, watching as they gleamed in the light. “This is a very expensive present for a child.”