What Happened at Midnight(31)

He stopped. “Does it hurt?”

“Only a little. But it also feels so, so right.”

“And this?” He gave an experimental thrust.

“Yes,” she said. “Again.”

“As you command.” He kissed her throat and then thrust again.

“Yes,” she whispered.

More encouragement than that he did not need. He let loose all his pent-up desire. The complexities of reality dissolved around them. He fit right where he was. Nothing mattered but that she was there, and she was his.

Her legs locked around him, drawing him in. And he took—took it all, the warmth of her body, the pleasure she gave him, the entirety of Mary beneath him.

“Christ,” he swore. She was his. She was his. And then, with his crisis upon him, he knew the truth. No. He was hers. He came hard, feeling it from head to toe, every last thrust overwhelming him.

Their hands were joined. Their breathing rose and fell together. For a moment, they were one.

Then her breath caught. She moved; he disengaged, and like that, they were not one any longer, but two.

“Heavens,” she said. “That was…”

Amazing? Extraordinary? Perfect?

“That,” he said roughly, “was something we need to do again. Often. Quite often. Maybe soon.”

She let out a little laugh.

“Maybe,” he suggested, “in five minutes.”

She shifted underneath him. “Mmmm. Maybe. In a day.”

“Then perhaps we can figure out how to marry between now and then.” He folded his arms around her. “Marry me. I can’t imagine sharing my life with anyone other than you.”

She sighed next to him. “There’s so much I need to say, so much I want to talk to you about. But we’ve come to a true understanding. I think—”

“Oh, bloody Christ,” he said aloud, remembering everything.

She stopped. “What? What is it? Did you forget something?”

“Yes,” he said bitterly. “I did.” He sat up, reaching for a shirt. “I forgot to tell you that I am, in fact, a complete ass.”

“I think I would have noticed if you were.” She sounded puzzled. But her fingers found his hand. “Come, John. After everything I’ve told you, surely you don’t fear this.”

He took a deep breath. “Do you recall when I said I wanted to be your friend? At the time, I intended nothing of the sort. I just wanted to make you feel comfortable enough to tell the truth.” He set his head in his hands. “I lied to you. Worse.” He couldn’t stop himself. “I told you I was doing something for your benefit, when in truth I was doing it for me.”

She didn’t say anything. But he could feel her in the dark, bringing her knees up and hugging them for comfort. “That’s quite a bit to take in.” Her voice had lost the rough, pleased warmth of a few minutes ago. Her tone was cool. He could feel her withdrawing from him.

“I hurt you,” he said. “I never meant to.”

But that wasn’t true either. There’d been a time when he was so angry that he hadn’t cared if his actions had hurt her. He tried again.

“I love you,” he said. “That’s not a lie. I should have said something before, but…well, I didn’t.”

It sounded wrong to his own ears.

“I can hardly hold it against you,” she said slowly. “I was not always honest with you.”

I don’t love you. It still smarted that she’d been able to say that. That she’d walked away once. He blew out his breath. “Do you mean about your father, or when you told me you didn’t love me?”

There was a long pause. “I lied to you about my father,” she said thickly.

“Did you love me? Did you say you didn’t at the end just to make me leave you alone?” He wouldn’t shout. He wouldn’t. “Did you love me?”

“I don’t know! At the time, I didn’t even know who I was or how I would survive. The last thing I could think about was whether I loved you.”

“And what of your piano-playing? Why did you never mention that you’d given up the possibility of playing professionally when you agreed to marry me?”

She shifted against him. “I might have. But I came home because I had a choice to make. There was the world my etiquette instructor described, a polite place where men and women quietly fell in love and had families. And then there was the harsh, solitary life my piano master showed me. I talked to a few truly dedicated female musicians, and they had nothing—no children, no sweethearts. Their only friends were their fellow musicians. I loved music, but it couldn’t be my whole life. I didn’t just want you. I wanted a normal, quiet life. I wanted to be just like the other girls.”

“Is that what you want now? To be normal like the other girls?”

Her fingers drifted down his chest. “No.” The word was soft, but he could feel her resolve filling her. “I couldn’t fit in. And I no longer wish to do so.”

So. That was that.

“This is,” she said quietly, “perhaps not the best time to tell you that I have business elsewhere tomorrow?”

“Elsewhere? Where elsewhere?”

“London. I’ll have to rise early to catch the train.”