Love Me Forever by Johanna Lindsey
Recalling that pain again, she said in a small voice, “Why did you hurt me?”
He groaned and immediately started showering her with kisses. “Ah, darlin’, ’tis no’ something I wanted tae do. Did your mother never explain tae you about—ah, well—about a virgin’s blood having tae be spilled ’afore she can be truly joined wi’ a mon?”
She did recall something vaguely about that, but she’d been so young when that conversation had come up that she’d completely forgotten it. And she imagined that Lachlan was blushing profusely, having to mention it. She was doing some blushing herself.
“Are you saying we’ve been ‘truly joined’?”
That he might give those words a different meaning than she would didn’t occur to her.
His response was rather simple and to the point. “Can you no’ feel it?” he asked in a tone gone husky.
It was hard to feel anything at the moment other than his weight on her, because his body was so still. But then it wasn’t and her eyes flared wide as she felt a movement deep within her. No further pain, true, and a pleasant rush that felt like her blood had stopped, but was now racing to catch up to where it should be.
“Did you do that?”
He chuckled at the awe in her tone. “That I did, darlin’, and ’tis only the beginning. You’re going tae like the rest even better, you’ve my word on that.”
He proceeded to show her what he meant. Better? That hardly described the exquisite sensations accompanying his movements inside her. And he was kissing her again, deeply, so even if she thought to remind him that they shouldn’t be doing this now, before they were actually married, she didn’t find a chance to.
Not that she wanted to now. Too quickly, she was so immersed in pleasure that all thoughts ceased, leaving only her feelings to govern her responses. And she did respond, innocently at first, yet with an inherent passion that soon took over to match the rhythm he was creating. Fast, slow, she followed him, she kept up with him, so much feeling consuming her—and then too much. She cried out in surprise. It was so unexpected, the pinnacle he took her to, such a glorious burst of sensation and then the incredible aftermath, floating back down in a bubble of pulsing pleasure, the lethargy that followed, the complete sense of repletion.
How could she thank him for that? Was one supposed to thank the gentleman for introducing you to such sinful delight? She’d figure it out in the morning, she was sure. Just now she sighed happily, wrapped her arms around her gentleman’s neck, and promptly fell asleep.
16
Mary came into Kimberly’s room as she did each morning, to begin her chores. Kimberly roused gradually to the soft sounds the maid was making as she started a new fire. Familiar sounds. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to remind her that her life was irrevocably changed.
When she roused enough to lean up on an elbow and get her eyes open, she did so too quickly. A pain streaked through her temples. She immediately brought her hand up to cover her eyes from what seemed like the brightest, most glaring sunlight she’d ever experienced. The ball. She’d gone to the Wigginses’ ball and consumed too much champagne. So this was the result of the sins of overimbibing? A throbbing headache, an aversion to light, and a sense of dread?
Dread? What could she possibly have done to elicit that feeling?—kissing on the balcony, dancing repeatedly with the same man, those potent, sensual looks Lachlan kept sending her way. Lachlan…
It took one memory to trigger another, but they piled up swiftly now, and in the order she had received them. When she reached the final ones that had been acquired in this very room, her hand dropped back to the bed and she groaned inwardly. Impossible. She couldn’t have done that, allowed it to happen. The rest might be real memories, but that last, no, that had to be a dream. And yet, when had she ever dreamed anything that real—or that nice?
And then she spied her nightgown lying on the foot of the bed and with some trepidation, she glanced down to find that it wasn’t a second gown that she had taken out and then decided not to wear in favor of another one. She was actually naked beneath the bedding that was at the moment clinging to her breasts. The chill on her bare shoulders should have pointed that out sooner, but she supposed her headache was keeping her from noticing such minor things as that.
But hot color spread up her cheeks now, then just as quickly drained away, leaving her quite pale. Coincidence, that the one night out of her life that she hadn’t donned a nightgown to sleep in was the one night she dreamed she’d been made love to? She was afraid it wasn’t, afraid too that she was now utterly ruined…and now she knew why that feeling of dread had been lurking.
At least Lachlan wasn’t still there in the bed with her. She couldn’t imagine her embarrassment if he was, when it was Mary’s habit to enter her room in the morning without knocking first, so that she could start the fire and have the room warmed by the time Kimberly awoke. But then, what difference would it have made?
One big difference, actually. Mary loved to gossip, and being only recently employed, held no real loyalty to Kimberly that might keep her mouth shut. But though she’d been spared that embarrassment, she was still ruined. Young women of good breeding just didn’t do such things as she’d done and…
She groaned again and buried her head under the covers, hoping Mary would simply leave her alone to her misery. She couldn’t understand how she could have veered so far off the straight and narrow path, she who’d never done anything untoward in her life. The only somewhat suspect thing she’d ever done was to defy her father and refuse to end her period of mourning, and rightly so, since it would have been merely to accommodate her fiancé’s gambling debts. That bounder. If Maurice hadn’t been unreasonable she wouldn’t be in this predicament and…and…
She was working herself into a fine panic, and all because she was forgetting one little fact. She sighed as she remembered it now, that she had concluded last night that Lachlan MacGregor would suit her quite well for a husband. That she hadn’t been exactly clearheaded when she’d come to that decision was—well, that hardly mattered now.
She had decided to marry him, and now she couldn’t change her mind even if she wanted to. They’d made love. That was to be done only with one’s husband—or in her case, one’s soon-to-be husband. And she could find no fault with him in that area. It was something she was very much going to enjoy doing with him on a regular basis—as soon as they were officially wed. She could have wished he’d waited until they actually were married to show her how nice that part of wedded life was going to be, but he hadn’t, and she would bring him to task for that later, to be sure.
She at least wanted to know why he had come into her room to wake her with his kisses, and proceeded from there to seal their fate. He’d mentioned some nonsense about her telling him she wanted him. But that was ridiculous. Of course she’d done no such thing.
Yes, she’d consumed more champagne than was obviously good for her, and because of it, her memory was a bit fuzzy as to even why she’d decided to marry Lachlan in the first place. But she would never have been so bold as to tell him she wanted him, even if it were so, especially when in her innocence, she wouldn’t even have known it were so—would she?
She recalled sensing that she was missing something when he was making love to her, but she hadn’t known what it was, could never have imagined the incredible pleasure it turned out to be. She knew now what wanting him meant, but she hadn’t known at the ball, as he had implied.
She heard the door click softly shut and sighed, thankful that Mary had taken the hint that she wasn’t ready to get up yet. She would have liked to lose this problem, at least temporarily, by going back to sleep, but she was sure sleep was something she’d never do again.
However, she hadn’t wanted to face her maid just yet. She was positive that the girl would take one look at her and somehow know what she’d done last night. And she wasn’t being fanciful. Her own guilt would likely tell the whole story at a glance. Yet
She would have to find the duchess and tell her she needn’t plan any more social engagements on her account. Hopefully, Megan would be relieved. Kimberly would have been relieved as well, to have the matter decided, if it had been decided some other way. And she would have to speak to Lachlan, just to make sure he knew they were getting married. It was possible, she supposed, though not very likely, that he hadn’t realized that yet.
It took two hours for her to bolster herself with courage and decide that her changed status wasn’t really visibly apparent. The only thing that had been visible, proof positive in fact, had been the stains on her sheets. But she had immediately disposed of those herself, before Mary had a chance to see them. She prayed the housekeeper wouldn’t notice.
She had dressed in one of her new gowns, a light green that seemed to intensify the color in her eyes, making them, as one of her nicer features, more prominent. And without Mary’s help, since the girl showed no signs of returning without being summoned, the coiffure she managed was rather loose. But she had to admit, it was becoming that way, at least it was with the new feathery cut to her bangs. In fact, she was quite pleased to find that she appeared almost as pretty as she had looked last night in her formal finery. And it was a relief that she could be pleased about anything this morning.
Lachlan, unfortunately, didn’t answer the knock on his door. After she had stood there for nearly a minute reinforcing her courage before rapping her knuckles on it, his absence was deflating. Seeing him for the first time after last night was not going to be easy by any means. Never had she been so intimate with another person, and she was afraid his knowledge of her was going to render her tongue-tied and too embarrassed to broach the subject of their marriage.
It had to be done, however. And if he wasn’t still sleeping, which was a possibility since it wasn’t quite midday yet, and they had returned so late from the ball, then she needed to find him.
Kimberly had to allow that it would be prudent to speak to him before the duchess. After all, she was going to tell Megan that they were getting married, and he really ought to be apprised of that fact first, since he might not take kindly to hearing about it from someone else. Although she assumed he had to expect it, after the kind of intimacy they’d shared. But it was only common courtesy to let him know she was agreeable to the match, just in case he might be thinking otherwise.
Questioning each servant she came across about his whereabouts—oh, they’d each taken full note of him in passing, and probably with their mouths hanging open too—she was led first to the breakfast room, empty now, then the terrace, cold and empty now, then the library, where she stopped in the doorway, having found him.
But he wasn’t alone.
The duchess was also there, apparently searching for a book on one of the higher shelves, since she was halfway up a ladder. Lachlan was holding the ladder steady for her, though it seemed a sturdy enough ladder not in need of his help, that help merely putting him closer to the lady.
Kimberly was about to draw their attention to her presence when she heard Lachlan ask Megan in a somewhat frustrated tone, “You dinna believe I could love you? Is that what you’re saying?”
Megan didn’t even bother to glance down at him to reply, “I believe you are simply enamored with this face of mine, which has forever been a problem for me. Think about it, Lachlan. What you feel, or think you feel, can’t be real when you know absolutely nothing about me.”
“I ken you have been constant in my thoughts this last year. That is more than passing fancy.”
“Perhaps because I was the bird that got away?” Megan suggested.
“I’m no’ so grasping that I mun have everything I have a wee desire for.” Lachlan’s tone had passed mere frustration now, as if he considered himself gravely insulted.
Megan’s sigh was loud as she plucked a book off the shelf and climbed down the ladder to face him. “This is all redundant, Lachlan. How many times must I repeat that I love my husband? No man could make me happier than he does. So whatever you feel or think you feel, I would appreciate it if you would henceforth keep it to yourself. You’re here to find a wife, and a rich one as I understand it, who will solve the distressed state your stepmother left you in when she absconded with your inheritance. It’s high time you set your mind to that, don’t you think? And find one who isn’t already in love with someone else and already happily married.”
Kimberly had heard enough, too much actually, and if she was noticed now by either of them, she would likely expire on the spot. So she stepped quickly to the side of the door, putting the wall between her and the occupants of the room. Then she ran for the stairs further down the hall, something she would never ordinarily do since it wasn’t the least bit ladylike, but that was an indication of just how upset she was.
But when she reached the upstairs hall, she stopped and leaned back against the wall there as the full magnitude of her predicament caught up with her. Her groan was audible as she closed her eyes and banged her head back against the wall a number of times.
Lachlan MacGregor wasn’t going to marry her, he was still in love with Megan St. James. Why had she thought that had ended? Just because he’d kissed her, and more than once? Just because he’d made love to her? How naive could she be? One of the oldest professions in the world supported the contention that a man didn’t have to be in love with a woman in order to make love to her.
Apparently he’d merely toyed with her, perhaps out of boredom or even the frustration she’d witnessed, because he wasn’t making any progress with the woman he really wanted. And from what she’d just overheard, it didn’t sound like he ever would make any progress there. Yet where did that leave her? Socially ruined and without a husband—well, not really ruined, with no one but her and Lachlan aware of it. Not yet anyway. But there were two things that could happen to change that real quick.
She might not have known much about lovemaking, how to go about it or what to expect from it. But it was nearly universally known that babies were created from that sort of thing. Not always, but sometimes. And she would have to face that sometimes and hope it didn’t visit her from her one indiscretion.
If she could be that lucky, she would at least have time to face the second thing that could see to her ruination in quick order. If and when she received a proposal of marriage, she would have to own up to what she’d done before she actually accepted. She would have to tell the gentleman that she had—that she was no longer—well, that she wasn’t quite as pure as she ought to be.
She wasn’t so cowardly that she would keep it secret and hope he wouldn’t notice. There had been a major scandal in her town a few years back because a groom had been able to tell, in some mysterious way, that his bride wasn’t pure. He’d let the entire town know it and insisted on an annulment because of it. So men were able to somehow know.
But if she owned up to her own disgrace, her gentleman could either be generous and accept her as she was, or be furious and let all and sundry know about it.
She could just imagine her father’s reaction if that happened. He would either disown her outright in his fury, which was highly possible. Or he would have to literally buy her a husband, and she wouldn’t have much choice in the matter of who if it came to that.
And then that voice she was coming to know so well asked her, “Are you hiding up here, Kimber? Or is it daydreaming you’re doing?”
17
Kimberly slowly opened her eyes. That her head was still dropped back against the wall allowed her to see Lachlan’s face immediately. He was wearing a tender expression as he looked down at her. That, more than anything else, gave her the strongest urge to slap him soundly.
Of course, she wouldn’t do anything of the sort. Slapping wasn’t the least bit ladylike and…
She moved away from the wall with her arm swinging in the direction of his face. Her palm connected with his cheek shar
But she was surprised that she’d done it. Lachlan was, of course, even more surprised. And before he recovered, she almost slapped him again, just because he was surprised and hadn’t expected it, when his behavior practically demanded it.
But she managed to restrain herself now, and instead said with all the contempt she could muster, “You are despicable beyond redemption. Stay away from me, MacGregor, or I will not be responsible…”
She didn’t finish. She was about to cry, and as far as her pride was concerned, it wouldn’t do at all for him to witness the emotional state he’d brought her to. So she retreated, running down the hall instead. Running again—she didn’t even notice this time.
When she reached her room, she dropped back against the door, her hands fisted and pressed hard against it. She didn’t want to cry. She wasn’t the sort who condoned self-pity. But she had so much emotion welling up in her. At least half of it was anger, however, and she concentrated on that to hold back the tears.
And then she was shoved forward as the door opened behind her. The gall of him!
“This is my room, MacGregor, not yours! How dare you enter here again without permission?”
His expression was thunderous. He’d obviously recovered fully from his initial surprise, and felt himself undeserving of her attack. In fact, his temper was on the border of exploding.
“Again?” he said in a barely contained roar as he slammed the door shut behind him. “Are you implying I wasna invited in previously?”