Catherine Archer - Lord Sin

As if sensing her uncertainty, Ian’s fingers tightened on hers. “I desire you, Mary. I should think that even an innocent like you would know that.”

A thrill of honeyed warmth suffused her even as she answered, “I don’t know. I don’t think it would be…” There had been times when he had looked at her as if…well, she’d been too afraid of her own reactions to really allow herself to understand what that look meant.

There was no denying it any longer. Mary had been attracted to Ian from the first moment she saw him riding across the moors toward her. Even the discovery that he was the infamous “Lord Sin” had not dulled her interest, no matter how she had tried to tell herself he was not an honorable man. And was he not disproving that even now, by asking her to marry him? It was completely honorable, this proposal he offered her. And did she not in her most secret heart rejoice that such a bold and handsome man would want her, Mary Fulton?

Still, a small voice inside her cried out in indecision. She shook her head and repeated, “I do not know.”

He halted her with a finger on her lips. “Don’t think, Mary. Just say yes.”

When he saw her continued hesitation he went on, his tone rich and persuasive. “Or do you prefer the future you have told me of? Do you wish to spend your life in another woman’s house, looking after her children? Is that what you really want for yourself, Mary? You were meant for so much more than that.”

She pulled her hand away from the persuasive warmth of his touch and rubbed her forehead. “This is too sudden, too unexpected. I don’t know how to answer you. I had not even thought.”

To her utter amazement he stood and drew her, completely unresisting in her surprise, into his strong arms. His mouth, warm and pliant, descended to hers.

A current of heat swept her as his lips played over hers. It became a torrent as his mouth encouraged hers to open and his tongue flicked over hers. Mary moaned as the sensations pooled in her belly. Her breasts swelled against the hardness of his chest and she pressed herself closer to him to relieve their aching.

When Ian drew back, she looked up at him, her eyes heavy with languor. He spoke huskily. “Can you say you have not thought of that, Mary, of the way it feels when we touch, kiss? I have thought of little else since I first kissed you.”

His frankness and her own innate honesty brought forth a truthful, albeit befuddled reply. “I have thought of it.”

Ian placed his hand on the back of her head and drew her to him, kissing her again with a mastery that left her head swimming, her blood pounding in her veins. Weakly she leaned against him.

He felt so strong, so very solid in an unknown world. This was her opportunity to have her own home, a husband…perhaps children. Mary had always been strong, looked after those around her, behaved with a maturity far beyond her years. Was this her invitation to throw caution and common sense to the four winds?

His breath was hot on her forehead. “Say you will marry me.” Again his mouth found hers. Those mobile lips sucked and played at her own until she could barely stand the depth of heat that washed through her and left her knees weak. He drew back only slightly, punctuating each word he uttered with a kiss. “Say…yes…Mary.”

Unable to think of anything save being in his arms, of being held and kissed by this man, Mary nodded. When she replied, she was a little surprised by her own breathlessness, her own capitulation. “Yes, yes. I will marry you.”

Mary looked at herself in the gilt-edged mirror, hardly able to believe that the woman staring back at her was herself. Her hair had been arranged in an elaborate coiffure, with only a few soft tendrils left free to curl about her nape and temples. The eyes that stared back at her were luminous with an excitement she did not wish to acknowledge.

She was marrying Ian, but not because she loved him. Oh, no, Mary did not have any illusions as to that. She was doing it because it might be her one opportunity to have a home, a family. It also helped that Ian seemed to accept her as she was, to not fault her for her outspoken ways or education. The few men of her station whom she had chanced to meet had felt quite differently.

Behind her she heard Victoria say, “You may go now, Betty.” She heard the door close behind the maid only a moment later.

Mary looked at her friend’s reflection. Her eyes met Victoria’s troubled ones as she asked, “Mary, are you sure this is what you want?”

Frowning, Mary turned to face her. “Yes. Why do you ask? I know it has been sudden, but I would think you would be pleased for me.”

Victoria took Mary’s ice-cold fingers in hers. “Yes, but Ian. Why him? That is the part I don’t understand.”

Rising, Mary began to pace the luxurious bedchamber where she had spent the previous night. The soft white carpet muffled her agitated footsteps. “Victoria, why would you be so surprised that I have agreed to this wedding? You even thought of marrying the man yourself.” She looked closely at her friend. “You said that in spite of his reputation as ‘Lord Sin,’ Ian…” She paused, the name feeling strange and intimate on her lips. “You felt he was a good man, that he would have made a decent husband.”

Victoria’s gaze was beseeching. “But I was in love with Jedidiah.”

Mary threw up her hands in exasperation. “Well, that has cleared up any confusion I might have over what you are trying to say to me.”

Victoria laughed, though there was a sad quality to it. “That is the most like yourself you have sounded in weeks. You have been through so much I fear you have not been yourself. I wish you would think about that. You could at least consider waiting for a time before you marry. You are in mourning.”

“As far as mourning is concerned, I know my father would not wish for me to wait because of any societal dictum. He felt that death is only a passing over into another, better place.”

Victoria nodded. “After having been taught by your father I know that what you say is true. He would have been appalled at your doing that. It is your own state of loss that I am speaking of. You should wait until you are more yourself, Mary.”

“But I do not want to wait.” How could Mary explain that a part of her knew that what she was doing was completely out of character, that if she allowed herself to stop—to think—she might not go through with the marriage? All her life Mary had done what she must, cared for her father, pushed her dreams to the back of her consciousness with unwavering determination.

Then Ian had come and offered her a shoulder to cry on. He had offered the prospect of security, not just monetarily—which was of little import to Mary—but in an emotional sense. In the few days she had known him, Ian had been irritating and male and quite maddening, but he had also held her when she needed someone. No one else had really ever done that, had ever seen past the wall of strength she presented to know how much she wanted that.

How could they, when she herself had not even realized it?

But Victoria did not know any of this and she continued with her train of thought. “Mary, I do not wish to badger you, but I hope you will reconsider. I’m sure Ian would understand if you decided to postpone the wedding. It is true that I considered marrying Ian, but there was a major difference in our situations. I was in love with Jedidiah at the time. You are not in love with someone else. What if you fall in love with Ian? He is charming and handsome, and although I am married, I would be blind not to see that there is a strange compelling sensuality about him. Can you tell me you do not see that?”