Page 22 of A Lady Never Tells
She met his gaze. “Yes, always,” she told him. “Come inside me.”
Max didn’t need any more words. He pushed himself inside her, and as he filled her, she felt complete. Happiness overwhelmed her. She hadn’t thought she would ever feel an emotion that had eluded her for so long. This man gave her everything. She knew then that she loved him and always would.
There was no room for mistrust, hurt, or insecurities in that moment. As he slid in and out of her, Eden gave into her desire. She gave into her love. When she climaxed again, she held on to him, and this time she remembered screaming his name.
What was she going to do without him? Surely he wouldn’t want her when he realized the truth. She hadn’t been honest with him. This was not their first time together. Would he hate her when he remembered her? Was this truly the last time she’d ever feel his arms wrapped around her?
Maxwell woke alone in the cabin. Where had Eden gone? He dressed quickly and went in search of her. He went outside and glanced around. The rain had stopped and must have stopped a while ago. Her horse was gone. He was still tied where he’d left the stallion. He cursed. Had she run scared? Maxwell didn’t really blame her. Their passion had been a bit overwhelming. It had been far greater than he could ever have imagined.
He also realized something else. Something he should have noticed much sooner than today. She was his mystery woman. Was that the reason she had resisted him for so long? Did she believe he’d be mad? If so, she couldn’t be more wrong.
Ever since that night he hadn’t been able to forget her. If he had known her identity, he would have gone to her much sooner. He didn’t think he’d ever see her again. She had admitted that she never went to the Duke of Sinbrough’s masquerades, and would unlikely ever attend again. It was one night and one night only.
He’d accepted those terms. Yes, he regretted them when she’d left him without a by your leave, but they’d agreed to no promises. No future. Max did not accept that now, and she damn well wouldn’t run from him ever again. She had to understand that she was his. His. He’d made her promises this time. A promise of a future, of trust, and his heart…
Maxwell smiled. His little widow didn’t know it yet, but she was going to be his duchess. She wanted to avoid a scandal. Well, he would use that to his advantage. If she didn’t want the ton to know about their time together, both at that masquerade, and at the cabin, she’d be his wife.
He wasn’t above using that against her if need be. It was far better to ask for forgiveness later. He would have the rest of his life to win her, but he had to claim her first. With a plan in place, he whistled as he rode his horse back to the castle. It didn’t take him long to reach the stables. He gave his horse to a stable hand and went to the castle. There was a ball that night, and he planned on waltzing with one Lady Moreland, and by the end of the night, he’d be her betrothed.
He strolled into the castle as one of his friends was coming down the large staircase. “What has you so happy?”
Maxwell met Crawford’s gaze and his grin widened. “What has you so miserable?”
The marquess scowled. “I hate the rain,” he told him.
“And why is that?” Maxwell lifted a brow. “It never bothered you before.”
“I’ve never been trapped in a castle with a plethora of unattached ladies vying for my attention while it poured before.” He narrowed his gaze. “Where were you during the storm? You were definitely not in the drawing room.”
“I was out riding when the storm hit.” He didn’t offer any other information. “Why were you with all the ladies?”
“Portia insisted I play charades.” He shuddered. “Since I had to play, I convinced Lyonsdale to as well. So at least I wasn’t the only one tortured to an inch of my life.” Crawford wasn’t usually prone to dramatics. He had to wonder what the real issue had been. He couldn’t fathom what calamity could have caused him to be on the verge of histrionics. Almost like a female… Maxwell probably shouldn’t mention that fact to the marquess. Something told him he’d regret the words if they left his mouth.
Maxwell laughed. “I’m certain it wasn’t that terrible.”
“No,” Crawford said. “It was worse. They insisted on teams again. The only good thing was, I wasn’t with Lady Roslyn again. Portia was my partner.” He frowned. “For some reason that woman hates me.”
“Portia?” Maxwell pushed his brows together in confusion. “Why would your sister hate you?” Lady Portia didn’t normally have a mean spirit.
“No,” he said waving his hand dismissively. “Not her. Lady Roslyn. Everything I say puts her on edge.” He sighed. “At least that is done. Though I did lose. Portia isn’t very good at charades.”
Crawford had lost at archery too. “Do you owe Lady Roslyn two boons, then?” He hadn’t been there for charades and didn’t know what rules had been set in place. He did recall that Eden owed him a boon. One he fully intended to collect later.
“I shudder to think what she is going to demand of me.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “This house party is dragging on far too long. When is the wedding again?” He’d never seen his friend so distraught.
“Not for a sennight.” Maxwell laughed. “I’m certain you will prevail. Are you going to dress for the ball?” It was a dinner ball. There would be dancing, then dinner, and then more dancing. This ball was exclusively for the guests of the house party. The one before the wedding would be much larger and probably fancier.
“Yes,” he said, then groaned. “I have to be there for Portia. Why is my mother insisting she has one final season? She clearly doesn’t wish to wed.” The marquess dragged his hand through his dark hair, leaving it tussled in the wake of his fingers.
Maxwell shrugged. “I couldn’t say. I don’t know your mother or your sister all that well.” He grinned. “I’ll see you at the ball. I need to bathe and dress. I’m soaked to the skin and need to warm my frozen flesh.”
The truth was, he was still heated from his lovemaking with Eden, but he wouldn’t tell Crawford that. He did need to bathe and dress for the ball, though. Maxwell left the marquess alone and practically skipped up the stairs. Happiness filled him. She would be his. Forever. He knew it to the depths of his soul. He was going to love her for the rest of their lives, and she would not regret becoming his wife. Maxwell fully intended to ensure she was always happy.
Twelve
Eden nibbled on her bottom lip. She shouldn’t have run from him. Surely he was going to be angry with her. It was a cowardly thing for her to do, but she’d been afraid. Not of him, but of her own feelings. When he was around, she always felt so much it overwhelmed her. She’d stared at him while he slept, and it had taken everything inside of her not to lean down and press her lips to his. To wake him with a kiss, and demand he make love to her all over again.
She’d remembered everything. From the first time he’d pressed his lips to hers, to the feel of him inside of her as they made love. It wasn’t the same as it had been with her husband. She’d never loved him. But with Max… Her heart was his and always would be. Even if she knew deep down, she could never have him. She could never call him hers. She would always be his. There was no other man for her. That was her truth. Everything came back to her past, the scandal that tainted her. He deserved far better than what she could offer him.
