all but swooning.
She seemed to have lost her senses to everything else about her, yet she was acutely aware of everything about him, of every point at which they touched. She could feel the hardness of his member, imprisoned between them, pressing against her belly; the memory of his naked splendor flashed suddenly across her consciousness, like lightning shattering the night, and suddenly it seemed as if all the secrets, all the mysteries, all the childish wonderings and puzzlements, had been made clear to her, and she knew—knew what was to be, and how it would happen, and knew that it would be wonderful.
So that’s what it all meant, she thought, and laughed a silent, inward laugh to think what a fool she had been to be afraid, to dread the time when the experience would be hers. She had heard women speak in whispers of a wife’s duty as if it were some onerous obligation to submit to a man’s caresses, yet she had never known anything so splendid, so thrilling, as this moment.
Peter moaned, taking his mouth from hers and burying it in her hair. “God forgive me,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.
Yes, she thought, forgive us both, for she knew that he was no more to blame than she was. From the moment of their first meeting she had wanted this, without even knowing what it was that she wanted. Some instinct had drawn her to him, her body longing for his body, for this suffocating sweetness that robbed her of her will. It was almost painful to feel the forbidden pleasure that swept over her.
She felt him tugging at her robe and she moved away from him slightly, letting it drop to the floor about her feet. Wantonly she kicked it away, and moved once more against him, to find that he had shed his robe too. Hotly she pressed naked flesh against naked flesh, whimpering with an almost delirious delight as his hand moved down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, outlining the fullness of her hips, her buttocks, then still lower. She parted her thighs slightly, and felt the last trace of her shame vanish as he touched her there.
At last he bent and swept her up into his arms. Not taking his mouth from hers, he carried her across the room and lowered her to the bed. Though he had carried her with ease, his breath sounded harsh and labored as he lowered himself beside her, and then they were again touching from head to toe. His tongue found its way into her mouth, searching, probing, even as his hands cupped and fondled her throbbing breasts. She moaned softly and writhed against him. How hard his body felt against hers, his manly chest, his muscled limbs—and that pulsating hardness that pressed now against her thighs.
He moved over her, parting her thighs, and she felt the first burning touch at the center of her passion, gentle at first, then probing, insistent....
Her body spasmed involuntarily as she felt a brief, stabbing pain, and she cried out, twisting as if to evade him, but his body held hers pinned to the bed, and the next instant she felt him within her.
What have I done? she thought in panic, the pain having brought her momentarily back to earth, but as he began to move within her a new wave of pleasure swept over her, and she forgot shame and pain and began to move with him, tentatively at first, awkwardly, and then with increasing urgency, panting and gasping now, even as he was. She needed...she wanted...but she did not know what drove them faster and faster, their bodies slapping noisily together.
She felt as if she were soaring upward under a great dark cloud that blotted everything from sight, aching sweetly, their bodies melted into one. Something was driving her, urging her on, something closer...closer...something....
The cloud suddenly exploded in a blinding sunburst of sensation. She seemed to have left the earth, to have surrendered everything to this unbearable ecstasy. She heard distant sobs and realized they were her own.
Slowly she drifted back to earth, becoming once more aware of him as someone separate from herself. He was still moving within her, his breath coming faster and faster. His body gave a violent spasm and he plunged deeply, gasping and shuddering.
She clung to him weakly, blissfully, grateful for the pleasure and the deep sense of relaxation he had given her, and then, almost at once, she was asleep.
Beside her, Peter MacNair lay for hours staring at the ceiling. He felt guilt and remorse for what he had done, notwithstanding the almost unbelievable pleasure she had given him. A mere girl, and he had taken advantage of her innocence and her grief. It was no excuse that she had been eager for the experience, or that he hadn’t intended for that to happen until it had been too late to prevent it.
Worse, he couldn’t even make amends in the manner that he knew she expected. It was hopeless that he could take her to safety in Shanghai. It was a journey of more than six hundred miles. Ke Loo would certainly be watching the roads, and in his anger he might kill both of them. The mandarin was not a man who liked having his wishes thwarted.
Even in the unlikely event that they were able to evade Ke Loo, there were plenty of other dangers just now. A man traveling alone might stand a chance, but traveling with a woman, a mere girl at that, was hopeless. If it was only a matter of risking his neck, he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d risked it often enough in the past. But he didn’t want the girl’s life on his hands.
Like it or not, there was only one way to be sure of her safety. However much she dreaded and feared Ke Loo, at least she would be safe as his wife. No one would dare attack her then. Surely it was better to be alive in a Chinese palace than dead in a Chinese field?
Yes, he was convinced that for her own sake it would be best if she became Ke Loo’s wife. The question was, how to convince her of that? How did one tell a sixteen-year-old American girl, whose father had just died and whose mother would die within a few hours, that she must marry a Chinese prince who terrified her, and live the rest of her life in a foreign land, as little more than a slave?
It was not the sort of problem that made for an easy night’s sleep, he thought ruefully, watching the first grey light of dawn make its tentative advance across the ceiling.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lydia woke with a lingering smile on her face, though it quickly vanished as she recalled the events of the past few days.
Mama, she thought, scrambling out of bed. She felt guilty for having forgotten her in the arms of Peter MacNair, though she was grateful for the first good night’s sleep she’d had in ages. Her cheeks reddened when she thought of Peter, who was nowhere to be seen. She knew that she should regret what had happened the night before, but how could she regret anything so splendid? How could she regret falling in love? For of that there was no doubt.
She ran into the adjoining room and stopped short, giving a little cry of alarm when she saw the figure of a Chinese peasant leaning over her mother. Was this some angry coolie come to murder them or perhaps an agent of Ke Loo who had traced them here?
The figure straightened and turned toward her, and she saw that it was an old woman, her face like yellowed parchment.
“Who are you?” Lydia demanded, first in English and then, seeing the woman’s baffled expression, in Chinese.
“I am the nurse,” she explained.
“The nurse—but I don’t understand—”
“Gentleman come early, say mistress lady is ill. He pay, I take care.”
Lydia felt a wave of relief, mixed with new gratitude. How kind her lover was, and how generous. He had risen early, while she still slept, and arranged for a nurse to care for Mama. Now, no doubt, he was making arrangements for their flight.
She blushed again
