“Ooooo,” she gasped, lifting her skirts higher and trying to step out of her drawers.

Reeve took one of her ankles into his hand and lifted it free, setting her foot down a good distance from its counterpart. Then, with his fingers, he fondled and caressed Maggie until she was moaning senselessly.

“You’ll move your things to my room, Maggie,” he said gruffly, between brief, fiery tastings of her sweetness.

“Ummm,” Maggie pleaded, and then she gave a little cry as Reeve took her full into his mouth and began drawing at her.

She flung her head back and forth against the door, and her hair, always ready to tumble down, flew about her shoulders in cascades. Still, Reeve feasted.

“Oh, please, oh, please—” Maggie begged, all but blinded by the force of her need.

He drew on her in a long, excruciatingly pleasant motion of his lips, again and again, saying gentle and wicked things between samplings. By that time Maggie was feverish; she forgot about holding her skirt and plunged her hands into Reeve’s hair, desperate to end the teasing.

With an arrogant masculine chuckle, Reeve set about driving Maggie to the very edge of madness. There was a blinding burst of passion, an explosion that hurled her toward the sky, and she descended slowly, quivering.

Reeve rose to his feet and Maggie’s skirts fell back into place, though her breasts were still bare and proud. She was almost disappointed when he reached out and closed her hand over her bodice so that she was covered, but a second later he was lifting her off her feet, carrying her out of that dismal little room, and down the stairs to his spacious one.

Early the next morning Maggie awakened to find herself alone, and she knew before she read his note that Reeve had gone to sea. She was sad and frightened, but then she remembered his promise that they would be married as soon as he returned.

Humming, Maggie dressed hastily. Later that day the housekeeper moved her things from the attic room to Reeve’s.

Chapter 16

THE MOMENT MAGGIE ARRIVED AT THE VICTORIA THEAtre and walked in through the stage door, she was set upon by two costume women, clucking and sputtering over her gray woolen dress. “Not fit for a cleanin’ rag,” said one.

“It will never, never do,” added the other. Maggie flushed with embarrassment and then felt true relief when she saw Philip walking toward her, an angelic smile lighting his face.

“Good morning, Maggie,” he said, taking both her hands in his and giving them a reassuring squeeze. His amber eyes took in the pair of fluttering seamstresses with an expression of amusement. “Time for a fitting, is it?”

“Time and past, Mr. Briggs!” complained the smaller of the two women, giving Maggie’s dress a truly rueful look. “My goodness, but that’s ugly!”