The following is a love scene that just didn't fit quite right in the final version of Smuggled Rose, which also did not include the sad death of Margaret's companion, servant and housekeeper, Alice...

In the preceding chapter (also edited out) Michael carries Margaret up to her bedroom after she goes in search of comfort, distressed by the death of Alice...

When he arrived at her bedroom, Michael sat on the bed still holding Margaret in his arms.  She buried her face in his neck, and he could feel the warmth of her breath fluttering against his collar.  Her skin held the warm scent of woman mingled with the lighter perfume of roses.  His arms tightened.  He wanted to hold her until the world and all its turmoil simply vanished.

Margaret moved languidly against him.  A tear trickled down his collar as she rubbed her face against his skin.  Despite her grief and the almost savage protectiveness strangling him, he could not stop himself from wanting her.  From feeling the press of her body against his chest.  The sensation of her body resting against his thighs made him clench his jaws, trying to hold back the inevitable tide of arousal.

“Margaret,” he said.  His voice was harsh.

“Mmmm?”

“I’ve made a—slight miscalculation.”

“What?”  Her face was wan and sleepy.  The lids of her eyes drooped and the warm scent of her skin and hair filled him.

“You’ve got to get up.”

“Get up?”

“Immediately.”  He felt himself harden further beneath her weight as she shifted.  He gazed into her pale face.

At the deep rumble of his voice, Margaret raised her eyes sleepily to his face.  Too tired to focus, too tired to care, she wanted to stay cradled like a child in his arms.  To be safe and warm, and finally, to be loved.

The book in her hand dropped to the floor.  She stared at it for a moment and then settled herself more firmly in his lap.  She felt the changes in his body, his blood pulsating through his neck.  Her fingers were numb with cold, and she slipped her freezing hands into the opening in his shirt.  The heat of his chest nearly burned her icy skin.  He twitched at the sudden, tickling cold but did not pull away.  His solid, warm bulk cradled her. 

She smiled and then laughed, the sharp edge of hysteria making a sound as brittle as ice in a winter’s pond.  “I’m terrible,” she muttered.  “I can’t stop crying.  Or laughing.  I’m not sure which.  It hurts so much to know Alice won't be there to scold me in the morning!”

Her hands ran down the strong muscles toward his waist.  She craved his strength.  The fire in his blood drew her with its warmth and strength.

“Don’t do that!” he warned her.  His eyes searched her face desperately.  “Stop.”  His blue gaze found her mouth.

“I’m just so cold.  And I lo--,” she stopped.  Confused and horrified.  She could not say the words.  He had to be the one to admit it, first.  She could not open herself up without knowing how he felt.  There was too much pain already in her life.  More than she could bear.

She shivered, suddenly remembering Bridgewater’s cold hands on her skin and the sting of his crop against her forearms when he attacked her seven years ago.  Her eyes flew open, focusing on Michael.  As long it was his face above her, she was safe.

The look in Margaret’s green eyes frightened Michael.  She wanted him--he could see in the vulnerable depths of her gaze. 

His control snapped.  He gripped the back of her head and hungrily took her mouth.  She tasted warm and slightly sweet from Waverly’s calming potion.  He recognized the flavor of it and knew she was in no state to refuse him, but he could not stop.  A sense of urgency pushed him forward. He drank in her scent as a dying man would cling to the last trembling drops of life. 

When she tentatively touched his tongue with the tip of her own, he eased her back against the pillows and pinned her beneath him, sure she would protest.  Her knees pressed against his waist.  Her eyelids fluttered, and he caught her gaze.  Her eyes were almost entirely black.  Then she opened her thighs, pulling him against her as if her body would absorb him.

“Margaret?”

“Ummm...”  She frowned and then twined her fingers through his hair.  She brought his head down.  Her neck arched as his lips slid down the soft skin to the hollow of her throat.  He tasted roses and the clean scent of salt air like the ocean breeze.

Without a thought to the consequences, he eased away from her, studying her flushed face and the rapid rise and fall of her heavy breasts.  When her lips trembled in protest, he ripped off his shirt and unlaced his breeches, sliding them down.

“Can you bear my touch?” he asked.  One last question.  One last time.  He prayed she would not flinch away from him.

A small, breathy laugh greeted this query.  Then she focused her dark eyes on his face.  “As long as I keep my eyes open...so I can see it is you.”

For one moment he stilled as her words played along his nerve endings like the fluttering strings of a violin.  She wanted to see...him?  Triumph surged through him.

She watched him rip off his clothing, his body dark and hard--flaring with heat.  Her cool fingers traced the line of downy hair from chest to groin.  She paused, her touch light before she pushed through the dark curls, rubbing the edges of hard muscle. 

“I wish...” she said.  The words barely whispered past his cheek.

He raised his head from her neck, focusing his attention on her soft words.  “What, my love?  What do you need?”

She smiled, a tear running into the dimple of her cheek.  Her green eyes filling with overwhelming sadness and too much knowledge. “I wish I was young again.  Different...innocent...”

“No!”  He nearly shook her.  “No.  You are perfect.”

“I’m a mess,” she laughed, her voice shaking.  “I just want--”

“Tell me!  I’ll do anything--anything you need.  Just forgive me...”  He untied the string at the neck of her gown and pulled it down--terrified she would tell him to stop.  That she would withdraw.

A flush arose tingeing her pale cheeks pink.  She laced her fingers behind his head and brought his head down. 

“I need you.  I want to feel warm again.  Alive.”

Savagery filled him.  He tamped it down, frightened at the intensity of his feeling and sure he would lose her because of it.  Yet part of him soared with fierce joy.

He nibbled her full, lower lip before breaking her grip to caress her breast with his mouth.

A small sigh escaped her lips.  Her back arched slightly and her knees tightened against his hips.  One thin layer of muslin lay between them.  One barrier too much.  Michael pushed her nightdress above her hips and eased himself against her, his long fingers stroking her and feeling the flesh swell with moisture.

Then it was too late.  Too late to stop, too late to draw back.  As if aware of it, she slid her hands down the length of his back and pulled him against her.  It had been too late to stop for quite some time.

“There is nothing to forgive.”  The words sighed through the darkness.

He plunged into her urgently.  She flinched and then clung to him, pushing against him with equal fervor.  She would not let him go.  Her fingers dug deeply into his back, her lips finding his mouth as if he were the last link to this life.  Their lovemaking was not gentle as he had hoped, but desperate and frenzied with mutual need.

Their urgency was too much for both of them.  Too soon it was over.  He lay spent and brushed a strand of hair from her neck as he pressed his lips against the damp flesh below her ear. 

“I love you,” he murmured, for the first time feeling vulnerable and naked.  His fingers traced the steady pulse in her throat.

She sighed and said something unintelligible, her mouth curved in a drowsy half-smile of sleep.  He kissed the hollow of her throat and pulled her closer, covering her with the heavy protection of his arm and leg.

Lingering until dawn, he watched the smooth rise and fall of her breasts, his body still shielding hers from the morning chill.  She seemed so fragile in the pale, gray light.  He slid his fingers through the soft strands of her hair before he reluctantly got up.

He could not stay, but he would be back.