Her Missing Marquess

by Scott, Scarlett

  He began at the top, plucking his way down her spine, cinching them tight. She straightened her back, inhaling. As he reached the base of her corset, just over her delectable rump, it took every modicum of restraint he possessed from telling the laces to go to Hades and cupping her bottom. His wife possessed the most luscious curves.

  “I have nothing but patience for you,” she told him, rather frostily.

  He retied the laces, then aided her in pulling up the damp fabric of her bodice. “On the contrary, my dearest wife. I think you do not have enough.”

  “You are fortunate I have any at all.” Her voice was tart as she pushed her arms through her sleeves. “I owe you nothing.”

  In her haste, she had skipped a button on her habit, leaving the high-necked collar woefully askew. He moved forward, taking command of the buttons, sliding them from their moorings.

  “What do you think you are doing?” she demanded, swatting at his hands. “You have no right to touch me with such familiarity.”

  “In fact, I do.” He met her gaze, pausing when he reached the skipped button. “You are my wife, and in the eyes of the law, I am perfectly within my rights to touch you whenever I wish. To require my conjugal rights from you as well.”

  Her eyes flared, her entire body stiffening. “The law does not make it right. I am not yours any longer, Jack. Not truly.”

  “You will always be mine, Nellie,” he told her. “Whether you like it or not. But you need not fret. I am helping you. What a poor lady’s maid you would make. You skipped a button. Imagine how it would look, the two of us returning to Needham Hall with your riding habit misaligned, obviously having been undone and then buttoned once more in haste. What would Tom say, should word reach him, hmm? I cannot imagine he would be as eager to wed you if he believed you fucked me in the midst of a thunderstorm.”

  Her mouth tightened. “Is that a threat, Needham?”

  Ah, so he was no longer Jack.

  Perhaps he had pushed his termagant wife too far. Just as well, for she had certainly done the same to him. “Of course not, wife. Here is not a threat but a promise: I aim to keep you. You are my wife, and if you think I am not going to fight with everything in me to win you back, to have you at my side where you belong, then you do not know me at all. You will be mine, but not through coercion or threats. You will be mine because what just happened between us was undeniable. You know it. I know it.”

  Her eyes were luminous, wide. “I will never be yours again. I want my freedom.”

  “Tell yourself you do not want me all you like, Nellie. We both know it is a lie.”

  Without bothering to listen for her response, he stalked from the folly, more determined than ever.

  Chapter Ten

  Nell could not sleep.

  She tossed to her right.

  Tossed to her left.

  The covers were twisted about her. She was too hot. Too cool. Her mind would not stop racing. Was she feverish? She pressed the back of her hand to her brow in the darkness. No. It would have been an excellent excuse. Perhaps the only reasonable one for what she had done.

  She had made love.

  With Jack.

  In the folly. In the midst of a thunderstorm.

  When Tom was returning in a matter of days to run away with her.

  She groaned, rolled to her belly, and buried her face in her pillow. What had she been thinking? How had she allowed herself to succumb to her weakness for him? She could blame her actions upon the thunderstorm, upon her fear something ill had befallen him as he tended to their mounts, upon her eagerness to gain revenge. Certainly, it was what she had told herself initially.

  But by the grim light of the moon, she had to admit that was a blatant, glaring, hideous untruth. She had made love with Jack because she had wanted to. Because, regardless of what had passed between them, regardless of the time and distance and hurt and distrust, she wanted him more than she had ever wanted any other man.

  More than she wanted Tom.

  “Saints preserve me,” she muttered into her pillow.

  What a fool she was. Had the past three years of heartache and loneliness and pain taught her nothing?

  Apparently not, because lying here in her bed alone, thinking of Jack next door, was making an achy need pulse to life between her thighs. Her pearl throbbed. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples hard. Longing thrummed in her blood. What a curse he was. To her heart, to her life.

  Why could he not have stayed gone? Why could he not have remained on the Continent, or wherever he had been in his travels? Why had she agreed to go riding with him? Why had the storm come up with such sudden force, leaving them with no choice but to seek shelter in the folly?

  It was the questions that were keeping her up. The questions and the infernal, blasted desire.

  She rolled over to her back and glared up at the shadows on the ceiling. She knew what was there regardless of the light—delicate plasterwork with scrolls and roses—but its intricate beauty was lost upon her now. All she could think about was him.

  Jack.

  On a frustrated sigh, she threw back the bedclothes and rose from the bed. Sleep was not forthcoming, it was clear. She walked to the windows on the far end of the room, parted the window dressings, and looked out into the night.

  Hot.

  She was so hot. The summer evening was hot. Her blood was hot. Her flesh was hot and hungry. Deep in her core, she wanted him again. She throbbed and ached. Why had she allowed him to touch her? Why had she allowed him inside her?

  Because now he was all she wanted. All she craved.

  No. She must put an end to this madness. Surely it was nothing more than old passions, long dormant, now reawakened. Surely she would feel this same way if it had been Tom she had been alone with in the folly, the storm raging all around them…

  A pained cry tore from her as she rested her head on the window, because she knew the answer. She would not have reacted similarly to Tom. She would not have kissed him breathless, and he would never have hauled her into his lap, nor would she have ground herself against his straining cock…

  She had to stop thinking about what had happened. She had to stop aching for Jack. He had broken her once, and she could not bear to allow him the opportunity to do so again. That was the difference between Tom and Jack: the danger to her heart. One posed none at all, and the other possessed a terrifying power to crush her.

  Beyond the leaden panes, the moon was large and full, high over the sky, glinting on the lake in beckoning silver. How alluring it looked in the darkness, filled with the promise of cooling her skin. Distracting her. Quenching her unanswered ardor.

  She had not gone swimming in years, not since she had been a wayward child. But there was something about the allure of the cool water sliding over her flesh that called to her. Perhaps that was the solution. Perhaps a nice, long swim would be the distraction she needed. If nothing else, it would certainly cool her off.

  Her mind decided, she donned her dressing gown and slipped into the dark hall. The walk to the lake was peaceful. Outside, the summer air was warm and redolent with the scent of mown grass and blooming roses as she made her way down the gravel path. The world was so quiet and still, nothing but a faint breeze and the hoot of an owl to disrupt the hush. The moon was so bright that she did not require any illumination to guide her.

  She stopped on the bank of the lake, then removed her robe and night rail, folding them into a neat pile. Night air kissed her bare skin, making her nipples tighten. If anything, the heaviness between her legs only increased. On a sigh, she waded into the water. When she was waist-deep, she dove forward on a long plunge.

  If her current state was any indication, she would need to swim the dratted lake all night to douse the fire in her blood. But she was determined. One way or another, she would drive Jack from her mind.

  What the devil was she doing, wandering about alone in the midst of the night?

  Jack raced through the darkness to th
e bank of the lake, heart pounding. He had not believed his eyes when he had seen the figure wandering along the path in the moonlight. Recognition had been instant. He would know her form anywhere—the sweet nip of her waist, the curve of her bottom, the elegant way she moved. The burnished curls cascading down her back were all too familiar.

  He had been pacing in his chamber, unable to sleep, when he had stopped before the window. Thoughts of Nell had sent him from his bed, where he had already taken himself in hand to no avail. He had been miserable, lying alone, knowing how very near she was—only a door separating them—and yet she was beyond his reach.

  They had returned to Needham Hall in the wake of the storm and their all-consuming passion in frigid silence. For the remainder of the day, she had once more cloistered herself within her apartments, refusing to emerge. He had swallowed his pride enough to knock, and she had wished him once more to hell.

  The night was hot enough, and his blood was simmering enough, for him to suppose he was already there.

  He jogged around a bend in the path, still no sight of his errant wife up ahead, when he heard a splash. Jack increased his pace, his lungs burning. And when he reached the bank of the lake, all he saw was a pile of cream-colored garments neatly folded in the grass and no Nell.

  “Nellie!” he called, his voice echoing over the surface of the lake.

  Silence met him.

  He tore at his dressing robe, flinging it to the grass.

  And then he waded into the lake. “Nell, damn you, answer me!”

  By God, did the woman’s recklessness know no bounds? He did not even know if she could swim. And yet not only had she been on a walk after midnight, all alone, she had gone into the lake. Alone.

  When he found her, he was going to throttle her. And then he was going to kiss her senseless. Or mayhap kiss her senseless first and throttle her second.

  The surface of the lake broke before him, Nell’s head popping up with a splash.

  “Nell, thank God,” he said, swimming toward her.

  “Jack?” She sounded vastly displeased.

  Whilst he was relieved. He reached her in a few strokes. The water was deep in this part of the lake, though not over his head. He caught her around the waist, hauling her against him.

  “Foolish woman.” In the moonlight, she was like a pagan goddess come to life. The urge to kiss her senseless returned. “What are you doing out here in the lake in the middle of the night?”

  She wriggled, trying to escape him, but the motion only made her soft breasts rub against his chest. The water of the lake was cool, but not cool enough to stave off a sudden bolt of lust. His cock rose insistently.

  “I am swimming, you sapskull.” She flattened her palms on his shoulders and shoved. “What are you doing out here? Following me?”

  “Looking after you,” he said grimly. “Someone must, since you appear to have no regard for yourself whatsoever.”

  Was her life nothing more than a series of scrapes, one after the next? Good God, he shuddered to think what had befallen her in his absence. Who had taken care of her for the last three years? Sidmouth?

  The thought dampened his ardor, but not enough to deflate his raging cockstand.

  “I do not need you to look after me.” Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “I have been managing just fine for the last three years, and I shall manage just as well for all the years to come, also without you.”

  “Without me?” He tightened his hold on her waist. “Is that what you truly want, Nellie? Because that is not what it felt like to me earlier today when you were riding my cock.”

  She gasped. “You wretched scoundrel. How dare you?”

  “What is the matter, darling?” he taunted, knowing he was being beastly and not giving a damn. She had pushed him to the edge. Who was he fooling? She had bloody well pushed him off the edge. “Do you not like to be reminded of how wet you were for me? How sweetly you came for me? Do you not wish to remember how deep inside you I was, how good it felt?”

  Her breath was ragged by the time he had finished. And so was his. Desire hummed between them. Undeniable. It was like the folly all over again.

  “Animalistic urges, nothing more,” she said, but her voice was low. Throaty.

  Her nails dug into his skin.

  The painful pleasure only made him harder.

  He surged forward, the water lapping around them. She was completely naked. Her skin silken and wet. His cock glanced over her folds. “Tell me you do not want me now.”

  The breath hissed from her. “I want to swim.”

  He was not letting her go that easily. He kept their bodies pressed together, his erection prodding her. “I did not know you knew how to swim.”

  “There are a great many things you do not know about me, Jack.” She was no longer wriggling. Nor was she trying to escape his hold. Instead, she moved closer.

  “Mayhap you ought to give me the chance to get to know them.” He brushed his nose against hers, his frustration giving way to tenderness.

  God, how he loved this woman.

  He loved her stubbornness.

  He loved her recklessness.

  He loved her when she had her hackles raised and when she lowered her defenses. He loved her sleepy in his rumpled bed in the morning, and he loved her in his arms at night. He loved her mouth. Her kiss. Her smile.

  Everything. Every part of her.

  “You had your chance,” she whispered.

  “I want another one.” He kissed her. A quick, chaste peck.

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “It is too late.”

  “So you told me before.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “It is never too late for love.”

  “Stop saying that.” Her voice broke. “Love. Stop telling me you love me. It is not fair.”

  “I do love you, Nellie.” He kissed the other corner of her lips. Then her ear. “I am desperately, foolishly, stupidly in love with you. I always have been, and I always will be.”

  “I do not believe you.” She moved again, trying to escape him at last, but all she managed to do was lodge his cock more firmly between her legs.

  He wanted inside her again. So badly, even his teeth ached.

  “Believe me,” he gritted, kissing her throat. Beads of wetness clung to her skin, making his lips wet.

  “I cannot, Jack. Let me go.” But she was not pushing him away any longer.

  “Never,” he vowed.

  “I want to swim.”

  “Stubborn fool.” He kissed her lips, lingering this time, parting them with his tongue.

  She opened for him on a sigh. Her tongue tangled with his. Their lips were wet, bodies entwined beneath the calm of the water. He cupped her bottom, guiding her legs around his waist.

  But when he skimmed his fingers over her seam, she stiffened and yanked her head back. “Stop trying to seduce me, Jack. I came out here to swim. Alone.”

  Curse it.

  “Swim then,” he ground out, releasing her and wading away. “But I will be damned if I leave you out here alone, swimming in the nude, in the midst of the night. I will await you on the bank.”

  But his maddening wife was still stubborn to the last. “I already told you, I do not need you to act the part of protector.”

  “And I already told you that you do. I am your husband, Nellie, and I will be waiting for you on the damned bank.” With that grim pronouncement, he swam away from her.

  Nell swam until she could not swim any more.

  And then she caught her breath and swam another lap just to defy the lonesome figure of her husband awaiting her on the lake’s bank. She had hoped he would give in, or at least grow tired of standing about while she splashed in the lake. She had certainly hoped to avoid another confrontation with him.

  Because she had made some more troubling realizations in the cool water, beneath the light of the big, glowing moon.

  Swimming had neither cleared her head nor abated her need for Jack, w
hich had been apparent before his arrival and had become positively undeniable from the moment he had taken her in his arms. Her cunny still pulsed with delirious want now, even as her lungs burned and her arms and legs began to feel as pliant as an aspic.

  She was going to have to give in and swim to the shore.

  Nude.

  And if Jack touched her, she would be helpless to resist.

  But the alternative was to drown herself from fatigue, and that was not nearly as pleasant a fate as drowning herself in desire was.

  At long last, she made her way to the edge of the lake. She swam as far as she was able, until the water became too shallow, because the squish of the mud between her toes made her shudder. That was something else she had learned—she did not relish the notion of swimming in a dark, mysterious body of water with a host of other creatures nearly as much now as she had as a girl.

  Some things did change. But, alas, the way she felt about the Marquess of Needham was not one of them.

  She told herself she must act as if Jack were not there, seated on the grass in his dressing robe, looking like a regal sultan in the moonlight as he watched her. His right knee was drawn up, his arm draped over it. Quite as if he had not a care. He was beautiful even in the darkness, moonlight glinting off his wavy, dark hair, his face a study in shadows and secrets and unfair magnetism.

  One deep breath for courage. She forced her gaze to the water, to the moonlight playing over her own body as she emerged from the water. Shoulders back, head high, she made herself think of something else. Anything else.

  Except, she could only think of him.

  Her thoughts were a sad repetition of themselves. Nothing could purge Jack from her mind. From her body. From her heart. From her very soul.

  Even now, she could feel his gaze upon her, and when the wind rose, cool at this hour of night and cooler still upon flesh which had just been submerged in the chilly benediction of the lake water, she shivered. But the stiffness of her nipples, the gooseflesh rising, had nothing to do with the post-midnight air and everything to do with the man watching her.

  “Birth of Venus,” he said calmly as she waded ashore.