“I do not think I am capable of loving anyone,” she added, crushing the incipient burst. “You broke me, Jack. Your betrayal broke me.”
That was not what he wanted to hear. Mayhap it was something he could work with, however.
“Let me make you whole, Nellie,” he said. “Let me repair the damage. I swear to you, I will never again hurt you.”
He meant those words. He meant them more than any he had ever spoken.
But they were not enough to sway her. They were never enough, his words. The only way he could ever reach her was through her body. Her heart, she kept carefully locked away, out of reach.
“You have seven more days.” She pulled her hand free of his grasp. “I should go back to my chamber now and leave you to your rest.”
“Or you could stay,” he invited.
“Jack.”
“Nellie.” He reached for her again, finding her breast with unerring aim, even in the darkness. He cupped it, rubbed his thumb over her nipple. “You have hungry nipples. All hard and ready, waiting for my mouth.”
He knew she loved it when he said wicked things to her.
She made a sound that was half purr, half moan. “My body is foolish.”
He moved to the neckline of her robe and found the buttons already undone. In her haste to come to him, she had only cinched it closed with the sash at her waist. Leisurely, he caressed her silken skin, gliding his hand inside her robe to find she was not wearing a night rail.
“Mayhap your body is wise.” He cupped the heavy roundness of her breast.
Her warmth seared him. He pinched the peak of her breast, then tugged. Her breaths were faster now. Shallow, little bursts that told him she desired him every bit as much as he desired her. If she would deny him her heart, he would take every bit of her he could get until he could not have her any longer.
The last thought caused an intense burst of anguish.
He banished it. No time for pain now. Only pleasure. He was going to lose himself in her sweet body.
With his other hand, he untied the belt on her robe, then pushed it down her shoulder. He wished there was light in the chamber, because he wanted to see her. Wanted to see his hands on her breasts, the way she arched her back to fill both his palms. He played with her nipples, pinching them harder.
She made a restless noise in her throat. “Jack.”
“You want this,” he said. “You want the pleasure only I can give you, don’t you?”
Nell did not respond.
“If I touch your cunny right now, I will find you dripping for me, won’t I?” he prodded.
Her breathing became more erratic. He continued caressing her breasts, playing with her nipples.
Enough waiting. His cock was rigid and ready. He clamped his hands on her waist and moved them in one smooth motion, leaving her on her back and him atop her. Her legs parted naturally to accommodate him. His fingers dipped between her legs, parting her, finding her swollen pearl.
“I was right, was I not?” Dear God, she was hot and soaked. “So wet and creamy for me, Nellie.”
She was so wet that the sounds of him working her pearl joined the sounds of her frantic breaths. His cock went even more rigid in response.
“Please, Jack.” Her hips moved beneath him, restless and seeking.
He lowered his head, took a nipple into his mouth and sucked.
“Please what?” he asked, blowing over her nipple.
“Please come inside me.” Her fingers closed around his cock and she squeezed.
Intense pleasure built, tightening his ballocks and licking up his spine. She stroked him the way she knew he liked, her grip tight.
“If you keep that up, I will come in your hand before I can ever get my cock inside you,” he warned, plucking her hand away.
He positioned his cock at her entrance, dipping the tip into her slick heat.
“Now,” she begged.
He slid inside her, and her channel gripped him in welcome. One thrust, and he was buried in her to the hilt.
“Damn,” he gritted. Because she felt good, so good.
Too good.
He had never had this connection with anyone else, and he knew instinctively he never would. Nell was his other half. If she left him, she would take part of him with her. But he must not think about that now, either.
He moved in her, slipping almost completely free of her, and then slamming into her again. His thrusts were punishing. Nell did not seem to mind. If anything, it made her wilder. She wrapped her legs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust.
Jack kissed her then, claiming her mouth with his lips the same way he claimed her cunny with his cock. He reached between them, finding the bud of her sex and rubbing over it. He wanted her to lose herself. To spend all over his cock and flood him with more wetness.
She came on a cry, her cunny tightening on him with so much force, he had to concentrate to keep from losing control. He pounded into her, absorbing her cries with his kiss, slamming in and out of her until he could not hold back any longer.
He broke the seal of their lips and withdrew from her body, grasping himself as he spilled all over her belly. Panting, sated, he fumbled about in search of a cloth and then gently wiped her clean. She stirred from her sated stupor.
“I should return to my own chamber,” she said, breaking the silence between them.
“Do not go,” he said, folding her back into his arms and lying down with her. “Stay.”
To his amazement, she did not object. Instead, she allowed him to draw the bedclothes over them both, and she remained tucked to his side.
The rest of his sleep was dreamless.
Chapter Nineteen
Nell woke in her husband’s bed for the first time in years.
For a moment, she blinked, disconcerted. She had expected to be in her own chamber rather than the marquess’s apartments, with its heavy masculine furnishing and dark wood.
But then, remembrance hit her. She had been woken in the night by Jack’s shouts, and she had gone to him, worried something was wrong. His words had been so tender, so devastating. His touch, equally so.
And she had succumbed to both, just as she always did.
The reason was woefully apparent: she remained desperately in love with Jack. She had not stopped loving him when he had betrayed her three years ago. She had not stopped in all the years of his absence. And since his return, that love had only grown stronger and deeper.
Still, no matter how many times he professed his love for her, part of her feared she could not trust him. Part of her wanted to trust him, to believe his every word, to fall back into the life they had once shared. To rekindle their old happiness once more. She was beginning to think the latter part of her was growing bigger and stronger than the former with each passing day.
She rolled onto her side now, watching him sleep in the golden strains of dawn filtering past the window dressings. In slumber, he looked younger and more carefree, so handsome. Her heart ached.
She was going to have to leave Needham Hall. If she remained here for another sennight as he had requested of her, she was going to lose all ability to resist him. She needed time and distance. Some space to breathe and search inside herself to discover what it was she truly wanted.
Careful to keep her movements small lest she wake him, she slipped from the bed. Taking up her discarded dressing gown, she hastily stuffed her arms into it before quietly creeping back across the chamber to her own apartments. It was not until she reached the familiar confines of her chamber that she realized she had been holding her breath.
The hour was early, and if she acted with haste, there was a possibility she could flee before Jack woke, taking the first train back to London. Leaving him was going to be incredibly difficult. But before she allowed this madness between them to continue, she had much she needed to do.
She rang for her lady’s maid and began making the preparations for her departure. It was imperative that
she go before Jack rose, because she knew he would only try to stop her. And this was something she needed to do for herself.
On her own.
Already, she had reached one important answer: she was not going to become Tom’s wife. He deserved better than a woman who was incapable of loving him. A woman who was in love with someone else. But she owed it to him to deliver the news in person rather than by letter. He had been steadfast, loyal, and true to her.
After she delivered the news to Tom, she needed to do some thorough thinking of her own. Without Jack’s teasing grins, knowing hands, and wicked lips to distract her. At the last moment, she hastily scrawled a simple note to Jack and left it upon her writing desk. It was the best explanation she could provide in her harried state, though she knew it was a paltry one at best.
It was all she could muster.
Within half an hour, she was dressed, packed, and on her way back to London. She watched from the carriage window as Needham Hall grew smaller and smaller in the distance, half expecting Jack to emerge and chase after her.
In the end, he did not, and she stifled the tiny twinge of disappointment within her heart. She told herself she needed this time of separation. That she needed to have a mind that was not fogged by lust and love when she made her decision.
Jack rolled over in bed and smelled Nell in his sheets.
What a glorious scent: lily of the valley mingling with the musky perfume of their lovemaking the night before.
“Mmm,” he hummed happily, reaching for her as his eyes fluttered open to the bright morning light.
His hand met with empty, twisted bedclothes.
She had left his bed. Had he truly imagined she would remain? Frustration hit him, along with a wave of inevitable disappointment. He had believed they had made a deeper connection last night. She had remained with him, fallen asleep in his arms after their frenzied passion. She had even admitted she did not love Sidmouth.
He could not help but to consider that a victory all its own.
But then, she had slipped from his bed as if it were not where she belonged.
She had fled him.
Damn her.
He rose and rang for his valet. A glance at his pocket watch revealed he had overslept. It was half past nine, and he ordinarily rose just after dawn to join Nell in feeding the ducks. Elsa would have missed him, though he supposed his wife certainly would not have.
He threw on a dressing gown, feeling suddenly at odds with the world. It was the devil of a thing: he had woken with a smile on his face only to realize the grim straits in which he continued to find himself.
Denning arrived at last, his countenance indecipherable.
“A shave if you please, Denning,” he said before pausing and taking another look at his valet. “Why are you so Friday-faced?”
“I was sorry to see her ladyship leave in such haste this morning, my lord,” Denning answered.
Jack froze. “Her ladyship?”
Nell had left?
“Yes,” Denning said. “She and her lady’s maid departed for London. Forgive me, my lord, for my familiarity, but belowstairs was filled with talk of a reconciliation between you and Lady Needham. I know how much you were hoping for such an outcome, and I am sorry.”
Jack waved a dismissive hand. “You need not ask my forgiveness for anything, Denning. We have been through far too much together for that nonsense. Tell me everything you know at once.”
“Perhaps I spoke out of turn, my lord.” Denning frowned. “Were you unaware of Lady Needham’s trip? It seemed rather sudden.”
Hell, yes it was sudden. And unexpected. She had promised him seven more days, damn her. They had just made love. She had spent the night in his arms, had told him she did not love Sidmouth.
“I was unware,” he admitted bitterly.
He had not been exaggerating when he had told Denning they had been through too much together for formality. He was Denning’s employer, it was true, but in their time abroad, Denning had proven himself friend as well as servant.
“I am sorry, my lord.” Denning’s tone was subdued.
“As am I.” He clenched his jaw, struggling to make sense of this unexpected blow.
Was Nell that spooked by what they had shared that she was bolting like a horse? Was she that much of a coward? Had he pierced her armor that thoroughly?
Or, worse, had she ultimately decided she was choosing Sidmouth? Had he moved too quickly? Damn it all to perdition, he had thought he had been making significant gains with her. For the first time since his return, she had remained in his bed. She had fallen asleep in his arms.
What had gone wrong?
“I am given to understand that her ladyship was intent upon returning to London,” Denning offered hesitantly.
London.
Good God. Everything within Jack went cold. Because he knew precisely what she would be seeking in London: Sidmouth.
The coldness turned to numbness.
Nell had chosen Sidmouth over him.
After everything that had passed between them. After all they had shared—the passion, the emotion, the confessions.
Bloody, fucking hell.
No. He refused to believe it. Mayhap she had returned to London to part ways with Sidmouth at last. Long overdue, that.
“Has her ladyship left me a note?” he asked at last, surprised at the false calm in his voice.
To hear himself speak, he would never know he was on the verge of losing his bloody mind.
Nellie, why would you do this to me? To us?
Denning cleared his throat. “I would be more than happy to inquire on your lordship’s behalf.”
To hell with having a shave.
To hell with everything and anything save claiming his woman and finding out why the devil she had left him.
“Please,” he agreed with a nod. “Do so, Denning.”
With a bow, his valet took his leave.
Jack was alone again. Alone with his thoughts, with his worries, all his fears. He told himself there would be a note as he stalked the length of his chamber. Then he stalked back down once more and told himself there would be none, that her leaving him was the ultimate answer, more explanatory than any words could ever be.
He paced his chamber thrice, the door connecting his chamber to the marchioness’s apartments looming like a siren.
“Curse it,” he grumbled at last, out of patience.
He threw open the door and stalked into her chamber. The room still smelled of her. Exotic florals and Nell. The bed was neatly made, the entire chamber tidy and organized, almost as if she had never been there.
But she had been there.
And she was lodged painfully, firmly within his heart just as she had always been.
He prowled her chamber, looking for signs of her, searching for a note. At last, just when he had been about to give up, he saw a folded scrap of paper on her writing desk bearing his name in her extravagant script.
Jack.
He scooped it up and unfolded it in one fluid motion, desperate for the words within. Hoping for answers.
Jack,
I am returning to London. I beg your forgiveness for foregoing the fortnight I promised you. I cannot think with you in residence. Therefore, I am returning to a place where I may have a clear head to make my decision. Pray do not follow me. I need to make this choice on my own.
Yours,
N.
The letter left him with more questions than answers. He crumpled it in his fist unthinkingly.
To hell with her request not to follow her. What did she expect, that he would sit about and calmly wait for Sidmouth to take his woman from him? The devil he would. Nell was his wife, and he meant to fight for her. To keep her.
To love her forever.
She would make the decision. The only decision. The only choice there was—their marriage, their love. Did he not see how desperately and completely his heart was hers, forever?
Still gripping
the letter, he stalked back into his chamber to find Denning awaiting him with a solemn countenance.
“There was no note, my lord,” he said.
“I found the damned note myself,” he growled. “We are returning to London at once, Denning. See everything prepared if you please.”
Denning frowned. “A shave, my lord? Breakfast?”
He shook his head. “I will not be requiring anything but a carriage. I need to be in London as soon as possible.”
“Of course,” agreed his faithful valet with a bow. “I shall see to it at once, my lord.”
“Thank you,” he managed.
The note in his hand seemed to scorch his flesh. But the pain in his heart was far worse. He could not bear to believe he was losing her. That she had actually abandoned him after last night. They had been closer than they had ever been. She had spent the entire night in his arms.
And then she had risen in the morning and skulked out of his chamber like a thief filching the family silver, taking his heart with her.
Still, he had to believe they had a chance. Her every reaction to him since his return had given him hope. This latest retreat was a sign, he prayed, that her resistance to him was growing thin.
He told himself that, and then he began to dress for his journey.
Nell arrived at Tom’s townhouse immediately following her arrival in London. She sent her lady’s maid on to her townhouse with her belongings. This was one interview she needed to conduct on her own. In truth, it was an interview she did not even begin to know how to proceed with.
How did she tell the man who had worshiped her for the last few years that it was over? That she was still in love with her husband and always would be? That she could not, in good conscience, marry him after all?
She had passed much of the journey deep within her own thoughts, imagining all the ways in which she might proceed. But she remained as ill-prepared as ever. Ever since Jack’s return, she had convinced herself this day would never come to pass.
Nervously, she awaited him in his front hall whilst his butler announced her. She was a common visitor here to his townhouse. Their relationship, such as it was, had not been secretive. Though they had not shared beds, she had played the hostess for him on many occasions amongst their set. In so many ways, his house was as familiar to her as Needham’s.
Her Missing Marquess Page 22