by Meara Platt
“Of all people, you know I do not care. It’s you I want. Only you. You’ll be my countess. Lady Kinross. No one will ever dare insult you again. They know they will face the full force of my wrath.” He nudged her chemise aside and lowered his mouth to her breast, taking its bud into his mouth to suckle it and tease it, laving it with his tongue and feeling Lara’s urgent, breathy response. He loved the way she responded to his touch. “Marry me now, Lara.”
She’d untucked his shirt, pulling it out of his breeches so that her hands could burrow under it to savor the warmth of his skin. “Oh, my heavens. Marcus! Oh.”
He lifted her off his lap and settled her back on the bed only long enough to toss aside his jacket, vest, cravat, and…blessed saints, so many damn clothes. He simply tore at his shirt to throw it off since it was soaked in blood and unsalvageable anyway. “Tonight, Lara. I’ll obtain the special license.”
He returned to her side, taking her in his arms and shifting her onto her back while he settled over her. She was under him now, her gown and chemise parted in front to give him unimpeded access to her soft mounds. Her eyes were closed. Her cheeks and lips were flushed. “It isn’t wicked if we’re married.”
“Trust me, Lara. It can be as wicked as you wish.” He flicked his tongue over her breast, smiling as she gasped in surprise and clutched his head. For a moment, he thought she meant to push him away, but he quickly realized she was trying to hold him there so he wouldn’t draw away. “I can be as wicked as you wish.”
He teased her taut peak, suckling it and teasing it with his tongue until he felt her light shudder of desire in response. “I mean to pleasure you as my wife, Lara. I will accept nothing less.”
“Why must we always negotiate terms? May we not simply take this moment and revel in it?”
“I am not negotiating.” He drew off her, finding it one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life. Molten lava now flowed through his veins. He understood the physical power of the act of making love. But to make love to Lara, to hold her and be inside her, to know he held her heart as she held his, would be something new for him as well, something powerful and eternal. “When I take you for the first time, it shall be as my wife.”
During all this, both of them had ignored the fact that his arm was still bleeding. It had slowed to a trickle, but enough blood still oozed to leave a trail of red streaming down his shoulder to his elbow. It now dripped onto his sheets and some onto Lara’s gown and her exposed flesh.
Marcus had intended his words to reassure her of his feelings, but her expression was one of shame, not comfort. She tugged her chemise and gown closed to cover herself up. “Perhaps I am a disgraceful wanton, after all.”
“You are nothing of the sort.” He rose from the bed and crossed to his bureau, to the basin and ewer upon it. “You are sweet and beautiful.” He poured some water from the ewer into the basin, and dipped his handkerchief in the water to moisten it. He returned to Lara’s side to wipe the blood off her skin. There was nothing he could do for her gown other than smear the stain, so he left it alone and used the damp handkerchief to wipe the blood off his arm.
The wound was long and thin, but not deep. He poured brandy from one of the bottles in his room onto the handkerchief and applied it to cleanse his wound. “Never feel ashamed with me, Lara,” he said, paying no attention to the stinging burn along the cut.
She came to his side, her gown still in tempting disarray. But she meant to help him. “We ought to bind your arm.”
He used his knife to cut a long strip from the ruined shirt and held out his arm while Lara bound it. He spoke gently to her as she worked on the task. “That you are willing to give yourself to me is a gift I will always treasure. I don’t want you for one night. I want you for always. I want to honor and protect you. If we are ever blessed with children, I would want them to be just like you.”
She emitted a groaning laugh. “I should hope not! You’re the one who is perfect.”
“I am very far from perfect.” He took her hand now that she’d finished binding his wound, and led her back to the bed. He sank down beside her, remaining seated while facing her. “As you well know, I’ve been accused of being dour, impatient, and demanding, for I’m used to getting my own way. I’m unfriendly, humorless–”
She rolled to her knees and cast him a scowl. “You are none of those things.” Her eyes took on a starry quality. “I could not dream up anyone more wonderful than you. You’re brave, handsome…utterly, utterly handsome. You are patient and protective, honorable and kind. You do have a sense of humor, but you also have too much of a sense of duty and loyalty. I love you so much, my heart is bursting with the happiness of it. However, I will not marry you, Marcus. That is, I will marry you. Just not yet.”
“Why not, Lara?”
“The Le Brecque name and family honor are important to me. When I come to you, it must be with my head held high. When we are married, I want my father and brother to be at the ceremony. How can I experience the happiest day of my life while they are still deprived of their freedom? How can I feel joy while they are still in pain? And how can I know you are not rushing into offering for me because of your sense of loyalty to my family?”
He rarely lost an argument, but he knew he would lose this one, at least for now. He understood her pride. It was part of what he loved about her. “For pity’s sake, Lara. Do you not see that I hold you above all others in my regard? Perhaps I would have waited longer to propose to you were circumstances not what they are, but I would have proposed. That fact does not change.”
She nodded. “I do see it. I know you love me, Marcus. Even though you have not seen fit to say it plainly to my face.”
He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Then I shall say it now. I love you, Lara. Just so we’re clear. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you tumble off my wall into the snow drift. I love you with all my heart. I shall never stop loving you.”
He looked around his room, noting the large bed, the bureau, table and chairs, the elegant carpet covering much of the floor. “The Prince Regent saw fit to gift me with a membership here.” He smiled wryly, knowing Prinny intended to provide him with a discreet place to entertain the finest, most elegant courtesans who were more than willing to offer him sexual pleasures beyond his wildest fantasies.
Indeed, he could entertain three or four at a time if the size of the bed was any indication.
He might have pursued these pleasures a few years ago, but not now. He hadn’t spent all these years fighting in order to indulge in meaningless romps. “I use this club for the occasional night of gaming, nothing more. Doesn’t make me very wicked, does it?”
“No, my love. But I wouldn’t love you if you were a debauched dissolute. Still, it is a terrible shame to waste the use of this room. The bed is enormous, the size of a ship. One can sleep an entire family of six in it. Why would anyone require anything so big?”
He kissed her lightly on the lips again. “Have I mentioned that I love your innocence? It doesn’t matter the size of the bed. You’re the only one I shall ever share it with.”
“And you’re the only one for me, Marcus.” She nodded. “Now that we’re agreed that we are hopelessly in love with each other and shall marry, does this mean we are betrothed?”
He chuckled. “Yes, love. It does.” His expression quickly turned serious, knowing the humiliation she had endured over her prior betrothal. “I shall never break this promise.”
“I know. I trust you with my life and my heart. In truth, I think you’ve always held my heart. I also think it’s time we shared this bed. What do you say, my most honorable and not so wicked earl?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
LARA WAS NOT certain Marcus would oblige her, for he was not pleased about her delaying their wedding. Only when he gently shifted her onto her back and propped himself on his elbows over her, did she release the breath she’d been holding in anticipation. “Thank you, Marcus
. This is the one argument I’d hoped to win. Are you very angry? I shall make it up to you. Just show me what I must do.”
“I’m not angry, Lara. Having your sweet, warm body next to me and knowing I have your permission to explore it thoroughly, is not a loss for me.” He nudged aside her already unlaced gown and chemise, gaining unimpeded access to her breasts.
He kissed her on the swell of one breast and then the other. He moved lower to kiss her on the stomach. At the same time, he slid his hand under her gown and slowly trailed his fingers up her leg.
She watched the movement of his body, marveled at the rock-hard strength of his arms and big shoulders, at the taut leanness of his torso. She ran her hand along the length of his arm, the one that was uninjured. Even if she clasped both hands around it, her fingers would barely complete a circle.
Her heart tugged as she felt the rough outline of the scar tissue left by the bayonet wound he’d received in battle. He would now have a scar on each arm. Fortunately, this new one was not as deep and the scar would become unnoticeable over time.
Despite his obvious strength, his touch was achingly gentle as he peeled the gown off her body and then did the same with her chemise and stockings. “Lara,” he said in a reverential whisper, “you’re so beautiful.”
Nothing covered her now, only him. He warmed her and excited her. When first shown up here, the footman had immediately started a fire in the hearth to take away the wintery chill.
The fire was still blazing.
Now, her body was too.
Marcus had removed all but his breeches. She wanted him to take them off, too. “No, Lara. This is for your pleasure.”
“Not yours?”
He cast her a devilishly appealing smile. “Oh, I’ll take pleasure in watching you respond to my touch.”
She knew how she would respond, with passionate abandon.
But was she supposed to? She had been raised as a lady. Did he expect her to lie still, to be sweet and demure? She did not think she could manage it.
Whatever concern she had flew out of her head as soon as he touched her. She realized all he required was for her to take in each sensation and allow her body to feel whatever it was supposed to feel…the warmth of his mouth on hers, the heat of his hand cupping her breast, the hot thrill as he moved lower to tease and lick the now taut peaks of her breasts.
Mother in heaven.
He moved lower. “Lara, I won’t hurt you.”
She trusted him, although she bucked from the shock when his finger found her slick core and he began to stroke her there. The touch was so intimate, it set every pulse in her body thrumming. She buzzed and chimed everywhere, like a houseful of clocks all going off at once.
He seemed to understand she would respond like this.
He continued to stroke her most intimate spot, slowly and lightly at first, giving her time to get used to this new sensation. She opened her eyes to look at him. He was smiling down at her with so much love, it stole her breath away.
He kissed her on the mouth.
He deepened the kiss, at the same time heightening the pressure and speed of his strokes, seeming to know when to press and when to slow, and then she no longer cared about the how or why, only that he was touching her and it felt so good and right.
She closed her eyes to take in each wave of sensation as it coursed through her body. The waves came one after another like the ebb and flow of an oncoming tide, slow and gentle at first, but always building in intensity, gently building, until the pressure became exquisitely unbearable. When she was slick and pulsing, and thought she might expire from the pleasure of it, he put his mouth to the spot where his fingers had been, daring to taste her there. “Marcus!”
Which proved he was thoroughly wicked and felt no shame. “Marcus.”
She cried his name softly this time, knowing she was mindless and drowning in experiences that were new to her. Waves were pounding and crashing inside of her, tossing her about and pushing her ever upward toward something she could no longer contain.
“Marcus.” His name came out in a breathy moan as her body erupted with shattering force, leaving her afloat in a molten sea of desire. She was swept away in its tide, carried on a soaring wave crest unlike any she’d ever felt before.
She was still in the throes of these intensely pleasurable sensations when he gathered her in his arms and held her tenderly. “Lara, my love,” Marcus whispered, caressing her cheek and lovingly stroking her hair.
He was trying to calm her.
She could not form the words yet to tell him how much he meant to her.
Only moans escaped her lips. Her heart was beating too wildly and the molten waves of passion were still coursing through her. When she opened her eyes and saw the dark, burning embers in his eyes and felt his arousal against her hip, she realized he was in need of this same pleasure. “Marcus, I am yours. There is no point in waiting to claim what shall ever belong only to you.”
She was willing to give him everything.
Yet, he said nothing.
The burning logs crackled in the hearth.
The fire cast a golden glow about the room, illuminating the massive bed where they lay.
As a light snow began to fall, she remained in Marcus’s arms. He kissed her and caressed her. She felt his love surrounding her, encompassing her in a beautiful cocoon. The world outside no longer existed in that moment.
“Lara, I love you,” he said and joined his body with hers.
When he’d claimed his release and rolled his hot, damp body off hers, he once again took her into his arms. “Marry me, Lara. The special license allows for the ceremony to take place anywhere and at any time. Let it take place in your home on Christmas eve. It won’t matter whether the writ releasing your father is issued yet or not. He’ll be there.”
She heard the pain in his voice as he continued. “I know you want your brother here as well, but it may be another year before he returns. He is on the other side of the world. We’ll have another ceremony once Hugh is back home. I promise you, Lara. Whatever you wish, but I cannot spend another moment apart from you. Even the thought of waiting the few days until Christmas eve leaves me in agony.”
He tipped a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “I need to make you my wife before there is more trouble on the Continent and I am called back to serve.”
Lara’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Isn’t the war over?”
“We have a truce. Napoleon is in exile, but the French are not subdued. I fear there are more battles to come. If so, when I kiss you farewell, I want to be kissing you as my wife.”
Lara relented, not for herself, but for the anguish Marcus felt so deeply. He’d just taken her innocence, taken it outside of marriage, and he was already distressed about it. She loved him for all that he was, and the biggest part of him was his fierce sense of honor. “You do realize you are a miserable failure as a wicked earl, don’t you?”
“It is more important for me to be a success as your husband.”
“Gad, I can’t stand that you’re so perfect.”
He laughed. “You just said I was a failure.”
“Yes, a failure in a perfect way. Oh, Marcus. What you did to me, the responses you wrung from me, all of it was exceedingly and marvelously wicked.” She nestled against his warmth. “I am going to be hopelessly, deeply and embarrassingly in love with you by the time I’m old and gray. I think I am dotty in love with you already. So very much in love. Yes, I’ll marry you on Christmas eve.”
She would figure out what to say to her brother when he returned to England. Hugh was as fiercely honorable as Marcus was, which explained why they’d always been the closest of friends. But to know he’d missed her growing up, to know he’d left her alone to face the hazards of their father’s disgrace and his own conviction as a murderer and pirate, was Hugh’s greatest shame. He had always adored her. She knew he grieved for all she had lost growing up and blamed himself for much of i
t. But to return and learn his little sister had married…well, Lara feared it would break Hugh’s heart.
But Hugh would want her to grab happiness, wouldn’t he?
“Is it safe to leave here, Marcus?” Having made the decision, she wished to tell her father and expected Marcus would wish to do the same with his family.
“Yes, my love. Montvey’s men are rounded up and locked away. Dunning is probably locked away by now as well. Even if he isn’t, he’s running for his life and will be well away from London. The only danger we’re facing at the moment is we have no clothes to wear. Your gown is stained with my blood. My shirt is ripped to pieces. We’re done for. Trapped here for eternity.”
She laughed, realizing she hadn’t laughed so heartily in years. “This may stun you, but I do have a maid and you have a valet. One of the club footmen can send a message to them to bring us our clothes. How’s that for an idea?”
He shifted their positions so that she was under him once more, his body lightly pressing on hers. “But that leaves us with another problem.”
She frowned lightly. “What other problem?”
He kissed the tip of her nose and then emitted a soft, sensual growl. “What are we going to do while waiting for them to arrive?”
MARCUS KNEW TROUBLE was brewing the moment he and Lara entered Miranda’s townhouse and saw the royal messenger standing in the entry hall. Any other messenger would have been relegated to the servants area to await his arrival. But this one was the Prince Regent’s man. Marcus had seen him before. “Captain Griscomb, what brings you here?”
“I’m sorry to disturb your supper plans, but His Royal Highness wishes to see you on an urgent matter.”