by Darcy Burke
He gripped one of her hands and stared into her eyes. “I am so sorry.”
“Later, after I spent a considerable amount of time in the retiring room, I saw him in the ballroom. He told me I shouldn’t have left, that in a few days I’d be his anyway.
“The wedding was two days later. I couldn’t go through with it. Not after that. I knew our marriage would be a series of battles in which I would never prevail. But I imagine that’s how most marriages are.”
Marcus didn’t know but couldn’t disagree with her, particularly when he thought of some of the men with whom he was acquainted. “Men are selfish blackguards.”
“Are you sure you don’t think less of me?”
“God, no. I think less of myself. When I think of how I behaved toward you… Why didn’t you toss me out that night? The day we’d met.”
She pondered his question for a moment, her thumb tracing circles on his hand. “I liked you. You were—are—different from Sainsbury. In every way. He never made me laugh. He never made me feel beautiful. He never made me think I was special.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
Her eyes widened, and she clutched at his hand. “No, you mustn’t.”
His gaze locked with hers for a long moment, but he eventually nodded. “I want to, however.”
“And I appreciate that more than you can know. Almost as much as you listening to me and not running away as soon as I finished my story.”
“Is that what your mother did?”
“No, but I was slightly less graphic in my description.” She flinched. “I wanted to be completely open with you because I don’t know if I can do… Are those normal things that men and women do?”
Marcus exhaled heavily and readjusted his weight on the settee. “Mostly, yes. It’s generally pleasurable for a woman to have her breasts fondled, and it’s absolutely pleasurable for a man to have his cock stroked.” He watched her reaction, but there was nothing negative. She was listening raptly. He could be discussing anything of interest—the latest hat styles or the horses for auction at Tattersall’s last week or the constellations that would be in that night’s sky.
“I can’t imagine having my breasts touched would feel good. As for the other, I couldn’t begin to say, since I don’t have a penis of my own.”
“And thank God for that.” He cracked a smile.
“However, I didn’t think kissing would feel good either, and you demonstrated how wrong I was.”
“No, I demonstrated how inept and pathetic Sainsbury is. It doesn’t sound as if he could pleasure a woman if his life depended on it.”
“Can we put Sainsbury from our conversation now? I’d rather focus on what you did for me. And what you can do next.”
Oh God. Now he understood her purpose in telling him this. “What’s that?” he asked cautiously, his heart thudding.
“I want to have an affair. With you.”
Marcus’s blood roared in his ears. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly, and what’s more, he couldn’t hear a damn thing at the moment.
“Marcus?”
He’d been silent too long. “My apologies. Did you say you wanted to have an affair? After everything you just told me?”
She turned toward him, shifting her thigh farther onto the cushion. “Yes. I don’t want the memory of Sains—the Blackguard is what I will call him from now on—to be all that I have. I’d like you to erase it by creating something new. With me.” She put one hand on his knee. “Will you?”
That she would trust him with this… Not just the tale of what she’d endured, but with helping her to move past it was the most humbling thing he’d ever been asked. “Are you certain?”
She nodded. “Never more. Can you come Saturday night?”
He wanted to flirt with her, to say he hadn’t even agreed yet. But was there ever a question? She knew there wasn’t. “Yes. I take it you have a plan?”
“I have many.” Her answer intrigued him, but then everything about her was so damn fascinating and remarkable, he was continually astonished. “You’ll come around midnight. Everyone but the footman should be asleep.” She smiled, and her dimples came out in force. He had to stifle the urge to kiss her right then and there. “And me. I’ll be waiting. You’ll come in through the garden doors and then through there,” she pointed toward the door the butler had closed, “then up the stairs. My chamber is on the second floor at the back, overlooking the garden.”
“You don’t have a trellis or tree I can climb to your window?” he asked with a grin.
“Alas, I do not. Shall I have one installed?”
“Perhaps wait to see if you want to invite me a second time.”
“Lord Ripley, where is your arrogant confidence?” Her tone was saucy, her eyes sparkling. “Now, as to my other plans. I’ve researched how to prevent a pregnancy and—”
He gaped at her as her request finally sunk in. She wanted to have an affair. With him. “You’ve what?”
“I’ve purchased sponges.”
“I’m impressed.” And completely and irrevocably shocked.
“I suppose you could also use a French letter. I assume you know what those are?”
He coughed. “Er, yes. I can bring one. Actually, they need to be soaked prior to use, so I could send it over.”
“Ah, yes, I’m aware of how to prepare them. I’ve done quite a bit of research.” And there she went astounding him again. “Which do you think we should use?”
Marcus’s cock was growing hard. His brain tried to catch up, but he was still grappling with the fact that she wanted an affair. “I don’t know. Maybe neither. We may not have intercourse on Saturday.”
Really? He’d postpone that when he wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her?
Yes, really. He wanted to take this slow. She deserved nothing less.
He caressed her face again, stroking his fingers along her temple and down her cheekbone. “I want this to be special.”
She smiled, her gaze bold and confident. “It will be. I have no doubt you will make it that way.” She tipped her head to the side. “Perhaps we should use the sponge. The woman who sold it to me said the French letter may dull your pleasure a bit.”
He shook his head in amazement. “That you would give my pleasure any concern after what you suffered…”
She put her finger against his lips. “Shhh. No more about him.”
He kissed the pad of her finger and lightly sucked the tip. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted.
“There are many things we can do that aren’t intercourse.”
She put her hand back in her lap. “Show me.”
“Now?” He glanced toward the door behind her.
“We won’t be disturbed. I saw to that.”
“Another plan?” At her nod, he went on. “Well, there’s kissing, as you know.”
“Yes, I do know. Show me something new.”
His cock lengthened as arousal pumped through him. “May I touch you?” She nodded again. “You must tell me at any moment if you’re uncomfortable or if you want me to stop. Tell me everything you’re feeling.”
“Everything?”
“Yes.” He wanted so badly for this to be right for her. No, not right: perfect.
“May I touch you?” she asked tentatively.
“God, yes. Anyhow and any way.”
“You’ll also tell me how it feels?”
“Yes.” The word came from his mouth sounding like gravel pouring from a bucket. “I know you said it was repetitive, but I’m going to kiss you now because I simply must.”
“I didn’t say it was repet—”
He silenced her with his mouth, cupping her face with his hands as he moved his lips over hers. Tasting and teasing, tugging and tantalizing. She gasped, and he slid his tongue inside, claiming what she offered and asking for her to give in return. She did so, meeting his gentle thrust with one of her own.
He moved one hand to her nape and the othe
r down her side. Sliding to the floor, he knelt beside the settee. Then he moved her legs onto the cushions and eased her back until she reclined.
He ached to touch her breasts, but he didn’t think that was the best place to start. Not after what she’d shared with him. He swept his hand from her nape down over her front, lightly skimming one breast on his way to her belly. Then he moved lower and pressed his hand over her mound.
Drawing back from their kiss, he whispered, “Open your legs. Tell me what you feel here.” He pressed again.
“A…quickening. I want…something.”
He smiled against her mouth and kissed her again, losing himself for a moment in the rapture of her lips and tongue. Then he began to pull at her skirt, gently tugging it up her calves to her knees, where he reached for the hem. Grasping it, he exposed her thighs, eliciting another gasp from her lips.
He pulled away again. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No, it was just a bit cold. Don’t stop, please. I promise I’ll tell you if I want you to.”
Her trust filled him with awe. And maybe apprehension. He needed to get this right for her.
Keeping his gaze on hers, he slid his hand along her thigh. She twitched softly as he moved between her legs. He left the gown over her hips so she was covered. Given how exposed she’d been last time… Fury rippled through him, and he had to shove it away.
Later, there would be a reckoning.
He lightly stroked her flesh as her eyes took on a sheen of wonder. “Open your legs more,” he whispered.
She did as he asked, giving him greater access. He bent his head and kissed her again, softly at first, his lips and tongue mimicking his gentle ministrations on her sex.
Cupping her head, he slanted his mouth over hers as he found her clitoris. She made a noise, and he drank it in, wanting everything she had to give. More than that, he wanted to give her everything.
He went slow, coaxing and teasing her until her hips began to move—slightly at first. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her ear. “Tell me what you feel.”
“I can’t explain it.” Her words were breathless. “Where you’re touching me… It’s like starting a fire. The flames are there, but I need it to catch.”
He grinned. “Let’s see if I can stoke it.” He snagged her earlobe with teeth. She gasped, her body rising slightly from the settee.
Marcus slid his fingers down and felt the moisture there. “You’re wet,” he said against her. “As you should be.”
“Why?”
“To ease the way for my cock when I come inside you. But not today.” He stroked his finger into her, moving slowly. She was tight and hot around him. He let out a ragged breath.
He kissed her neck, licking over her skin. She arched, and he savored the beauty of her face—her eyes closed, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed with desire. He moved down, finding the hollow of her throat.
She had one hand on his shoulder and the other on his nape, her fingers tangling in his hair. Now, as he thrust his finger deep into her, she tugged, moaning softly.
He wanted more of her, all of her, to give her an ecstasy she would never forget. But for now, this was enough. It had to be. He felt her muscles tightening as they searched for release.
“Let go,” he said, trailing his mouth back up her neck and then kissing her once more. He claimed her with a savage intensity. Everywhere he touched her, he poured himself into her.
Withdrawing his finger, he focused on her clitoris once more, pushing her to the edge. “Can you let go?” he asked huskily.
“I don’t…know.” Her voice was tight, coiled, like a hunter about to strike, but the prey was moving very fast.
Her hips arched, and he drove his finger into her pussy again, using his thumb in fast circles on her clitoris. She clenched hard around him, and he worked his hand over her sex with rapid movements to expand her orgasm as much as he could.
She cried out, and he watched her expression dissolve into rapture. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And it was almost enough to make him come too.
He eased her down from release, kissing her again and whispering words of calm and reverence. When at last she opened her eyes, she asked, “Was that normal?”
He grinned. “Quite. At least it should be. Sex is not just for men. In fact, sex is better when a woman not only enjoys it but craves it.”
Her gaze was dark and cloudy with satisfaction, but she fixed it on him nonetheless. “I think I might be one of those women. I didn’t think I was. Thank you.”
He pulled her dress down and sat back on his heels. She came up to a sitting position, swinging her legs off the couch. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest still rising and falling steadily as her pulse worked to right itself.
Marcus’s heart was also working quickly, and his cock positively throbbed. He’d take care of that when he got home. And what a memory he’d have while he did so.
Had that really just happened?
Yes, and she wanted him to come on Saturday. Did he dare take her all the way then? He wanted to go as slowly as she needed.
“That was quite lovely,” she said. “What else can we do that isn’t intercourse?”
He chuckled. “Nothing today.”
“Saturday, then. And I want to prepare for intercourse. I find I’m quite eager to try it. With you.”
He groaned as he got to his feet. “You’re going to kill me, Phoebe. Saturday is two days from now.”
She rose from the settee, calmly smoothing her gown as if she hadn’t just come apart in his arms a short while ago. “Perhaps you should come tomorrow night. I was going to attend a soiree, but that sounds dreadfully dull now.”
“What time will you be home?” he answered so quickly that she laughed.
“Let’s say one o’clock—come then.”
“Done.” He closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms, kissing her hard and fast. When he withdrew, they were both breathless. He rested his forehead against hers. “Dream of me.”
“I couldn’t do anything else.”
Grinning, he caressed her cheek, then turned and left. The butler handed him his coat and gloves on the way out and wished him a good day. Marcus had to think the man knew and gave him credit for acting, convincingly, as though he didn’t.
Outside, his joy ebbed slightly as Sainsbury reinvaded his mind. Rage spilled through Marcus as he thought of what the blackguard had done to her. Yes, there would be a reckoning.
Chapter 9
Dreaming of Marcus had made it difficult to sleep.
Yawning, Phoebe stood from the small table in her sitting room that adjoined her bedchamber and padded back to her room to get dressed. Her maid, Page, had already laid out her gown.
“Actually, I plan to go out.”
Adjusting course, Page brought a different costume and set about helping Phoebe dress. Then Phoebe sat down at her dressing table so Page could style her hair.
As Page worked, which always seemed to lull Phoebe into a state of relaxation, Phoebe’s thoughts turned to the several times she’d awakened in the night, her body warm with desire. She was desperate to know what he had in store. So much so that she was contemplating going in search of a book somewhere. There had to be something that detailed sex.
Telling him about Sainsbury had been easier than she’d imagined. Easier than telling her mother. But then Marcus had been incredibly caring and sensitive. The difference between him and Sainsbury was cavernous. It was as though they were different species.
An idea struck her. Perhaps she could call on Lavinia. As a married woman, and as Phoebe’s friend, she would probably answer her questions. And maybe even tell her where to find such a book. She had to believe Lavinia’s husband, the renowned Duke of Seduction, would know all about the written words of sex.
Phoebe blushed. Marcus had turned her into a complete wanton in the space of a day. And she couldn’t be more thrilled. This was what it meant to be independent, to be
free of stupid rules and expectations. This was what it felt like to be a man.
She snorted.
Page paused in her work. “Miss Lennox? Did I hurt you?” She was young—younger than Phoebe—and sometimes a bit skittish. That trait had drawn Phoebe to hire the young woman as her personal maid after meeting her in her great-aunt’s household. Page had relaxed in the months that she’d been with Phoebe and had started to gain confidence.
“Not at all. My apologies, I was just thinking of something frustrating.”
Nodding, Page finished Phoebe’s hair and went in search of a hat and gloves while Phoebe put on her walking boots. Phoebe glanced outside at the gray day. “I hope it doesn’t rain.”
Not that she truly cared. It could thunder and rain, and she’d still be giddy.
Page brought her accessories as Phoebe stood. “You look lovely, Miss.”
She smiled at the maid. “Only because of you.”
Eager to visit Lavinia, Phoebe hurried downstairs, then came to a hard stop when she arrived at the entry hall. Standing inside as Culpepper closed the door, her mother looked pale and distraught.
“Mama,” Phoebe said, depositing her hat and gloves on a table. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s your father. We had a terrible quarrel.”
So much for visiting Lavinia. Phoebe took her mother’s gloves and hat and set them next to her own. “Culpepper, we’ll have tea in the garden room.” Then she linked her arm through her mother’s and guided her toward the back of the house.
Mama sank down on the settee. The one Marcus had pleasured Phoebe on the day before. Phoebe tried not to think about that. She took a chair nearby and asked what happened.
“He sold the painting.”
Phoebe could see she was upset and sought to soothe her. “That’s all right. I said he could.”
“He’s using the money for another investment.” Mama’s dark brows pitched over her eyes as her mouth tightened. “I asked him not to do that, but he has no concern for my wishes.”
“It might not be so bad,” Phoebe said. “I have investments, and so far, they’ve proven profitable. Papa just suffered a bit of bad luck.”