Shev

by Tracey Devlyn

  Once he reached his destination, he bent at the waist and followed her down. His feet remained on the floor so she didn’t bear the full force of his weight. That wasn’t to say she didn’t feel every muscular inch of him against her body. She did. Especially there.

  He rocked gently against her while he laid claim to her mouth again. Deep, drugging kisses. His tongue swept inside to tangle with hers. Hot. Slick. Demanding.

  Their kiss became more urgent, their movements more frenzied. The area between her legs tingled, and something deep inside her…approached.

  It was the only way she could describe the sense of anticipation. Like footsteps echoing down a long, dark corridor, coming closer and closer, while she waited for a face to appear out of the gloom.

  Anne strained against him, needing something. A closeness mere flesh to flesh, tongue to tongue could not satiate.

  She needed him—inside her. The realization rocked her, scared her, thrilled her.

  “Marcus—”

  “I know, sweet. I’m going to make love to you now.”

  Yes.

  He smoothed back her hair. “I’ve heard it can hurt the first time.”

  Anne flushed. “Don’t concern yourself. Thousands of women before me have survived the loss of their virginity. As will I.”

  “Your welfare will always be my concern.” He nibbled his way up her throat until he reached her ear. “Always.”

  Anne’s nipples hardened to the point of pain. She angled her head, catching his lips with hers. She kissed him with all the pent-up passion of a woman too long alone.

  Reaching between them, he ran two fingers along her slick opening. Anne pressed into his touch, too far gone to worry about her unrestrained behavior. A second later, his fingers left her, and she keened in protest. Then something incredibly soft yet demanding followed the same toe-curling path along her wet folds.

  She pushed up on her elbows and her heartbeat quickened. Marcus rubbed the blunt tip of his manhood against her, gliding over her with sensual ease. His other hand smoothed down her uplifted leg, his fingers brushing over her curls.

  Anne could not force her attention away from the erotic scene unfolding before her. Not for the storm of the century, not for an intruder, not for modesty, and not for her trembling arms.

  When he pushed inside her, slowly, inexorably, inch by full inch, Anne gritted her teeth against the pressure and her eyes squeezed shut.

  Marcus’s hand slipped around the back of her neck. “Relax. Lie back. I’ll make this good for you.”

  She did as instructed though she wanted to assure him that it was already good. Better than good. But anxiety had crawled into her throat and would not release the words. She focused on relaxing, muscle by muscle, until she felt her inner wall give way. Her legs spread wide and her eyelids lifted.

  Marcus stared down at her, an intense mixture of concentration and passion marking his handsome features. “Am I hurting you?”

  Shaking her head, she managed a small explanation. “I feel—full.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Not even close, love.” All humor disappeared. “Hold on.”

  The moment she did, he drove into her. Filling her, breaking through the thin barrier she’d carried for far too long. Fully seated inside her, he paused, his breathing harsh.

  “Is something wrong?” She tried not to show her discomfort, to ignore the stinging sensation where his thick staff rested, throbbing yet eerily still.

  “No.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “I’m giving your body time to welcome my invasion.”

  Considerate lover was not a description Anne would have attributed to the Marquess of Shevington. Men of his ilk had long been credited with selfish, immature tendencies. Why else had so many noblemen squandered away their fortunes on drink, gambling, and women?

  Anne repositioned herself to take more of him. He groaned.

  “Was that a groan of pleasure or pain?”

  “Both.” He withdrew a little before edging in deeper. The sensual movement soothed her sensitive flesh.

  She tightened her hold, snaking her arms around his broad back and nuzzling his shoulder. “I’m ready.” She punctuated her words by contracting her inner muscles, holding his length for a long moment before setting him free.

  “Sweet Jesus. Where’d you learn to wrench a man like that?”

  “I don’t know. Did I hurt you?”

  His chuckle sounded pained. “Only in the best way.” With that pronouncement, he began moving inside her. A slow, steady rhythm at first, then a hard, mission-focused pace.

  Anne did the best she could to follow his lead, but everything was new. With more experience, she could have anticipated the subtle changes he made to enhance their momentum. It seemed to her that she was always a half a beat off.

  Embarrassment began to diminish her pleasure. Marcus must have sensed her distress, for he slowed his strokes, allowing her time to readjust to his new pace. With the patience of a saint and the passion of a sinner, he guided her.

  Something deep inside her stirred, a piercing light her body strained to capture. She coaxed it forward until it finally burst free, blinding her, spiraling her into the most intense, pleasurable sensation she’d ever experienced.

  Lifting her hips, she pulled him closer. Pulsed around him. Marcus lunged into her one last time, calling out her name before withdrawing. His abrupt absence jarred her until he rested his forehead in the crook of her shoulder, his fight for control evident in the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She held him tight as his hard release throbbed against her lower abdomen.

  Seconds ticked by with only their uneven breaths breaking the silence. She traced her fingers down the curve of his lower back and over the firm roundness of his buttocks. Muscle rippled beneath the smooth surface.

  In that moment, Anne experienced a surge of power. Marcus liked her touch. His body was vulnerable to her ministrations.

  Her hands reversed their course, sliding up his torso, learning every square inch within reach. She applied the slightest pressure, showing him how much she enjoyed the feel of him and bringing him nearer in the process. She wanted to crawl inside him, be one with him.

  “If you keep that up, Anne,” he warned against her lips, “your abused body won’t get the respite it deserves.” He kissed her. A slow, possessive melding of the lips. “Next time, I’ll make love to you properly.”

  “You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

  One corner of his mouth curled into a roguish grin. He nuzzled her nose before rising. “Next time, I promise. Now, don’t move.”

  Without his body’s support, Anne’s legs gave way and her feet slid over the edge of the bed. She glanced around and realized he’d made love to her standing up. No wonder he wanted to try again.

  Her lips twitched. He’d been so overtaken with passion that he’d been unable to usher them fully up onto the bed. She stretched her arms over her head, a sensation of decadence rushing over her. For the first time in twenty-six years, someone made her feel beautiful.

  When she noticed the chamber had grown quiet, she lifted her head and found Marcus watching her, a damp cloth in one hand, and need darkening his features once again.

  Her attention shifted downward. He was ready for her. His thick, pulsing manhood pointed toward her like a divining rod seeking water.

  Without thought, she braced her feet on the bed and opened herself to him. His nostrils flared as if he could smell the musky scent of her from such a distance. He took his time in coming to her, never taking his eyes off hers.

  Stepping between her legs, he reached out and skimmed his thumb over her wetness, making her back arch and her breasts harden. His hot mouth covered her nipple; his tongue danced around the sensitive nub, over and over. Not once did his thumb pause in its relentless pursuit to drive her wild with wanting.

  The evocative stirring deep inside her approached once more. But this time, she knew what to expect and moved toward it, demanding i
t to come forward, to surface, to send her to heaven.

  Marcus did something with his thumb, and a cry escaped from her mouth. He caught her pleasure in a mind-drugging kiss, gently manipulating her until the last pulse subsided.

  Time passed. How much she didn’t know and didn’t care. Her eyes fluttered open at the cool press of the washcloth against her stomach. The cloth drifted down to the area between her legs, and he held it there.

  “You’ll be sore for a few days.”

  “I don’t regret what we did. I won’t.”

  Heat smoldered in his eyes. “Nor do I.”

  Then she noticed his erection. She sat up and reached for him.

  Grasping her hand, he brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles with the same reverence he had done before. “Some other time.” Moving away, he tossed the cloth in the basin.

  “Won’t you be…uncomfortable?”

  “In the last fortnight, I’ve become a master at ignoring my body’s needs.” He caressed her chin, seemingly unable to stop touching her. “I’m not such a slave to my desire that I cannot wait for your body to rest.”

  “How long?”

  “Little wanton,” he teased. “How does one day sound?”

  She nodded, already feeling bereft without his warm flesh next to hers. Extending her hand, she asked, “Won’t you lie with me for a little while? I confess, I’m not yet ready for this fantasy to end.”

  “Fantasy?” His expression turned thoughtful, then dark, then nothing. A blank slate. Yet he said, “Nor am I.”

  He whisked back the covers and waited for her to burrow in before joining her, lying back to front. He cradled her in his arms. Anne had never felt safer, more whole in her life.

  How long would she have with him? Have this closeness? This feeling of rightness?

  When a vision of him walking away from her surfaced, she covered the strong arm wrapped around her middle with hers and buried her face in her pillow.

  Two and a half months left—it would have to be enough.

  Sleep proved elusive that night.

  Chapter Twelve

  Marcus watched his lover and daughter pick their way down the wide, shallow stream, searching for curious things.

  Jacqueline had begged him to join them. But Marcus had not yet succeeded in shucking off years of measuring every word, evaluating every movement. Making sure he played his part well.

  Being Somerton’s eyes and ears had given him a purpose when he’d needed it most. The spymaster had recognized a young man spiraling out of control, indulging too many senses, too fast. Instead of wasting his life away in gaming hells, racecourses, exclusive brothels, and God knows what else, Marcus inserted himself unobtrusively in political conversations and lavished attention on bored wives of powerful men.

  Over the years, he had alerted Somerton to no less than two attempted bombings, three scheduled riots, one planned assassination, and five greedy statesmen whose loyalty swung toward whichever country held the largest banknote.

  Somerton had helped him become a man, saving his deteriorating relationship with his father and preparing him for the day when he would become the next Marquess of Shevington. A patriarch. A husband. A father.

  His gaze lingered on Anne’s delicate profile. Over a decade of attending balls, soirees, musicales, and an assortment of other mind-numbing gatherings, he had never met a young lady for whom he’d felt a deep attraction. He had assumed that he was incapable of romantic love.

  But Anne—dear, sweet, beautiful, intelligent, secretive Anne—now forced him to reassess his future. A future that he had been so certain would have been bereft of color. Life. Happiness.

  He could not go back to that monotone existence. Not after the last three days. Days spent with Anne and Jacqueline, getting to know them, envisioning them as a family.

  No, he could not go back. Not if it meant giving them up. He would ask Anne to marry him this evening, when they were alone.

  She wouldn’t be pleased. Well, maybe she would for a split second before the challenges of their situation set in. Not insurmountable challenges, but obstacles to overcome all the same. Obstacles he would decimate if they proved too stubborn to step aside.

  “Too much fresh air, my lord?” Anne asked.

  Startled, Shev realized his thoughts had pulled him deep into his mind, blinding him to everything around him. Anne stood a few feet away from where he lounged against a tree. Jacqueline wandered about the field behind her, abandoning the stream for wildflowers. “Not at all. Are you ready to return?”

  She shook her head. “It’s too fine a day to be cooped up inside. I asked because of your fierce expression.”

  He smiled to ensure his features were free of his troubled thoughts. “My unpleasant expression might have had something to do with the multi-legged creature currently blazing a trail up the inside of my trousers.” Shev gave his leg several hard shakes as if to dislodge the unwanted insect.

  Merriment crinkled the corners of her eyes. “If you sustain a bite, Mrs. Eppelwhite will be happy to apply a dollop of her special salve to the area.”

  An image of him standing in front of his kneeling housekeeper, with his trousers about his ankles and Mrs. Eppelwhite reaching out to tend the bite wound located on his inner thigh, sent a violent shudder down Shev’s spine.

  “I’ll thank you not to torment my active imagination,” he all but growled. “I’ll never be able to look at my housekeeper in quite the same way again.”

  “Do not fault me for the direction of your impure thoughts. I only mentioned the salve.”

  “How did I miss the vixen lurking beneath the governess’s façade?”

  “Most people see only what they expect to see.”

  “I am rather more observant than most people.” The truth hung on the edge of his tongue. He’d rarely sought another’s approval before, but with Anne, he wanted her to know there was more to him than his title and all the privileges that entailed. At the moment, however, he had more important things to sort out. One day soon, he would share with Anne a few of his livelier contributions to securing the kingdom’s borders.

  “Then perhaps you chose not to see.”

  He conceded the point. Lord knew he’d tried not to notice anything beyond what her position represented. Although he might have missed the vixen, he hadn’t been able to ignore the bright, caring, determined, beautiful, slightly vulnerable woman beneath the governess garb.

  “Perhaps, in the beginning. But now, my eyes are wide open.”

  Pink tinged her cheeks. Then her gaze shot up, fixed on something behind him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “A man,” she said in a low voice. “I think he’s watching us.”

  “Where is he?”

  Her gaze flicked to his at hearing the lethal quality to his voice. “Standing near the large rock outcropping.” She glanced beyond him again. “He’s gone.”

  Shev whirled around and scanned the area, finding no trace of the intruder. “Go to Jacqueline. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  “Marcus, no.” She grasped his sleeve. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  He cradled her delicate jaw. “I’ll be all right. I swear it.” He wanted to kiss her, but he feared a quick peck of reassurance would turn into more. So he settled for a simple brush of his thumb across her pale cheek. “Go to Jacqueline. Please.”

  The moment she turned away, Shev ran in the opposite direction. When he made it to the outcropping, he glanced back to find Anne picking flowers with Jacqueline though he could tell her every instinct was attuned to her surroundings.

  Ten minutes of searching produced no intruder. But Shev found a half-eaten apple near the outcropping and a fresh pile of horse manure within a cove of trees not far away.

  At his approach, Anne whispered something to Jacqueline before joining him. “Any sign of him?” She folded her arms around her middle, appearing more vulnerable than he’d seen her in a while.

 
“Yes.” He slid an arm around her. “I found evidence of where the intruder and his horse were stationed.” A shudder racked her body. “He’s gone, Anne. Everyone is safe.”

  “It’s just that I—” She drew in a breath. “For a moment, I thought I had seen a ghost again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The day we arrived, I set off to investigate the mysterious dome in the woods.”

  “The folly?”

  “I assume so.” She stared into the distance. “I never made it. About halfway there, a silhouette in the trees caught my eye. I thought perhaps I had imagined the whole thing. But my unfortunate encounter with Lord Whitfield has made me…cautious.”

  “Shrewd,” he corrected. “My instincts have protected me from a great deal of trouble over the years.”

  She nodded. “I convinced myself the shadow was nothing more than one of the neighbor boys sneaking a peek at the newly returned marquess.”

  “You may be right. I certainly did my fair share of sneaking about as a young lad.” He rubbed his hand up and down her arm. “Can you describe the gentleman you saw today?”

  “Tall and lean. Older, perhaps in his fifties. Balding.” She frowned. “I think that’s what drew my attention to him. When he removed his hat to swipe a cloth over his head.”

  The description didn’t match any of his neighbors, nor anyone else he knew. “A cloud has been cast over our outing. Why don’t we collect the banshee and head back to the house?”

  Anne nodded, seemingly reluctant to step out of his embrace. Her small hesitation made him want to drag her back, give her the comfort she so obviously needed but did not want to admit. Her reaction also made him want to track down Whitfield the next time he was in London and show the bastard what true fear and helplessness felt like.

  Kneeling beside Jacqueline, Anne helped the girl put her shoes back on. She spoke to Jacqueline in tones that would make one question whether or not the last quarter hour had really happened. He marveled over Anne’s mastery at hiding her emotions. Her ability rivaled his own.