"That's what favorable means, my lord. You know that better than most. My father's family is Venetian; they settled in Dalmatia long ago and gave numerous counts to the Hapsburg court as envoys to Venice. Does that suitably satisfy your standards?"
"I have no standards as you no doubt know," he replied, rude once again, his brief moment of compassion revoked by recall of the compulsion behind his visit to the country. "Although under other circumstances, you and I might have had a damned good tumble in the hay."
"Have you dispensed with your recent attempt at celibacy?"
"Temporarily, it seems. Will your husband's schedule permit another cup of coffee before the next fuck?" he insolently inquired.
"As long as you don't take too long," she replied, snide and oversweet.
When the guards came into the breakfast room shortly after, he stood and sketched her a brief bow. "Until we meet again, Madame," he impudently murmured. "On stage."
It minutely salved his anger to see her furiously blush, a minor concession to his umbrage, but satisfying. And after he'd entered his bedroom, he held the guards at bay with an upturned palm, undressing himself this time. He preferred not being touched by other men, a fact he explained to them in fluent Italian. Since she was from Dalmatia, he assumed Italian would serve as a bridge between the guards' native tongue and English.
"We have our orders," their leader explained, his tone mildly apologetic.
"Everyone does, do they not with Prince Marko," he dryly retorted. "But tell him when next you see him that I'm coming to kill him once this is over." The marquis stood eye-to-eye with the tall guard, their gazes both unflinching.
"I'll tell him," the man replied, "in a month. Do you need to be tied?"
"If you want me to stay."
"I thought so." And the trooper nodded his head toward the bed.
The tying was swift and efficient, everyone civil, accomplished at their tasks, and then the marquis was left to wait for the prospective mother of his child. He shouldn't have been left alone so long, for the added interval gave him unwanted opportunities to recall their heated coupling of the previous night. The princess was flamboyantly sexual, hot-blooded, unbridled in her response. Irresistible to a man of libertine propensities. His thoughts fluctuated equivocally between provocative arousal and hot-tempered annoyance, but he was realistic enough to wonder how long his annoyance would last once she stood before him in all her naked glory.
When Sofia came into the room, a cool self-possession masked the tumult of her feelings. "I don't know if I can do this," she quietly said, standing just inside the door. Only the pressure of her mother's welfare had brought her back to this room.
"But they're watching."
"Perhaps."
"You don't strike me as naive," Hugh mocked. "Maybe we should just chat about the weather," he silkily went on, "and see how long it takes before someone comes in and forces us to copulate."
"Right now I dearly wish I were an orphan." She hadn't moved from the door, her hands pressed to the wood as if seeking strength from the sturdy oak. Her white dimity robe lent her an air of touching innocence, the blue ribbon in her tousled hair slightly askew, like that of a fey maiden.
How did she do it, he wonderedalter so completely from incarnate sexuality to this trembling, unsure adolescent with high color on her cheeks?
"How old are you?" His gruff voice sounded very loud in the silence.
She looked up, startled, seeming to forget where she was. "Today?" she queried as though getting her bearings. "Much too old," she added in a whisper.
"Tell me."
"A million years old," she simply said, her green gaze distant.
"I'm twenty-seven."
"I know. You were twenty-seven in March. I read the dossier."
"You're younger, aren't you?"
"No." Her brows tilted upward in whimsy. "But thank you."
"Should I guess?"
"No, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters," she breathed, her voice trailing away.
"Are you all right?" A modicum of concern infused his voice, but he caught himself in time, not about to allow himself sympathy, and as her eyes flared wide in astonishment at the compassion in his tone, he'd already lapsed into a moody scowl.
"You were almost human for a moment," she murmured. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."
"Are you going to stand there all morning?" he gruffly muttered, wanting her when he shouldn't. But he'd lived too long in the world of privilege to question what he wanted.
"Are you ready then?"
He couldn't help but smile at her naiveté, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin. "Come and see," he whispered.
"Should I draw the drapes?"
His gaze flitted from them to her, and he shook his head. "Unless you want to," he hastily addedhis first small courtesy.
"I'm sorry about the scratch," she offered in turn, her hand fluttering upward briefly toward his face.
"This is turning too civil," he teased.
"You prefer angry women?"
"I prefer seeing that robe on the floor."
"Please, don't be coy," she returned, smiling for the first time… in an age. "I can't untie you, can I?"
"Not really," he said with a boyish smile. "But you can kiss me if you like."
Such delicious charm, she thought, even in this extremity. How lethal his allure must be under more gracious circumstances. "What makes you think I want to kiss you?" she asked, the merest flirtation in her tone.
"I can tell," he said, his dark gaze amused.
"Because every woman wants to kiss you?"
"When I'm nice they do."
"Like now."
"You noticed."
How could she not. He exuded joy and warmth along with a tantalizing sexuality. Not to mention that he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. "Do women ever say no to you?"
"Only one," he said with a beguiling smile. "And I'm trying to coax her nearer right now."
"So your record won't be spoiled."
"So I can fuck her," he wickedly replied.
Irrepressible desire trembled through her body, memory a powerful impulse.
"If you sit on me," he murmured, "I'll let you come as many times as you like." His gaze flickered downward toward his swelling erection.
"I shouldn't want this," she whispered, transfixed by the riveting sight.
"And I shouldn't be here, but… since I am," he quietly noted, "and since you are"his heated glance slowly traveled down her body"why not make the best of it."
"I should refuse."
"I know. So should I. Tell me how strange this is."
"It's strange," she quietly agreed.
"Tell me about it at closer range," he softly suggested, his smile ravishing with promise.
Pushing away from the door, she responded to his heated smile, to his stark beauty, to the mesmerizing lure of his enormous erection. Her robe trailed across the pale Aubusson carpet as she moved from the door to the bed, a small, incipient joy beginning to warm her senses. "Tell me this is all right," she hesitantly murmured.
"This is very fine," he breathed. All the rest was hellish, he thought, but even thin-skinned and moody, he recognized the rarity of emotion drawing them together. "Come sit by me."
When she did, she placed her hand on his thigh as if she needed solid reassurance, as if his strength could sustain them both. "I don't want to take my robe off," she said, her voice low, strained.
"Then don't."
"I had to last night… because"
"I know."
"They may be watching."
"What's the commanding guard's name?"
"Gregory."
"Gregory! Fucking shut the closures!" he shouted in Italian. "The lady would like some privacy!"
The scraping sound of closing apertures indicated assent, and Hugh pleasantly murmured, "Now we can get to know each other better."
"He must like you."
"Or dislike y
our husband. Which apparently isn't very hard from the sounds of it. Gregory and I have an understanding," he said with a mischievous wink.
"I still don't want to take my robe off."
"You don't trust them to shut all the peepholes?"
"One learns not to trust anyone."
"How long have you been married?"
"Fifteen years."
"Good God. You must have been a child. How frightening for you."
"The marriage settlement was considerable."
"I'm sure it was," he cynically murmured.
For a flashing moment, the pain shone in her eyes, but as quickly it was shuttered away. "He's often away."
"I could protect you from him."
She shook her head. "You don't understand."
"Show me the way out of here," he quickly said, "and I guarantee your safety."
"I can't. He has my mother."
His surprise showed. "As hostage?"
"Until I return pregnant."
"And then what?"
"He releases her."
His gaze narrowed. "Can you trust him to do that?"
She nodded again.
"Jesus," he muttered on a slow exhalation of breath.
"Does your life look more pleasant now?"
"Untie me," he abruptly ordered.
She withdrew her hand and marginally distanced herself from him, her fear apparent. "I don't dare after last night."
"I give you my word. I won't run."
She contemplated him for a lengthy moment, wanting to believe there were honorable people in the world. "Lord Crewe… what if you're lying?"
"I wouldn't do that to youto your mother," he softly added.
His quiet addendum convinced her, as did the tenderness in his eyes. "We both suffer if you renege," she quietly warned.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of you."
Her eyes glistened with tears. No one had taken care of her for a very long time. With the death of her father, her family had been left unprotected. "Thank you," she softly said. "But I'm not your responsibility."
"You are now," he brusquely answered. "Untie me."
But when she released him, he put his finger to his mouth, rose from the bed, and carefully surveyed the room to see if they were being observed.
Her heart beat wildly while he moved about the large chamber, not certain he would keep his word and stay, her thoughts in such chaos, she couldn't separate joy from fear, desire from anxiety. Nor understand why she was sitting, hands clasped tightly in her lap, shivering, trembling for him.
When he'd offered to care for her, she'd blindly wanted him to, like a heedless young maiden. But harsh reality wouldn't allow such fantasies for longnot with a husband like hers. And a wave of sadness washed over her, the emptiness of her future devastating to consider.
He was walking toward her, a calmness about him, an ease, warmth and kindness in his eyes. "It seems we're actually alone," he lightly noted. And then he saw her forlorn eyes "I said I wouldn't go."
"I wasn't sure." Her tears welled up, suddenly vulnerable to the cruel torture of hope.
"I can get us both out of here," he said, touching her clasped hands lightly, smoothing her fingers with his, warm comfort in his touch. Bending low, he kissed her lightly on the cheek, like one might a child in reassurance, and then, sitting beside her, he gently lifted her onto his lap. "Don't be sad," he murmured, holding her nestled against his warm, solid chest, his hand gently stroking the curve of her back.
Overwhelmed by his kindness, her tears spilled over.
"It's going to be fine," he soothed, thinking she was frightened and unsure. "We'll find a way." Tugging a portion of the sheet loose, he wiped away her tears.
"You… don't… know him," she hiccupped.
He brushed a finger over her cheek. "All you have to do is ride," he softly said. "I'll do the rest."
Wistful hope shone in her eyes. "You make it sound possible."
"We'll ride out later and survey the countryside."
"There's still my mother." Cold reality intervened.
"I have friends at the consulate in Trieste. They can help her to freedom."
Her spirits lifted again. "Do you answer everyone's prayers or only mine?" A new lightness infused her voice; he made the daunting odds seem feasible.
"Just yours, darling," he roguishly murmured. "Ask me for… anything."
Her mouth quirked in a faint smile. "Are you flirting with me?"
He grinned. "I didn't know I had to with your husband's schedule. You're available to me twice a day with or without seduction."
"How quickly you've changed your mind." Playful, arch, she gazed up at him with a mischievous light in her eyes.
"The incentive turned out to beirresistible," he finished in a husky whisper.
"I return the compliment, but you already know that, don't you? Actually, I find myself extremely pleased," she went on in a lush contralto, "that my husband found you for me. Don't be alarmed," she hastily interjected, his sudden apprehension obvious. "I'm not interested in permanence any more than you."
Relief flickered across his face, although he was courteous enough to say, "I'm not alarmed."
"Just cautious," she supportively corrected, sliding her arms around his neck and smiling up at him. "I don't blame you. They all want to be married, don't they?"
"I never ask," he briefly replied, and then intent on changing the subject, he dropped back on the bed, pulling her with him. Rolling over her a flashing moment later, he said, hushed and low, "Does our morning schedule have a time limit or can I fuck you all day?"
"Just to reassure you, Crewe," she silkily murmured, aware of his evasion, "I'm only interested in your enormous cock; I don't need your title or money."
He softly chuckled. "A woman after my own heart."
"Do you have one?"
"On occasion."
"Does it permit you to indulge me now?" Her green gaze was bewitching. "Youdid promise me as many times as I want," she purred.
"At your service, Your Highness." He was already easing himself between her legs, nudging her thighs wider, pulling her dimity robe off so his heated flesh touched hers. "You're nicely wet for me," he murmured moments later, his fingers sliding over her pouty vulva.
"And you're always nicely hard, aren't you?" she pleasantly observed, his erection hot against her skin. "I'm so glad you came to visit me."
He laughed at this curious reversal of motive and impulse. "It turns out I am, too, with sweet, eager cunt like yours to enjoy."
"While I have a virtuoso rake to enjoy."
"We're here to please you, ma'am. Although you may have to beg me the first time as payback for last night," he teased, lightly brushing her sleek, pulsing labia with the swollen crest of his penis.
"Under the circumstances, I'm definitely not averse to begging," she breathed, needful, sensual urgency a constant with the Marquis of Crewe unclothed and aroused before her. She lifted her hips to more readily accommodate him.
"Tell me how much you want this," he murmured, inserting the tip of his penis the merest fraction, the pressure on her swollen tissue exquisite.
"I want you wildly, madly, feverishly," she whispered, moving her hips in a lush, sensuous undulation, enticing him in.
"Don't be shy," he sardonically murmured, smiling, and he guided himself into her drenched passage, his degree of lust as irrepressible. Adjusting her hips minutely, he penetrated slowly so they both felt the tremulous friction, the reluctant yielding as his huge cock stretched her, invaded her, forced her pulsing tissue wider.
All feeling was suddenly concentrated in the heated core of her body, the unspeakable flux and flow as he began moving a heady, breath-held delirium. There were degrees and more glorious degrees, she feverishly reflected, dissolving, dizzy with intoxicating pleasure.
How fuckable she was, he thought, plunging into her soft body, an intense, primordial satisfaction bombarding his senses fathomless, inchoate, different
. Unbridled in her desires, lushly demanding, she was as selfishly intemperate as he.
In a slow thrust and withdrawal, he plunged deeper and deeper in an unrestrained rhythm that only partially satisfied his inexplicable craving. And she met him in her own wild, carnal urgency. It seemed as though they were completely alone in this strange bedroom and manor house, in the world and universe, all else displaced by raw, turbulent desire. Crying out, she clutched at him, drawing him closer, deeper, greedy, wanton, and suddenly he found himself thinking that a woman of such flagrant appetites had men in her past. Brushing his hair back from his face, as though an unobstructed view were required, his gaze narrowed on the flushed, passionate woman beneath him. "You do like fucking, don't you," he murmured, harsh and low, images of a crowd of amorphous men invading his consciousness.
Whimpering, impaled, she couldn't respond, could barely think beyond the delirious echoing mantra equating the marquis's hard erection with paradise, waves of carnal heat pulsing and throbbing through her vagina in a mindless, frenzied rhythm, orgasm, seconds, moments, away.
Suddenly resentful of her fierce abandon, he withdrew marginally and, frantic, she cried out, grasped him more tightly.
"No," he roughly breathed, holding himself motionless in mid-passage, rankled, wondering how many other men had brought her to this point of sexual hysteria.
Her hips arched high to draw him in, her fingers bit into his lower back.
"Fuckingno." Stung, maddened by an unnatural jealousy, he resisted her tenacious grip.
"Yes," she imperiously cried, panting, ravenous. The throbbing between her legs echoed in her brain and body, in every cell and tissue and coursing vein, her climax beginning to shudder on the fringes of her mind. "Damn you," she breathed, willful, commanding, the strength in her hands astonishing. "Give it to me."
She shouldn't have used those words.
They struck a perverse emotion, base prerogatives, untamed urges coming to the fore. "You want it?" he whispered, driven by powerful impulse. And teeth bared, vicious, he drove into her, unrestrained, merciless, giving her what she wantedwhat he wantedthis hot, hot, burning hot princess who made him forget everything but lust and debauch and burying his cock hilt-deep inside her.
She was panting, her climax so close, the peaking pleasure had begun flowing, that first runnel of rapture racing, leaping, swelling an instant later, bearing her to an orgasm so torrid and blissful, her high-pitched scream brought the guards to attention.
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