Rebel Marquess

by Amy Sandas

  She glanced to the partially closed door of the wash room. As she thought of the marquess being so close, just in the next room, a rush of need rose up through her throat and before she made an intentional decision to do so, she called out, “Michael.”

  She found she liked how it felt to use his given name.

  Less than a minute later, his large form filled the doorway. He had put on his breeches but nothing else. His expression showed concern then relief when he caught sight of her sitting in the center of the tub with her knees drawn up against her chest.

  “Do you need something?” he asked.

  Eliza thought quickly. “I could use a little help washing my hair.”

  The look he gave her was long and filled with something unidentifiable. His muscled body appeared stiff with tension as he stood with one foot in the small room and one out. For a moment, she thought he would refuse and a hollow feeling crept into her chest.

  Then he rolled his shoulders and stepped forward. “Of course.”

  He knelt down and reached for a pitcher set on a low shelf beside the tub. He dipped it in the water and said quietly, “Tip your head back.”

  Eliza wrapped her arms around her knees and dropped her head back. She closed her eyes as he poured the water over her head and then began to lather the soap into her hair. His strong fingers massaged her scalp in lavish circles. His movements were unhurried and efficient as he worked the lather through the full length of her hair. The steady rhythm of his breath and the solid warmth of his attention flowed over her, soothing her and easing out any anxiety that had threatened at the return of his distant manner.

  With her eyes still closed as she luxuriated under the movement of his hands, she smiled softly. “Do you remember the first time we were in a bathing room together?”

  “I do.” His voice was low and thick. “I almost kissed you then.”

  “You did?” Eliza opened her eyes and met his gaze, heavy and dark with swirling desire. “Even as angry as you were in discovering who I was?”

  The fire in his gaze and the control she saw in every line of his face sent a flash of lust through her center. “Yes,” he answered.

  “I wish you would have,” she said in a low murmur. “We could have been doing this so much sooner.”

  His pupils dilated and his hands stilled in her hair. The tension between them was potent with the promise of sex and something far more dangerous.

  He gave a slow shake of his head and refilled the pitcher with water. “Minx,” he admonished in a tone that was gentle and deep. “Your honesty will get you into trouble.”

  She dropped her head back again as he poured the water to rinse away the soap.

  “Or it will get me what I want,” Eliza suggested. She lifted her brows in question. “Would you rather I lie and say I did not enjoy what we did in your bed?”

  His gaze turned decidedly rakish then, and a burst of wild anticipation erupted in Eliza’s center.

  “Of course not.” His lips twisted with a rueful sort of smile. “No man wants to hear that. On the contrary, I hope you will always be honest with me.”

  Eliza sighed. “Then I have something to confess. I did not really need any help washing my hair. I just wanted you to touch me again.”

  There was a long pause as he looked into her eyes and she felt as though he could surely see to the depths of her heart and soul.

  “I know,” he replied.

  Then a smile crept across his stern features, softening the harsh lines and curving his lips. She returned his smile as he finished rinsing the soap from her hair and twisted the excess water from its length. She accepted his assistance, feeling more contented in that moment than she could ever remember feeling.

  The marquess stood, reached for a large towel and held it open for her.

  Experiencing no shame or modesty, Eliza stood from the tub. She kept her eyes locked with his and was pleased to see the flash of desire in his gaze. She smiled and stepped into the circle of his arms, lifting her arms so he could wrap the push cloth around her body.

  “I had a discussion with Lady Terribury this morning.”

  Eliza blinked and looked up at him as she grasped the end of the towel to tuck it in around her chest. A prickle of trepidation intruded upon her previous languid state. “My mother? Why?”

  “A date has been set for the wedding.”

  A chill that had nothing to do with the cooling room swept through her body. “Oh?”

  “It will be at the end of next month.”

  Panic flared. “But that is so soon. It barely gives us much time to find a way out of it.”

  He tilted his head and the frown lines appeared again between his brows. “Eliza, you cannot expect to avoid the marriage now.”

  She met his gaze with a stiff lift of her chin. “Why not? Nothing has changed.”

  A threatening shadow crossed his features. “Everything has changed. Have you forgotten already what happened in the other room?”

  “I will never forget…” she began and then shook her head, “but it doesn’t change what I want. I still intend to be an author. I cannot do that if I marry you.”

  “You no longer have a choice.”

  Eliza laughed. “Of course I do. Surely you have been with other women before me. None of them became your marchioness.”

  He huffed in frustration. “None of those women were innocent virgins.”

  The bathing room was starting to feel too confining, and Eliza strode back into the bedroom. “What difference does that make? Personally, I think far too much importance is put on a woman’s virtue by men. Shouldn’t it be my choice what I do with my own virginity? I was fully engaged in what we did in that bed.” She gestured toward the imposing piece of furniture and felt a twinge of yearning to be back with him on the rumpled softness of the comforter. “And I would readily do it again, but it should not mean I have to give away my entire future over it.”

  She turned back to face the marquess. He had followed her into the bedroom and stood with his arms crossed forbiddingly over his chest and a scowl on his face. “You are being unreasonable.”

  “No,” she retorted, “the world is unreasonable.”

  A haughty arch of his brow was his only response to that general statement.

  She sounded petulant and childish. The exhaustion of being in a fight she feared she could not win weighed her down and she turned to sit on the edge of the bed. She lifted her hands and twisted the damp length of her hair into a bun, needing the mundane task to distract her from the lump of emotion lodged in her throat.

  The marquess watched her in silence. He stood so confident and unmovable. His legs strong and solid, his arms a heavy barrier across his chest, his expression firm and unemotional.

  She had to make him understand. She needed him on her side or her battle was lost.

  “I was seven years old when Marietta had her season,” she said as she gazed across the room to the line of windows that were bright with the afternoon sun. “It was magical. My sister, who I thought was so familiar to me, became a glittering princess in stunning ball gowns and ribbons and jewels. She was beautiful. And when she married Lord Duncan, she went off on an adventure I could not be a part of. I couldn’t wait to grow up to be just like her.

  “Two years later, it was Judith’s turn, and again the transformation was a wonder to behold. It was the same for Belinda. But by the time Allegra came up for her season, I was thirteen, and in my own mind practically grown up. I witnessed the same routine of fittings and hopes and anxiety all centered on the purpose of attracting a man who could provide financial advantage and a solid social position.”

  Eliza slid her gaze to the marquess. He hadn’t moved from his spot, but his eyes were focused on her. He was listening. It was all she could hope for right now.

  “I realized something as I listened to my mother’s endless instructions and heard the whispers of my older sisters already married. There was no talk of happiness, or lov
e.”

  Eliza waved her hand dismissively. “Of course, I had already come to understand that love was not something typically a part of marriages in our circles. Belinda is the fortunate exception to disprove that particular rule. But it seemed starkly unnatural that in their efforts to make the best match, none of my sisters, and certainly not my mother, ever once gave any attention to what type of man might make them happy.”

  “This is not unusual.”

  “I know, but it made me realize I wanted more for myself. I wanted to feel I had a right to whatever the world might hold for me. I looked to my older sisters who had married. They dutifully birthed the children and cared for their husband’s households. They danced attendance upon his friends and associates. And as I studied them, it became obvious they were not the same girls they had been when they were young. They had taken their husbands’ names and had lost a bit of themselves. Even Belinda, who loves Lord Palmer with all of her heart, has given all of herself to the marriage.” She sighed. “She used to paint spectacular watercolors, scenes that took your breath away. Since her marriage, she has not painted a single thing. Her every desire now is to satisfy her husband. Her previous joy is wrapped up in a man who may love her now but could tire of her at any moment. It happened to Judith. Not even a full year into her marriage, she discovered Ashdown had taken a mistress.”

  Eliza stood, her agitation over the subject making her jittery. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to smooth away the chills that chased over her skin.

  “I have understood what was expected of me from the age of seven, but I cannot be fooled into thinking it will bring me any bit of happiness. Security, social standing. What good are those things when you have nothing of yourself left, when you have given it all to your husband?”

  She turned to face the marquess squarely. “I will not do it, Michael. I claim my life as my own. I may not be successful in the path I choose, but I will not let my happiness slide away as I become a mere extension of the man I marry.”

  She met his glowering stare and saw a flicker of something unexpected. Compassion flashed from the depths of his eyes, but when he spoke his voice was heavy with the weight of truth. “It is the way of things, Eliza. Always has been.”

  She snorted in derision. “Yes, well I think it is a load of bollocks.”

  He shook his head and a reluctant smile curled the corner of his mouth.

  Eliza decided to change tactics. She walked toward him, and when she stood in front of him, she rested her hands on his folded arms, adding pressure until he relaxed and dropped them to his sides. Then she slid her arms around his waist and pressed against him. He brought his arms around her as she tipped her head back to meet his gaze.

  “I think perhaps we are focusing on the wrong thing right now.” She smiled and he lifted a brow in question. Slipping her fingers beneath the waist of breeches, she tested the hard swell of his buttocks. “We have been given a wonderful opportunity here.” She shifted against him and brushed her belly against his groin. Though his expression remained stoic and he kept his jaw clenched, she felt the evidence of his rising arousal. “With all of the diversions planned for the guests, no one will wonder where we are for at least a couple more hours.”

  “What are you suggesting?” he asked roughly.

  She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the curved muscle of his chest and felt his arms tense almost painfully around her.

  “Well,” she murmured against his warm skin, “the damage has been done. My virginity is gone, never to return. We have plenty of time to debate the repercussions of it. But right now, we would be foolish not to make the most of the rest of the afternoon, don’t you think?”

  To emphasize her suggestion, she rose onto her toes and nipped her teeth at the cord of muscle that ran across the crest of his shoulder. She felt a deep shudder travel through his body, but he made no move to accept what she offered, what she wanted with every pulse of desire building within her.

  Enough with subtlety, she decided.

  She turned her head to whisper into his ear. “Please don’t refuse. I think I might die if I do not feel you inside me again.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Rutherford had braced himself at her approach. He had detected the purpose in her gaze and recognized her sensual manipulation for what it was—an attempt to shift his focus from the topic of their marriage.

  She would have to come to terms with their altered course soon enough. There was no going back. He had acknowledged the inevitable change in their circumstances before bringing her to his bedroom and thought she had as well. He never would have taken her maidenhead if he had suspected she would continue to resist the marriage. His honor now demanded he see their engagement through to its expected conclusion.

  Despite her insistence otherwise, she would be his wife.

  As he knew was her intention, the moment she pressed her sweet curves against him and he felt the sultry heat of her body and the softness of her skin, he no longer thought of marriage and honor. His body reacted to the moisture of her kiss and the edge of her teeth. And when she whispered the heated words of her desire, he experienced such a violent surge of lust and longing all other concerns were obliterated.

  He fisted his hands in her towel and whipped it away from her. Then he grasped her hips in his hands and smothered her gasp with his mouth. Her tongue entwined passionately with his and she clutched his shoulders, her fingernails scoring his skin. He walked them back to the bed, but before taking her down to the mattress, he turned her around.

  She arched and the lush crease of her buttocks cradled the hard length of his cock. Her damp hair tumbled down and he swept it over her shoulder so he could press his open mouth to her nape. Her head fell back and a light airy gasp escaped her lips. Wrapping his arm around her narrow waist, he lifted her forward onto the bed. She fell to her stomach and tried to roll over to face him, but he lowered himself onto her back, his weight keeping her in place.

  He continued to tease the skin on her nape with nipping kisses and flicks of his tongue, assuring her without words that she would enjoy what was to come. She stretched beneath him, no longer resisting her new position. He shifted to the side to expose the full length of her back to his gaze. The enticing dip of her waist drew his touch and he smoothed his palms down her sides and then over the voluptuous rise of her buttocks. As he did so, he noted the way the muscles of her back tensed and her legs trembled.

  He circled his hands over the generous mounds again and she muttered something incoherent as she drew her legs apart the barest bit.

  With a grin of wicked intent, he leaned forward to lavish wet kisses across the valley of her spine. He ran his hand over her buttocks again, this time allowing his thumb to side along the shadowed crevice between. When he heard a low, muffled moan, he quickly nipped the muscle of her shoulder and smacked the softness of her flesh with the flat of his hand.

  She gasped and jolted beneath him. He murmured heavily against her neck. “That was for trying to manipulate me.”

  Her breath puffed through her lips and her lashes swept against her cheeks.

  He drew her earlobe between his teeth before turning his attention back to her body. Her skin was flushed a lovely rose color and a light sheen of moisture coated her flesh. He lifted himself and watched her carefully as he swept his hand over her hip and down the outside of her thigh. When he slid his hand back up between her legs, tickling the flesh of her inner thighs, she held her breath and caught her bottom lip between her teeth, holding herself stiff and still with anticipation.

  He reveled in the perfection of her response. She was a natural sensualist. Finely receptive to the pace and pressure of his touch. Awaiting his next move with bated breath and tingling expectation. Her awakening was a wonder to behold. The pleasure in his body deepened with every moan she didn’t even try to hold back and every roll of her hips telling him how much she wanted him. Without warning, he brought his hand to the heat pooling betwe
en her thighs. As he slid his fingers suggestively along her slick flesh, she gasped and tipped her hips to allow him better access.

  He chuckled at her unspoken demand. He would give her what she wanted, but not yet.

  She tried to roll over, but he kept her still with his hand pressed gently between her shoulder blades. She uttered a protest that slid into another moan of pleasure as he flicked his tongue at the very base of her spine while he circled the bud at the apex of her sex with his fingers. He teased the sensitive flesh guarding her entrance. He nipped and licked his way across her lower back to the lush hills of her buttocks.

  He wanted her writhing beneath him with whimpering pleas passing between her lips.

  And soon she was.

  Hearing his name in her sexy gasps nearly undid him. He exhaled across her skin, watching the sensitive rise of goose bumps. Knowing he would not last much longer, he gave her rear one more light smack as he rose from the bed to shed his breeches.

  By the time he turned back to her, she had pushed herself up and turned to face him. His cock throbbed with the need to be buried deep within her. As if she understood the fire that raged through him, she smiled and wrapped her hand around his length.

  He groaned, unbelievably grateful for her lack of virgin reticence. He met her gaze and the hunger he saw there fueled his own. He leaned over her, bracing himself on his fists. She stroked a wonderful rhythm along his flesh even as she dropped her head back and sought his lips with hers.

  He plunged his tongue into her mouth as he wished to thrust his cock into her body.

  He knew he should go slowly, ease himself into her since she would be sore from her first time. But as she drew him toward her, wrapping her legs about his hips, he felt his control stretching to its limit. When she released his cock to grasp his buttocks in both hands, urging him to her, he could find no strength to resist. He slid into her, the way made slick with heat and moisture. Fully encased within her, he paused and rested his forehead against hers. Already, his balls tightened painfully in preparation for release. It was all he could do not to pump furiously into her body until he lost his mind.