The lover and the headmistress in her warred almost all the way to the address on Curzon Street Duncan provided her, but about two blocks before she arrived, she saw the most stunning view of the moon rising over the rooftops.
And the lover in her won.
As darkness fell over London, she couldn’t help remember Juliet’s impassioned plea:
“Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo…”
* * *
“You’re here,” Duncan said at the door, as if she were an answer to a prayer, and pulled her inside.
She let the hood of her cloak fall back. Before she could say a word, he was already kissing her.
To Marcia, it felt like a homecoming. Wrapped in his arms, she let all the tension she’d been in the grips of the past ten days fall away. She was hungry for him, hungry like she’d never been before.
Duncan pulled back and looked at her. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” she whispered.
They smiled at each other, and she could tell he was almost giddy with happiness, the same way she was.
They matched.
They truly matched.
“We keep only a reliable married couple here,” he told her. “He does all the odd jobs and serves as butler and footman. She cleans and cooks. I asked them to make us an extremely simple meal which they’ve already laid out in front of the fire in the drawing room.” He caressed her upper arms gently through her cloak. “They live in the dependency out back and have assured me they’ll respect our privacy. So you needn’t worry about anything.”
Anything? How about her desire to touch him? To lose herself in him? To cast aside all the rules she’d been following without breaking ever since her horrible mistake with Finn?
“That sounds wonderful,” she said.
And it was.
Tonight she wouldn’t be the headmistress. Tonight she would simply be.
She let Duncan slip off her cloak and hang it on a stand.
“You look more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you,” he murmured, and kissed her again—a fervent, demanding kiss.
She returned it with equal passion, her skin on fire wherever he touched her.
When they came up for air, he escorted her into the drawing room as if she were fine china. She was both amused and touched by his careful attention and could read clearly in his eyes that he hoped she’d be pleased.
A simple repast of roasted chicken, freshly baked bread, cheese and grapes, as well as a bottle of red wine, was laid out on a small table in front of the fire. Two comfortably overstuffed chairs were drawn up to it. It was a thoughtful display, meant to be shared by two lovers.
They ate and spoke of easy things, and all the while she feasted on the sight and sound of him. She craved another whiff of the hint of lime and spice on his throat, but she’d have to wait until they next kissed.
When would that be?
She hoped soon. She took a sip from her second glass of wine, the rich flavor leaving a warm trail down her throat.
He chuckled. “You look preoccupied all of a sudden. Something on your mind?”
“You,” she said simply. The wine was making her tongue looser than usual.
His eyes smoldered, and she felt her middle tighten.
“I’m honored.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Tell me why you’ve been so standoffish these last ten days. Is it because Finn is at every party? Is it because Lady Ennis seems to be pursuing me relentlessly? Why?”
She put down her wine, afraid to tell him. But she must. “Lysandra told me I could become headmistress again at Oak Hall—if I stayed away from you. She wanted you for herself.”
His eyes flared with surprise, and then anger. She could see it, much as he tried to mask it.
“It was at the Reader Street fair,” Marcia continued, “when she asked me into the carriage to help untie the knot in her reticule. Of course, there was no knot. Only her offer, which I think I can characterize as a bribe.”
“She’s devious.”
“She is,” Marcia agreed. “I had to stay away from you because I was considering what to do. It was why I picked Joe up with no one seeing him. If she’d found out that you and I were communicating…”
“That’s why we had to meet secretly?”
“Of course. What other reason would I have?” He winced, and she could swear she saw a glint of guilt in his eyes. “If you thought for one minute that I was ashamed to be seen with Joe—”
“Not ashamed,” he said softly. “Simply not willing to make waves, which I understood completely. I’m sorry I underestimated you.”
“You should be,” she said. “The fact of the matter is”—she could feel the pulse in her neck, she was so frightened to tell him—“I can’t hide from you anymore.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Why?” he asked.
She stared at the fire crackling in the hearth.
“Why, Marcia?” he asked again.
She shook her head. And suddenly, the flames blurred before her eyes. “Because I want to be with you.” She put her hands over her face. “It scares me how much.”
He got up from his chair and pulled her to her feet. “Look at me,” he said.
She inhaled a shaky breath and looked up at him.
“I’m honored.” His voice was husky. “And there’s nothing to fear. How can there be? It’s you. And I. Nobody else. This is our world. Right here and now.”
He kissed her, their bodies pressed tightly together. And then he lifted her in his arms and spun her slowly before the fire, kissing her while she clung to him.
“Duncan,” she whispered, and put her hand on his jaw. “It can never be.”
“Yes it can.” He laid her on the sofa and left a long, hot trail of kisses down her jaw and her neck, kisses that made her arch and moan. “I’ll make you mine tonight.”
She curled her fingers in his hair, luxuriating in its thickness. “No,” she said. “Not that I don’t want to, but—”
“I want you,” he reminded her. “All of you. And I want to marry you.”
“I want you, too,” she said back. “But I can’t marry you. I can’t.”
He shook his head. “Marcia—”
She put her fingers on his lips. “Ssshh.”
He sat back on his haunches, and she pulled herself upright on the sofa. “Can’t we just enjoy each other? The way we have already?”
He stood abruptly, grim lines around his mouth. “I want more from you.” He turned to the fire, his arms crossed. A few beats of silence went by before he turned back to her.
“Please don’t ask for that.” She stood, her breath short. “Just love me, Duncan. Love me here in this sweet little house.”
His eyes became little pinpoints of darkness and light. Without another word, he undressed her, sliding her gown and chemise off her shoulders and running his tongue around the buds of her breasts before suckling them, his mouth sweet and warm upon her skin.
She threw her head back and reveled in the exquisite sensation.
And then he ran his hands down her sides, adoring her, and sent her gown and chemise to the floor in a puddle of pink and ivory. She was left standing in her lacy French drawers, aching for his touch.
He played with the delicate rim of the linen still obscuring her body from view and then knelt before her, pulling the garment down slowly, kissing every inch of her belly as it became exposed, until he nuzzled the silken blond curls sheathing the entrance to her femininity.
“Oh,” she cried, her hands on his muscular shoulders. “Oh, Duncan.”
He nudged her legs apart and licked the little pearl which he’d loved so well before, and at her moans, made a gentle invasion of her sex with his finger.
“You’re like a flower,” he said, teasing her heated flesh, “blooming just for me.”
And she felt that way, too, as if he were her sun and she was open to him, ba
sking in the heat of his adoration—free, beautiful, and alive.
As she was about to shatter around his teasing fingers and mouth, he stopped everything and looked up at her with his warm, brown gaze. He grinned, the line of his jaw strong and true. “Shall I go on?”
She bit her lower lip. “Yes, please,” she whispered.
“I will in a moment.” His voice was like sand. “But first, we have to go somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Upstairs to one of the guest rooms. You first.” He patted her rear.
She couldn’t help but laugh.
He lit a candle near the stairs and left it there to light their way. All the way up the steps, he kept grabbing her bottom, making her laugh. At one point, he stopped her completely.
“You’d best hold the banister,” he said.
She did as she was told, and he gently moved one of her legs two whole steps higher than the other.
Her laughter completely faded away when he kissed her from behind—light, teasing kisses, moving from her earlobe to her neck to that tender spot between her shoulder blades. All the while he kneaded her bottom with firm, bold fingers. Before long, his open palm caressed the V between her legs. She sucked in a breath, the pleasure making her dizzy, especially when his other hand cupped her breast and he rolled its tip between his fingers.
“Duncan,” she moaned, reaching behind her to run her hand over his breeches, frustrated that she couldn’t gain direct access to his hard length. “I can’t take much more.”
“Good,” he whispered against her neck, and teased her by invading her slick core with a finger.
She had to grab the stair railing with both hands again.
But once more, he stopped before she was propelled into ultimate sensual bliss. “I forgot,” he said in that teasing voice that was making her mad with frustration and delight. “We have someplace to be.”
He must have known her knees were weak because he picked her up.
“Duncan!” she protested, laughing again.
And then he tossed her facedown over his shoulder, sprinting up the rest of the stairs with her as if she weighed no more than a feather.
“What are you doing?” she cried upside down, enjoying the feeling of his shaven jaw contacting her flank.
“Taking you to my lair,” he said on a wicked chuckle. He rubbed her bottom with a loving hand.
Instinctively, she pressed her belly into his shoulder, seeking his heat and hardness. “This isn’t fair.” Her voice was muffled by his jacket. “You’re still dressed.”
“We’ll remedy that shortly.”
He put her down gently in a small, sapphire-blue room with a cheery crackling fire, a gold Aubusson rug, a four-poster bed with matching sapphire silk hangings, a tall bureau, and an escritoire with paper and quill waiting.
She found herself standing in front of a massive framed looking glass that extended from the floor to the ceiling. “I’ve never seen such a looking glass!”
He stood behind her. “It came from one of the halls of Versailles,” he said, observing her in its reflection. “This is where I want you.”
He wrapped his hands around her waist and kissed her shoulder. The glow from the fire illuminated their left sides, but their right sides were lost in darkness. “Look how beautiful you are,” he murmured. “Like a queen.”
“I like this.” She smiled and clasped his hands to her belly. “We look as if we’re in a painting.” She turned to him and kissed him with an open mouth, a primitive drumbeat in her veins, an unspoken need to be claimed by him and to claim him as her own.
They kissed with fevered abandon, their tongues clashing in a lusty sparring match that made her crave his invasion.
Which she knew could never happen.
It can’t, she told herself. Because then he’ll know.
“I’ll like it more when you’re undressed,” she whispered in his ear, and kissed the underside of his jaw. It was rough and wonderful.
“That’s a fine idea.” He slid away from her to light a candle on the bureau behind them.
When he turned back, she was eager to remove every stitch on him. He let her begin, his chest out, his back straight, his legs slightly spread, his bare feet firm on the floor. She could tell as she proceeded that he was completely at ease with himself and enjoyed seeing his own body in the mirror.
She found his confidence endearing and so much like a man. She couldn’t blame him for being proud. He was magnificent. And the best part was, his eyes gleamed with desire.
For her.
The knowledge made her heady.
But you can’t have him, she thought. Not forever. Only now.
And pushed the thought away.
She was on the floor, her right shoulder to the mirror, when she yanked and yanked his tight breeches until his erection sprang forth. Stopping everything, she took a deep breath. “My goodness,” she said weakly. “I’ve felt you there, but never actually seen your … your gift.”
He laughed. “I hope it meets with your approval.”
Her first thought was to grab the taut, proud flesh and kiss its satiny tip. So she did, and finished with a lingering circle of her tongue.
She heard him suck in a breath. Was it pain? Or pleasure?
She looked up and saw him watching her in the looking glass, his eyes smoky with gratification. She peered over her shoulder at their figures in the mirror.
It was an erotic sight, indeed.
Enjoying her new explorations, she reached around and grabbed his buttocks, taking him into her mouth, teasing the length of him with her tongue, and then suckling him gently, drawing him in and out of her mouth. All the while, she cupped the warm, round flesh dangling below, teasing it with her fingers and then nuzzling it with her own lips.
She heard him moan his delight.
“You’re a vixen, Marcia Sherwood,” he managed to say.
“And you love it,” she retreated long enough to murmur.
“God, I do,” he answered.
At which point she blew softly on his rigid sheath, her mouth not touching it, no matter that she sensed him aching for the contact.
“Tease,” he accused her.
She laughed.
“I suppose I had it coming,” he said, and pulled her up beneath her arms.
Gently, he turned her so that she was facing the mirror head-on again, and he was behind her, caressing her from her breasts to her belly and below. “I want to make you mine.” The hard length of him teased her lower back. “First, on the bed. And then here, in front of the looking glass.”
Without waiting for her answer, he lifted her up, carried her to the bed, and laid her on the sapphire coverlet before sprawling next to her, one leg propped, revealing the strong curve of his thigh. He leaned over and swept his hand down her belly. Then he suckled a breast. “I can’t get enough of looking at you—and tasting you.”
He pulled a wisp of hair from her eye. “Marry me, Marcia.”
“Why do you want me to?” She smiled a little smile at him. He was beautiful. Dark and strong and generous.
He grinned. “There is the obvious reason. The practical one.”
“Which is?”
“We’ve reached the point of no return, my lady.” He kissed her nose. “I’ve compromised you. I’m a man of honor, and I want to see that I make it right.”
Oh, God. If he only knew. “Is—is that all?”
“That’s a very good reason to marry, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. But is there anything else?”
He looked at the fire a moment, then returned his gaze to her, his brown eyes steady upon her. “I care for you. Very much. We would make a wonderful family. You. Me. And Joe.”
“You think so?”
He nodded.
She thought so, too. It was a lovely daydream. But daydream it would remain.
She rolled away from him, her heart sick, and stood up. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
> What had she been thinking? That he’d say he loved her? She restrained a bitter laugh. Oh, Shakespeare. Thank God for you and your tragedies. They’ve prepared me for my own.
Duncan leaped up. “Where are you going?”
“Leaving.” She walked to the door, past that magnificent looking glass.
“Why?” He went to pick up his breeches and yanked them on.
“Because I need to.” She cradled her chest with her arms, ran from the room, and raced down the stairs, he in hot pursuit. Furiously, she began to gather her underthings and put them back on.
He hovered over her. “If you marry me, you can be happy,” he assured her. “I promise to make you happy.”
“Please,” she said, a stocking dangling in her hand. “Leave me alone.”
The silence in the room dragged on. She fumbled with her ties. He pulled on his shirt. She gave up on her ties—refusing to ask for help—and strode to the entrance hall, where she grabbed her cloak and flung it over her shoulders.
He came after her, his shirt dangling open at the neck and down to his belly, exposing black curls and a plane of hard muscle. “You’re not in the proper frame of mind to discuss this.”
Suddenly, he sounded like the Duncan of old: bossy and cool.
“I most certainly am,” she retorted and tied her cloak beneath her chin. “I’m glad I came tonight. Now I know exactly what to do. Return to Oak Hall.”
“Marcia.”
“I know you like to fix things, Duncan. But some things can’t be fixed.” She opened the door and left without shutting it behind her and ran to the hackney.
“Hurry and leave,” she called to the driver.
She got in and faced the far window. Within seconds, she heard the crack of a whip.
And her fantasy was all over.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The next afternoon, Duncan found himself helping Margaret with her lessons on the pianoforte.
“How is it, my lord,” she said, “that a gentleman with hands as big as yours can play so lightly, yet when I play, I sound as if I’m all thumbs?”
Loving Lady Marcia Page 25