Nate stood naked in his room and looked out his open window. It was past midnight, yet the air felt heavy and close—which was why he’d shed his nightshirt. It was too hot to wear even that much clothing.
I hope it storms and cools—
He glanced at the closed door to the dressing room he shared with Anne. Surely she was already asleep and wouldn’t be disturbed by any thunder or lightning.
He leaned on the windowsill, inhaling the scent of the garden. Dinner had been rather a trial, though Anne had borne it well. Everyone had been talking about Eleanor’s wedding. They expected Davenport to arrive sometime in the morning tomorrow—well, today now—and then he and Eleanor would marry in the drawing room with Huntley officiating.
How could Davenport not have spoken to Anne privately before he left? Eleanor had said last night on the terrace that the baron was going to do so.
Nate sighed. To be fair, the governess and footman’s behavior had likely forced Davenport’s hand, moving the wedding from soon to as soon as possible. And perhaps the man would have talked to Anne if she hadn’t spent the day on the island.
That’s what I’ll assume. It’s better than wanting to darken the daylights of a fellow twenty years my senior.
But it was difficult not to feel some anger, because it seemed that after the wedding, Eleanor and Davenport might be going off on a short honeymoon, leaving the boys with Anne.
Such unabashed presumption!
He took a few deep breaths and forced his hands to relax their grip on the windowsill.
In Eleanor’s defense, it hadn’t been her idea—or at least she hadn’t been the one to voice it. And Davenport might not know of it yet. Lady Banningly had suggested it, springing the notion on Anne right there at the dinner table.
Anne’s head had snapped up—she’d likely been woolgathering, since the only conversational topic the entire meal had been the wedding. She’d looked a bit startled. But she’d rallied. He smiled. He’d been very proud of her—
He frowned. Perhaps proud was the wrong word, since that suggested a connection they didn’t have. Admiring was more appropriate—he’d admired her poise. She’d said she’d be happy to take charge of the boys for a few days, though she had no experience with children.
The sky flickered and thunder rumbled far in the distance. He glanced again at the connecting door. Surely that hadn’t been loud enough to wake Anne?
No. She probably slept with the windows closed. Most people did, thinking the night air unhealthy.
He looked back into the darkness. Foisting the boys on Anne was bad enough, but then someone suggested that the honeymoon was no reason to delay the planned move to Davenport Hall. After all, the boys seemed to be quite taken with Miss Davenport, and she must wish to return home as soon as possible. An immediate move would even help allay the boys’ anxiety—and everyone knew they were very anxious children.
Miss Davenport had pointed out that since her father would be taking their coach and coachman on his honeymoon, she would have no way to get from here to there.
So then Lady Banningly had said Miss Davenport was, of course, welcome to stay at the Manor with her and the viscount.
Nate snorted. Good God! He wouldn’t wish an extended stay alone with those two old sticks on his worst enemy.
But Banningly had offered to put his traveling coach at her disposal if she wished to attempt the journey.
That was how Nate had been nudged into disaster. The blasted viscount had looked directly at him when he’d added, but even a mature woman such as you, Miss Davenport, should not travel alone with two young boys.
Anger at Banningly for calling Anne mature in just that tone, as if she were someone’s ancient aunt, had clouded Nate’s reasoning. Well, and he hadn’t liked the notion of her alone on the road with only Stephen and Edward and the coachman to support her. Loves Bridge was less than a day’s journey away, but one never knew what one would encounter while traveling. The coach could lose a wheel. Or a sudden storm could make the road impassable.
A thunderstorm—
Anne would not do well if she was stuck in the mud in a traveling coach with two young boys and lightning flashing round her.
He dropped his head into his hands. So he’d offered to escort her and the boys to Loves Bridge himself.
Idiot!
Everyone had thought his offer a very good thing and had gone on to plan his and Miss Davenport’s journey for them. At least he’d managed to ask her quietly if the situation met with her approval, and she’d smiled and nodded, seeming happy for his assistance.
It felt very good to have his efforts appreciated.
Oh, Lord. It wasn’t her appreciation that was making him feel good. It was the thought that he’d have more time alone with her.
No, not alone. Stephen and Edward would be there, too, thank God. He could not allow his male instinct to slip its leash with two young boys as chaperones.
What I feel for Anne is far more than physical.
And that was the problem.
He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his head against the window frame. He should bang it against the wall—perhaps then he’d knock some sense into it.
I can’t marry yet. I have to protect Marcus. I gave Mum my word.
The passionate certainty he always felt at that thought didn’t come this time. Instead he felt . . . empty.
Lonely.
Bah! He pushed away from the window. He was letting his sympathy for Miss Davenport and the odd nature of this house party muddle his thinking. Once he deposited her and the boys in Loves Bridge and returned to London, he’d be himself again.
And of course he wouldn’t actually ride in the coach with her. He’d have his curricle to drive. He would follow along, see the little party safely to Davenport Hall, and, if he was lucky, get back to Town the very same day. This would be nothing more than a small detour to do a good deed.
The wind was picking up. Lightning flashed again, brighter this time, and thunder followed more quickly. He glanced again at the connecting door. The storm was still a distance away. With luck it wouldn’t get any closer. It wasn’t raining yet—
He’d no sooner had that thought than all hell broke loose. A bolt of lightning split the sky, and thunder crashed right overhead, making even him jump. Rain pelted him as he rushed to slam the window shut. Poor Anne! Before he could form another coherent thought, he was through the connecting door with his hand on the latch to her room.
She might still be asleep.
He took a steadying breath, cracked the door open—
And heard Anne scream.
He burst into the room.
Zeus, what had she been thinking? Her window was wide open. She hadn’t even closed the bed-curtains.
“N-Nate.”
He dealt with the window and then hurried over to her. As soon as he was within reach, she lurched up, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her soft, nightshift-clad body pressed against—
Oh, Lord. I’m naked.
It was too late to do anything about that. Another flash of lightning illuminated the room.
Anne tightened her grip. “Don’t leave me,” she shouted over the thunder. “Oh, please don’t leave me, N-Nate.”
“Of course I won’t leave you. Move over, love. I’ll hold you until the storm passes.”
He’d intended to be a gentleman—if a chilly one—and lie on top of the blankets, but Anne was having none of that. She let go of him long enough to pull the covers back, and then, the moment he stretched out beside her, she plastered herself against him, burrowing her face in his chest and hooking her nightshift-clad leg over his hip, pressing closer and closer as if she wanted to climb inside him.
There was nothing seductive about her actions. They were so clearly driven by fear and the need for comfort that even his wayward body recognized it. Oh, his cock was very interested in the soft, warm opening it knew was nearby, but it was allowing his will—and his heart—to govern its a
ctions.
Finally, the storm moved off. Anne’s breathing slowed, and her body relaxed.
Was she asleep?
No.
“Mmm.” She pressed a kiss to his chest.
God, that feels so good. I—
I have to leave before I do something stupid.
“The storm is over, Anne.” He gently unhooked her knee from his hip and guided it back to its mate. “Time for me to go back to my room.”
She made a little disgruntled sound like that blasted Spinster House cat might make if someone stopped petting it before it was ready. One of her hands spread over his chest; her other slid down his back past his waist to his arse. She kissed his chest again—and then swept her tongue over his nipple.
Sending a bolt of lust straight to his brain. He stopped thinking, giving his cock the advantage. It led his hips toward Anne’s warm body.
Or perhaps that was Anne pulling him closer.
“You’re naked.” Her hands moved again, stroking over him and making him want to purr. “Very naked.”
“You can’t be very naked. It’s something you either are or you aren’t.” He was very aroused was what he was. Surely she noticed his cock trying to impale her.
“You are.” She kissed the base of his throat. “Very.” She pressed another kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Naked.”
I have to leave. I have to leave now.
His muscles refused to obey. They were so warm and comfortable and delighted by the soft, curved female body pressing against him. By Anne pressing against him.
We aren’t married. Anne’s a virgin.
Several wonderful things a man and woman could do together without endangering anyone’s maidenhead popped into his head.
I have to leave. Remember Marcus. Duty. The curse.
I can’t leave. Hear the thunder?
That’s your heart pounding, you fool.
Somehow he’d bent his head so Anne could reach his lips. Her tongue traced the seam of his mouth while one of her hands followed the curve of his arse to his thigh, the tips of her fingers brushing his bollocks.
He inhaled sharply—a serious tactical error. The moment his lips parted, her bold little tongue darted right in.
Bold, but inexperienced. That combination excited him more than any practiced touch. Still, he tried to resist. He would resist. He’d pull away in just—
Her fingers slipped up his leg to touch his poor, beleaguered cock.
Zeus! That was more than any man could bear.
* * *
She’d been caught in the old nightmare, the one where she saw the bolt of lightning hit Mama. Where she ran up the slope to her, only to stare down into her lifeless face.
Horror and helplessness churned through her again. She tried to call for help, but she couldn’t inhale. She tried to run, but her feet wouldn’t move. She—
Then thunder had boomed so loud it broke the dream’s hold on her. Air rushed into her lungs and she’d screamed.
And seen Nate.
He was here with her now. His heat had melted the icy terror in her heart. But he was going to leave. Even though his body hadn’t moved, even though she was kissing him, she could feel him withdrawing. In just a moment, he’d untangle himself from her and take his warmth and comfort away.
She didn’t want him to leave. She needed him here. How could she persuade him to stay?
It was luck—and clumsiness—that caused her fingers to brush against his male bit.
He made an odd sound, something between a gasp and a growl, and for a moment she was afraid she’d hurt him. But before she could apologize, he moved and she was on her back and he was leaning over her.
He wasn’t leaving. She was so happy he wasn’t leaving.
His lips brushed her eyes. His tongue traced her mouth. She opened for him, but instead of coming inside, he sucked gently on her lower lip and then moved on to nuzzle her jaw.
“Nate.” His gentle touches were fueling a different sort of storm, one building inside her.
His large, warm hand cupped her breast, stroked it—and then his thumb brushed over her nipple.
If Nate hadn’t been holding her, she might have shot off the bed.
She wanted to feel his skin on hers. “Let me take my clothes off. Please.” Her nightshift was thin, but it wasn’t thin enough.
“No.” He kissed her throat. “Too dangerous.”
“Dangerous? You’re naked. Why can’t I be?”
“Because we aren’t married.”
“I don’t care.”
She should care. She knew what they were doing was wrong. It just didn’t feel wrong.
Lud! Now Nate was frowning.
“I should stop,” he said.
She covered his lips with her fingers. “No.” There was a flicker of lightning and a faint rumble, and for the first time since that terrible day at Loves Water, she welcomed it. “The storm’s coming back. Make me forget.”
He looked at her, his face tense. He closed his eyes—
When he opened them, she could tell he’d decided to stay.
Thank God!
He cupped her jaw, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”
She felt safe.
“I won’t take your virginity.”
She almost said he could have it.
Then he bent his head, his mouth finding her breast. His lips dampened the thin cotton over her nipple. He sucked and licked, and she felt it all the way to the damp place between her legs, as if there were a cord running between the two places.
Ohh.
Sacrilegious as it might be, she thought she’d found heaven.
Though it would be even more heavenly without the nightshift.
“Nate.” She threaded her fingers through his hair to hold him where he was. “Oh, Nate.”
But he moved anyway—to attend to her other breast, turning both nipples into hard, aching peaks.
The small point between her legs ached, too. Her hips rocked. She needed him there.
“What do you want, Anne?” he whispered.
“You. I want you, Nate.”
There was another flash of lightning, a louder rumble, but she hardly noticed.
“And I want you, Anne, but I can’t have you.”
Because of the curse? Because you need to protect your cousin?
She suddenly hated Isabelle Dorring, too.
And then Nate’s broad hand slid up her leg, taking the skirt of her nightshift with it, and she had no room in her heart for anything but pleasure.
And love.
She gasped.
“Are you all right, Anne?”
No, she was not all right. She was panting and moaning and her body was about to burst into flames.
“Shall I stop?”
“No! Don’t stop.” She twisted her hips. “Higher.”
He smiled and obligingly slid his hand higher. His fingers brushed over her curls.
“Ohh. Yes.”
The storm could be breaking right over her head and she’d not hear it, her heart was thundering so loudly. She tried to arch up so his fingers would go where she wanted them, but he flattened his hand and held her still.
He was so much stronger than she was, but she wasn’t afraid. “Don’t tease me.”
He brushed a kiss over her mouth. “Why are you in such a hurry?”
Why, indeed? Nate was here. Surely he wouldn’t bring her to this place and not finish what he’d begun. She should savor this. Who knew if it would ever happen again?
I want it to happen again. I want to marry—
No. Nate had been very clear about that. He wouldn’t marry as long as he had Marcus to protect.
Something long and warm was lying along her hip. She reached for it—
But Nate moved. She tried to wriggle closer.
“No. Not this time.”
“Another time?”
He kissed her instead of answering, and the hand
that was holding her hips down finally moved, fingers curling between her legs, cupping, but not touching. Not quite.
She moaned. “Please. Now.”
His fingers didn’t move. “Don’t be so impatient.” But his voice was strained. He was almost panting himself. “There’s no hurry. We have hours—”
“Hours?” It came out as a croak. “I can’t wait hours.”
He laughed, a short, tight sound. “You have a point.” He moved his middle finger just slightly, enough to graze her—
“Ohh!” It was the smallest touch, but it shot through her like an arrow.
The small voice of reason told her she should be embarrassed.
But she had no room for embarrassment. His clever finger was pulling her tighter and tighter, like a bowstring. She spread her legs wider, arching higher in welcome.
His finger moved again, probing, sliding. “You’re so wet, Anne. So ready. I wish . . .”
“You . . . you w-wish?” She could barely get the words out.
“Nothing.”
“Oh!” Her thoughts scattered as his finger moved faster.
Tighter and tighter—
“Nate. Oh, Nate.” She clung to him so she might leave bruises, but she had no choice. She was going to fly apart at any moment.
“That’s it, love. That’s it.”
She was panting, every muscle so tight it hurt. Her world had shrunk to Nate’s touch and his voice.
“Come, Anne. Let it come. Don’t fight it.”
And then his finger slid over her one last time and she came apart.
“Ohh,” she said several minutes later, when her breathing and her heart had slowed and she could talk again. She buried her face in his neck. “Oh, Nate.”
I love you.
She stiffened. Had she said that last out loud? Surely not.
But she rather feared she had.
No, she must not have, because Nate said nothing. He just held her.
And he was still tense....
She slipped her hand down his stomach—
“No.” He caught her fingers before they could reach their goal.
“Why not?” She kissed his chest. “You can show me how to touch you. I want you to.”
“No.” Nate slipped out of her hold, out of her bed. His poor male organ looked huge. It stuck straight out from his body. “We can’t.”
How to Manage a Marquess Page 20