How to Manage a Marquess

by Sally MacKenzie

  “There isn’t any gossip.” Her eyes narrowed. The air between them was charged, but with annoyance and exasperation, not the sexual desire he’d hoped for. “And even if there was, it won’t matter. I’m the Spinster House spinster. I don’t need a husband.”

  She’d gestured to the house, but his focus remained on the bed.

  “A house can’t give you what I can.”

  She snorted. “What? Wealth and position? I don’t need—or want—those.”

  He believed her. But he could give her passion. Children.

  But love? Can I give her that?

  She’d want love.

  She was strong and independent. She had everything she needed: the Spinster House, her father, her friends, even the boys.

  She said she loved me.

  Of course she’d said that. He’d just given her her first sexual orgasm. It had been her body speaking, not her heart.

  “Very well. Then I suppose there’s nothing more to say, is there?” He turned to leave—

  The cat flashed past him to block the doorway.

  “Get out of the marquess’s way, Poppy.”

  Did he hear a catch in Anne’s voice?

  She stepped past him to encourage her pet to move.

  “Merrow!” The creature hissed, arching its back. Its tail fluffed up to twice its size.

  “Ack!”

  Startled, Anne took a quick, disastrous step back, caught her heel in her skirt, and lost her balance, tumbling into him.

  His hands shot out to catch her, but he hadn’t braced himself to take her weight. He fell backward, too. Fortunately, they had a soft landing on the side of the high bed.

  Hmm. A very soft landing. Anne’s delightful derriere was cradling his cock.

  “Oh!” She must have noticed his wayward organ’s enthusiasm, because she started to thrash, putting his poor member in imminent danger.

  He held her more tightly against him. Her soft bottom felt very, very good—

  But she’d misunderstood when he’d held her still in the Spinster House garden. He didn’t want her to feel manhandled again.

  He started to lift her away, but she managed to wriggle free and twist around, putting her hands on his chest to brace herself.

  She was straddling him.

  Dear Lord, please give me some self-control.

  He pressed his arse against the bed to keep from pressing his cock into her warmth.

  Warmth that might thaw the rest of his heart . . .

  No. He could only allow himself to take that path if he was going in love and not in lust.

  “So, is your male instinct governing your actions again, Lord Haywood?”

  He forced a smile. “It would like to, but as you can see, you have the upper hand. I am at your mercy.”

  Her eyes widened, and she flushed. And then—Zeus!—she pressed against him, briefly, tentatively.

  His cock pleaded with him to take control.

  His brain was still functioning enough to deny that petition. Instead, he removed his hands from her arse and gripped the bedclothes. He had to let her take the lead.

  But keeping his hips still was a Herculean effort.

  “I don’t need a husband.”

  “I know. But would you like one?” Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Could you unbutton my waistcoat, Miss Davenport? It is very warm in here.”

  Passion—and lust—were melting his heart. Feelings raged in him like a river rushing high with snowmelt.

  But were any of them love?

  She looked at him suspiciously, but then she leaned forward to reach his top button—which pushed the juncture of her thighs against his cock.

  His eyes almost rolled back in his head with ecstasy.

  She worked her way down his waistcoat. Sadly she had to retreat a bit to reach the last button, taking away the lovely pressure.

  But her eyes were still trained on his waist. She must see the sizable bulge that had appeared there.

  “Would you like a husband, Anne?” He moistened his lips. “Would you like me for a husband?” He swallowed. “Please?”

  Her hands stilled, her head snapped up, and she stared at him. “Do you want a wife?”

  “I want you.” Her hands were so close to his poor, pleading cock. “I need you.”

  “Because of your male instinct?” The jade traced a fingertip over his bulge.

  Where had she learned such a trick?

  Who the hell cared? He just wanted her to do it again. And again.

  “Yes.” He swallowed and tried not to pant. He wouldn’t be able to keep still much longer. But he had to keep still. He didn’t want to do anything that might make Anne move away from him.

  Oh, Lord, she stepped back. He wanted to cry.

  “Show me how to help you.”

  “W-what?” He blinked at her. His powers of thought were admittedly compromised. “What do you mean?”

  She leaned forward to run her finger over his bulge again. “I know you are tortured by the duke’s marriage. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

  “N-no.” Marcus’s marriage certainly had caused him pain, but his current pain had nothing to do with his cousin and everything to do with this beautiful, maddening, caring woman.

  “Let me help you forget.” She touched his fall again. “Show me how to make you feel what you made me feel at the Manor.” And then she started to undo those buttons.

  It was heaven.

  No, it was wrong, but only because it wasn’t truthful. Her courage—her generosity—shone a light through the darkness in his heart—and the lust governing another organ. He finally saw things clearly.

  He straightened, pulling her hands away from his cock to press them flat against his chest so she could feel his heart beating.

  She might be able to see it, too, it was thudding so.

  Ah. And he heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance. The clouds he’d seen earlier had come this way.

  But Anne hadn’t heard it yet. She was looking up at him, a mix of confusion and determination in her eyes.

  I’d better say this now, before the storm comes.

  “Anne, I have far more experience with duty and obligation than I do with love, but I do think I love you. You make my heart”—he flexed his hips to press his eager cock against her briefly—“and other organs leap with joy when I see you, and I miss you terribly when you aren’t nearby. I want to go to bed”—especially that—

  Shut up, Cock!

  “—and wake up every morning beside you. If that’s not love, then I want to spend the rest of my days learning how to love you.”

  “Oh, Nate.” Anne smiled up at him.

  He heard another rumble. The storm was coming closer, but Anne still gave no sign she was aware of it. He needed to get her promise before all hell broke loose.

  “So will you marry me, Anne?” He smiled. “Even though it means you must give up this lovely house?”

  She laughed. “It’s hardly lovely. I almost gave it to Jane after I’d won because she wanted it so badly and I . . .” She threw her arms around his neck. “And I want you, Nate. I love you quite, quite desperately.”

  He moved to kiss her—and that was when she finally heard the thunder.

  She stiffened, her eyes widening with the beginnings of panic. “Is there a storm coming?”

  Her answer was the sound of rain hitting the roof.

  “It appears I’m stuck here alone with you, Miss Davenport.” Nate glanced over at the door—good. The cat must have approved of him, because it had taken itself off. “And as you are now my betrothed—you have agreed to marry me, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.” She threw a fearful look at the window. “I hope it blows over.”

  “And I hope it lasts for a while. No one will come visiting you in the rain, and I have some things of a very private nature I wish to do with you.”

  That distracted her from the weather. “Oh?”

  “Remember that storm the last
night at Banningly?” he asked, beginning to pull the pins from her hair. “Remember what we did?”

  “Oh. Yes.” She flushed. “I’ve dreamed of that rather often.”

  “So have I.” It was a tune playing always in the back of his thoughts. “Shall we see if we can do it again, except with rather more detail and without the annoyance of clothes?”

  * * *

  “Y-yes.” The room flickered with lightning. She tensed.

  The thunder will come soon—

  Oh! Nate was kissing her jaw as his nimble fingers moved down the back of her dress, opening the buttons. The cool air hitting her skin made her gasp, just as she heard the thunder. It was still off in the distance.

  With luck it would stay to the north—

  Lightning lit the room.

  She sucked in her breath and beat back the terror. I’m inside. I’m safe. The storm might not come any closer.

  Nate stripped off the rest of their clothing and gathered her into his arms. Mmm. She felt safe here, so close to Nate. And he smelled wonderful. She pressed her cheek against his chest.

  The lightning was brighter this time, and the thunder followed much more quickly. She gasped. Fear tried to seize her heart.

  Nate’s strong hands lifted her onto the bed. She burrowed under the covers, curling up into a tight ball.

  Oh, God. Oh, God. Make the storm pass. Please. Make it pass quickly.

  Someone was sobbing.

  It wasn’t Nate.

  “I’m here, Anne.”

  A warm body pressed against her back, and warm, strong arms wrapped round her. She turned and pressed against him, hooking her leg over his hip—which brought something long and hard and warm up against her woman’s part.

  She could take him in. He could be inside her. Maybe that would be close enough to keep her safe.

  She pushed against him—

  “Not yet, Anne. You aren’t ready.”

  “When?” If she pressed her face against his chest, she couldn’t see the lightning.

  “Soon.”

  And then he shifted so he was on top of her, his weight pushing her into the mattress. She couldn’t move. She could barely breathe—and she loved it.

  Lightning lit the room again, but Nate was there, between her and the danger. Thunder followed soon after, and rain pelted the windows.

  Nate’s mouth was on hers, his tongue filling her as he shifted again, his hands roaming from her breasts to her waist, down to the secret place between her legs.

  Ah. Her body remembered him and arched up in welcome. A wildness grew in her, stronger and stronger....

  “Anne. So beautiful.” His finger slid over and around the small point at her center. “Shall I come to you now?”

  Lightning flashed, thunder crashing over her before the brightness faded, but she wasn’t certain if the storm was outside or inside her. “Yes.”

  She opened her legs and he nudged against her, slipping in—

  Oh!

  Just the tip of him sliding inside triggered a storm of pleasure. She clung to him as it roared through her—interrupted by the briefest hint of pain as he slid all the way in. And then, as that pleasure ebbed, she felt a new, quieter delight—Nate’s warm seed pulsing deep inside, finding a home in her womb.

  Perhaps making a child.

  He collapsed onto her while the storm continued to rage outside.

  She didn’t care. She was safe now in Nate’s arms.

  * * *

  Nate’s heart was thundering almost as loudly as the storm outside. No, louder. The external storm was moving off. His personal storm . . .

  God.

  He’d taken his fair share of women to bed, but he’d never experienced anything like this. Far more than his cock had been involved—his mind, his heart, maybe even his soul had been part of this joining. And he was still sheathed in Anne’s tight passage, her lovely warm, soft body pressed under his. Every breath he drew was filled with her scent.

  I’m heavy. It must be hard for her to breathe.

  He began to lift himself away.

  She growled a little in protest and tightened her hold, trying to keep him with her. “Don’t go.”

  “I’m not going far. Just here.” He stretched out on his side, facing her, his head propped up on one hand, and smoothed the hair back from her face. “Are you all right, love?”

  She smiled. “Am I your love?”

  “Yes. And soon you will be my wife.” Words couldn’t express what he was feeling: lust, love, admiration, a deep need to cherish and protect her and any child she might have—

  A child. Perhaps even now she’s carrying the next Marquess of Haywood.

  Zeus! His heart felt as if it would explode.

  He kissed her, softly this time, and then frowned. Here he wanted to cherish and protect her, and he’d just subjected her to a very vigorous coupling, far too vigorous for a virgin. Had he hurt her? He didn’t remember her flinching, but he had been so overcome by his own sensations, he might have missed it.

  She traced his frown with her finger. “What’s the matter?”

  “Are you all right? It was your first time. I should have gone slowly.”

  She smiled, looking rather pleased with herself. “So I drove you mad with lust?”

  He grinned back at her. “Yes, minx, you did.” He frowned again. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “Only for a moment.” Her expression turned serious. “It was what I needed, Nate. It made me forget the thunder and lightning.”

  He wished he hadn’t hurt her at all, but at least, now that her maidenhead was gone, it wouldn’t happen again. He kissed the tip of her nose. “So is this what I must do every time we have a storm?”

  She laughed. “Yes! At the first flash of lightning or peal of thunder.”

  “Even if we are at some Society event?” He chuckled. “I don’t believe the patronesses of Almack’s would approve of Lord and Lady Haywood comporting themselves in such a fashion in their hallowed assembly rooms.”

  Her smile was mischievous. “Perhaps we can make use of an alcove.”

  “Or I shall alert my coachman to come pick us up if the weather turns threatening.”

  And speaking of the weather, he didn’t hear any rain. “I think the storm has passed.”

  “I think you are right. And here is Poppy to tell us it is time to get dressed.”

  The cat came into the room and jumped back up onto the chest of drawers. It sat down, wrapped its tail around its front paws, and stared at them.

  Nate opened his mouth to tell it to be about its business when he heard footsteps.

  Oh, hell. Someone was running up the stairs.

  Anne’s eyes grew wide with alarm, and she slipped down under the covers.

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured, smiling reassuringly. Yes, it would be embarrassing to be found naked in bed together, but since they were marrying as soon as he could procure a license, any gossip would die a quick death.

  He turned, taking care to shield Anne with his body, and saw—

  Edward, standing in the doorway by Nate’s discarded shirt.

  “Uncle Nate! What are you doing in bed with no clothes on?”

  That wasn’t a question he particularly wanted to answer, so he asked one of his own.

  “Is your mother or Lord Davenport with you?” He was, of course, going to have a word with Anne’s father, but he preferred to address the baron while wearing a shirt and pantaloons.

  “No. We came by ourselves as soon as the storm was over to see if Miss Anne was all right.”

  We?! Oh, of course.

  Stephen appeared in the doorway.

  Edward looked at his brother. “It’s Uncle Nate, Stephen. He’s in bed with no clothes on!”

  Stephen glanced around the room. “Where’s Miss Anne?”

  “I’m here, boys.” Anne had inched up to peek over Nate’s shoulder. Her voice sounded a bit strangled.

  Stephen frowned at her. “Do y
ou have any clothes on?”

  “Ah . . . er . . .”

  Her clothes were strewn on the ground for anyone to see.

  Edward gave a little skip. “Hooray! Uncle Nate must have kissed you!” He looked at them a bit more closely. “Did he put a ba—”

  Nate spoke quickly to keep Edward from revealing the advice he’d offered in the church hall.

  “I stopped in to say good-bye to Miss Anne before I returned to London.”

  “You’re going back to London?” Edward asked.

  Thankfully, he’d managed to distract the boy from the subject of babies.

  “Of course he’s going back to London,” Stephen, the all-knowing older brother, said. “That’s where he lives, silly.”

  “Yes, well, fortunately I was here when the storm came up,” Nate said quickly to forestall a sibling spat. “Miss Anne was quite frightened, as I know you can imagine, so I crawled in here to comfort her.” Why he’d had to remove his clothing as part of that process was a question he hoped the boys wouldn’t think to ask.

  Stephen grinned. “Like you comforted her on the island?”

  “Yes, very much like that.” Only more so.

  Stephen nodded. “And now you’re getting married, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “See, I told you she didn’t want to be a spinster.”

  Edward had lost interest in their situation. “Look,” he said, pointing. “It’s Poppy!”

  The animal jumped down from its perch and came over to rub against Edward’s leg. It even allowed itself to be petted—as it gave Nate a self-satisfied look.

  Well, he’d admit he owed the cat some thanks. If it—she—hadn’t insisted, he’d have continued on to the inn and never stopped here.

  God! That would have been terrible.

  Anne poked him in the back.

  Yes, she was quite right. It was time to bring this interview to an end.

  “Why don’t you boys go back to the party?” Nate suggested. “You can tell your mama and Lord Davenport we’ll be along shortly to have a word with them.”

  “Can we take Poppy with us?” Edward asked.

  “That is up to Poppy,” Nate said.

  “Merrow.”

  Whether that was a yes or a no, Poppy at least decided to leave the room. She ran down the stairs with the boys in pursuit.

  Nate got up and closed the door, something he apparently should have done earlier. Then he looked back to see Anne sitting up, the bedclothes pooled round her waist, her beautiful shoulders and breasts glowing in the light from the window. He started back toward the bed.