Markham traced her jaw with his fingertip, shivers coursed through her.
But what of Lord Alcott? What of Edmund?
Lord Alcott was a handsome man, but she would never love him. Edmund had been the man of her dreams not too long ago. She’d thought him the perfect husband. She was wrong. She would always love Markham, no matter whom she married.
Doubts of Markham’s actions six years ago lingered in her brain. Had he changed from then? Would he not break her heart again?
But then Markham bent low to kiss her again, and the surge of warmth, shortness of breath overtook her.
“Say you’ll be mine.”
Her body leaned toward his even as her mind held one last hesitant doubt. Was one incident worth giving up her heart’s desire? Her body thought not, winning the battle as she pressed herself against him, reaching up on her toes brushing her lips against his. She loved the taste of him, the power with which he possessed her tongue.
All that he did for her today—culminating in this heavenly vision and scent of the roses—attested to his wish to please her. And now she wanted to be pleased so much more, so much deeper inside.
Markham’s mouth moved, his breath warm. “Must I ask you again?”
“Yes,” she answered, unable to withhold the crack in her voice. “Yes, I will marry you.”
Markham’s relieved sigh signaled a concern at her hesitation. And the fact he wasn’t so sure of himself made him even more endearing to her.
The storm unleashed its fury, beat the roof and windows. Markham seized her mouth again where he stroked her tongue in a frenzied passion that matched the pouring rain.
Lizzie let go. Fear of the unknown niggled at her, but that acute pain longed to be released. She trusted him. His touch could set her body free.
And touch he did. Markham suckled her tongue, nipped at her lips, then trailed a fire down her neck. He pressed his mouth against the pulsating heartbeat at the base of her throat. His hands clasped her shoulders, then tried to push aside the fabric of the dress.
Markham sank to his knees on the damp, dirty floor, kissing his way down her body. He reached to cup her breasts and her nipples hardened in anticipation. A flash of tingling ecstasy sped through her veins, weakening her knees, wrenching a cry from her lips.
A frustrated growl echoed in the hot room and he reached behind her, fumbling at the hooks of her dress.
Lizzie ran her fingers through his dark hair, anxious to pull his mouth to her skin again. She too, wanted to taste him, to feel his skin against her lips, to have his muscles under her palms.
At last, her dress and corset were loose and he let them fall to her waist. Then the simple matter of lowering her chemise and her breasts were bare.
Markham stared at them as if he’d never seen a naked woman before. His utter look of hunger made her thighs clench, wetness dripped down the inside of her thigh.
He wanted her. Lord Markham wanted a simple country girl.
That expert tongue flickered out to her waiting nipples, making them pebble even in this cloying heat. Lizzie whimpered as he sucked each in his mouth, weighing the breasts in his palms.
Quivers shot straight to her toes, arching her back.
She panted, her body ablaze. She buried her fingers in his hair again, clenching the dark strands as his mouth swirled wetness around her sensitive peaks.
“Oh, Markham…”
His hands clamped around her waist, the pressure of his fingers urgent and demanding.
Then, emptiness rippled across her skin as he pulled away. “Devil take it, I want you. So much.”
Lizzie sought the steaminess of his eyes. “Are you to say again this isn’t the place for it?”
With a quirk of his eyebrow, Markham gave her a wicked grin. “I do know of a more comfortable location, if you prefer.”
Honestly, she didn’t care if they continued amongst the thorny rosebushes. No longer could she live with this incessant inferno hollowing in her belly.
“I will follow where you lead.”
With that, he stood, hastily retied her chemise and pulled her dress back to her shoulders. He snatched a key dangling from a nearby hook then lifted her into his arms. She nestled in his powerful embrace. Then, without a word, he wove through the narrow aisles and out another door.
Right into the drenching rain.
Markham barely felt the drops that pelted him. But he did feel relief. Blessed, undeniable relief. And desire. Passion raged in his blood.
He tucked the light Lizzie deeper against his chest.
She laughed. “No, no, I want to feel it.”
Despite grinning at her carefree spirit, Markham wasn’t about to let her down. Not now. Not when he had her secure in his arms. Not when she’d just agreed to marry him.
Could liberation finally have found him? The devil, he hoped so.
He brought them to a halt at the front door of the gardener’s cottage. Markham leaned them beneath the tiny overhang but it did little in the way of keeping them dry. The housekeeper had confirmed the servant would be gone for the rest of the day and reluctantly handed over the key.
“Can you reach into my pocket?” he asked her. “We’ll need the key.”
Her wet, shining lips curled again. “Why don’t you just set me down? Wouldn’t that be easier?”
Markham bent low and tasted the rain on her mouth. Oh, but he wanted to taste more. So much more. “I’ll not let you go.”
She raised a red eyebrow and snaked her hand out of his grasp. After shifting her in his arms, Lizzie reached her hand into his pocket. Tiny fingers fumbled through the fabric, tickling his legs, heating his blood.
“I can’t seem to reach it.”
He loved the way the rain drops clung to her eyelashes like a blossom atop a stem. “Try again. Reach deeper.”
With a deep breath, she pushed her hand deeper into his pocket. Her fingers groped at the material, searching, and then—
Her hand closed about his rigid flesh. Fiery arousal ricocheted through every cell in his body. A groan tore from his lips. He expected her to let go, to yank her hand back with a shocked cry.
But she didn’t. A curious yet determined look fell across her features. As if torturing him were the goal of her day, Lizzie stroked the length of his erection. A shudder passed through him. His knees weakened.
Releasing her to a stand, the damned fairy slid her hand from his pocket but rediscovered her treasure at the front of his trousers.
She had to stop. No, he wanted her to continue. But, first, clothing must be removed.
“The key…” the words came out in a hoarse whisper.
“It wasn’t in there.”
Markham clenched his jaw and braced himself on the doorframe. “Other…try the…other pocket.”
Sighing, Lizzie did as he asked and extracted the key. Granting him a short reprieve, she turned from him to unlock the door.
Pushing aside wet curls, Markham feasted on her glistening neck. He licked the curve to her shoulder and then back up to her earlobe, all the while tasting the sweetened aroma of roses.
With a surrendering whimper, she opened the door.
Not too unlike Lizzie’s house, only smaller in scale, this room held a fireplace at one end and a meager sofa and chairs. A worn table with dishes piled atop it stood near the stove. A hint of breakfast porridge lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of cut flowers lying haphazardly on the hearth. A small, shadowed set of stairs led up to the bedroom.
“Where are we?” Lizzie asked.
“The gardener’s cottage. He’ll be gone all day.”
She glanced up at him, her eyes the brightest object in the room. “Wouldn’t you rather us be in your bedchamber, amongst the carved wood and heavy curtains?”
He brushed her damp cheek with the back of his fingers. “No. The place matters not.”
“Wouldn’t you rather I be bathed and dry for your touch?”
Markham’s gaze traveled leis
urely along her form. Face shining and eager, lips dazzling and supple. Her vivid hair glistened, those curls now having fallen from their fashion. Drops of water leaped from the ends of the strands onto her loosened clothing. Though fancier than her home outfits, this dress still could not hide her hard nipples.
He had craved to touch her the day he first saw her. And evermore that vision impressed like an etching in his brain. He saw it nightly as during his restless slumber and again when a painful erection woke him in the mornings.
And now the image stood before him. This time a willing collaborator, this time agreeing to marry him.
“No.” He wrapped a curl around his finger. “This is exactly how I want you.”
He heard her gulp. “But, where? I mean—”
Markham continued to focus on the shimmering lock wrapped around his skin. He couldn’t wait to feel them on the rest of him. “The bed is upstairs.”
“But it’s someone else’s house. I don’t think—”
He dropped the curl, grasped her hand and brought it to his straining hardness again. “Don’t think.”
Lizzie’s eyes drifted closed as she caressed him once again. Markham swallowed his growl and reached down to undo the waistband of his trousers. His nerves tingled, his skin blazed with fire.
No. Control. He must maintain control. Were she to touch his bare flesh now, he could easily embarrass himself.
Instead, he lifted her back into his arms. She leaned her head against his shoulder as he brought her up the narrow flight of stairs and then into a single room with naught but a bed, small table and wardrobe.
“Not on the bed,” she pleaded.
Markham didn’t know why it bothered her so much but he was not going to quarrel. He set her down by the single window, which lit the room with only gray shadows. Inside the wardrobe he found extra blankets and spread them across the floor.
Lizzie stared at them, her expression partly terrified. More and more, Markham doubted her liaison with the curate. Surely, she wouldn’t be so hesitant and concerned if her virginity had already been taken.
But he could take away her fears, just as he could create and satisfy that blessed itch of desire rampant within her.
He slipped off his shoes and crossed the blankets to stand before her. Outside the wind raged and the rain slapped the window pane, but inside he intended to keep them both warm.
She glanced up at him with those luminous green eyes, trusting him. Her faith sent a stab to his heart. He had no doubts over what they did tonight, but later, once they were married, would she understand? He should tell her the truth, admit to the plot to make her his countess. However, her father made him swear to keep silent. Markham had no choice but to pray he went to his grave with the secrets of his birth and the blackmail.
He forced away the tightening of his chest. These concerns would not ruin his night. He must make her his wife. And yet, after the sorrow he witnessed at the gardens, he wanted to offer her tenderness.
“Shall we find where we left off?”
Her innocent smile weakened him. “Show me what to do.”
Markham went down on his knees and unbuttoned her shoes. His fingers brushed the sensitive arch of her foot, eliciting a giggle from above. Ah, so the fairy was ticklish.
He lifted himself from the floor and stood before her. His eyes caught her gaze and held it, daring her to look away as he reached behind her. One by one he undid each hook on the dress. Little by little it fell further from her shoulders until it dropped to a puddle on the floor.
Still holding her innocent eyes within his spell, Markham’s fingers worked the lacing on her corset. It too skimmed down her waist and hips.
Markham reached into her wet hair, slipping out pins and releasing them without a glance as to where they fell. Nothing mattered now but him and his Lizzie. Every cell in his body pulsed with need. Ever since that first day he saw her, she’d captured his passion and held it hostage with her ethereal charms. At last, her heavy hair was free, spilling about her shoulders like flames of a fire.
He kissed her then. Her magnificent tresses, her supple shoulders. Her glowing, freckled skin tasted of the rain, the roses, the very spirit of this country fairy. Working his way down her body, Markham untied the string of her chemise. It floated around her form like a brief puff of powder.
His lowered his tongue to her peach-colored nipples. She moaned as he suckled each of them. White-hot need spiked his veins but he continued on without pause. He lowered her petticoats, her underdrawers. Then, with his tongue caressing the indent of her navel, he rolled down her stockings. Finally his bride stood naked.
She trembled in the chill of the room. Rain beat a steady rhythm against the pane behind her. Markham swallowed, but his throat remained dry. She was so beautiful and yet part of him feared he might break her in two.
“I want to see you,” she said in a whisper. “I want to feel you too.”
Markham grinned and did as she asked, removing his clothing piece by piece until he was only in his undergarments, his erection pressing hotly against the soft material.
He could wait no longer. Markham ensnared her lips, setting their tongues dancing. His fingers stroked the length of her tangled hair, continuing down her back. When he reached the prime roundness of her bottom, he yanked her hard against him.
She gasped then relaxed in his embrace. Releasing her mouth, he once again felt compelled to taste every inch of her. He nipped at the throbbing hollow spot at the base of her neck, then her small breasts, and down to the smooth plane of her belly.
Tantalizingly soft, her skin was a delicacy. He nibbled down her legs and then back up to their apex.
Lizzie gave a startled cry, but Markham did not shy away from her nectar. Her red curls dampened with both his tongue and her desire. She clutched his hair as she swayed. He grasped her hips, pulling them closer to him.
His flesh jerked, eager for release. He would not last much longer. Markham lifted her, then settled her onto the blankets.
“But you—”
He silenced her with a finger to her lips. “It is your night, my love. There will be time for me later.”
She started to protest but went rigid when his tongue invaded the tender flesh of her womanhood again. Grasping her waist, Markham tasted the heavenly essence of his future wife, coaxing her into whimpered breaths and bucking hips. He licked the swollen nub, slid a finger between her folds, and drove her relentlessly until she finally cried out in a shattering release.
A shuddering throb of his own hurried him to slip off the remainder of his clothes. Bracing himself above her, he took a last, long look at the cream-colored shape of woman beneath him.
Lizzie opened her eyes. No longer hesitant, they were alive, curious and glazed. She licked her lips. Her fingers reached toward him, skimming along the planes of his arms, then down across the hair on his chest. She brushed a nipple, sending a jolt straight to his aching flesh.
He’d always wondered what it would feel like to have her touch him. To have her tiny hands flitter over him like a butterfly’s wings. Holding himself still, Markham reveled in her soft caress, then closed his eyes to heighten the surprise.
Down his quivering stomach, then lower again until she reached the aching tip of his arousal. Unable to bite back the growl, Markham opened his eyes to watch her thin fingers embrace him.
Her curious strokes nearly unmanned him, forced him to take control. Lowering himself to her small frame, Markham gave her lips a light kiss.
“Are you ready?” he said against her mouth.
“Yes, please. I need something…more.”
He eased himself between her thighs then rubbed her swollen flesh with his own. The moist red curls teased him with a searing heat, but he held back. He rocked against her, circling her ear with his tongue, until she writhed and clung to him.
“I can’t wait,” he gasped, his agonizing need pushing him beyond restraint.
“More…” Her frustrate
d whimper was all he required.
With a single hard thrust, Markham forced his way in, breaking the intact barrier of maidenhood. All concerns vanished and he swallowed her painful cry with his kiss.
“That was the worst of it.”
“It hurts.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Shall I stop?” Though he doubted he possessed such willpower.
But his brave bride shook her head, her gaze intense. “No. I can bear it. I want to know what it feels like.”
Markham kissed her eyelids, then eased himself in more slowly. Rocking against her pelvis he inhaled the scent of her, swallowed the taste of her still on his tongue.
She opened to him more, gently matching his tempo, her body adjusting to his penetration. “I feel-I need—”
Despite her pain, she squirmed beneath him in a building climax. His urge for release mounted, a shower of tingles racing from the base of his spine. Deeper and harder, he thrust himself into her, burying his face in her mass of hair.
He wanted to go longer, to savor her sweetness, her tight velvety body. But he had ached for her, denied himself relief for too long.
Lizzie jerked her hips up to meet him with frantic motions. Then her sheath convulsed around his flesh, and a cry rang against his ear. His control snapped in a heady rush as scorching, trembling heat rose from deep within him.
Markham thrust into her one last time. A savage groan tore from his throat as he pumped his release into her waiting, silken body.
He collapsed onto his elbows, careful not to crush her.
She stared at him for several moments, her breasts rising and falling, a curl of fulfillment playing about her lips. Only the sound of the gusting rain and their loud breathing broke the satiated silence. Finally, Lizzie took a deep breath and traced a line down his slick jaw with her fingernail. “You satisfied that blissful burn. Now I could want for nothing else.”
Markham closed his eyes, an unexpected pain searing down his throat. She was wrong. She would want something else. One day she’d want his love. But he could not give her that.
Having her as his wife was an act of desperation and necessity. She amused him, fascinated him, tempted him. But love he could not offer. He’d lost Emily. He’d lost his father. He could not be that reckless, that carefree, that imbued with emotion again. Not even with his fairy.
A Tarnished Heart Page 21