How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal)

by Reid, Stacy

  Richard twisted, pressing her back into the mattress and coming down between her spread thighs. The force of his need shocked him. He reached between them and tested her readiness. A groan rumbled from him at the wetness he found. She pulled her lips from him, taking greedy gulps of air. Lust had flushed her cheeks a becoming pink, her eyes were heavy lidded and slumberous, her lips swollen and damp from his kisses.

  Her nipples were strawberry pink, and he flicked his tongue over a hardened nipple, before rolling it gently and sucking. He pushed her legs apart with his own, his hips shifted, he parted her folds, and he pushed inside her, slowly, thrusting inexorably deeper until she took him all. Her inner walls gripped his cock like a silken glove. Her fingers sank into his hair. Though she soaked his cock with her arousal, she rippled over him in a too tight clasp. She shivered, and he groaned, deep and guttural, before kissing her deep and carnally, and at times pulling back to whisper explicit, sensual, and sometimes filthy promises against her lips. He made no allowances for her innocence, and he was damn grateful she did not seem to mind, responding to his urgings with such sweet sensuality.

  He pulled back and returned with a swift, deep penetration. Her trembling moan turned into a low cry of pleasure. He fused his lips with hers and swept them into a powerful rhythm. She clung to him sweetly, giving and taking equally, more passionate and generous than any lover he had ever known. Her hands twined around his neck, holding him close. He could taste when her passion was upon her. She whimpered, kissed him with more carnal urgency, and rolled her hips with such innate sensuality onto his cock he almost expired on the spot. Her head fell back onto the pillow, her neck delectably arched, shuddering breaths escaping her.

  With a keening cry, her small frame convulsed in his arms, her nails biting into his shoulders with an erotic sting as she clamped down on his cock so tightly he could barely move within her. Fiery fingers of pleasure danced up his spine, and he emptied his release deep into her welcoming body.

  She smiled at him, her eyes glowing with feminine satisfaction.

  He turned her to her stomach and pressed soothing kisses along her shoulder blades. With a soft sigh, she curled onto her side and slipped into slumber as if she had not just rocked his soul. With hands that trembled, he tugged the sheets across her body, protecting her from the slight chill in the room. He eased from the bed, careful not to disturb her, and went to the hearth to stoke the fire. He then went to the armoire, selected a pair of trousers and a simple white linen shirt, and tugged them on. Pacing to the wide windows overlooking the southern tip of his estate, he stared into the darkness. His heart felt heavy, and his emotions were a jumbled, tangled mess. He hardly knew what to do with the tug and pull at his heart. The need to keep her close, protect her, love her, meshed brutally with his former intention to keep her at a distance.

  He needed to mount his horse and ride across the country to clear his head.

  An hour later, after leaving a note for Evie and strict instructions for no one to enter his chambers, he powered across the lanes of his estate on his stallion. Though he’d known what would happen if Evie stayed, he’d still not expected the ease with which he had succumbed to her charms. Devil take it. He’d taken her damn virtue, and her future husband would surely feel its loss. God’s blood. He’d taken more than her virtue, he’d debauched her thoroughly in every way possible. And the worst of it, he was not remotely satisfied. He wanted her always, and he almost roared his denial at the selfish acknowledgment. He was being damnably weak…again.

  After tenderly cleaning her in the library, they had drunk brandy, a first for the giggling Evie. With sensual promises glowing in her eyes, she’d climbed down his body and had taken his cock into her mouth, with a bewildering mix of innocence and carnality that had held him spellbound.

  He pulled on the reins, bringing his horse to a steady canter as the memory of the way she had taken him had his erection rubbing against the saddle in acute discomfort.

  He’d been impatient for her and had made love with her again, before lifting her sleeping weight into his arms to his chambers. And just now he’d loved her again without any consideration for the tenderness she must have felt… What in God’s name had he been thinking? And wasn’t that the bloody problem? He never seemed to think with any clarity where she was concerned.

  Hell’s teeth. Evie deserved marriage after the way he had thoroughly debauched her. Richard scrubbed a hand over his face, a snarl of frustration rising in his chest. One touch was all it had taken from her, one damnable touch, a fleeting kiss, and all the chains and barriers he’d erected around his desires had collapsed, and the years of pent-up longing and lust had roared to the surface of his soul and conquered. That had been an unfamiliar experience—his control acting like ashes in the wind, easily swept away.

  But how could he marry Evie? He already debated the merits of destroying Lady Honoria’s reputation. To ruin Evie’s position in society, to endure her eventual heartbreak…he couldn’t even contemplate the notion. The scorn and ridicule that would be directed her way. Christ. She had no idea the vilification he’d happily endured for his daughter’s sake.

  Thundering hooves drew his attention to the far distance. He relaxed when he recognized Harrison.

  “Richard.”

  “You’ve returned soon. Do you have news?”

  The man grimaced. “I’ve found Miss Imogen Green. It was quite easy, and she wasn’t hiding. She is being kept in a cottage near Brighton by Lord Covington. She’s his mistress and is contented to remain so.”

  “Covington,” Richard mused. “He’s recently married, isn’t he?”

  “To an American heiress.”

  Disgust curled through him. “I’ll pay him a visit and see that he makes proper allowances for Miss Green and his child, for when he inevitably casts them aside.”

  Harrison nodded, then cleared his throat. “Miss Martin has accepted your generous offer and will travel down by the end of the month to assume her new position.”

  “Good.”

  Harrison looked off in the distance, a tic working in his jaw. “I…I may call court upon Miss Martin if you’ve no objection.”

  Richard never thought he’d see a hardened soldier blush.

  “I have no problem if your courting does not interfere with her duties, and if the lady displays interest.”

  Harrison smiled, a first since the ending of the war, if Richard was not mistaken.

  “I must return to the estate. I have several meetings planned today. Have you broken your fast, do you care to join me?”

  Harrison grunted. “I’ve already eaten, and I have no wish to encounter Lord Ashford. I cannot suffer anyone’s disdain over my leg at this moment,” he said derisively.

  “Ashford?”

  “He is on his way here. We bedded down at the same inn last night, and I heard his missus mention in the common room they were on their way to Kencourt Manor after breaking their fast.”

  A curse spilled from Richard. His head had been so far gone with Evie he’d forgotten he made an appointment with Lady Honoria’s father, the recently appointed Earl of Ashford, to discuss the possibility of aligning their families. He’d made the appointment three weeks past. God’s blood, this is what he wanted to avoid. He should have sent her home in the blasted rain. “I must return to the house, God’s speed, Harrison.”

  Richard nudged his horse to a gallop to ride back to the estate. Less than half an hour later, he handed the reins over to the stable lad with an order for his stallion to be given oats and a good rub down. He walked inside with clipped strides, curious at the lack of noise. The children should have awoken by now and been giving their governess and tutors grief. The silence was suspicious.

  “Where are the children?” he asked of his butler.

  Mr. Nugent’s face remained stoic. “They are in the kitchens, my lord.”

  The kitchens? Richard went to the large room that was the kitchen and jerked to a halt at the ridiculo
us sight that greeted him. Evie, his daughter, Jack, Clara, and James were covered in flour, and all giggling. No one else lingered within the kitchen, no doubt interrupted from doing their duty with whatever nonsense Evie concocted.

  “What is going on here?”

  She jerked around, her eyes widening. “You startled me!”

  “Oh, Papa, we are baking tarts and biscuits,” Emily said, beaming in delight.

  “Where is Mrs. Potts and everyone?”

  Evie’s skin was flushed a gentle pink. “Forgive my interference. I’ve given them a couple hours off while we commandeered the kitchen.”

  “I see.” Except he truly did not. “I sent Her Grace a note explaining my delay. I’d planned to depart after luncheon.”

  “I apologize for my abruptness, but I must encourage you to depart immediately. I will call upon you this evening at Rosette Park.”

  He then realized Evie had yet to meet his gaze, and that she was furiously blushing.

  Several seconds ticked by and he belatedly became aware everyone was silent, and the children were staring at him and Evie in clear confusion. A flush worked itself up his neck, and he cleared his throat. Devil take it, he was floundering as much as she.

  “Papa…” his Emily said almost hesitantly. “Look at all we’ve made. Shortbread biscuits and cinnamon buns. Come and taste.”

  In the first years of his and Evie’s unorthodox friendship, he had been her taster. Several times she had amazed his taste buds, and a few rare times Richard had accused her of poisoning him with some awful concoction. It had been a little over two years since he had been treated to Evie’s baking. He’d thought her mother would have stifled that creative and inquisitive bent by now. Pleasure warmed his chest to know she had retained a passion of her own. He walked over, and she lifted a wooden spoon to his lips. It was red and thick, and not very appealing in appearance.

  “Are you afraid to taste?” she asked, but her eyes held a thousand questions, and deep in her emerald depths he spied uncertainty.

  He closed his mouth over the spoon. A rough sound of approval escaped him before he could stifle the sound. Richard swallowed. “What is it?”

  Emily was twitching. “I made it, Papa. Jack and Clara helped me. It’s the filling for a cherry pie.”

  “It is very good,” he said, praising their efforts.

  All the children began speaking of their contribution, their voices overlapping each other in the excitement. Evie laughed, somehow managing to herd them from the kitchen and toward their rooms with a firm order to make themselves presentable for luncheon on the lawns.

  Emily hesitated and glanced back. “Lady Evie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you join us in the gardens for reading? I…I would like to read my story to you. I wrote it myself,” she said proudly, though with a shy smile.

  The muscles of Richard’s throat locked. He and Jack were the only persons Emily had ever shared her stories with. It had taken her a year to read and write properly, and it was as if a dam had been opened, a creative outlet to pour out her pain. Her stories were filled with terrifying monsters and children who bravely defeated them with swords. Richard always played a role in her stories, the wizard who gave her magic to defeat the monsters or the enchanted tree in the forest which turned into a wolf to help them from time to time. Equal apprehension and pleasure filled his heart that she was sharing her stories with another. He understood the leap of faith and trust she took with her request. It also told him how much she admired Evie.

  “I would dearly love to read them.”

  Relief filled his daughter’s eyes, and a dazzling smile erupted from her. “I’ll go get them!”

  She bounded away, leaving them alone, and Evie took an inordinate amount of time removing the apron and balling it into a tight wad before facing him.

  The burn of emotions tangling in his gut was hard to explain. “Evie…”

  His words tapered as she moved toward the parlor, silently beckoning him to follow. He padded behind her and gently closed the door behind them. Her pink dress seemed to have been freshly laundered and pressed, but her glorious mane of hair streamed past her shoulders down to her mid back. Her eyes were guarded, and a permanent blush seemed to be affixed to her cheeks.

  “The note you left on the pillow said you went for a ride, and that you left orders for a carriage to take me to Rosette Park after I broke my fast.”

  “I know what it said.”

  Her eyes searched his face intently. “I know you’re not going to offer marriage. You did warn me, but I do not expect to be scooted away as if nothing happened, nor do I expect an alteration to our friendship.”

  Her directness rattled something inside. “That was not my intention, I assure you. I simply wanted you to have a couple more hours of rest, and I had business in the village to attend.”

  “I sent a note to Adel at Rosette Park.” Evie’s throat worked on a swallow. “I…I explained to Adel that the rains had forced me to spend the night.”

  “I’d already sent a note last night…while you were sleeping.”

  Her cheeks flamed. “Thank you,” she said with a tentative smile that knocked the breath from his lungs.

  “I will have luncheon with the children, and I’ll read Emily’s stories before departing.”

  He met her unflinching regard. “I expect visitors shortly.”

  She inhaled sharply. “Visitors, from town?”

  “Yes, in truth, I forgot they would descend on us today.”

  Evie paled. “I must depart at once. For me to be here without a chaperone will incite speculation.”

  An unpleasant chill blasted through him. Evie looked ready to faint. A humorless chuckle escaped him. He could see her calculating the fallout of being caught at his home, and the worry in her eyes confirmed she was incapable of walking in his world. “Of course, I’ve already ordered the carriage for you.”

  “I’ll inform the children I will call upon them tomorrow with a chaperone.”

  “That won’t be necessary. My guests will still be here, and you mustn’t be seen by polite society in the company of bastards.”

  “You are being dreadfully unfair, Richard.”

  “I’m frank and realistic.”

  She stared at him wordlessly, anger and tears glittering on her lashes. “I will speak with Emily right away,” Evie countered staunchly. “I promise I shall visit again.”

  She hurried past him, before halting. Shifting slightly, she angled her head to meet his regard.

  There was something dark and turbulent in the gaze that peered at him, stripping his soul. “Who are your guests? Normally I would never be so impolite, but I cannot help noticing you’ve made a concentrated effort to not mention their names.”

  He hesitated. Damn his soul to perdition. “The Earl and Countess of Ashford and their daughter, Lady Honoria.”

  Evie gasped, and her lashes lowered, hiding her emotions from him. “I see.”

  Richard swallowed a harsh curse. He’d hurt her, and it was the last damn thing he wanted to do. Irrationally, he wanted those eyes bared to him so he could understand the mire of entanglements he had to wade through.

  “Have you made up your mind then to court her?” she asked hoarsely.

  The silence was brittle as the unspoken questions were asked only in the defiant tilt of her head, and the damming glare in her eyes. Though she made no further reply, her eyes asked him if he intended to offer for another, when he had been wrapped in bliss with her only a few hours past. Pleasures he had never known possible had dug into that cold, lonely place in his heart and had truly thawed inside from the second he had rounded the corner and espied her presence at Kencourt.

  He was unable to prevaricate with Evie. Their friendship had always been built upon honesty, and he was not about to compromise that now. “I’d made the decision when I sent the invitation.” Before I kissed you, Evie…before you enslaved me to your taste, feel, and scent.


  He almost roared at the pain that darkened her gaze and the soft moan of denial that seemed to have slipped from her.

  She firmed her lips and straightened her shoulders. “Do you love her?”

  “Who?”

  “Lady Honoria.”

  “Good God, no,” he said gruffly. “I feel nothing for her.”

  “I see.” Except he did not believe she understood. It was precisely his lack of affections for the lady, and her low popularity with the ton, that meant he was capable of introducing her to his scandals. Now he wished he had sent Evie home last night, instead of succumbing to his weakness.

  “If you will excuse me, I will ready myself for travel and bid the children a good day.”

  She spoke without meeting his gaze, and a pervasive fear pumped through Richard. “Evie.”

  She faltered but did not turn around.

  What the hell was he to say? “You will inform me if you find yourself with child.” Bloody hell. He was making no allowances for her sensibilities.

  She jerked as if she had been slapped and wrapped her arms around her middle. Evie spun around. “A child is possible?”

  The innocence displayed in the question rocked him. “Yes.”

  Her lips parted in evident shock. “I see.” She lowered her lids, shielding her eyes from him, and a disquiet pierced his soul.

  “You’ll inform me, Evie, I’ll have your word.” If she found herself with child he would do right by her and damn the consequences, no matter how painful. “Aurelia didn’t let me know and—”

  Her eyes flared with shock, fear, and a heavy dollop of anger. “Don’t you dare for a second even imply I would be so persuaded like that witch.” Without awaiting his response, she turned and walked away with quiet dignity. Regret coated his tongue with a vile, bitter taste. Fucking hell. A heavy weight settled deep in his stomach. This was what he had wanted to avoid, why he had so ruthlessly prevented himself from viewing her as more than a friend for six fucking years of continuously wanting her. He must now contemplate the consequences of his actions and consider how he could rectify the damage he had done.