Her Reluctant Groom (Groom Series, BOOK 2)

by Rose Gordon

  “His.” She grinned at him so brightly he forgot if he'd just kissed that fingertip already or not, so he did it again.

  “Excuse me? Do you mean to say that after you refused to do what he wanted, he tossed you out?” Not that he was complaining she'd gotten away, but he couldn't help wondering where in the blazes was Louise when all this was happening.

  She coughed. “Well, yes, in a manner of speaking that's what happened.”

  “How so?”

  “Does it matter?” A pale blush crept up her cheeks.

  He nodded.

  Her checks turned redder before she blurted, “I kneed him there.” She pointed to Marcus’ waist then quickly turned her head.

  A bark of laughter broke the air. “Good girl.” He squeezed her again. If it had been any other man and for any other reason, he'd have winced and advised her against doing such a thing in the future.

  She turned her head back to face him. “You're not scared of me?” A teasing grin was on her lips.

  He glanced down where her right knee was nestled right up against his unmentionables. “Not at all. I have no reason to be. I'll never hurt you, nor do I have any intention of forcing myself on you.”

  She licked her lips. “You wouldn't have to.”

  Marcus looked into her eyes and saw the truth of her words. His heart clenched. She wasn't his, and she never could be. The pain of that harsh reality hit him like a blow to the heart. He forced a smile in her direction. “Emma, you should probably go up to bed.”

  She blinked at him. “Pardon?”

  “It's getting late. You should go to bed.” He forced himself to say it as evenly as he could.

  “Oh.” A crimson blush stained her cheeks. “All right, I'll go.” She gracelessly got off his lap and walked to the door. Was it his imagination or was the sway in her hips more pronounced? She got to the door and stopped. She rested her right hand on the doorjamb and turned her face back to look at him. “Goodnight, Marcus,” she said, winking at him.

  He shook his head at her odd behavior. Then he enjoyed the view of her backside as she continued to sway her hips while leaving the room.

  Once she was down the hall and out of sight, he folded his hands and leaned his head back. For a moment he stared blankly at the ceiling before closing his eyes and thinking what he should do about Emma. He loved her, and for some bizarre reason, she loved him, too. Sadly, that only made things harder.

  He clenched his teeth and scrubbed his face with his hands before raking his fingers through his hair. With a huff, he put his hands back on his knees and waited for a solution to present itself.

  As the clock struck midnight, the perfect, blatantly obvious solution crept into his head. Satisfied, he shoved to his feet and numbly walked down the hall to his room.

  He opened the door and stood frozen in the doorway when his eyes fell on the sight of Emma lying in his bed.

  Chapter 14

  “What are you doing in here?”

  Emma jumped at least a foot in the air at Marcus’ shout. Trying to regain her composure, she sat up and clenched her fists together under the counterpane. “Nothing.” She swallowed hard, pretending she hadn't just stammered.

  “This isn't nothing,” Marcus pointed out, crossing his arms.

  Clearly she wasn't doing nothing. She'd been sleeping. However, Marcus’ rigid face and disapproving tone suggested she had better have a better reason for being here other than she was passing by and decided she needed a little nap before heading upstairs to her room.

  “Why did you come here?” he asked more softly, taking a seat in the chair close to the door.

  She swallowed convulsively. “You told me to go to bed.”

  “I didn't mean my bed.”

  “But we were...” she shrugged. “Then you said…” Unease settled over her. Not only had she misunderstood his words, but it would seem that Lady Bird's book had been incorrect on the part about a man being unable to resist a scantily clad woman in his bed. Not that she'd been planning to try out that suggestion so soon, but when he'd told her to go to bed...

  His unblinking eyes stared at her, making her squirm.

  Raising her chin a notch, she slipped out of bed. “I can see that I was clearly wrong.”

  “Emma,” Marcus whispered. He reached out for her hand to stop her before she could leave. “I didn't mean to make you think I intended for you to shame yourself.”

  She winced at his words. Her parents had always stressed the importance of the wedding before the bedding, but she'd known Marcus nearly her whole life and knew he'd not take her virtue then desert her. That was the only reason she'd not been offended or appalled when he'd told her to go to bed. Though he'd not made a formal proposal to her, she knew he intended to marry her. He loved her. It was that simple. The way she'd reasoned it as she left his study was that his word was as solid as stone. If he'd said he loved her, he did. Since he loved her, he'd marry her. Therefore, she'd been willing to go against everything she'd ever been taught about virtuous young ladies and join Marcus in bed this once before their wedding. And now he'd forever think she was a woman with loose morals.

  She pulled her wrist from his hand and angled her blushing face away from him. “I merely misunderstood.”

  “I do want you that way,” Marcus admitted after she'd crossed the threshold. “I desire you more than you'll ever know, but I—”

  “Want me to be a virgin on my wedding night,” she finished for him, blinking back the tears of mortification that stung her eyes.

  “Exactly. You deserve that, Emma.”

  “Yes, I do,” she agreed stiffly, then walked down the hall to the staircase.

  Marcus hollered for her to stop, but she didn't; she sped up. She was too mortified by his rejection to stop and listen to whatever it was he was hastily spouting behind her. Of course all proper young ladies were virgins until taken to the bridal bed by their husbands, and as much as she'd always planned to be one of those proper young ladies, Marcus’ rejection of her just now hurt far more than any censure she might have endured had she been known as a fallen woman.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, she glanced over her shoulder and glimpsed Marcus down at the bottom, struggling to climb the stairs. She pushed away the pang of guilt she felt for running away from him and darted into her room, sliding the lock as soon as she was safely inside.

  Uneasily, she walked to the vanity and picked up the silver hairbrush Marcus had given her on her first night here. She brushed her hair and hummed loudly, drowning out the muffled words Marcus was saying when his fist wasn't pounding on the door.

  Ten minutes and a hundred strokes later, Emma laid the brush down, blew out the candle, crawled into bed, and pulled the covers high above her head. She instantly felt like a fool. What was she doing? Why was she hiding from him?

  With a sigh, she threw back the covers and forced herself to walk to the door. Now that she'd not only presented herself to him like a prostitute, but had also acted childishly, she needed to put her insecurities behind her and face him.

  Hand shaking, she unlocked the door and flung it open, causing Marcus to literally fall into her room. “What were you doing?” she asked, narrowing her eyes on him.

  “Picking the lock,” he explained, grabbing the penknife that had stuck into the wooden floor when he'd fallen inside.

  She shook her head. Good thing she'd not been directly in front of the door when she'd opened it. “Were you leaning on it?”

  “Yes,” he bit off. He used a nearby chest for leverage to push himself to a standing position.

  Emma fought back the urge to giggle. Marcus had always intrigued her. “All right. Now, what was it you wanted?” She lit the five candle candelabra that sat on the table next to the bed.

  “If you'd not run away from me, you'd know.” He sat down the chest and groaned as he simultaneously stretched out his leg.

  Guilt flooded her. She should have stayed and listened to him instead of running up
the stairs like a ninny. Now, because of her pettiness, his leg hurt. She threw her hair over her shoulder and knelt down in front of him. “Where does it hurt?” She placed her hand just above his knee in the place she usually saw him rub when he was in pain.

  “There.”

  She nodded and rubbed his leg, taking note of the large, hard knot under her fingers. “Is this always there?” she asked even though she had a feeling she didn't want to know the answer.

  “The knot is always there, it just gets bigger when I use the muscle too much,” he answered with a grimace.

  She bit her lip. “I'm sorry.”

  “It's just as much my fault as it is yours.” he said with a grunt. His head rolled back and he closed his eyes. “I'm the one who chose to chase you up the stairs even though you clearly had no intention of speaking with me.”

  She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his thigh. “I was embarrassed.”

  “I can understand that. My reaction to finding you in my bed wouldn't have inspired any other reaction, I'm afraid.”

  At least he had that right. “Once again, I'm sorry, I—”

  He reached his hand forward and pressed his fingers against her lips to stop her. “Don't. I can see now how my words in the study weren't very clear. I had intended we go to our respective bedchambers, but when I found you—” he shrugged— “I should have handled it a bit better.”

  That was an understatement. She didn't comment though. Instead, she refused to look at his face as she continued to massage his knotted thigh.

  Just as her hands were getting tired, his fingers encircled her wrist and gently tugged.

  She looked up. His grey eyes had softened considerably.

  “I love you,” he whispered with a hint of a smile.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Emma, I'm sorry about our misunderstanding tonight.”

  Emma closed her eyes. “Can we please not mention it again?”

  “Done,” he agreed, his body visibly relaxing. “I ought to go back downstairs now.”

  Nodding, Emma stood up and took a step backward. Suddenly feeling shy about only wearing a chemise, she folded her arms across her breasts and waited for Marcus to stand.

  Marcus braced his hands on either side of him and pushed up to gain a standing position. As soon as he was on his feet and tried to take the first step, he stumbled. Muttering an unflattering phrase under his breath, he tried to regain his stand while Emma grabbed onto his arm and shoulder to steady him.

  “You're not fit to go back down the stairs.”

  “I'll be all right.” He disengaged himself from her hold and tried to take another step, nearly collapsing as he did.

  She shook her head and held onto him again. “No, you're not. Here, you can stay in my bed and I'll go downstairs.”

  “No. I'll not kick you out of your bed. I said I'll be all right. Just let go of me, please.”

  “Absolutely not. You'll get in that bed and stay there until morning if I have to tie you there,” she said with a smile.

  He grinned back. “Touché.”

  “So we're in agreement, then?” She urged him in the direction of the bed. “Marcus, I've never seen you limp so badly. Do you need me to go get something for the pain from downstairs?”

  “No,” he said with a wince as he took a step. “I knew this might happen.” He closed his eyes tightly and clamped his teeth together as he continued to slowly lumber over to the bed. “I've been doing too much this past week.”

  She was surprised he'd admitted what she'd known. Since she'd come last week, he'd gone up and down several flights of stairs, carried her around repeatedly, and even playfully wrestled her to the bed. There was no denying he'd been using his leg too much. “Lie down. I'll be back in a minute.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I'm going to see if there's anything for pain in the kitchen.”

  He scowled. “There's not.”

  “How do you know?” She put her hand on her hip.

  Marcus shifted against the pillows. “Allow me to rephrase. There's no pain medicine in this house I'll take without it being forced down my throat.”

  “You've taken a strong dislike to laudanum. I take it you were given enough of it after your fall.”

  “You're correct. The only reason I ever allowed that vile concoction into this house is because Olivia demanded it on a weekly basis to alleviate whatever was ailing her at the time.”

  Emma turned her face so Marcus wouldn't see her snicker. “All right, no laudanum. What about a poultice? Would that help?” She turned her gaze back to him and watched as he idly rubbed his leg.

  “Don't bother. The pain usually goes away by morning. And if it doesn't, then I'll do something about that unpleasant possibility when the time comes.”

  “Goodnight, then.” She took hold of the door handle to shut it behind her on her way out.

  “Wait.”

  She turned her head slightly in his direction. “Yes?”

  “Could you help me first?” He jiggled his foot slightly to draw attention to his boots.

  “Right. Can't sleep with your boots on, can you?” She walked over to him and sat down on the end of the bed. “Put them on my lap, it'll be easier to unlace them that way.”

  He obeyed and watched her as she untied the laces and pulled his boots off. “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome. Is there anything else you need?” She couldn't force herself to look at him as she asked that question. The only other thing left for her to do was help him remove his clothes, and he'd made it quite clear on several occasions now that he'd not require her help on that score.

  “Just one more thing.” He removed his feet from her lap so she could stand.

  She stood and clasped her hands together in front of her. “What can I help you with?”

  He held up his hand and crooked his finger at her. “Come closer,” he urged, his face expressionless.

  She took a step closer. “What would you like me to do for you, Marcus?”

  “You're not close enough yet. I think three big steps should do the trick.”

  Humoring him, she took three steps in his direction. “Yes?”

  Marcus slipped both his hands under his head, interlocking his fingers before looking back up at her. “I don't think I'll sleep very well without a goodnight kiss.”

  “You're impossible.”

  He frowned. “Not at all.” He reached his right hand out from behind his head and took hold of her hand in his. “Emma, I thought we'd agreed to forget about earlier.”

  “I didn't say anything.”

  “You didn't have to,” he countered. “Your refusal to kiss me and the tension in your hand told me more than your voice ever would.”

  She cracked a smile. It would seem she was rather obvious. “All right. One kiss.” She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, but his quick hands reached up and framed her face before she could pull away.

  “Not yet,” he whispered. He pulled her lips back to his and kissed her again. “Don't go back downstairs. Stay here. With me.”

  Emma shut her eyes. She didn't want to make herself look like a tart again by making assumptions. “It's best I go downstairs.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head adamantly. “Stay. I'll not dishonor you, I promise.”

  She smoothed a lock of his hair back from his brow. She knew he'd not dishonor her. The problem was she could very easily dishonor herself if she stayed in the same room with him tonight.

  Before she could voice another protest, however, he wrapped his right arm around her waist and pulled her on top of him. “I love the way you feel against me,” he murmured before he kissed her again.

  Emma’s breasts swelled and her nipples hardened against his muscled chest. As Marcus deepened their kiss, she reached up and threaded her fingers through his thick brown hair. Twirling her fingers in the silky strands, she allowed him to roll her onto her back. “Marcus,” she sighed.
/>   Marcus’ lips left her mouth and left a hot, searing path to her ear then to her neck. She arched her back, granting him better access.

  He groaned. Lowering his lips to her shoulder, he used his thumbs and pulled both straps of her chemise over the crest of her shoulder. His fingers let go of her chemise and his hand moved over to gently cup the bottom of her right breast.

  She sighed as his fingers seared her flesh and made it tingle through the thin fabric. Wanting to touch him as intimately as he was touching her, she reached between his arms and quickly undid his waistcoat and attempted to shove it, along with his coat, off his shoulders.

  Reluctantly, Marcus removed his hand from the underside of her breast as she pushed his coat and waistcoat off his shoulders, immediately putting his hand back when she was done. Emma settled her hands on his shoulders then lingered down to the hard muscles in the tops of his arms. She marveled at the feel of him. He felt hard as stone, and yet as warm as freshly baked bread.

  Marcus’ body shifted and his lips traced the top edge of her chemise, bringing her excitement to the next level. She pressed her breast more firmly into his hand and moved her fingers to the front of his shirt to undo the buttons.

  Slipping the first three free with great ease, Emma reached her hands inside his shirt to connect with the bare, rough skin of his chest. Marcus pulled back as if she'd touched him with a branding iron. “Did I hurt you?”

  He shook his head. “No. They're not sensitive to the touch. A bit itchy at times, but not tender.”

  “Then why did you jump back?” She looked down and watched as Marcus propped himself up on the bed on one forearm and used his other hand to close his shirt. “Marcus?”

  He looked at her, his grey eyes full of uncertainty. “I just prefer not to be touched there.”

  “That's not an answer.”

  “Well, it's the only one you're getting.”

  She closed her eyes and refused to sigh. “Marcus, I know they're there. I don't care.”

  He looked as if he didn't really believe her. “I care.”

  “Well, I don't,” she said flippantly. “It's a part of who you are.”