by Cara Elliott
Marco stepped back and waved the white sleeve of his shirt. “Might we cease hostilities for a moment and try to negotiate a truce?”
“To hell with peace conferences,” she cried. “Go draw up terms of surrender with the Baroness of Bare-Breasts.” Groping for more ammunition, she caught hold of the second pillow.
“A declaration of war?” He dodged the flying feathers. “Then I shall have to go on the offensive to defend myself.”
Her blood was up now, anger sizzling away her self-pity. The next thing she grabbed was a book from the bedside chest.
“Diavolo!” He flung up an arm to deflect the blow.
“Lucifer doesn’t have a prayer in hell of fighting back,” she retorted.
“A woman scorned is a dangerous thing.”
“Scorned!” scoffed Kate. “As if I want you in my bed.” The next book was a weighty volume of Byron’s poetry, perfect for doing some damage.
Let the wretch try to flirt with a blackened eye.
As if reading her mind, Marco swore a low oath and ducked just as she hurled the new missile. Flinging his shirt to the floor, he spun closer and pounced, fire-gold light rippling over the taut stretch of bronzed muscle.
The air whooshed from her lungs as his body pinned her to the mattress. Momentarily robbed of breath, she twisted in wordless fury, trying to squirm free of his enveloping heat.
“Oh, no,” he growled, catching her wrists and dragging them up over her head. “A husbandly prerogative is to demand that my wife cease trying to pummel me to a pulp.”
“You don’t want to be a husband,” said Kate in a fierce whisper.
His eyes glittered through the tangle of dark hair. “And what of you, Kate? Do you want to be a wife?”
She ceased struggling, and for a long moment the only sound between them was the ragged rasp of their breathing. The air swirled, hot and heavy with unseen sparks.
“Are you regretting Fate?” His tongue traced the swell of her lower lip. “The vagary of life that forced you to accept a wanton wastrel as your spouse?”
“I…”
Her flesh was now between his teeth. The nip sent a lick of fire through her limbs.
“I can think of only a few worse things,” she mumbled thickly, trying to hold on to her anger. Any other emotion would leave her too naked to need.
“Such as?” he asked, moving his wicked mouth along the ridge of her cheekbone.
“Being tied to the mast and left for the seagulls to pick out my eyeballs,” she murmured, as he kissed the salt from her lashes.
“Torture,” he agreed. “Stuck up against a long, hard post sounds like a fate worse than death.”
Kate couldn’t help it. A low laugh vibrated in her throat. “You impossible man.”
“Si. Incorrigible.”
One wide, strong hand kept her wrists imprisoned while the other found the folds of cotton bunched at her hips. Slowly, slowly he inched the sheer fabric up the length of her thighs, its touch dancing over her flesh like the flutter of a butterfly’s wing. Oh, but there was nothing whispery about the press of his broad palm. His stroke was firm. Possessive.
“Ohhh.” Her laugh deepened to a darker sound.
Marco slid his fingers through the curls between her legs. “You think I don’t want my wife, cara? I had better move to correct that impression right away.” Parting her feminine folds, he teased his touch into her wet passage and then drew it out, gliding a slick fingertip over her hidden pearl.
Kate gasped as a wave of honeyed heat washed over her.
“I wouldn’t want you to start questioning my manhood,” he said a little roughly. A hitch of his hips thrust his throbbing erection against the inside of her thigh.
“Then show me,” she demanded.
“Ahh.” A wicked gleam lit in his eyes. “Now you want me in your bed?”
“Yes,” answered Kate, wanting him desperately. “Yes.”
He lowered his lips, letting them hover a hairsbreadth from hers. Shadows skittered over his chiseled features, dark over light, swirling around a wink of blue.
Her pulse began to quicken.
“Va bene.” The wet warmth of his mouth was on her, searing and sensual. Yielding with a shivering sigh, she opened herself fully to his kiss.
The room began to spin, the age-dark beams and whitewashed plaster turning to a blur of hazy shapes. Was it the wine? Or the wildly wanton things he was doing to her body?
His tongue was gliding in and out of her, setting a shocking rhythm matched by his finger in her most feminine spot. The sensations were exquisite.
Explosive.
Surrendering to the searing fire, Kate came apart in a burst of pleasure.
“Ah, cara, cara,” he crooned, once her cries had subsided. “Now, we are going to do it again, but with both of us entirely naked. And with my cock inside you.”
It took every shred of self-control to keep from tearing her shift into a thousand tiny pieces and thrusting himself into her like a slabbering primitive beast. Slowly releasing her wrists, Marco slid the shift up over her head. Her loosened hair shimmered like a halo on the rumpled pillows, suffusing her face with a molten gold glow. Curling strands caressed her shoulders. Beneath the gilded flickers, her glorious body stretched out in sinuous splendor.
His beautiful naked wife.
“Undress me, cara.” His voice was a little shaky as he guided her hands to his trousers. “Please. I need to lie with you, nothing between us.”
“Oh, I should make you beg,” she murmured. “I should make you squirm.” She dragged the wool down his legs a little roughly.
His response was immediate.
“I’ve been tortured quite enough,” he rasped as she took his hardening shaft into her velvety grip. “Riding day and night in a closed carriage with your beguiling body rubbing up against mine. Dio Madre, it was enough to drive any man mad.”
Circling her thumb and forefinger around his girth, Kate feathered a stroke along his length. Her mouth curled in a sublime smile. “Why haven’t you touched me since our wedding?”
“I was…” Afraid. Dare he admit it? To care was to make himself vulnerable to pain.
“Unsure,” he finished haltingly. “Unsure how you felt about being forced into marriage.”
She turned on her side, the spill of her hair curtaining her face. “I didn’t have to say yes.”
“The other alternatives were even less appealing than I,” he said.
“Ah, but you are forgetting…”
His mind went a little hazy as the heat of her palm curled around his cock. Liquid fire flooded his belly.
“I’m rather clever at getting myself out of sticky situations,” continued Kate. “I wasn’t in any real danger.”
Ah, but he was in grave danger of losing himself altogether. As her touch played over his swollen manhood, he squeezed his eyes shut, savoring for the first time in ages a lightness untainted by dark, desperate fear.
Kate. His wild sea sprite, his beguiling, bedeviling Nereid. Conjuring up some secret science, she made the dead, black coal of his heart flare to life. A mad, hot, scarlet flame that warmed him to his very core. He found an indescribable comfort in her presence, some bone-shuddering force far more powerful than lust.
And yet, the feeling also kindled a sense of dread. Love? He couldn’t give way to it. He feared that he would only disappoint her. Hurt her. Let her ask for the sun and the moon, but not his heart.
It wasn’t worthy of her.
Her strokes quickened, her sweet mouth tracing the jut of his shoulder. Oh, she was a passionate creature, and wanted him here and now, despite his faults. He couldn’t resist the selfish urge to respond. His hand slid up her creamy white thighs to where his fingers found her slick and ready for him. At the touch of honeyed warmth, a desperate growl welled up in his throat. There was no holding back.
With trembling hands, he rolled her over and spread her legs. A nudge pushed his ruddy cock closer, closer.
Her hands played over his back, tracing the contours, skimming over his ribs. “No man should be so perfect,” she murmured, nipping at his earlobe. “A beautiful bronzed Roman god.”
“Matched with a hellion angel.”
She arched up to meet his thrust, clenching her knees around his hips. “Oh Lud, what a pair we make.”
He laughed, feeling the rumble vibrate against her salty skin. “What a pair,” he whispered, driving himself deeper. The slick, smooth warmth of her sheath held him tight. Two as one.
Rocking together, their bodies glistened in the candlelight, their rhythm mounting to a crescendo.
“Ti amo,” she whispered, and came undone in his arms.
Ti amo—I love you.
The words made him want to weep.
Heart thudding wildly against his ribs, Marco felt a fierce joy pulse through him. A hot rush of happiness that he had thought was long gone from his life.
Muffling a shout in her sweet-scented hair, he convulsed in a surge of liquid silver rain.
For a long, languid interlude they lay still and silent, entwined in each other. Marco couldn’t remember passion ever leaving him with such a profound feeling of peace. Overhead, the ancient beams groaned, and outside a gust rattled the leaded-glass windowpanes. But for the moment, the world seemed very distant. Nothing could intrude on their togetherness.
But all too soon, Kate stirred and gave a drowsy sigh.
“I’m sorry…” she began.
Sorry? His insides clenched.
“For what I said,” she added slowly. “I am well aware that love was not part of our bargain, Marco. I’m not a naïve schoolgirl. I don’t expect any ardent declarations of the heart in return.”
“If I had a heart, it would be yours, Kate. But there is nothing worthwhile of it to give.”
She nestled her cheek against his chest. “Why?”
A simple question, but how to answer? He spun a lock of her hair between his fingers, watching the glints of gold spark in the dying light. “Has Alessandra said nothing to you about my past?”
“I told you, your cousin does not engage in idle gossip,” replied Kate.
“Unlike most women,” he said wryly. “But then, it’s no surprise that the ‘Sinners’ have a special code of honor.”
“You are changing the subject,” she murmured.
“I am good at evading things,” he replied.
“Why do you wish to avoid telling me?” she asked.
“Because it makes me vulnerable,” he blurted out.
“Ah.” She skimmed her palm in a slow, soft circle just beneath his breastbone. “I suppose it does. But sharing a sordid secret can also make the burden easier to bear.”
Marco hesitated, unsure of just how close he dared to let her come to his innermost self.
Her hand stilled, and she started to pull away.
Catching her wrist, he kept her warmth pressed to his skin. “I’ve always been free-spirited, even as a boy. My older brother was of a more scholarly nature, yet we were the best of friends.” Marco forced himself to go on, despite the tightness in his throat. “Daniello always followed my lead, saying he admired my sense of daring. One adventure—I had a notion to free a neighbor’s old horse slated for the slaughterhouse—required climbing down a steep cliff.”
He paused as the casement rattled in the gloom. “Daniello stopped halfway down. He wasn’t as agile as I was, and wanted to back off. I jeered at him. Called him a coward. Questioned his manhood.” Drawing in a ragged breath, he went on in a rush. “I imagine you can guess what happened. He fell to his death, and I became the heir to the Como title and fortune.”
Kate moved her hand to his cheek and forced his gaze to meet hers. “And so you mean to spend your life punishing yourself for a youthful accident?”
“Put that way, you make it sound childish.”
“We all make mistakes. We all have done things we wish we had not,” she said.
“You did not kill someone you loved.” Marco closed his eyes. “It pierced my heart.”
“I am sorry.” Her lips feathered along the line of his jaw. “Perhaps one day the wound will heal.”
“I don’t know if it is possible,” he said bleakly.
“I think only you can decide that.”
She didn’t whine or cajole. But then, Kate knew how hard it was to battle personal demons. The choice to fight or flee she was leaving to him, and him alone.
Marco lifted her fingertips to his lips, grateful for her understanding. Grateful for her—the salt-sweet scent of orange and wild thyme, the silky-soft heat of her skin, the steel-tough strength of her spirit. “I can’t promise what sort of future we shall have, but…”
“But we will deal with that when the time comes,” she finished quickly. “Right now, we can think only of why we are here.” Edging away, she rolled on her back and pulled the rumpled sheet over her body. “I assume that we shall want to move as quickly as possible, now that we have identified our quarry.”
“Correct.” The draft licked over his bare flesh, chilling the length where she had just lain. “We shall aim for the day after tomorrow. That evening, Prince Metternich is holding a lavish outdoor fete at his villa after the peace celebration in the Augarten. The festivities and fireworks should provide a perfect cover for our plan.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Kate checked that the slim dagger was strapped securely to her leg.
“I don’t expect you to need that,” said Marco tersely.
“I’ve found that it’s best to be prepared for any contingency,” she replied, smoothing the blue skirts back in place. “No matter how well-conceived, plans can go awry.”
“Which is why I would rather you didn’t come along tonight,” he muttered. “It could be dangerous.”
Ignoring his words, Kate calmly took up her white shawl. All of the ladies had been asked to wear blue or white, the colors of peace, to Prince Metternich’s gala party. Celebrating the first anniversary of the Allied victory at the Battle of Leipzig, the Peace Ball had all of Vienna abuzz over the extravagant preparations. A special domed building, graced with classical pillars and walnut parquet floors, had been constructed for the occasion at his summer villa on the Rennweg. Colorful lights and scarlet Turkish tents festooned the lobby—one diplomat had likened it to a scene from The Arabian Nights.
“We’ve already discussed that,” she replied, making one last adjustment to the pearl-studded ribbon threaded in her hair. “I refuse to be wrapped in cotton wool and stashed in a cupboard just when things are getting interesting.”
“You have a strange notion of ‘interesting,’ ” growled Marco.
“Yes, I suppose I do.” She watched a grudging grin tug at his mouth and smiled in return. “You had better get used to it.”
He threaded a hand through his dark locks. “If you insist on taking such risks, my hair shall soon be turning gray.”
“Perhaps that will discourage the ladies from flirting so shamelessly with you.”
“You had better get used to it.” Marco chuckled, but his expression quickly sobered. “Promise me that you will stand aside when the time comes to close in on our quarry.”
“You are confident the plan will work?” she asked. Earlier that afternoon, Marco had outlined the strategy that he and Lynsley’s Austrian operatives had come up with. The local men would be stationed around the grounds, disguised as waiters. At Marco’s signal, they would all close in on the would-be assassin and carry him away to a waiting carriage.
He nodded. “Metternich’s ball is going to be a spectacular affair. There’s no question that Grunwald will attend—none of the dignitaries would dream of missing the event. And the scheduled entertainment should suit our purposes perfectly. Much of the festivities will take place outside. What with the display of fireworks over his ga
rdens, and the excitement of a hot-air balloon ascension, no one will notice a guest being taken away, even if he does not go quietly. There will be a great many people drinking an excess of spirits.”
“I am surprised that the marquess wishes to take Grunwald into custody, rather than simply eliminate him,” she mused.
“Lynsley prefers that lethal force be used only as a last resort,” explained Marco. “He believes there are much more effective ways to counter enemy plots. By using intelligence and subterfuge, the marquess is often able to turn a foe’s strength into a weakness.”
“From what little work that the Circle of Sin has done for him, it appears he is a very interesting man.”
“ ‘Interesting’ does not do him justice. Perhaps ‘unique’ is a better word.” Marco checked the priming on his Italian turn-on pocket pistol and tucked it into his coat. “Ready?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t resist adding, “I hope that we may have a chance to waltz together before duty calls.”
He touched her hand, sending a tiny thrill dancing up her arm. “I imagine that will be easy to arrange. The Prince has several orchestras planted within his garden hedges so that the guests may spin along under the stars.”
“You are joking.”
“Not at all. He’s also built several mock-classical temples to honor Mars, Athena, and Apollo—and hired Emilia Bigottini, the famous ballerina, to stage a special performance around them.”
Kate blew out a long breath, trying to imagine the spectacle.
“Vienna is a city known for its decadent parties, but this one promises to be truly memorable,” finished Marco.
“Yes, well, let us hope that our quarry has not changed plans and decided to add the murder of a monarch to the pageantry,” she murmured.
The remark didn’t elicit a smile. She had never seen him look so deadly serious.
Marco added a folded knife to his pocket, then suddenly turned and pulled her into a fierce hug. “From here on in, we must set personal feeling aside, cara,” he said after crushing his mouth to hers in a swift kiss. “We have a job to do.”
A parade of fancy carriages filled the streets, the gleam of their gilded trappings near blinding in the setting sun.