by Deb Marlowe
They should go their separate ways now, she thought. She should head immediately for her bed. But instead, with unspoken accord, they both made their way to the front parlour.
He went immediately to resurrect the dying fire. Feeling perfectly wicked and equally determined, Chloe took a moment to close the door and lock it, before she sat. She waited.
And waited. A long time, indeed. The fire flared to life, but still the marquess crouched before it, staring into the flames as if looking for the answers to their dilemma.
She was patient. Yet the minutes ticked by. The tension in the room ratcheted higher. Coals faded and fell. And Chloe warred with herself. She hoped and despaired in turn. He was obviously conflicted. Or perhaps he’d just forgotten her.
She stood suddenly. She’d waited long enough. Her heart ached, but for one last time, she would make things easier for him.
‘I met the most interesting man tonight,’ Chloe said, striving for a casual tone. She would make her report on what she had learned and then she would retreat to her room to bind all the many painful wounds he had inflicted on her.
But it was if the sound of her voice catapulted him into action. ‘Don’t!’ he ordered, launching away from the fireplace. He shot her a pained look. ‘We are close to wrapping this up, one way or another, and I am damned grateful, for this is so much more difficult that I had anticipated.’
Chloe’s jaw hardened. She reconsidered, suddenly, her earlier, charitable notion. ‘What is difficult, Lord Marland?’
‘This!’ He glared at her and gestured between them. ‘You and me. My God, do you know what you have done to me? How tempting you are tonight?’ he demanded. ‘All I want to do is touch you. Every man in that room wanted to touch you, too, and if I had had a blade, I might have run them all through.’
She blinked in amazement. ‘I—’
‘No.’ Despair thickened his voice. ‘I know you are not mine. I know it in my heart and in my mind and down to my very core, but I don’t give a damn. I have to fight to keep myself from pushing you up against a wall and running my hands all over you.’ He heaved a great sigh and fastened his gaze on her coiffure. ‘I’ve dreamt all night of plucking those shining bits of light from your hair and losing myself in the midnight shadows of it.’
Triumph bloomed in Chloe’s chest, along with a great tidal sweep of desire. She stood, staring at the marquess, taking in his enormous strength, drinking in his glorious height and width. She caught sight of her reflection in the window behind him. Her earrings winked at her from just beyond his broad shoulders. Her breath caught and her fingers flew to touch one—and she knew suddenly that she was a warrior, too.
‘Then why don’t you?’ she asked softly.
‘Because I cannot!’ he said harshly. ‘I will not—not when there can be no future in it.’ He gave her a scathing glance. ‘Do you think I want to hear of the men you met tonight? You met scores of them and every man-jack one of them had the sense to find you more than interesting.’ He barked a short, ironic laugh. ‘They’ve barely scratched your surface and they instantly recognised your incredible value.’ He dropped his gaze. ‘They made me feel like a fool.’
Her heart softened. ‘You are not a fool.’
‘I feel like one.’ In a blur of motion he turned suddenly and slammed his fist into the wall. ‘We are both fools, Hardwick! What are we doing? Why do we torture ourselves? This ground has been covered. You won’t go back and I cannot move forwards. So where does that leave us?’
She went to him and laid her hands on his strong, solid arm. ‘Here,’ she answered. ‘It leaves us right here.’
‘I don’t know where “here” is.’ His tone was flat.
‘I don’t either. But I know what I want it to be.’ She leaned her head against him. ‘I only know…that I don’t want to live in fear any more. For too long I’ve feared the hurt that lives in my past. For the past weeks I have been recoiling from the pain that might lie in my future.’ She shook her head and frowned at him. ‘But tonight, it struck me anyway.’
He made a sound of denial, but she cut him off. ‘Do you understand how horribly difficult you are? My feelings for you are not simple or even pretty. They come with burdens, too. And the worst one is fear.’ She swallowed. ‘When I left Denning, I vowed I would stop hiding. I promised myself I would leave fear behind—and here you are, with a great bundle of it attached.’
She drew a deep breath. ‘Good God, do you understand that every significant person in my life has found a new and painful way to leave me behind? I’m only just beginning to understand how it has warped me. Look at the way I twisted myself at Denning—I created a shell of a person to hide behind. It took a long time to realise that I might be safe behind there, but I was still alone. And being lonely is just as painful as being left.’
Mute, he shook his head.
‘I know you don’t agree. But I am speaking for me.’ She stiffened her spine. ‘I left because I didn’t want to live without at least the chance for happiness, adventure, contentment and love.’ She glanced down at her hands. Breathing deeply, she gathered strength. When she looked back at him, she allowed the ring of conviction to colour her words. ‘I care for you. I know you don’t wish to hear it, but I do. And I am not going to hide from it. I know that nothing about this is going to be easy. I know there are enormous risks. But if I have to choose between a chance for happiness and pain or continued loneliness and pain, then I’m going to take the chance at happiness.’
She stepped around him until she stood pressed against his hard chest. ‘Your sister’s ball is nearly upon us. She’ll be moving back to Ashton House soon and when she does, I’ll be leaving, too.’
He glared at her. ‘To go where?’
She shrugged. ‘To my own rooms. To my own life. But there is time left before then. I want to spend it with you. I choose you, and I choose to let go of the fear in my past and worry for the future.’ Her hands slipped to his waist. She stepped close and gazed directly into his eyes. ‘Why do we not just try living for right now?’
‘You make it sound easy.’ He groaned. ‘But my past has a stranglehold on my every breath—and I’ve never questioned the wisdom of it.’
She snorted and could not keep the bitterness from her voice. ‘Good heavens, we are so alike, it’s laughable.’
His arms tightened suddenly and pulled her in against him. Chloe’s heart thrilled and she gave a great shiver. He was warmth and might—and uncertainty. She lifted her hands and wrapped them around his neck. ‘For once in my life I want to fully embrace the moment I am in. In the present moment I could be happy,’ she whispered, ‘because you are in it, too.’ She had to blink back sudden tears. ‘This is it—one of the most important pieces that I have been missing. I know I shouldn’t ask you for it.’
He bent towards her. ‘Hardwick…’
She pushed abruptly away. ‘No!’ she said sharply.
He blinked. ‘No?’
‘No. Hardwick is in my past and yours as well. If we are going to be together, I want it to be now.’
He reached to pull her back.
She crossed her arms and waited.
He scrubbed a hand at his neck in confusion. ‘Hard—’
Her expression must have shone as fierce as her frustration.
‘Oh.’ His brow lifted. He growled. ‘Come here—Chloe.’
She went.
Chapter Fourteen
God, but he was the worst sort of filthy cad.
And Hardwick—no, Chloe—was his complete opposite. Unbelievable, how she’d changed. Grown. If you had stood this shining, sparkling girl before him several weeks ago, he never would have placed her as the same woman. She was courage and fire. She brimmed with life and every wonderful thing in it. She had always given him her best, dating back from even before he’d me
t her face to face. But now she had reached deep inside herself and found she had so much more to give.
And he was going to take it, he acknowledged with a groan. Because that’s who he was: a selfish, rutting bastard. He was powerless to refuse her, even though there was nothing inside of him to match her. Nothing that he could offer her in return.
She was matchless tonight, in any case. Gorgeous in that blue-black gown. The creamy tops of her breasts glowed above it. His gaze drifted over the ivory skin of her shoulders, the shining pink of her mouth. His attention was drawn, suddenly, to her shining, golden earrings.
‘My God, are those—?’ Braedon stepped closer for a better look. ‘Chloe, are those your buttons?’
She grinned, suddenly shy. ‘I had them made,’ she said on a whisper. ‘To remind me—never to hide again.’
He trailed his fingers lightly down over her arms. He traced teasing circles around her wrists and flattened his hands beneath hers. So small and soft, her palms rested, light as a feather on his. Slowly he began to step back, moving unerringly to the sofa behind him. Unwilling to break their contact, she followed. The lightest, simplest touch, yet heat flared at that only point of contact—their barely touching palms and the tiny flutter of her fingers atop his.
Fine words she gave him. Lovely, courageous words that set his soul afire and sent waves of desire rippling through his body. The old dread hovered over his heart, the fear of damaging the thing he wanted most. And he was going to hurt her, even though she didn’t deserve it. She had tempted him like the very devil; now he was returning the favour—and together they had edged past some vague point of no return.
The back of his knees struck the sofa. He sank down on the cushions and sighed in resignation and relief as she stepped into the circle of his embrace. She was his now. He reached for her at last.
Their lips touched and he was gentle with her. Slow. He gripped her waist, then ran his hands further, up along the supple strength of her back. In turn, she lifted her hands to his face. Her fingers traced his hairline and then followed the curve of his jaw.
‘I will never regret this,’ she whispered.
He dragged her down to him and kissed her hard. Mad, swift passion, it had been hovering, waiting in the wings for the moment he let down his guard. Wild and sweet and abandoned. He lost himself in her courage and her yearning and her tender care. A hundred kisses, a thousand he gave her, until his chest was heaving like a bellows and she was gasping for air.
Pulling back, he rested his forehead on her chin. ‘Turn around,’ he said softly.
She did. Taking his time, he began to undress her. Slowly, buttons slid loose. With a whisper of sound, ties slipped from their tangles. He made a sensuous dance of it, torturing and thrilling them both as her clothes peeled away, layer by layer.
At last she was bare to the waist. Fabric lay in discarded heaps about them, but he did not turn her. Instead he reached up. One by one he plucked the bright jewels from her hair. Pin by pin, lock by lock, he loosened her hair, until it fell like black water over her shoulders and down her back.
He buried his face in the thick, rich abundance of it. He breathed it in. Marvelling at the softness against his cheek, he reached around and cupped her full breasts in both hands.
She groaned and arched into his caress.
He squeezed again and explored her curves. He rubbed his thumbs over the straining peaks of her nipples until she squirmed against him.
Then he turned her. And looked his fill. ‘God, but you are beautiful,’ he said on a whisper. ‘I can’t understand how you hid it from me for so long. It seems impossible.’ He glanced up at her. ‘And cruel.’
Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he leaned in and licked his tongue over a taut bud.
She gave a great shudder all over.
‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘perhaps I’ve found a way to repay your unkindness.’ He licked her again and suckled her. His fingers found her other nipple and rolled it as she curled into him and moaned. Before long her hips were moving against him as she shifted from one leg to the other.
‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Yes.’
He let her slide free with a slick pop.
She protested, arching into him again. ‘My l—’
‘No!’ He said it as sharply as she had done to him, earlier. ‘Chloe,’ he rasped.
She shivered.
‘As I call your name, so must you use mine. I want to hear it.’
She nodded.
‘Now. Say it now.’
‘Braedon,’ she moaned.
In one swift movement he swept her off of her feet and laid her back along the sofa. Breathing hard, she gazed up at him. Candlelight danced over her skin and glowed in her dark eyes. All of the fine lines of her face—cheek, jaw and chin—stood out in relief.
Leaning back, he began to remove his clothes. He smiled when she propped up on one elbow to assist. Soon he was bare to the waist as well. Grinning with satisfaction, Chloe trailed a caress across his shoulders, along his ribs and down to his breeches. Anticipation shone in her eyes as she drifted back to the cushions.
He returned her grin and reached for—
‘My feet?’ she said in surprise, rising up again.
Braedon laughed. ‘Just lay back and trust me.’ Lovingly, he picked up her foot. Her skin flowed like silk in his hands. Her bones were so fragile. Carefully, he pushed his thumbs up and over the pad of her foot. She gasped in pleasure. He dug a knuckle into the arch of her foot and she melted. Tenderly, he laboured over both of her feet and then he began to run soft fingers up the length of her legs.
His own skin tightened. Chloe lay languid and warm beneath his hands as he quickly finished undressing her, but he was growing more taut and hard by the second. He bent to her breast again and teased her thighs apart.
Chloe allowed it, if only because she had become a void in the very air around her, an empty space of need that existed only to be filled. She longed to touch him, to make him feel the wonder with which he gifted her, but she was helpless. Held in thrall to the sensations he created inside her.
His fingers worked magic between her legs and his mouth did amazing things to her breast. Gradually the universe shrank, condensing to the scant few inches between them. He stroked, she writhed, until nothing existed save the two of them and the pleasure that lived between them.
It shifted, their pleasure. It grew, changed, becoming a wave that reached for the moon, lifting her higher and higher. She rode it willingly. Stretching for him, she tugged relentlessly, pulling him towards her.
‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Please, now.’
‘There is no need…’ he began.
She gripped his shoulders hard. ‘No,’ she said urgently. ‘We’ve come so far together, I won’t go on alone.’
He hesitated, perhaps because he knew she spoke of so much more than merely physical things. ‘The risk—’
‘Have you ever known me to be a fool?’ she demanded. ‘I put on a pretty gown, but I didn’t leave my brain behind on the dressing table. My courses are just over.’ She said it without a trace of the shyness she felt. She knew it would doom her. ‘There could be no better time for this.’ She moved against his hand. ‘And there are some things in life that are worth the risk.’
‘Chloe, I—’
His words ended in a hiss as she reached out and cupped his manhood. He throbbed in her hand, warm and heavy, thoroughly and wonderfully male.
And he was convinced. With a growl he surged against her. In a matter of seconds the remainder of his clothes landed beside hers on the floor. He pushed her back, drew her hands over her head and knelt between her thighs.
‘Yes,’ she said as she sighed.
And he was inside her. Deep and wide, he stretched her. She gasped, but he moved again, de
manding more. She gave in, gave way, with most satisfying results.
Again he moved, but carefully. Slow and steady, he stroked. Tenderly, he touched her face. Immense power, held in check. For her sake. Such glorious, heady stuff. Massive, he loomed everywhere. In and above, around and over. All the power of an avalanche to crush and destroy her, yet she’d never felt safer.
Joy infused her. Pleasure seized her. Faster they moved and Chloe found herself reduced to simple need once again. More and more and more, she wanted. And then she was there, thrust with him into a place of frenzied happiness. A space where distinctions such as you and me ceased to existed, leaving only a perfect blend of us, together.
And together they drifted, entwined and yet free, until they were recalled to earth. They followed paths beat out by the gradually settling pounding of their hearts.
Replete. Content.
But separate again.
Chapter Fifteen
The following day—the last before Lady Ashton’s ball—was a full one. Chloe had a list a mile long, columns of last-stage planning, decorating and setting up to accomplish. Of all days, today she needed a clear head and every one of her abilities to organise matters and inspire people.
What she had instead was a dreamy sense of satiety and fledgling hope—and a tendency to find that she’d been standing still and staring off into the distance for an undetermined amount of time.
It was foolish. It was impractical. And it happened again as she was tenting exotic fabrics from the ceiling, transforming the morning room into a Middle Eastern fantasy—and taking twice as long as needed to do it.
‘Miss Hardwick? Miss? Miss Hardwick!’
Startled, she turned to find a scowling footman trying to gain her attention. He held the glass-based bottom of an elegant Egyptian hookah in one hand and the tall metal stem of the water pipe in another. ‘Have you any idea how these go together?’ he asked, clearly frustrated.
Chloe grimaced. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. But we’d best work it out quickly. There are two more of those to be unpacked still. It won’t be a decent smoking room without a hookah or three, or so the countess insists.’ She dug in her apron pocket for a pencil and in another for a slip of paper. ‘Here. This is the address of the tobacconist in Haymarket where I obtained them. Run down there and ask for his assistance—but do it quickly, if you please.’