She had known these sensations once before, in Paris. One night of unfulfilled desire before her love had been taken from her. A cavern of loneliness and despair cracked open in her heart, and she pressed her body against his, seeking his warmth and raw strength.
“Stay with me,” she whispered.
His hands skimmed down her back to grab the ends of her corset laces. He deftly loosened the undergarment, then eased her away with his hands on her shoulders. “You are tired and distraught, my love. I will not take advantage of your vulnerable state.”
She reached for the first fastening running down the front of her corset to release it. “Stay with me,” she repeated.
She unfastened the second and third hooks. Yes, she was exhausted and spent, but she knew without a doubt that she wanted him, to feel his skin against hers and his weight pressing her into the feather tick bed. If the chance to love him completely slipped through her fingers and by some cruel twist of fate, they became separated again, she would never forgive herself for being hesitant.
He watched in silence as she worked to unfasten her corset; his eyes were the color of midnight and smoldering. Her fingers trembled when she reached the last hook, her brazenness faltering. She paused, seeking his acquiesce—offering herself to him.
He uttered a mild curse and reached for the hook. Triumph swelled in her chest as her corset fell away. She was bare beneath her shift, her nipples poking through the translucent cotton. Heat scorched her skin, but she tamped down any missish impulse to cover herself. He would be her husband, the man she would pledge to love for eternity. Her body was hers to give, and her desire true. She held her hand out to him, palm up.
“Please, if I lost you again...” She choked on the words.
Marcus took her hand, threading their fingers. “You never lost me, Adele. I have been unwaveringly yours from our first moment together.”
Was he rejecting her? Her heart sagged in her chest, her pride stung. She felt foolish for trying to entice him when she had no experience with men. That he might be secretly laughing at her made her cheeks burn hotter.
“I am sorry,” he said in a husky voice, “but I am not strong enough to resist you.”
A tiny squeal slipped from her lips when he tugged her into his arms.
Marcus flipped Adele to her back on the bed beside him and gazed down at her while propping himself up on his elbow. Her dark hair fanned against the crimson bedcover, and her large cocoa eyes glistened in the flickering light.
“You are magnificent,” he muttered.
She smiled and cupped his cheek. “So are you.”
Her plump, rose petal pink mouth beckoned to him, and he leaned down to capture it, kissing her deeply. How many nights had he fantasized about making love to her, imagining the passion-roughened whisper of his name from her lips when he nudged her legs apart?
Marcus, yes.
The soft skin of her inner thigh as he teased her with caresses, igniting the fire smoldering inside her. Her sweet scent and taste feeding his own desire to sink into her. His blood driving through his veins, promising pleasurable release.
The nights were too numerous to count.
If he had learned anything from his troubles in Paris, it was moments such as these could be fleeting. Tomorrow could be a shimmering mirage on the horizon, one he might never reach. He could not allow this moment with Adele to fade away like he had once before, yet he refused to ignore the nagging voice at the back of his mind warning him against leaving her to face the consequences alone if anything should happen to him.
He trailed his fingertips along the neckline of her shift. Her ivory skin was exquisitely luxurious to the touch. “I want to pleasure you, love.”
Her dark eyelashes fluttered; a bewildered crease formed between her brows.
“Do you trust me?” he murmured.
She nodded, the shushing of her hair against the covers causing him to smile with affection.
Hooking his finger beneath one of the straps, he slid the shift from her shoulder before repeating with the other. She pulled her arms free, and he drew the thin fabric slowly down toward her waist. White cotton slid over the peaks, first one breast bared to him and then the other.
Her nipples were a darker rose color against ivory skin. He trailed his fingers over the slight swell of her breast. It was full and firm, and the perfect size to fit his hand. He brushed his thumb across the tip, and she inhaled sharply. He stilled, seeking a sign she wanted him to continue. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to speak, but she snapped it closed; licked her lips. Pink infused her cheeks.
“Would you like me to stop?” He quivered from the effort of restraint, but he would gather the strength to walk away if she was having second thoughts.
She swallowed hard. “No,” she whispered. “I—I want...more.”
He grinned, her answer catching him by surprise. “Do not be afraid of asking for what you want. I am eager to please.”
Her blushed deepened, but she promised to be forthright. He was still smiling when he bent over her to draw her nipple into his mouth. She moaned deep in her chest and arched slightly toward him. He showered her breasts with kisses and suckled until she was shifting restlessly beneath him.
He drew back. “Are you ready for more?” he playfully teased.
“Yes, please.” She sounded breathless. A red flush dusted her chest and cheeks.
“Remember, you trust me,” he said as he slid off the bed to kneel between her legs. She struggled to her elbows to gaze at him with wide eyes, but she didn’t protest or cry out in shock when he turned his head to place a kiss on her sweet thigh. Nor did she utter a sound as he trailed light kisses across her silky skin or when he tasted her for the first time.
By the third pass of his tongue, however, she was calling out in a husky voice, “More. Good Lord, give me more.”
He followed her command, loving her with his mouth, pushing her toward orgasm. He touched her with his fingers, her body slick and hot as she closed around him. She was mesmerizing, her elegant neck arched, her breasts thrust forward. As he carried her to her peak, she opened her eyes. Her smoky gaze locked with his, and she came with soft, little cries of pleasure. It was the most erotic and satisfying moment of his life.
Seventeen
Adele felt weightless and heavy at the same time. It was the oddest sensation, and perfectly pleasing. She could have fallen into a love drunken sleep atop the counterpane, but Marcus urged her to climb beneath the covers and pulled them to her chest, tucking them around her. Her eyes seemed pasted closed, and she didn’t have the wherewithal to pry them open.
Marcus kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep, love.”
“Are you satisfied?” she managed to mumble, although she couldn’t be sure she had spoken any actual words.
“Immensely. Now, sleep.” He chuckled. “Greedy ladies need their rest.”
She frowned but still couldn’t open her eyes. “Am I greedy?”
“No.” He raised her hand to his lips. “You are perfect.”
“Not perfect.”
“You are for me, and I would not have you any other way, Adele Sinclair.”
She smiled, rolled onto her side, and snuggled into her pillow. “You’re purr...feck, too.” That didn’t sound quite right, but she surrendered to oblivion before figuring out why.
The delightful haze that had engulfed her prior to succumbing to sleep was still present when she woke. Sunlight poured through her east-facing window, setting her bedchamber aglow. She was aglow after last night. She rolled to her back, stretching like a languorous cat. Opening her eyes, she blinked against the bright light, finding Marcus sitting in a chair with a cup and saucer. He wore fresh clothes and his face appeared newly shaved.
She pushed up to her elbows and frowned. “Did you go home last night?”
“This morning before you woke. I looked in on your brother, too. He is more lucid now.”
She winced as she sat up in bed. Harry
should have been first in her thoughts.
Marcus gestured with the cup and saucer. “Would you like me to pour you a cup?”
“I should dress and go see Harry. Was he alone?”
“Jefferson was with him. Your younger brothers haven’t left his side.” He placed the cup and saucer on a small table. “Before you ring for your maid, I would like to discuss a matter with you.”
Her stomach turned. He appeared much too serious after what they had shared last night. She gripped the covers to her chest, suddenly uncertain in her state of undress. He left the chair to come sit on the side of the bed and caressed her leg through the covers. Some of her nervousness dissipated.
He cleared his throat. “You cannot leave him now, in the care of a nurse, can you? You will worry if we are at Crossing Rivers and he is here.”
Adele sensed the rounding of her eyes. Was he beginning to forgive Harry, to put the past to rest? She wet her lips. “I wish I could promise not to worry, but I cannot. It has become second nature, I fear.”
“I expected as much.” Marcus smiled grimly. “Perhaps you wish to postpone our wedding.”
“No!” Her heart skipped. “Why would you suggest such a thing? We have our license.” She threw the covers aside and scrambled onto her knees, kneeling beside him and clutching his hand. “I love you, Marcus. I love you, and I want to be your wife now—today. I cannot wait any longer.”
He chuckled under his breath, his eyes shining. “It might be difficult to enlist a vicar on short notice, but I appreciate your zeal.” He pulled her onto his lap, wrapping her tightly in his arms. “Very much.”
She laid her head on his shoulder, breathing in the lovely scent of his cologne.
“Well, perhaps another day or two is acceptable,” she murmured, “but we have been apart long enough. Nothing, no one, will come between us again.”
“Agreed.” He placed a kiss on her hair. “And I will never again come between you and your brother.”
She sat up straight, frowning.
“If you do not want to stay in London,” he said, “perhaps your brother should stay with us at Crossing Rivers.”
“But Jefferson, Leo, and I reached an agreement last night. They wish to move home and look out for Harry.”
“Then we will invite them to stay as well.”
“Oh Marcus, you have no idea how happy you’ve made me.”
His smile filled her with warm tingles that filtered all the way to her toes. “I like nothing more than pleasing you, or did I not make that clear last night? Should I repeat myself so there is no misunderstanding?”
A fresh wave of pleasurable heat washed over her. “I do like more,” she said shyly.
Marcus laughed. “Yes, you do, my delightfully greedy darling. Yes, you do.”
Eighteen
Adele and her groom were gifted with a rare sunny morning the day they exchanged vows in the small garden at Corbyn Place. In the week and a half since Harry’s collapse, her brother had made remarkable progress and could have attended a wedding at St. George’s Church, but Marcus had suggested an intimate gathering closer to home might suit them better.
He was correct, of course. A gathering of family and close friends was a perfect way to celebrate the happiest day of her life.
She caught her new husband’s eye across the terrace and smiled as he bantered with his old school chum Russell Hawke. Harry and Jefferson stood with them and good-naturedly exchanged barbs every once in a while. Adele liked the Drayton’s owner and his easy sense of humor very much. She feared he would need it when he married the French actress this autumn.
Theirs would not be a union easily accepted by the ton, but Russell and Claudine seemed content to spend their days at the theatre. Adele expected their somewhat scandalous marriage would be forgiven in time. Claudine was once a member of the French nobility before the Revolution, after all, and an interesting woman.
Harry braced his weight against his brass-handled walking stick. Fatigued clouded his eyes and caused his shoulders to sag, but she knew better than to fuss over him. He had turned out his nurse after only a day and had refused to winter at Crossing Rivers until Marcus convinced him to agree to the arrangement for her peace of mind.
Now that Marcus and her brother had set aside their differences, she might need to beware of them colluding together about what was in her best interests. If either of them had ever been overbearing and refused her a voice in matters, she might truly be worried. Fortunately, that was not the case.
“Lars has been performing to a full audience for weeks,” Tilde was saying to her. “It appears the Drayton Theatre’s days of struggling are coming to an end. Lars and I have decided to stay in London and join the players permanently.”
“That is wonderful news,” Adele said, genuinely pleased the actor and actress had found a home. “I look forward to many great performances in the future.”
At Adele’s invitation, the couple had come to the town house soon after Harry fell ill. She felt it would do her brother good to see their old friends. If not for Lars’s influence at the theatre in Brussels or his generous nature, she didn’t know how she and Harry would have survived.
Harry’s work on the sets and her seamstress position with the Brussels theatre had kept food on the table and the rain off their heads. She couldn’t have been happier when Marcus suggested inviting the actor and actress to be among their small group of family and friends witnessing their nuptials today.
“Is that your stepmother?” Tilde nodded toward Marcus’s mother who was engaged in conversation with Leo. Sampson Fletcher had not responded to their invitation, which was just as well. Neither Adele nor Marcus had wanted him at the wedding.
“That is Mrs. Fletcher. Millicent is not in attendance. After Leo reported how she had spoken to me the night we learned Harry was poisoned, Harry declared she was no longer welcome at Corbyn Place. He has Jefferson’s and Leo’s support.”
Tilde grinned. “And yours, no doubt. That woman sounds like a beast.”
“I am pleased,” Adele said demurely. Although she believed it was best to keep Millicent at a safe distance, she felt speaking badly about her stepmother would be disloyal to her half-brothers.
The glass doors leading into the house opened and the butler stepped outside. He searched the small group and upon spotting Adele, approached. “Milady, the kitchen is prepared to serve breakfast at your pleasure.”
The cook had tendered her resignation before Harry was called to make a decision about her employment. She retired to her home village, and because she had served their father many years with no ill effects, Harry had provided her with a pension. Mrs. Taylor’s young assistant Blair was fulfilling the role until a new cook could be hired, since the poisoning had been determined to be a true accident. Nevertheless, the head housekeeper supervised her closely at Adele’s insistence.
She smiled at the butler. “Thank you, Quinton. Let’s adjourn to the dining room now. It is best to serve while the food is still fresh.”
The butler inclined his head. “Very wise, ma’am.”
His address elicited a tremor of excitement in her. She was a married woman.
While Quinton led their guests toward the breakfast room, she and Marcus gravitated toward one another. Her husband smiled and smoothed a strand of hair from her cheek as the last guest disappeared through the doors. “Are you enjoying yourself, darling?”
“Not as much as I am enjoying being your wife.”
She rose on her tiptoes to place a peck on his lips. He caught her around the waist and turned her quick kiss into a lingering one that promised the best was yet to come. When the kiss ended, he leaned his forehead against hers.
“I love you, Adele,” he murmured. “I have never been happier than I am today, becoming your husband.”
A smile burst across her face. Even if she wanted to contain it, she was powerless to do so. The happiness inside her was like a sunbeam incapable of being dimmed. “And I
love you.”
They kissed once more before walking into the house arm-in-arm. Adele startled to see Marcus’s mother waiting for them just inside the door. A becoming blush stained Mrs.Fletcher’s cheeks.
“Forgive me for intruding,” she mumbled. “I have a gift—the one we spoke of earlier. Perhaps you would like to present it to your bride in private?”
Marcus smiled. “You are not intruding, Mother, and I would be honored if you presented the gift to Adele. It would not have been possible without your help.”
Adele looked back and forth between Marcus and his mother, confused by their cryptic exchange.
His mother’s gaze cut toward the dining room where lively chatter spilled into the corridor. “Is there a quiet place where the three of us might talk?”
“Let’s adjourn to the library,” Adele said. She dropped Marcus’s arm so he might escort his mother and led the way. Once they were in the library and Marcus was showing his mother to a chair, Adele closed the door to allow for more privacy. She and Marcus sat on the settee adjacent to Mrs. Fletcher.
Without preamble, the older woman withdrew a folded sheet of paper from her ridicule and thrust it toward Marcus. He unfolded the paper and held it where Adele could read it. It was a property deed in Marcus’s name.
“Crossing Rivers,” she read aloud. “I do not understand. Is it a gift from your father?”
He had been forthcoming about his father’s manipulations and how Mr. Fletcher had used the Warwickshire home to force Marcus to do his bidding. It seemed unlikely the horrible man would part with the property, but she didn’t know any other way it could be her husband’s land.
Marcus grinned. “No, darling. It is a gift from me to you—for our children.”
“How?”
“My son has a trust granted to him by my father, and Marcus has ingeniously found a way to outsmart Sampson. With the assistance of my”—Mrs. Fletcher shot a startled look toward Adele as if she had forgotten to censor herself in her eagerness to boast about her son—“my trusted friend, Marcus was able to lead Sampson into believing a neutral party was interested in purchasing Crossing Rivers.”
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