Lord Margrave's Secret Desire

by Samantha Grace

  “There is an abandoned groundskeeper’s cottage if you follow the footpath,” Lieutenant Locke said. “The weeds have gone to seed in the flower garden, but the view is pleasant.”

  Crispin came round the table to help her from her chair. “What do you say, Miss Darlington?”

  She darted her tongue across her dry lips. “It—it sounds lovely.”

  “To the groundskeeper’s cottage it is.” Crispin linked his fingers with hers and drew her from the dining room. They walked in silence along a narrow corridor toward the back of the house and exited through a battered exterior door. Outside, darkness was creeping into the sky, erasing the last traces of pink and purple.

  Sophia ran her hands up and down her arms to ward off the slight chill. “We’ve almost missed sunset.”

  He drew to a halt, shrugged out of his jacket, and draped it around her shoulders. She snuggled into it and inhaled, savoring his masculine scent clinging to the fabric. He dropped his hand to the small of her back. “How do you feel about star-gazing?”

  “I like it very much.” Sparks radiated from where his hand lay lightly above the curve of her bottom. “I think I would enjoy anything as long as we are together.”

  He frowned. “I suspected you were still upset with me. You refused to look at me at supper.”

  “I saw you. I am always aware of you. Sometimes, it feels as if there is room for no one else.”

  “What do you mean? Do you think I have no room for you?” His voice assumed a defensive edge that forecast a stormy evening ahead if she did not change course.

  “That was not my meaning.” She hugged herself as she struggled to explain how he affected her. “I am sensitive to you, to your moods. When you are angry or worried or distraught, I feel it. The air around you vibrates, and I can feel it deep in here.” She pointed at her chest and slid her hand down to her stomach.

  One side of his mouth inched upward—sardonic and doubting. Fire whooshed in her ears.

  “I cannot explain it well,” she snapped. “You think I am a fool.”

  When she would have stomped away, he gently captured her chin with his fingers and tipped her face so they were eye-to-eye. “You are not a fool, Sophia, except when it comes to loving me. I am sorry for being difficult.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose, her cheeks, her chin. Each touch of his lips cooled her temper. She smiled and arched her neck as his mouth sought out the sensitive placed at the base of her ear and travelled to the hollow of her collarbone.

  “Who said I love you?” she teased.

  He laughed and hugged her, placing a smacking kiss on her shoulder. “Let’s find the groundskeeper’s cottage. I want to teach you what I know about ciphers to make your task easier.”

  “Oh, Lord Margrave!” She fluttered her lashes dramatically. “You really know how to romance a lady.”

  He winked. “That is just foreplay, darling. Wait until I teach you tracking skills.”

  “How splendid! I am beside myself with anticipation.”

  With both of their good humors restored, they kissed once more, a small peck to make-up. They set off across the field toward a rusted iron gate marking the start of a well-worn path with his arm around her shoulders. The gate had been left propped open, its purpose unfulfilled.

  The path curved around a grove of trees. A light winked through the undergrowth. Sophia skidded to a stop. Her heart slammed into her ribs. “Is someone there, ahead?”

  “No, it is no one,” Crispin murmured. “I have prepared a surprise for you.”

  “A surprise?” Delight infused her words. “What have you done?”

  His eyes glittered in the fading light. “Come and see.”

  He took her hand and urged her along the path. When they rounded the grove, a cozy white cottage came into view. The windows glowed with warm light, and a thin trail of smoke rose from the chimney.

  “Is this the groundkeeper’s cottage?” she asked. “Lieutenant Locke said it was abandoned.”

  “It is. The groundskeeper moved closer to his family after he received his pension. This evening, it is ours.”

  An excited fluttered originated just beneath her breastbone. She couldn’t guess at what awaited her inside the cottage, and it was a strange and wonderful feeling.

  “Did you plan this alone?” she asked.

  Crispin shrugged, but he looked pleased. “I needed something to keep me occupied. Otherwise, I would have been banging down your door.”

  She laughed. “I wouldn’t have minded, although it is not my door.”

  “I thought you disliked when I behave in an overbearing manner.”

  “Only when you employ it to keep me at a distance.”

  “Do I do that?” He didn’t sound surprised by the accusation.

  She squeezed his hand to ease any sting her words might have carried. “Or perhaps you simply take pleasure in bossing me about.”

  “It is a thankless job,” he said with mock gravity, “but I put forth my best effort.”

  “Mm… You are very good at it, too.”

  As they approached the cottage, a small wooden fence and an overgrown garden came into view. Elongated rectangles of light from the cottage’s windowpanes illuminated the freshly cut path leading to the front door.

  Crispin stopped on the stoop outside. “Close your eyes.”

  “Your valet better not be inside ready to jump out and scare me.”

  His stern brows dropped. “Close them, or no surprises for you.”

  “Very well,” she said with an exaggerated huff and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “You are too commanding by half, my lord and master.”

  A quiet growl reached her ears; she chuckled. Crispin took her arm and carefully guided her through the front door. The night’s chill vanished when the door closed behind them.

  “Open your eyes, minx.”

  Sophia did as he ordered and blinked the room into focus. Her breath caught. The room was unexpectedly beautiful for a former bachelor’s quarters. Large crimson cushions and thick quilts had been spread on the floor in front of the fireplace, and lanterns were placed around the room to illuminate the warm golden yellow of the walls. A vase of wildflowers, a plate of biscuits, and a claret jug with two cut crystal glasses sat on the smallest dining table Sophia had ever seen.

  “You’ve thought of everything.”

  “I had a little help,” he said. “Mrs. Poindexter seems to have a talent for creating a love nest. Do you think she has experience?”

  “Love nest!” Sophia laughed, delighted by the direction the evening seemed to be headed. “I thought I was in for boring—I mean, stimulating lessons.”

  “Hmm… I am sure that was your meaning.” He tweaked her cheek. “Do not allow the romantic ambiance to trouble you. I promise, I did not lure you here under false pretenses, but I couldn’t very well tell the housekeeper I wanted a private place to teach my betrothed how to play cloak and dagger.”

  She mumbled, “How disappointing.” She removed the jacket and handed it to him. Her happiness dimmed as she thought of his upcoming mission. “You and Kane speak of your work as if it is a game. I have seen first hand the type of men you will be facing. How can you be so cavalier?”

  He approached the dining table and draped the jacket over the back of a chair before grabbing the jug of wine. The sterling silver top glinted in the lamplight as he filled the first glass. “Uncertainty and fear cannot be entertained. One risks losing focus, and distractions can be fatal.”

  Her throat squeezed tight. How detached he sounded, as if the sensible parts of him that should fear danger had been stripped away.

  He glanced up. “Would you like a claret?”

  He didn’t seem to notice her inability to speak and poured a second glass. When he carried it to her, she accepted his offering. The scarlet wine matched the lush pillows on the floor.

  Turning his head, he followed her line of sight. “I do not expect you to sit on the floor. Take a seat on the
settee.”

  The culmination of his carefree attitude and commanding manner sparked her ire. She took a gulp of wine before placing the glass on a side table, found a large pillow, and plopped down on it. It was silly, this minor act of rebellion, but she felt somewhat better for refusing to allow him control over where she sat.

  He held his place and took a sip of wine, studying her over the rim of the glass. His eyes were darker in the dim light, like Turkish coffee—shimmering and hot. “I believe you take pleasure in defying me, Miss Darlington.”

  She notched her chin, sensing the unspoken truth. “I think you enjoy it as well, my lord.”

  His nostrils flared slightly. She had surprised him; her heart shuddered with excitement. “Did your governess fail to teach you that obedience is a virtue?” he asked mildly.

  “She did not teach blind obedience. I suspect you would be disappointed if she had.”

  A slight smile from him emboldened her. He did derive some pleasure from being challenged. She would stake her reputation on it.

  Like Crispin, she would not allow herself to become distracted by worry over the consequences of her behavior. He took risks, so would she. She slid from the pillow and reclined against it, striking a pose like a Greek goddess on the pottery pieces she had ogled over the years.

  “You have grown too accustomed to having your way, Lord Margrave.” Her mouth tingled with the memory of Crispin’s kiss. She drew a finger over her lips to ease the sensation. “Perhaps the novelty of opposition arouses you?”

  Without speaking, he set his glass beside hers, lowered to his hands and knees, and prowled toward her like a great cat. She swallowed hard; it was loud in the quiet. She was out of her element, yet thrilled by his attentions. When he loomed above her, she refused to look away even as her inexperience engulfed her body in heat.

  One side of his mouth inched up higher than the other. “You are innocence and boldness in equal measures, darling. I find the combination irresistible.” He touched the tip of his finger to her temple and slowly—achingly—trailed it along the swell of her cheek to the corner of her mouth. “I cannot decide if I should tame you or encourage your willfulness.”

  She smiled and turned her head slightly to kiss his fingertip. He curled it, evading her lips, teasing her. She captured his wrist, her slim fingers creating a fragile shackle she dared him to break. He willingly remained her captive.

  “I think you know which would please us both,” she said. “Do not pretend you desire a timid wife in your bed.”

  He did not seem the least bit offended by her unladylike talk. “What do you know of a man’s desires, vixen? Have you been discussing delicate matters with your older sister? I wonder if her husband knows the Darlington Angels keep no secrets from one another.”

  It was true Regina had been forthcoming when she and Evangeline questioned her about her wedding night, but Sophia’s certainty about Crispin’s wants came from observation.

  “If you desired a docile woman, any number of widows would be willing to fulfill the role. None have caught your eye.”

  He cocked one dark blond eyebrow.

  “I have heard them gossiping about you. The ladies fantasize about being...” She looked away in sudden shyness. Repeating what she had overheard while holding his gaze required more bravery than she possessed. “Th-they want to be... ruled by you... in the bedchamber.”

  He sank to his haunches so he was kneeling beside her. Her fingers still loosely circled his wrist. Curiosity got the better of her, and she glanced up. Raw desire emanated from him. His skin heated beneath her hand; color rose in his face.

  “Perhaps,” he said in a husky voice that caused a thousand winged fairies to flitter in her lower belly, “the only woman I wish to rule is you.”

  Law! Did she want to be ruled? Her will had always been strong, and she knew with certainty she did not appreciate high-handedness any other time. But this...

  The prospect of Crispin commanding her in lovemaking was deliciously arousing. Before logic could ruin her fantasy, she pulled his hand toward her mouth and placed a kiss on the heel of his palm.

  He exhaled, his eyes as dark as midnight. “Sophia.” His voice was heavy with warning. “It was not my intention to seduce you.”

  “I believe you,” she murmured, “but perhaps I wish you had.”

  When he offered no more protest, she pushed to a seated position, untied the sash around her waist, and presented her back to him. Shivering with anticipation, she looked over her shoulder. “Will you help with my gown?”

  His lips parted; not a muscle moved. The silence dragged on until she teetered on the edge of giving up and slinking away in humiliation.

  “Faith!” He reached for the first fastener on her gown and hurriedly released each one. A soft ripping accompanied the last few, and he roughly shoved the bodice from her shoulders. The blue muslin fell limply around her waist. Her breasts swelled above the ruffle of her chemise, plumped by an embroidered pink corset. He bracketed her waist with his hands, tracing the slopes and stopping below her breasts to return to her hips.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured.

  She blushed with pleasure. She had chosen her new undergarments at the start of the Season with him in mind. It seemed her pin money had been wisely invested.

  He leaned forward to touch his lips to her shoulder. “Your fragrance calls to me in my dreams,” he whispered, his breath tickling the back of her neck.

  She sighed and dropped her head to the side to invite further exploration. He seemed happy to accept and placed kisses from her shoulder to her neck while she released the fasteners along the front of her corset. When the garment fell away, Crispin tossed it aside and dragged Sophia onto his lap.

  She gasped. Her bottom rested on his thighs and her back was pressed against his chest. She adjusted her legs so she was straddling his knees. “You surprised me.”

  He eased her skirts high on her legs and nuzzled her ear while his fingers grazed the slit in her drawers. “I think you like surprises.”

  She moaned in agreement as his hand made another sweep over her feverish skin.

  “Do you touch yourself here when you are alone, love?” His voice was raspy like gravel being crushed beneath one’s boots.

  Fire licked her body. If she answered honestly, would he be pleased or disturbed? She was still a virgin, but she had always been curious about lovemaking and had never been made to feel ashamed for asking questions or reading books not meant for a lady’s eyes.

  “Sometimes,” she whispered, capturing one of his hands and raising it to cover her breast, “I pretend it is you touching me.”

  His jagged breath churned pale strands of hair that had slipped from her coiffure and caressed her neck. “God’s blood, Sophia. How can I be expected to resist you?”

  “Don’t, please.” She lifted her arm and hooked her hand behind his neck. “I cannot bear to be disappointed tonight.”

  He captured the lobe of her ear with his teeth and gently tugged. His hands covered both breasts and kneaded them through her thin chemise. “You will never be disappointed again.”

  She murmured her approval and buried her fingers into his hair, holding him close. His beard was growing in; it rasped against her shoulder, lightly branding her.

  He tugged her chemise to her waist and bared her breasts to his touch. Her nipples became little pebbles between his fingers as he plucked them. She moaned softly and shifted on his lap, brushing against his erection. He tensed and groaned under his breath.

  She wiggled again, relishing her affect over him.

  “Be still,” he ordered.

  She slanted a teasing look over her shoulder. “Or what?” She released her hold on his neck and snaked her hand between their bodies to further test her powers. He grabbed her forearm above the wrist, trapping her arm behind her back. His hold was firm but not painful. She suspected she could break it in an instant if she tried.

  “You are not allowed to touc
h,” he said as he lightly pinched her nipple again.

  A delicious pulse beat between her legs. “Why not?”

  “I did not grant permission, and you must do as I say, darling.”

  She snorted softly. “I did not ask for permission, and I do as I wish, my love.”

  When she attempted to touch him with her free hand, he released her arm and tossed her tummy first onto the pillows. She bounced on the soft landing and laughed.

  “You rat!” She propped up on her elbows and smiled at him over her shoulder.

  He grinned in return and tugged her gown and chemise over her hips and down her legs. Her petticoat and drawers followed, but he left on her stockings. She bent her knees and crossed her ankles in the air, so he could remove her slippers. Once her feet were free, she tried to push up from the floor, but he planted his hand on the small of her back and playfully swatted her bottom.

  She squealed in surprise, even though the sting was minimal. “Crispin!”

  He winked. “Stay where you are and take your pleasure like a good girl.” For good measure, he smacked her other cheek.

  “I will, I will. No more, please!”

  She believed in putting on a good act, and he did seem to be enjoying the show. His eyes were as black as midnight, and the outline of his arousal was unmistakable through his trousers.

  He circled his hand over the fullest part of her derriere. “See that you do, minx.”

  With his knee, he nudged her legs apart to kneel between them and slid his hand over the curve of her bottom. She sighed and sank into the pillow when his fingers slid between her thighs brushed her curls. He caressed her intimately with tenderness and an expertise that elicited more sighs of pleasure.

  When he slipped a finger inside her, she buried her face into the pillow to muffle her moans. He returned to stroking her, his fingers gliding over her sensitive flesh and circling her secret pearl until she grew restless with need. She writhed on the quilts, wanton and unashamed.

  “Crispin.” His name was a whispered plea.

  He allowed her a reprieve and flipped her on her back, trapping her arms above her head. She didn’t protest, because he was above her, bracing his weight on his arms. His breath came out in ragged exhales; his eyes seared into her. She arched her neck to kiss him, but he remained just out of her reach. She growled in frustration.