by Juniper Bell
The Marquis’ cock pulsated with feverish need, but the look on Miranda’s face made the pain fade. As much as he longed to satisfy himself within her body, she didn’t trust him yet. As he watched the clouds gather on her damp, Madonna-like face, he knew he’d done the right thing in denying himself. There would be time. She would come to him when she was ready.
She sat up, arranged her lush bosom back within her bodice and fixed her large, river-brown eyes on him. “What am I to you, my lord?”
She’d asked the most difficult question of all, one he didn’t understand himself.
“You’re my…protégée. I swore to protect you. I failed when I frightened you with that riding crop. It was careless and I apologize.”
She shook her head impatiently. “Do you think I’m a simpleton? You swore to your wife, whom you despised. Why should you keep such a promise?”
“I think you’re anything but a simpleton. I think you’re extraordinary.”
A tear slid down her face, but the Marquis couldn’t tell if it was due to the aftermath of her passion or to his words.
“As for my promise, it has nothing to do with my late wife. I always keep my promises. Ask anyone, they’ll tell you. Even my worst enemies know I’m a man of my word. And I have more than a few of those running around.”
He hoped his dry tone would relax her. It did the opposite. She scowled at him. “What do you want from me, my lord? Do you wish to claim my virginity, as my master? Do you wish to prove how easily you can sway my body to your will?”
All the above, in time. But for now…
“I want only one thing at this moment, and it has nothing to do with my raging cockstand. I want to know what happened to you.”
She drew in a harsh breath. Her gaze sharpened, intensified, as if she were truly looking at him for the first time. To be the focus of those clear eyes was intoxicating.
“And that’s not all. Who are you? What’s your real name? Where were you born? How did you become what you are today? Who scarred you? Was it intentional? Where are they so I can kill them with my bare hands?”
Her hand flew to her cheek. “Why?”
“Why to which question?”
“Why do you care about any of that? I’m only a nursemaid. I’m nothing.”
“Not to me,” he said flatly.
A small frown pleated the fine skin of her forehead. Her wide eyes scanned his face. He held still under her scrutiny, afraid to make a move. Soft woodland sounds rose around them. A chickadee chirped somewhere in the treetops. A gust of wind rustled the birch leaves like a lullaby. The two of them stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.
Then she spoke, her lips trembling as they parted. “My guardian took the whip to me. You see, I wanted to marry, and he had something different in mind. He wished to render me unmarriageable.”
A strange prickling wave of heat passed through the Marquis’ body and left him fighting for breath. He sat up, trying to contain the feeling. It didn’t work. He wanted to rip the trees up with his bare hands. He wanted to snarl like the beast she’d called him. He wanted to hunt and kill and throw the man’s carcass to the dogs. “Who is he?” His voice came out in a choked, harsh voice he didn’t recognize.
She flinched. “I won’t tell you. I won’t go back to him. He’s still my guardian. If he finds me…”
“He should worry, not you.”
But he could tell she was already withdrawing from him. She knelt on the ground, gazing at him with desperate intensity in her tea-brown eyes. “I don’t want trouble. I just want to be left in peace. No more questions, I beg you.”
The Marquis struggled with himself. Shaking the truth out of her, as he half wished to do, wouldn’t inspire her to trust him.
“All right,” he said finally. “I will do as you wish. No more questions. No more plans to find the bastard and kill him. But in return, may I ask you one favor?”
She pursed her lips. The gesture made him notice the elegant shape of her mouth. It was a work of art, that mouth, the work of an inspired sculptor with a taste for the ornate. In the aftermath of passion, its swelling curves were utterly erotic. Why had he never paid attention before?
“Very well,” she said, bringing him back to attention. “One favor.”
“Don’t leave here without telling me. If I’m to protect you, I must have some idea of where you are.”
“I won’t,” she said, smiling. “I like it here.”
“Good. And one more thing.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you always so demanding?”
Lightning shot to his groin. Good Lord. Was she flirting with him? He cleared his throat. “Interesting question.”
Color crept up her face. He remembered what Alicia had said, that she wanted to be mastered. Most fascinating.
“When it comes to certain things, I’m quite demanding.”
The color increased to primrose red. Most fascinating, indeed.
“But I respect your privacy. So the second request I have is simply this. Know that if you do choose to reveal more, no matter what it might be, I am eager to hear it.” He jumped to his feet and brushed twigs and leaves off his breeches, then offered his hand to help her up. He didn’t give her a choice, simply reached for her and swung her to her feet—demanding her acquiescence.
Surely that was a light of arousal that flickered in her eyes? He quickly put himself at her side so she wouldn’t notice the hardening in his breeches. God, how he wanted her.
When I was little, before all the bad things started happening, before my parents died and the Vicious Viscount took over my life, I loved motion above all things. As a babe I could always be calmed by the rocking of a cradle. As a girl I would spend every spare moment in the swing that hung from an apple tree in the orchard. I’d swing as high as I could, until my outstretched toes tangled in the upper branches. I thought if I swung high enough, I’d certainly be able to fly. When I learned to ride, horses became my great escape. Galloping across an open field, leaping over gates—what could be closer to paradise?
When the Marquis pulled me to my feet with that one masterful move, that lovely, free sensation of weightlessness returned to me. Like a blow to the stomach, it took my breath away. This time, instead of sailing toward pink apple blossoms, I flew into the embrace of the man who’d come to dominate my every thought. He caught me lightly, set me on my feet, and we turned toward the house.
“My lord,” I said suddenly, when we were halfway to the house. “Did you really deflower Lady Alicia?”
Immediately I blushed so hard I must have looked as scarlet as an elderberry.
The sound of the Marquis’ laughter didn’t help.
“Is the Countess sharing our secrets?”
“Just that one,” I muttered. “Please forgive my rudeness.”
“Oh no. I like it. I won’t forgive because there’s nothing to forgive, and I won’t forget because it’s too delicious. Yes, I relieved the Countess of her virginity.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because she’s precious to me, as is her sensual nature. I was convinced—we all were—that the Earl was not the right man for that task. I wished to introduce her to the pleasures of being a woman.”
“I see,” I squeaked. “And do you still… That is, do you…” But I couldn’t finish. It was too shocking, not something I could say out loud.
“Do I still enjoy introducing beautiful young women to the pleasures of sensuality? Yes.”
I felt his hot gaze on my good cheek. From that side I wasn’t so very hideous. The Marquis must be referring to me, implying that he and I could…
I floated the rest of the way to the house.
I don’t recall if more words were said before I reached my tiny room. I was too busy reliving everything that had passed between us. Never before had I felt that I had a champion. Tom, the Squire’s son, had shied away in horror when I’d stumbled to their house. The housekeeper had sent me directly to the kitchen, where the cook h
ad smeared something dreadful on my face. In my delirium, I felt Tom’s disgust as though it were another slash of a whip. Feverish, distressed, I ran again. To this day I don’t remember everything that occurred in the following days. But I know that I had no one to fight for me.
All through the evening, as I played patty-cake with little Rose, I felt the heat of his body from when I’d brushed up against it. The grip of his strong hand felt branded on my arm. I pictured the look on his face when I’d told him about my guardian. And I felt my face soften into a silly smile.
Little Rose noticed. She gurgled and smiled back at me, bouncing in my arms, pushing her little legs against my waist.
Lady Alicia noticed too. “I’m happy to see you’ve recovered from this afternoon’s outing,” she said as she entered the room.
“Yes, milady.” How much did she know?
“The Marquis said you’d had a fright, but that it would take much more than a wayward horse to throw you off-stride.”
So he’d kept my secrets. Of course. I believed I was beginning to understand the Marquis. “That’s kind of him.”
“Don’t tell the London gossips. If his tenderhearted nature became common knowledge, he’d be laughed out of his clubs.” She winked and took the baby from my arms. Settling in the rocking chair, she dandled the child on her knees. “I’ll put her to bed. Such a sweet time with my Rosy-Posy.”
I left the two of them laughing together, two peas in a pod with their merry smiles.
* * * * *
Try as I might, I couldn’t sleep that night. Some kind of fire raced through my veins. Outside, the murmur of crickets seemed to beckon me to some promised land. I longed to run in the wet grass, dance under the scattered moonlight, drape myself in rose petals. Was the night unusually hot, or was I the only one suffering from this restlessness?
I buried my head under a pillow, only to find myself gazing into the Marquis’ glittering eyes. I won’t touch you unless you wish me to… I’m demanding when it comes to certain things… Who are they so I can find them and kill them with my bare hands…
I rolled to the side and held my hand up in the moonlight. Right there, that’s where he’d touched it. I could swear the little hairs still stood on end. I could still feel his touch upon my body, the way he’d known exactly how to fondle my secret folds, the way he’d suckled on the tips of my breasts, the way he’d moved over me, so determined, so strong, so relentless. I couldn’t forget the feeling of sweet surrender that stole over me when he pushed my hands above my head.
How was it that something that ought to seem so frightening—and would if done by another person—was so delightfully stimulating when performed by the Marquis? Did he possess some magic gift? Or did I—I shuddered at the thought—have special feelings for him?
Certainly I did. I’d been dreaming of him for months. I lusted after him. I desired him. But it went beyond that. The new world he’d opened for me—the world within myself—beckoned, and I couldn’t resist.
I lay in my bed, wondering where he was at this very moment. I knew how aroused he’d been. I’d felt the evidence against my thigh, and he’d made no effort to hide it from me. Perhaps he’d decided to slake his thirst with the Countess and the Duke? Perhaps even now he was driving that manly rod into a body other than mine? No! Everything in me protested. I wanted him. I wanted his attention, his touch, his desire. It belonged to no one but me.
He wanted to protect me, as a good master should protect a servant, but I was no servant by birth. I was a lady—or would have been. I’d had maids and household staff at my disposal. And I’d been a daring, adventurous sort of lady, the kind who wouldn’t hesitate to challenge the rules and take chances. Maybe I’d buried that part of me too deeply. Maybe the Honorable Miranda Hampton needed to come back to life.
I rose to my feet and pulled a wrapper around my shoulders. I tiptoed into the dark nursery and checked one more time on Rose. She was deeply asleep, her breath fluttering her lacy nightclothes. She wouldn’t wake for hours, most likely not until midmorning. I tucked her in more securely, then slipped out of the room.
I raced silently down the stairs. Where to find the Marquis? I knew where his chambers were, but what were the chances he’d be there? If he was in the Countess’ chamber, I’d simply return to my own quarters. I wasn’t quite daring enough to interrupt my employers’ bed play.
I tapped on the Marquis’ door but got no answer. I should just return—that’s what I’d intended—but instead I turned the knob and slipped inside the darkened room. The scent of cloves and leather greeted me—the same fragrance I’d smelled as he brought me to that peak of joy. I inhaled deeply, drinking in the air the Marquis had recently inhabited. I glanced at the bed—still perfectly made, as if no one had yet slept in it.
So the Marquis was elsewhere. The thought bothered me more severely than I’d expected. I had no claim on him, of course, but how could he go so quickly from one encounter to another? It didn’t seem proper.
I chuckled to myself in the dark. “Proper” had gone missing some time ago. Since I was being so improper, I decided to take advantage of the moment. I drifted to the vanity where his cravats sat, neatly laundered and folded. A couple of rings lay carelessly strewn about, but not nearly as many as I would have expected for a man of the Marquis’ elegance. The Marquis was always meticulously turned out, but perhaps not as vain as one might think. I bent over the cravats, fingering them as if I could touch the Marquis that way.
And then suddenly, my arm was pulled behind my back and a hard body was pressing me against the vanity.
Chapter Eight
“Who are you?” a dark voice growled. Hot excitement spiraled within me. It was the Marquis, masterful and powerful, the way he’d come to me in my nighttime dreams. I felt his hard ridge press against my buttocks. I instantly got wet. My breathing sped up as if I were running across a field.
“I’m…a…an intruder,” I said defiantly. “Let me go.”
“Hell no. What have you stolen, intruder?”
By the way he said the word, I knew he realized who I was. “Why should I tell you?”
“You speak so to your master?”
“I’m sorry, sir. But yes. I speak the way I speak.”
“You’re begging for trouble, aren’t you?”
He didn’t know how true that was. Or maybe he did.
He stood me up and marched me to the big four-poster bed with its old-fashioned bed hangings. Keeping a tight hold on my arm, he bent me over the edge so my cheek was pressed into the coverlet. The friction made my scar throb. “Because if you don’t tell me what you’ve done, I’ll have to punish you.”
“But, Master, I haven’t done anything wrong!”
“Already you lie. You’re not supposed to be in here, so you’ve done that wrong, have you not? Now stay still while I take your clothes off.”
“Take my clothes off?” I cried while everything in me rejoiced.
“How else am I supposed to tell if you stole anything? Quickly now. I’ll release you so you can stand and remove your shift and that…that thing you have over it. If you’re lucky I won’t throw it into the kitchen fire.”
He let go of my arm. I straightened up, panting. I felt his gaze burning me up, head to toe. I took off my wrapper and tossed it to the floor. Next came my sleeping shift. I reached down to the hem and slowly drew it over my head, feeling the cool air touch my thighs, my buttocks, my belly, my breasts. My nipples tightened. I looked down at them, at the dark knobs against my skin, silvered by moonlight. I looked not like myself at all. Gone was the brown servant. I was a silvery nymph, a temptress.
Behind me, the Marquis took a sharp breath. Did I please him? I hoped so. My body, at any rate, had never been marked, never been touched by any but him.
“Put your hands behind your head,” came his choked voice. I thrilled at the thought that I’d done that to him. I’d made his voice go thick and charged with lust. “Cast your eyes down at the f
loor. Then turn around slowly. I must inspect every part of you.”
My throat tightened. I couldn’t imagine being any more exposed. A dark anticipation tightened my lower belly. I’d started this, after all. And I knew I could walk away if I chose.
But I didn’t. I did as he said. I clasped my hands behind my head, looked down and began a slow rotation under the scalding gaze of the notorious Marquis de Beaumont. I was glad it was dark, but at the same time, a powerful feeling stole over me, as if I were a goddess and he was worshipping at my feet. I straightened my spine, allowing my breasts to thrust forward. They felt heavy and aching—maybe longing is the right word. They longed for the man who stood a few steps away, the man whose stillness only added to the power he exuded.
When I’d turned enough to be face-to-face with him, I peeped at him from under my lashes. His face was in shadow, a complex map of deep grooves and sharp angles. He still wore his evening clothes, an exquisitely cut jacket and snug breeches of a lighter color, though in the moonlight everything looked various shades of silver and gray. My nakedness next to his immaculate tailoring added another frisson of excitement. And though I couldn’t make out his expression, the tension in his posture, the way I held his complete attention, made heat rise between my legs.
He must have noticed. “Part your legs,” he ordered. “Wide enough so I can get a good look at your tasty little quim.”
His command unleashed another wave of heat. I separated my legs, but I had to close my eyes as embarrassment struck me. What if most girls didn’t get so excruciatingly wet in their private parts? What if I was a wanton? What if my guardian had devised the right destiny for me all along?
“You have no idea what a treasure you are, do you?” the Marquis said. I sighed, a sweet shiver of relief. I didn’t disgust him. Quite the opposite. I pleased him. I spread my legs wider, keeping my hands behind my head, my gaze cast down.
“I was tending to some correspondence in the library,” he murmured. “But if I had known I was being vandalized, I would have rushed to the scene of the crime much earlier. I only came back because I forgot this.” He presented a long quill made from a pheasant feather. “Everything happens for a reason, I suppose.”