by Jane Lark
She was anxious. She should be. But he was too. The emotions inside him were eclectic. Hope. Desire. Need. Desperation. But there was respect and pride too… When had he ever felt respect for a woman? Never before.
“You being here – is this your answer? If it is you took your time.” He stepped from the bottom step to stand in front of her, aware of the hardness in his voice and a stiffness in his body, but both were due to the bewildering mix of emotions causing turmoil inside him. He did not know this ground; did not know how to speak with a young innocent woman.
“I could hardly get up the minute you walked out. I do not even know why I am here.”
Ah damn it, he needed to forget his anxiety, forget his own fears. He did know how to woo women. She was a woman.
“Because you want to be here.” He moved closer. “With me.” He dropped his cigar on the dew damp grass.
“Do I? I barely know. All I know is that I missed you watching me.”
When he lifted a hand, she stepped back.
He smiled, his fingertips brushing her cheek. “You want more kisses, Mary. You can hardly have them if you do not let me near.” Damn it, he needed to persuade her to stay and not run again, to persuade her to be his wife – and the only way he knew how to do that was through sex. He needed her to let him close.
* * *
Is that why I am here, to let him kiss me again? She had not been able to define the pull which led her here.
She had seen him enter earlier, and her heart had leapt at the sight of his splendid figure as he stood at the top of the stairs. But she’d wanted to know where he’d been. Why he’d stopped following her?
To give her choice…
But choice had left her with a desperate, quivery feeling inside. Choice, separation from him, had been painful – and yes, she longed to be kissed.
He had a magnetic quality. When he’d walked out his gaze had called follow, and an invisible thread had pulled her here.
Lord Framlington pulled that invisible thread again and it drew her nearer still.
His fingers trailed across her jaw, then his thumb brushed over her lips.
She met his gaze, though she could barely see him in the darkness beyond a silhouette. The smell of tobacco carried on his breath.
This is madness. Why did I come to him? Why am I doing this?
“Not here,” she breathed as his lips neared hers. “Anyone may see us.”
She could not see his lips curve and yet she sensed they did. His fingers opened, spreading to cradle the line of her jaw while his other hand gripped her waist. He pressed her backward.
In a trance she let him back her into the darkness, into the corner where the wall of the house turned at the side of the steps, and met the high yew hedge bordering the garden beyond the terrace.
They were deep in the shadows, she could not see him at all, but she could feel his tall frame against her and his strong hand half holding, half caressing at her waist, while the hand cradling her jaw slid to her nape and pulled her mouth to his.
Oh heavens.
His lips were firm then soft against hers, coaxing her to kiss him back.
A sensual ache spiralled through her stomach, sliding down between her legs. Her arms lifted and her fingers settled on his broad shoulders as she leaned into him, clung to him, and gave herself up to kissing him back.
It was delicious and wicked, and utterly stupid. But she didn’t care, she didn’t want to think, she just wanted to feel. Her body fitted to his perfectly, her back curving, her hip bone pressing to his, her breasts crushed against his chest.
A groan rumbled deep in his chest. She felt it in her mouth and her breasts.
His tongue slid between her parted lips, tentatively at first, then deep, then tentative again, tempting her, encouraging her to seek more.
She wanted more with a bone-deep longing; his kiss dissolved her senses.
Her fingers clasped his hair as he pressed her further back, the wall grazing one shoulder while the sharp clipped bows of the yew hedge pierced her other.
The sound of the orchestra spun into the night air. The supper hour was over.
He did not stop, his tongue danced about hers as his fingers cupped her bottom and pulled her hips more snugly to his.
A ridge of hard flesh in his trousers pressed against her abdomen, it ought to have scared her. It did not.
His grip stayed tender and gentle while the play of his tongue enchanted.
“God, Mary, you’re beautiful,” he whispered into her mouth. “Better than I imagined.”
His fingers slid up over her hips and her waist, then settled at her ribs and his thumbs brushed the first curve of her bosom.
“Mary,” he said her name again with a dizzying awe. Then he kissed her jaw and her neck, while his palms settled over her breasts, kneading her flesh through her gown.
Voices spilled from the open French doors onto the terrace. People would be dancing again soon, crowding into the ballroom and walking out on to the terrace. Her heart pounded hard, fear, excitement and bewilderment mingling.
He didn’t stop, his teeth nipped her neck while one hand left her breast and slid downwards.
Oh.
He touched between her legs, stroking inward over the material of her gown pressing it to the warm wet flesh at the juncture of her thighs.
She knew men and women joined there. That was where she craved him.
His strokes were tender, careful, like his teeth and lips on her skin, and the grasp of his hand on her breast.
Anticipation and desire climbed, as if her body sought a peek.
Her breath quickened and a sob broke from her lips as delicious sensations wove a spell in her blood.
The hum of conversation seeped from the ballroom along with a melody the orchestra played.
She should tell him to stop, but wrapped in the darkness, hidden from view, the danger had become exhilarating.
His hand clutched her breast harder and his thumb swept back and forth across her hardened nipple, while his fingers stroked forward and back in the cleft between her legs caressing her aching flesh.
Her hands clawed on his shoulder and his neck, clinging, as a whimpering sound left her lips.
He silenced her with a kiss.
She could not kiss him back, she could not think as whatever peak she raced towards approached as if she flew on a firecracker.
Goodness. Oh heavens.
She exploded, and fell from the sky, then the sensation inside her was carried on a flood of water swirling beneath her skin, reaching out to her toes and fingertips as she gripped hard at his neck and shoulder, afraid she would truly fall.
A sound of amusement, half laugh, came from his lungs, slipping into her mouth as he drew away.
He looked down at her, but she could not see his face, or his eyes. His fingers touched her face and his thumb ran back and forth across her cheekbone.
“I could make a sound and have someone find us like this.” he whispered.
“Is that what you want?” His thumb touched her lips as she breathed heavily, still a little disorientated. He was breathing heavily too and through her grip on the back of his neck, even through his neckcloth, she could feel his heart racing hard.
She was not afraid, nothing about him spoke of danger, but I do not know him at all.
“I want you,” he answered, in a hushed voice. “I want you as my wife.”
“You want my dowry.”
“I want you, and your dowry. I know your brother hates the idea of a man in need of a fortune, but he has one. It’s hardly a crime to need to marry wealth, just circumstance. But any of three dozen heiresses could bring me money. I want you, Mary.”
She smiled, knowing the darkness hid it. “You could choose a military career and work for your living.”
His thumb swept across her cheek. “I have not even enough to buy a commission. Besides would you wish to follow the drum?”
“The clergy then…”
“Me, a vicar? Are you mad? That would never work.” A scoffing rumble of amusement growled in his throat.
“I must be, I am here with you.”
His thumb and forefinger gripped her chin, then tilted it up. “Do I have your interest?”
“To be your wife?” Mary fought a desire to kiss the lips lingering over hers. “I barely know you. All I know is you are a rogue.”
This time his amusement erupted as a proper laugh which someone might hear. “Guilty as charged, I’ll not deny it, but now I’m looking for more than amusement. I did not do this with you for that. I wish to marry you. I am trying to persuade you.”
“For money….”
He shook his head. “Money, yes. I need it. I’ll not lie to you. But I want you, too, not only your fortune.” His lips brushed hers, weaving enchantment, fogging her mind.
She forced herself to cling to common-sense. “And if I had no fortune…”
He did not answer. He’d said he would not lie.
He would not choose her if she was penniless. But that was the way of life. There were three dozen men in her uncle’s ballroom without expectation of inheritance, or the desire to be shot at on a battlefield, or the inclination to preach… All of those men were in need of a fortune.
She pushed him away.
As he moved back, his hands slipped to her waist.
“I have to go. I will be missed.”
“When can I meet you again? Where? Do you ride in the morning, in Hyde Park? What if I were there at nine, would you come?”
Male voices drifted on the night air, rising in volume, they came from the terrace.
“I don’t know. I have to go.” She slipped from his hold, both physically and mentally, and hurried back across the grass to the courtyard entrance she’d come from, then returned to the ballroom via the servants’ entrance.
He was not in there. He’d gone.
Mary found her father, who commented on the length of time the maid had taken to fix her hair. It was only teasing.
She’d lied to him, deceived him and disobeyed. She had never done any of those things until the Jerseys’ garden party.
Insanity had claimed her.
What had she done?
Her heart raced, her blood running thick with the memory of their intimate caress.
“Miss Marlow, will you dance?”
She turned to face Lloyd Montague, another of her usual set.
She liked him, she liked them all, but they did not intrigue or enchant her. The only man who did that liked to make her dance with danger.
She accepted Lloyd’s arm and let him lead her into a waltz. But she longed to be outside with Lord Framlington again.
Would she go tomorrow? She could, if she took a groom.
But would it be wise?
Of course it would not. It would be anything but wise. But she wanted to go.
Where would this lead if she went? Not to marriage. Her family would never permit it. It could only lead to disgrace.
She would not.
Chapter 4
Drew sat astride his horse, waiting by the gates of Hyde Park. Miss Marlow was thirty minutes late. She was making a fool of him.
Impatience bit hard. His hands on the pommel of his saddle he shifted his weight, and as he did so, he thought of her in his hands last night. Something gripped within his stomach, something which was not lust. She had melted him. Entirely. He had been ice and now he was water… She flowed in his veins, he’d never had an encounter with a woman which was so… beautiful… so real
God his heart had thundered as hard as hers at the end, and he’d wanted to yell out with jubilation. She would have thought him insane, and of course, it would have meant they may have been caught.
His friends would think him insane too if they knew how he felt.
He’d smiled for the rest of the night, like a damned green youth who’d just discovered the sport, and he’d still been smiling this morning.
She had been all that he’d hoped of in an innocent woman.
He, Drew Framlington, had been the first to show the beautiful Miss Marlow what true pleasure could be!
Yet she had not come this morning. He was not smiling anymore.
Damn it. Waiting on a woman was not Drew’s forte. He’d rather walk away than wait. But he craved her now, he could never choose another woman now. Not after her beautiful response last night… and he needed to marry someone, he needed a bloody fortune too. He refused to go back to his former life and give pleasure to his mother’s friends for money, yet if he did not come into money soon the dun’s would have him in jail.
Devil take it, she’d shattered in his arms last night…
He’d not thought she would allow him so near so soon, but she’d been willing him on, kissing him back with an un-virginal fire.
He wished this courtship over and Miss Marlow in his bed, just as much as he wished for her damned money.
But it seemed he’d lost his touch.
After the climax he’d given her last night, and it had undoubtedly been her first, she had been shocked by it, he would have thought she’d be here begging him to marry her.
He lifted his watch from the pocket of his morning coat. Five minutes more had passed.
She’d stood him up.
Bloody hell. He would never live it down after he’d bragged to his friends that they could begin their celebrations.
Women, damn them, they were all fickle.
He saw her.
Lord. Something bit into his chest. Relief. Desperation. Then came the flood of hope on a wave of a storm of sensations even deeper than he’d experienced before.
She rode along the street outside the park, a peacock feather bouncing above her head, to match her vivid blue habit. The colour a sharp contrast to her pale skin. She sat the horse extremely well, her spine rigid and her grip on the reins firm. She looked magnificent riding the glossy jet black stallion.
A groom rode beside her, keeping guard over the Marlows’ precious package.
Drew smiled and tugged on his reins, turning his mare away from the gate and setting it to walk across the lawn.
He could not let their meeting appear planned. It must look accidental. His heart raced as though he was galloping, not walking the horse.
A clear blue sky stretched from one horizon to the other.
Drew kicked his heals and stirred his horse into a canter, giving her time to enter the park and his heartbeat a chance to recover from the sight of her.
It was not busy but there were others about.
Once he’d ridden a few hundred yards he swung back, turning on to the outer path. She was a couple of hundred yards into the park, rising and falling in a trot.
She’d seen him, he could tell. She was not looking his direction, but he somehow knew from her stance.
Riding nearer he slowed from a canter to a trot and lifted his hand as though he’d just noticed her. “Miss Marlow! Well met!”
With his raised hand he lifted his hat and bowed his head in greeting, ignoring the groom who gave him a hard glare.
“Lord Framlington!” Her voice rang with a bright false pitch as she turned her horse towards him.
She was worried. A surge of something he was not used to feeling for anyone other than his younger sister, Caro, surged through his blood – a need to reassure and protect her
He slowed to a walk as she did, then stopped, his horse facing hers.
“You are out riding early, Miss Marlow?”
“I thought to come out while it’s cooler.”
“May I ride a little way beside you?”
“If you must.”
Drew smiled, as she turned her horse. He turned his, walking the animal close beside hers.
She looked over her shoulder and signalled for the groom to stay back.
The man’s glare bored into Drew’s back.
“You are late.”
“Well, that is a woman’s right.”
Her habit hugged the curve beneath her breasts, the arch of her lower back and her slender delicate arms. He was falling into the enchantment of her innocence, fast and hard. His hunger was intense. He no longer even cared that she’d kept him waiting. She had an aura which pulled him close, winding around him like a charm. She gave him life, he felt different in her company.
It was probably just her beauty affecting him…All men must be dazzled by her. She was exceptional.
“Let us race?” she said, flicking her whip and setting her animal off, not waiting for agreement.
He kicked his heels, following her into a gallop as her horse tossed divots of grass at him.
The sharp rhythm of horse’s hooves pounded on the earth, and her laughter played on the air between them.
He gained ground and pulled ahead. She did not concede but tore on towards the lake, laughing still.
When they neared the lake, he pulled up, a full half leg in front. She stopped too and her horse turned a full circle.
“What was that?” he called to her.
“Fun!” she breathed, laughter dancing in her pale eyes as he rode closer. “I was not going to come you know.”
Her groom had been left a quarter mile back, but he could see them.
“So that was why you were late then, a change of heart?”
“Not exactly. I always behave. I always do as I should. Perhaps I just wished to kick up my heels.”
“Then this is not to be taken as any indication you agree to my offer.”
“Definitely not.” She shook her head. “If my family knew I was here with you, they would—”
“Slaughter me. I know.”
“Then, you cannot, for one moment, imagine they would agree to a match. They would think I had run mad.”
“You would be mad not to.” He held her light blue gaze. “I gave you a glimpse last night of how good it could be.”
She smiled, her eyes catching the sunshine. “In your bed you mean. That says nothing of how we would get along. Marriage is more than that, my Lord. Much more. And my family would never agree. They neither like nor trust you.”
“No… Then why did you come?” Drew did not intend to seek consent. He knew he would never be approved, the only one he sought to convince was her.