You Can't Always Get the Marquess You Want

by Alexandra Hawkins

  “Just looking at your beautiful face gives me pleasure, Tempest,” he said, capturing her chin and tilting her face until their gazes locked. “I would not ask more of you.”

  “You are not asking,” she said, her voice low and seductive. She had never been so certain of anything in her life. “I am offering. I am aware that you have had other lovers.”

  Chance did not want to talk any more about his past. “I touch you, and former loves crumple into dust like ancient dried flowers that had been tucked away in a box that once held treasured memories. I feel my lips against yours, and I wonder how I could bear the loneliness while I waited for you to find me.”

  He took his time, worshipping her mouth.

  “Have I thanked you for spying on me and my friends?” Chance playfully bit her lower lip. “I thank God every day for your curious mind.”

  Tempest laughed as she thought how fate had brought them together.

  Of how her family had the power to tear them apart.

  No, she would not dwell on her fears or the future. Why spoil the present when in the here and now, Chance belonged to her. Nor would she regret loving him. If she lost him, she would look back on moments such as this as a gift.

  “You are the only lady who occupies my thoughts, Tempest.” He kissed her lightly on the mouth as if to soothe away any jealousy or hurt she might have felt. “My heart belongs to you.”

  She stilled, aware of the importance of his confession.

  “And your body?”

  * * *

  Hidden beneath his dark breeches and covered by her skirt, his thickening cock pulsed and strained, demanding that he free the unruly flesh and demonstrate his eagerness to claim her.

  Mathias kissed her nose. Another kiss to her cheek. He wanted to explore every inch of her skin and revel in the scent that was uniquely hers.

  “My body is yours as well,” he said, continuing to struggle against the internal conflict between assuaging his lust and protecting her.

  St. Lyon had told him once that a man resisting his true nature usually ended up destroying what he sought to protect. Embracing it gave him a measure of control and balance.

  From the first day, Mathias had been fighting this unwelcome attraction for Tempest. Realizing it was mutual only fueled his resolve to resist her, and infuriated him when she still managed to slip through his defenses.

  Her family’s determination to bind her to Lord Warrilow was likely to get the gentleman killed. He had envisioned the marquess’s death a thousand times.

  Mathias wanted to kill him with his bare hands for contemplating marriage, knowing the lady could be Warrilow’s and he had her family’s blessing.

  Christ, he was tired of fighting—her and himself.

  Mathias rubbed the silky fabric of her bodice with his thumb, unerringly finding her nipple, which was concealed by layers of fabric and whalebone. He longed to undress her and reveal the plump nipple, rubbing his lips against it until it swelled. He wanted to tease the flesh with his tongue until she begged him to stop.

  And then he wanted to show her what would happen if she let him continue.

  “Chance?”

  Could she sense how close he was from surrendering to her?

  She was the virgin, but it was Mathias who stood on the precipice, knowing that if they became lovers, it would change him. He had yet to decide if he would be better for it.

  “Are you offering me your body, Tempest?” Her body tensed under his, but they had come too far for him to be subtle. “If you stay, we will become lovers. Will you let me touch you? Taste your breasts and the hidden flesh between your legs?”

  Her breathy gasp revealed that her clever, talented mind had not pondered such an act. Now that he had uttered the enticing words, she would think of nothing else. She was wondering how his mouth would feel as he kissed her sensitive flesh, his tongue spearing into her.

  His hand lightly slid down her body. Mathias was not even touching her dress, but Tempest stirred and arched, craving his touch. She could not fathom the pleasure he could give her, and he longed to show her.

  “Let me love you,” he said, taking her hand and brushing a kiss against her knuckles.

  He could barely draw air into his lungs as he awaited her answer.

  “Yes.” Her soft, shy reply sent his heart tumbling over the edge.

  The word had set both of them free.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “This love you speak of,” Tempest said, giving him an unsteady smile. “How does it begin?”

  Chance leaned closer and brought their clasped hands to his chest. Over his heart. “Here. For us, it begins here.”

  “Not always?” she asked, and tilted her head to the side, thinking of her brother.

  “No,” he acknowledged. “Some men—Sometimes only the flesh is worshipped. However, that is not us.”

  Tempest had other questions, but all of them scattered like a flock of birds when he brought her hand from his chest to the knot of his cravat.

  “Have you ever undressed a man?”

  She shook her head. He released her hand and he tipped his chin upward to give her access to the knot. “I do not—I feel silly.”

  Chance was not laughing at her. “Here, allow me to assist you.” Wordlessly, he began to untie the elaborate knot.

  Once he had freed the two ends, Tempest took over the task, unwinding the length of fine linen wrapped around his throat. Chance grinned at her when she was finished. “Perhaps I should sack my valet and hire you,” he teased. “Now unfasten the buttons on my shirt while I work on the ones on my waistcoat.”

  Tempest had never undressed a gentleman, and it was a novel experience. There was a heightened sense of intimacy, touching him in this manner. “Did you ask a maid to remove my stockings or did you see to the task personally?”

  “The servants have retired for the evening,” he said, meeting her curious gaze. “I promise I didn’t peek at your legs. My concern was only for your injured ankle, but I didn’t know which one, so I had to remove both shoes and your stockings.”

  Tempest had unfastened the three buttons on his white shirt. She watched as he removed and discarded his waistcoat. He moved from his kneeling position to the sofa, so he could remove his black evening pumps.

  His side glance held a glint of mischief. “If you feel I was too high-handed, you can always untie my garters. You can even look at my calves.” He wriggled his eyebrows in a leering manner to make her laugh.

  Not waiting for her reply, Chance unfastened the buttons at the bottom of his breeches and tugged on the ties to loosen the garter on his left leg. Before he could untie the right, she bent down and did it for him. He finished the task by removing the stocking.

  “You do have very well formed calves,” she said, admiring his muscled contours and the soft dark brown hair that covered his legs. “I will have to make comparisons—”

  Tempest squeaked, not expecting Chance to turn and pounce. Nervous giggles bubbled forth as they bounced when his right knee landed on the sofa cushion and his right hand grasped the high back and his left the armrest.

  “From this day forth, you are absolutely forbidden to look at another man’s legs or anything else below his waistcoat,” he said, struggling to keep his voice stern.

  Tempest’s lips twitched. “And what will happen if I disobey?”

  “This!” His mouth latched on to hers and they shared a slow, leisurely kiss. To chastise her, he lightly bit her lower lip. “And this.”

  Tempest gasped as he snaked one arm around her back and the other under her knees and picked her up. To keep from falling, she embraced him, locking her fingers around his neck. Chance nudged the pan of water with his bare foot.

  “What are you doing, Lord Fairlamb?” she inquired breathlessly.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I am carrying you to my bed, where I plan to thoroughly ravish you.” He bowed his head and kissed her sweetly on the lips. “If I keep you well pleasured, you w
ill never look at another gentleman’s shapely calves.”

  He raised her higher so her skirt would not catch on the sofa and carried her past the wall partition, revealing his bedchamber. She tightened her hold and glanced at the bed. It was no different from any other bed she had admired in other houses, but this one belonged to Chance.

  “You must have been quite confident to have carried me upstairs to your private rooms,” she said, the tremor in her voice betraying her apprehension.

  “On the contrary,” he said, carrying her to the side and placing her on top of the bedding. “I am not currently living alone. My cousin is in residence. With his twin brother out of the country, Thorn has been lonely and forlorn, though he would vehemently deny the suggestion. His family thought his spirits might revive with some companionship.”

  Tempest’s eyes widened at the sight of Chance removing his shirt and revealing his bare chest. There was a light dusting of dark hair on his chest that matched his legs. His torso was flawless and beautifully muscled. If she’d had her sketching book, she would have asked for more light so she could draw his physique.

  Chance absently scratched his flat stomach. “Then there are the servants. Not to mention any guests Thorn invited. Bringing you to my private sitting room seemed the most sensible thing to do.”

  Tempest rubbed her toe against the side of his leg. “Very clever of you.” He could have brought her to another room in his house, but he had picked his bedchamber because that was where he wanted her to be.

  Chance sucked in his cheeks and exhaled noisily. If he dared to laugh at her, she intended to kick him.

  “I thought so.” He moved closer to the bed. “Now, be good and roll onto your stomach.”

  “Whyever for?” And then she realized he planned on unfastening the buttons of her dress. “Oh.”

  After a brief pause, she slowly rolled onto her stomach and elevated the upper portion of her body with her arms.

  “You have done this before,” she said before she could suppress the remark.

  His touch was light and his fingers nimble as he freed her from her dress. “I would be lying if I said that I was unfamiliar with a lady’s unexpressibles. However, my experience is not so boundless as you might imagine. Until I met you, my friends often marveled at my restraint.”

  She felt cooler air wash over her back. Next, he went to work on unlacing her stays.

  “And now?” Tempest prompted.

  Chance sighed. “Thoughts of being with you fill my days. I have lost count of the nights I have lain on this very bed and envisioned us together. Of the rightness of it.”

  Tempest squeezed her upper thighs together to ease the subtle tension his words conjured between her legs. “It makes little sense.” She glanced over her shoulder, and with light of the lamps flickering at his back, his face was cast in shadow. “Still, I feel it, too.”

  “Sit up and come to me, Tempest,” he said huskily.

  She obeyed, using her hand to hold her front bodice in place. If she moved her hand, her unbuttoned dress would fall down to her waist, revealing her stays and chemise. With her other hand, she touched her hair and pulled the small silver filigree combs from it. Her dark brown hair tumbled and cascaded over her shoulders.

  Approval gleamed in Chance’s eyes, and he moved forward to collect the delicate combs and place them on a small table.

  “I have never seen your hair down like this,” he said, captivated by its softness and thickness. He stroked her hair, following the length that almost reached her hips. “I cannot believe you have been hiding all this bounty from me.”

  “I wear it down on occasion,” she said, amused by his reaction. “Or I braid it to keep it out of my way while I am working on a task.”

  “But you’ll wear it down just for me,” he said, kissing her temple.

  “Only if it is appropriate.”

  He was standing so close, she could feel the heat of his body. The lingering masculine scent of the soap he used when his valet shaved his face. Freed from her stays, she felt her nipples pucker and swell until they ached. She swayed and instinctively leaned toward him.

  “Look at me, my lady,” he entreated, cupping her face with his hands.

  Tempest stared into his gray eyes, which affirmed everything she needed to see—eagerness, desire, and love. She took a deep breath and released the clothing she had clasped to her breasts. Her dress and untied stays slid down her body, revealing her nipples through the thin material of her chemise.

  Chance’s eyes flared with excitement and hunger, and his hands moved from her face down to her waist. He eased the clothing over her petticoat-covered hips and stays, and dropped the dress to the floor. Without breaking eye contact, he reached around to the middle of her back and untied the strings of her petticoat. Another tug, and her drawers whispered down her legs.

  Standing only in her chemise provided little modesty. Chance’s hands moved from her hips to her buttocks. He gently cupped the rounded flesh and pulled her against his body. It was then that she felt a distinct hardness at the front of his dark breeches. His eyes closed and his head fell back as he nudged her closer, and the thick rigid flesh rubbed enticingly against her.

  “I have waited so long,” he said, his voice heavy and thick with longing. “I don’t know if I can last.”

  Tempest did not understand the full meaning of his confession, only that it was heartfelt. She started when he unexpectedly grabbed the hem of her chemise and pulled the remaining underdress over her head.

  He tossed it over his shoulder and smiled at her. “Now I know I won’t last,” he said, and she sucked in her breath sharply when his bare hands encircled her waist and he raised her high enough to sit on the mattress. “Lie back.”

  The large tester bed with its carved mahogany posts and thick drapes cast her in dark shadows that were untouched by the oil lamps in the sitting room. Tempest reclined as Chance had instructed and then wondered what she was supposed to do with her hands. It seemed foolish to fret about something so trivial.

  Chance, on the other hand, was not watching to see if she had done as he asked. Instead, his head was bowed and he was unfastening the cloth-covered buttons on the front of his breeches. Absorbed in his task, he was unaware that she had braced her upper body with her bent forearms so her view was unobstructed.

  With no hesitation, he pushed his breeches down his lean hips, baring his aroused manhood, thighs, and finally his legs. The Marquess of Fairlamb was an exquisite specimen of a male in his prime. The glow of the oil lamps turned his skin golden while shadows hugged and settled into the muscled contours of his limbs.

  He abruptly glanced up and noticed her guileless regard and appreciation.

  “Will you allow me to sketch you one day?” she impulsively asked.

  Chance laughed and shook his head. “If you added me to your little book, then I would ask that you burn the page before anyone saw it, which would be an atrocity because talent such as yours should be shared. Still, I would never hear the end of it if my mother learned my bare arse was on display for all of London to behold.”

  Tempest giggled as she politely averted her gaze. “Well, from my view, it isn’t your backside that is exposed.”

  He uttered a soft curse and climbed onto the bed. “Ah, well, it is a persistent condition since I met you,” he said, obviously untroubled by his physical response.

  In fact, he only seemed interested in her, and that brought her in close proximity to his manhood. Tempest was grateful the interior of the room was dark so he could not see the blush that likely covered her entire body. Chance had rolled onto his side, and as he caressed her shoulder and arm, she was wholly aware of every spot where his bare skin touched hers.

  “I have never done anything like this,” she softly confessed. “I—”

  He pressed his forefinger to her lips, and then replaced it with his mouth. “Close your eyes. Let your fears and doubts slip away,” he said, kissing the line of her jaw a
nd moving down to her neck.

  Tempest tipped her head to one side when Chance used his tongue to outline the graceful arch. He lightly bit her collarbone and she shuddered.

  “That’s the way of it,” he murmured, placing a trail of kisses that led him to her breasts. “Just feel, my love.”

  Tempest gasped as his mouth closed over her left nipple. Her hands touched his broad shoulders with the half-formed notion of pushing him away. He was not supposed to kiss her there.

  It was too intimate.

  Her breasts felt heavy, and energy sizzled just beneath the surface of her skin as he suckled the swollen nub. Every time the muscles in his throat contracted, the dampening flesh between her legs pulsed. She pressed her legs together in an attempt to control it.

  However, Chance wanted her to feel the storm building in her body. As his mouth moved to her other breast, his hand slid down over the soft curve of her belly and caressed her thighs. His fingers gently kneaded the tense muscles until she began to relax.

  Her thighs parted, giving him access to the soft dark down between her legs.

  “Easy, now,” he murmured, his fingers lightly teasing the hidden feminine folds.

  “You shouldn’t,” Tempest whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. “It isn’t—”

  “It is,” Chance assured her. He adjusted his position so he could kiss her on the lips.

  Her damp hardened peaks rubbed against his chest, causing her to moan. Everywhere he touched her, she ached. Her skin felt hot and sensitive, and she did not know if she could bear another minute of it.

  Two fingers glided along the seam of her feminine folds and parted the yielding flesh.

  “Chance!”

  “Do you like how I pet you?” he whispered, his hot breath gusting across her skin. “Feel how wet you are for me, Tempest. It is a sign of your unspoken hunger for me.”

  She could not deny the wetness or fathom his interpretation of its meaning. From some hidden source, proof of her desire coated his fingers. Chance stroked her boldly, and the muscles of her abdomen tensed. His fingers pressed deeper and her body opened for him.