Claimed by the Marquis

by Carole Mortimer

  “It is not necessary for now,” he assured her as he reached out to curve his hand about her throat, his thumb caressing from her chin to the hollows at the base of her throat as he drew her slowly toward him. “Tonight, I wish only for the two of us to enjoy a small taste of what pleasures there are yet to come.”

  Sally was too mesmerized by Nicholas’s close proximity and the warmth of his hand against her throat to be able to enquire what he meant by that remark.

  She became totally enthralled, as he used the gentle pressure of his thumb beneath her chin to tilt her face up as he lowered his head, his obvious intention being to kiss her.

  If she had ever been kissed before, then Sally forgot it the moment Nicholas’s mouth laid masterful possession of hers. Such warm and firm lips that devoured, claimed, as the moist tip of his tongue stroked her lips apart before sliding inside and deepened the kiss to delicious intimacy.

  He touched her in no other way than that hand lightly about her throat, and his mouth and tongue making love to hers, and yet Sally felt owned by him, her legs trembling from the depth of the desire he evoked in her.

  Her hands moved up instinctively to grasp the strength of his shoulders as her body melted into his, and a thrill of heady excitement coursed through her body as the hard ridge of his arousal pressed against her. Clearly, Oxbridge was as aroused by her as she was by him. Heady power indeed to feel that totally physical evidence of his desire.

  Sally could not suppress a soft whimper as his other hand moved to cup beneath the fullness of her breast, that whimper becoming a groan as she felt the soft pad of his thumb caress lightly across the aching tip. Her neck arched in invitation as Oxbridge slowly brought the kiss to a lingering end before his lips traveled down to explore the dips and hollows of her throat, his breath warm against her flesh.

  He captured her hardened nipple lightly between finger and thumb. “Have you ever come merely from having your breasts caressed and played with?” He gave that plumped flesh a light twist.

  A wild and raging pleasure instantly consumed Sally’s body.

  “Answer me, Sally.” He gave her nipple another twist, with slightly more pressure this time, his tongue a moist rasp against her throat.

  She could no longer think, let alone comprehend Oxbridge’s words or articulate a reply, as the heat settled in the base of her belly and became a pulsing fire between her thighs, both her breasts now aching for more of the pleasure bordering on sweet pain.

  “Obviously, the experience was not memorable, if it happened at all,” he murmured with satisfaction at her silence. “I will endeavor to ensure that the times you come for me, whether I am inside you or otherwise, will not be so easily forgotten.”

  Sally had no memory of having moved, but as she felt something solid hit the backs of her knees and she tumbled backward—onto the chaise?—she realized she must have done so.

  Oxbridge sat beside her as she lay full length on what was indeed the chaise. Sally felt ensnared, captured by his gaze, as he deftly slid down the cupped sleeves of her gown and then the bodice before baring her breasts completely.

  “Very pretty,” Nicholas murmured with admiration as he cupped both her breasts in his hands, squeezing and weighing those twin orbs as he watched Sally’s face become flushed with pleasure, her eyes a glowing gold as he lowered his head to capture one deep-rose-colored nipple into the heat of his mouth.

  Her back arched off the chaise as he suckled and gently nibbled on her nipple, her breaths becoming shallow, erratic, as he pinched and caressed its twin in the same arousing rhythm. He groaned his own pleasure as he felt her fingers grasping, becoming entangled in his hair as she held him closer still.

  Nicholas’s cock was a long aching throb, balls drawn up tightly beneath as he continued to suckle and then bite each of her breasts in turn, fingers plucking, pinching its twin, intensifying his lovemaking when he heard Sally’s desperate sobs and her hips began to undulate in restless need.

  “Please. Oh please…!” She sobbed in earnest now. “I need—I want…”

  Nicholas knew exactly what she wanted, and he had every intention of giving it to her. “I will not stop until you come for me,” he promised, his teeth biting down on the swollen nipple in his mouth as he pinched its twin, repeating that caress over and over until he heard her cry out her release.

  Even then he didn’t stop, prolonging the intensity of her release and pleasure for several minutes longer, until she fell back limply onto the chaise, limbs splayed, bared breasts quickly rising and falling in time to her hoarse and ragged breathing.

  He released her nipple from his mouth as he sat back to look down and admire how red and swollen they both were, elongated to twice their normal size, the surrounding flesh also red from the abrasive rasp of his two days’ growth of beard.

  He had never been a particularly gentle lover, but Sally seemed to have brought out almost a savagery inside him, a need to take and claim. In the same way, he now felt a primitive satisfaction in knowing that not only would her nipples be highly sensitive for several days, but she would also bear his abrasive mark on her skin. Hidden, where only the two of them knew it existed.

  He did not intend for this woman to hide anything from him. Not a single part of her. Knew he would not be satisfied until he had taken her, time and again, and in every way possible, before their affair was over.

  “Oxbridge…?” Sally questioned as his hand now slid beneath her gown, fingers gliding lightly up the length of her leg before she felt his fingers parting and then entering the slit in her drawers.

  Her cheeks burned as she knew he could not help but feel the abundance of moisture she had felt gushing between her thighs as her pleasure claimed her. Her eyes widened as he removed his hand just seconds later, darkened gaze holding hers captive as he raised those now-slick fingers to his lips and began to lap up her cream with the rasp of his tongue.

  “You taste delicious,” he murmured with obvious enjoyment before sucking his fingers fully into his mouth to eat up the last of her juices with obvious relish.

  Sally realized in that moment how she had been deceiving herself these past four years, financially independent and managing her own household. It had given her a false confidence in herself, when she was, in fact, as much an innocent in the ways of gentlemen as some of those young debutantes who appeared in Society at the start of every new Season. A stolen kiss or two with her more forward suiters had not prepared her for the pleasure Oxbridge had just given her with his mouth and hands.

  Perhaps because of her independence, Sally had long been aware of being constantly under the scrutiny of both Society and her family. As a result, she tended to live her life in such a way that not a breath of scandal could ever be attributed to her.

  Until now.

  This evening, she had not only openly left the Blackmoor ballroom alone in the company of the Marquis of Oxbridge, but once in the orangery, she had allowed him liberties with her body from which there could be no going back.

  Lovemaking that had given her more pleasure than she had ever imagined possible.

  Quite what Oxbridge must think of her after the past few minutes, she did not care to contemplate.

  Besides, it was what she thought of herself that should be of more importance. And she was totally bewildered as to how to proceed.

  Of one thing she was certain, however. She could not, would not, continue with her desire to sketch Nicholas Sefton in the nude.

  Sally turned her gaze away from his as she sat up to straighten her gown, drawing her breath in sharply as the material of her chemise rubbed uncomfortably against the soreness of nipples that were swollen still from the ministrations of Oxbridge’s mouth and teeth.

  She frowned as she felt a return of the heat between her legs, that torturous chafing against her nipples enough to arouse her for a second time. No doubt she would suffer that same agony for several more days and nights, as a constant reminder of her stupidity in ever believing he
rself sophisticated enough to deal with a gentleman such as Nicholas Sefton.

  She would not, however, give him the satisfaction of knowing that. Her chin rose as she met his gaze directly. “You did not have to behave so… You had only to say no, if my request to sketch you displeases you.”

  He smiled that predatory smile. “Obviously, it does not.”

  “What happened just now…”

  “Yes?”

  “It leads me to believe your…interpretation of ‘sketch’ may be different from my own, my lord.”

  Those green eyes narrowed. “And yours is…?”

  “To draw your likeness onto paper, of course.”

  He stilled. “You really were serious in that endeavor?”

  “I was, yes.”

  “I had assumed—I believed you were propositioning for an affair,” he revealed with exasperation. “And your response just now?”

  “You instigated our lovemaking!”

  “You did not attempt to stop me.”

  No, she hadn’t, Sally acknowledged. Perhaps because she had been so overwhelmed, so lost in the wonder of having this man making love to her, the man she had admired from a distance for so many years?

  No doubt. Just as to Nicholas she had been nothing more than another conquest. A more than willing conquest, when he believed she was the one to suggest an affair in the first place.

  “What possible reason could you have for wanting to sketch me naked?” Oxbridge now demanded.

  “It seems ridiculous now, but—I have several…items.” Her gaze could no longer meet his. “Left to me by my grandmother, and I wished to… It was my intention to add several naked sketches of you to that collection.”

  His brows rose. “What sort of collection?”

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “It is… I do not… Erotica,” she revealed abruptly. “My grandmother left me an extensive collection of erotica.”

  Nicholas could only stare at her, beyond stunned by the misunderstanding that had brought them to this. There had been no euphemisms. Sally Derwent was totally serious in her request to sketch him. He was the one responsible for misinterpreting that conversation.

  But there was no denying she had not refused his lovemaking…

  “Have you voiced this interest to any other gentlemen?” Nicholas now demanded.

  “No, of course not!”

  “Then I advise you not to do so. Bloody hell, woman!” He ran a hand through the darkness of his hair as he stood and began to pace the room. “I cannot believe—” He gave a disgusted shake of his head as he glanced back at her. “Do you have any idea how close I came to fucking you just now?” Nicholas was far too agitated to bother guarding his words.

  Her cheeks paled. “There is no need for crudity—”

  “There is every reason when I think I might have… Fucking hell!”

  She winced. “Perhaps it’s for the best if we do not continue with this—this conversation.”

  “I agree.” Nicholas took in the obvious disarray of her appearance.

  Her lips were puffy from their kisses. Several of her curls had escaped their pins and were falling loosely onto her shoulders. Her gown was badly creased, and now that the bodice had been pulled back into place, he could see that the redness on her breasts, caused by the abrasion of his beard against that tender flesh was not hidden at all but clearly visible.

  “You cannot return to the wedding party looking like that.” He scowled his displeasure at the thought of other gentlemen looking at Sally’s disheveled appearance and speculating as to what the two of them had been doing together in the garden.

  Maybe wishing for a taste of her themselves.

  “I have no intention of doing so,” she assured him coolly. “If you will make my excuses to Thea and Blackmoor on your return to the wedding reception? I will make my way to my carriage by the pathway at the side of the house.”

  “In the dark?”

  “It is not so— Oh.” She looked outside with bewilderment.

  “Exactly.”

  While the two of them had been in the orangery together, night had fallen, and it was now completely dark outside.

  “I will escort you to your carriage before returning to the wedding party.” The harshness of his tone brooked absolutely no argument.

  Sally wisely decided to give him none.

  Chapter 4

  Word has been received from Nicholas.

  But it was not good news.

  Far from it.

  In his last letter, Nicholas stated he’d had enough of London and would be returning home immediately after he had attended a friend’s wedding. Today’s letter said that something had happened to delay his return. He did not say what or for how long that delay might be, but he hinted at possibly being in Town for several more weeks.

  Such a delay is intolerable. Unacceptable.

  Nicholas has been gone for months now, attending the Season and the House. It is far too many months when I am so anxious to see him again.

  Something must be done to bring him home.

  My Nicholas.

  Chapter 5

  “Lord Oxbridge, my lady.”

  Her butler’s announcement three days later, of the arrival of Nicholas Sefton to her home, was enough to cause Sally’s heart to leap and flutter in her chest. And for her to wonder as to his reason for being here after their last disastrous conversation.

  She had spent all the hours since they parted that night considering the part she had played in what had occurred between the two of them in Blackmoor’s orangery. She had even discussed it with Felicity and Rachel when they called to see her the morning after the wedding. Oh, not the details; even her closest friends were not privy to knowledge of the collection of erotica left to her by her grandmother.

  Sally had fudged over the main reason for Oxbridge having misunderstood her, as well as some of the more intimate details of their lovemaking. Some things were just too private to be discussed even with one’s closest friends, and confessing to having climaxed under the ministrations of Oxbridge’s mouth and hands was certainly one of those things.

  From the little she had confided to Felicity and Rachel, they had both agreed she appeared to be the one at fault for seeming to have encouraged him by going outside into the garden with him in the first place.

  Sally now accepted that she owed Oxbridge further explanation regarding her bizarre request, and probably also an apology.

  With no knowledge of her collection of erotica and a lack of any real explanation for her request to sketch him in the nude, what else was Oxbridge supposed to think when she had agreed to accompany him alone to the orangery. Other than the conclusion he had obviously made, and that was that Sally wished him to become her lover.

  The shiver she felt down the length of her spine at the realization of Oxbridge’s interest in becoming her lover was thrilling in the extreme.

  Even so, she knew she owed Oxbridge an apology for their misunderstanding, but had been prevaricating about doing so. Truth be told, Sally was a little reluctant to see him again. Was not sure she could do so without also recalling having his hands and mouth on her so intimately. The previously unimagined pleasure of his ministrations to her bared breasts. The way he licked my cream from his fingers with such slow and sensual enjoyment, like a cat enjoying a saucer of milk!

  This would not do. Not when Oxbridge was currently waiting—no doubt with his usual impatience—in the entrance hall of her home, asking to see her. She should send for her maid, of course, so that she and Oxbridge were not alone together. But as she had no idea as to the reason for his visit, Sally preferred to buck against propriety rather than have Rose made privy to revelations regarding her mistress’s behavior with Oxbridge on the evening of the wedding three days ago.

  “Show him in, Craddock,” Sally instructed briskly even as she rose to her feet and straightened her gown.

  At least she was looking her best this morning, in a gown
of emerald-green silk. Had she chosen this gown, however subconsciously, because it was the same color as Nicholas’s eyes? Its scooped neckline revealed the tops of the firm swell of her breasts within the fitted bodice—the red abrasion from Oxbridge’s stubble having abated, thank goodness—short scalloped-edged sleeves leaving her arms pale and bare, the skirt falling straight from the fitted bodice to her slippered feet.

  And she might just as well have been completely naked when Oxbridge strode confidently into the room seconds later, his eyes a narrowed and piercing green as they slowly undressed her, from her neck to her ankles.

  He crossed the room in those same confident strides, coming to a halt once he stood mere inches in front of her. “My lady.” He held her gaze with his own as the warm strength of his hand raised her gloved fingers to his lips.

  His hair was glossy black on the shoulders of the perfectly tailored dark gray superfine he wore over snowy white linen, fitted gray pantaloons worn above shiny black Hessians. Several days’ growth of a dark beard on his jaw showed he had once again forgotten to attend to that social nicety. Not that Sally minded; it added to, rather than detracted from, his rakish good looks.

  It was also a reminder of how her breasts had looked the night she returned home from the wedding.

  Aware of her discomfort and the torture of her clothing rubbing against her sore and tender flesh, Sally had chosen to send her maid away to bed before removing her own wedding finery. She had been glad to have done so once she saw her bared breasts in the cheval mirror in her bedchamber.

  The area around her nipples was scratched and reddened from the stubble of Oxbridge’s beard. The nipples were red and swollen, and they had remained so for at least a full day afterward. Even now, three days later, they were still sensitive to the slightest touch.

  Oxbridge seemed—was—so overpowering and immediate again this morning. As were the memories of his lips and hands on her body. To a degree that it literally took Sally’s breath away to be in his company once again. Indeed, she believed she might have simply stood and gazed at him for hours if Craddock had not quietly brought her to an awareness of her lack of manners.