The Reluctant Marquess

by Maggi Andersen

“Robert, should you…”

  “Yes. I intend to make love to you.”

  She squirmed and gasped. Her full lips open and inviting. “Now? Here?”

  “Why not now and here?” he asked, forced to remove his hand as she jumped up. He drew her down again. “Don’t you want me to touch you?”

  “But this is scandalous.” Charity’s eyes widened, her small pink tongue licked her bottom lip, sending a bolt of fire straight to his groin. She gave a shy smile. “A kiss perhaps.”

  He found himself trembling as if it was the first time for him too, when he took her chin in his hands and softly pressed his lips to hers. Charity gave a soft moan. Her hands moved through his hair to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. God, he’d started something now. How he wanted this luscious and delicate woman.

  She drew away with a deep shuddering breath. “The bedchamber at night would surely be the ….”

  Robert began to undo the hooks on her bodice. “I find myself unable to wait.”

  “Unable? But you said …”

  He undid the last hook and pulled her gown away. Leaning forward, he kissed the tender nape of her neck. “Can’t a man change his mind?”

  “You agreed.” Charity continued to make a half-hearted attempt he disregarded as blood roared in his ears. “You said that we could wait before—”

  “Hush.” He kissed her satin shoulder and let his fingers wander. Her shift was trimmed with lace and green ribbon, her corset embroidered with birds and violets. She looked delectable, good enough to eat. And he determined to do something very much like it.

  Robert’s breathing grew heavy, and his cock hardened. He fumbled at his breeches to free it. Charity watched him, her eyes enormous. She opened her mouth to protest and he kissed her to silence her. The kiss lengthened, and after he finally broke away he gazed into those wonderful green eyes with amber highlights, and tasted her lips again. He couldn’t get enough of her sweet mouth. He drew away to find Charity breathing quickly, her pretty lips swollen and lush. So she enjoyed his kisses! Confident, his hands continued their work and while she didn’t assist him, neither did she stop him. Soon, her petticoats and corset joined her gown, a froth of ribbons, lace and silk on the chair.

  His breath came in pants, as his mind fogged with lust. When he cupped her breasts to rub the taut nipples through the silk, she arched her back and gave a tiny cry.

  He broke away to gaze at her. Her flushed skin was rosy and beautiful, her eyes hazy with desire, her breath as heavy as his.

  He wanted her sweet body convulsing with pleasure under him.

  “Don’t you think it’s time we made love?” he asked, his voice tight with need.

  “Yes, but …”

  Oh my. Charity gazed around the room wildly, feeling her determination to resist him slipping away. Soon she wouldn’t care if the servants entered and found her nude and engaged in… What was he doing now? His hand was stroking right up her thigh. She feebly grasped his wrist to stay its journey, but he gently batted her hand away and reached that special part of her.

  Her refusal ended on a long sigh, as her tense muscles loosened and exquisite pleasure flooded through her body softening her bones. She could only murmur and lie back within the circle of his arm. Yes, oh yes, how she did want him. Wanted more of this intense feeling he produced with his clever hands and his wonderful mouth, more desperately than she would have thought possible. She was eager for them to become a proper man and wife. It was as it should be.

  She raised her head and searched his eyes longing to find evidence that their souls were entwined too. Desire sparked in them, turning them dark, a smoldering passion in their depths.

  It thrilled her that she could move him so, and made her feel powerful. She reveled in it, but still that small thread of regret lingered in the back of her mind. That he would woo her with love, and treat her with respect.

  All thoughts vanished as he continued to stroke her, his voice roughened by passion, praising her beauty, stirring up powerful urges and sending her body into a trembling, demanding state of bliss. She could no longer deny the yearning he stirred in her, so intoxicating she couldn’t resist him. She wanted more and more. With an eye on the door, she could not give all of herself to him either, as thoughts raced through her befuddled mind. So intimate an act as this should be special. Something to remember with love through all their years together. Would a frantic coupling in this room without mention of love — he not declaring it — and she not admitting it, do that?

  Now he was doing something entirely delicious to her breasts. Under his ministrations her nipples became sensitive conduits that carried waves of heat to that pulsing spot at the apex of her thighs. She flushed with embarrassment at how moist and hot she’d become there. His erection pressed against her bottom, filling her with curiosity and yearning.

  Robert kissed her and Charity sighed against his mouth. How lovely her breasts were, so full and firm beneath his hands. He roamed the curve of her waist and hip returning to her smooth thigh and her soft curls. He badly wanted to kiss her there. He slid a finger gently inside her. Tensing, she gave a muffled cry.

  She slid her legs apart and offered herself to him. God! How luscious she was, wet and slick beneath his fingers. He had to be inside her.

  Through the fog of lust clouding his brain he was aware he must go carefully. She may be aroused but she was an innocent.

  Her eyes closed, and she moaned as he stroked her moist folds, finding that small pearl swollen and hard with need. He gently rolled it between his fingers.

  “Oh!” She gripped his shoulders and her hips bucked under his hand. As his fingers delved deeper inside her, voices and the clink of glassware sounded outside in the corridor.

  Charity’s eyes flew open. She gave a muffled cry and gripped his coat. “I can’t! Not now … like this.”

  “Yes, darling, just like this,” he said between heavy breaths. He couldn’t stop now, not if the house was on fire.

  “No!” Charity swivelled and placed her hand against his chest. She pushed him back hard. Startled at the determined force behind it, Robert saw her genuine distress and let her go.

  He had never forced a woman. Never had to. She clambered to her feet and stood facing him, her hands on her hips. Beneath her shift her unfettered breasts bounced in a way that stirred his loins to fever pitch.

  Her eyes blazed with rage and some other emotion that sliced at him like a rapier. Was it disappointment? “Don’t mistake me for your mistress, Robert.”

  She had long legs for one of diminutive stature. Robert’s gaze rose quickly to her face when her words finally sank in to his lust-befogged brain. “No,” he said levelly. “You are not my mistress. So?”

  She gathered up her clothes from the chair and held them defensively against her chest. “You will not treat me like her.”

  Robert sighed, crossed his legs and winced. He buttoned his breeches. “I don’t believe I was.”

  “I’m not privy to the way you treat your mistress, but I know how I wish to be treated as your wife.”

  It dawned on him that Charity had somehow discovered Anastasia. “And how is that?”

  Her pretty pink lips firmed. He wanted very much to kiss them again and being thwarted made him extremely frustrated.

  This was not going as he planned.

  Charity stepped into her gown and turned her back for him to do up the hooks. “You shall escort me out in the evening, and stay at my side for most of that evening. You shall kiss my hand and compliment my gown and be nice to me.”

  He obediently did up her gown, but he would not allow a woman to manipulate him, curse it! “There are plenty of men in the ton who will pay you fulsome compliments. And more if you should wish it.”

  Charity stamped her foot. “I don’t want fulsome compliments. I don’t want other men. I want honest affection.

  I want to be cherished, and …” — she gave a sob — “… loved. If that is impossible, then I sha
ll remove myself from under your roof.”

  Robert rose, his desire still an uncomfortable fact, tightening his trousers. His annoyance grew. He would not be dictated to in this fashion. “Then that is a consideration, certainly.”

  Charity gathered up the rest of her things and left the room.

  When the door shut behind her, Robert went to pour himself a brandy. He sat for a while brooding about her breasts and how soft they felt to touch. He tried to move his thoughts from the image of Charity’s full lips in a pout, her fine, straight brows scowling, and her full breasts heaving in indignation as she stamped her foot. Magnificent. But she wanted too much from him, she wanted his very soul. He was a private person. He never wished for that and but for the need for an heir, he hadn’t wished to marry. And now, it seemed, to have peace in his own house, or even make love to his wife, he must become one of those unfortunate husbands led about by leading strings.

  Oh, no, not he. He didn’t know what love was, and this feeling that his heart had split in two was surely just the result of frustrated desire. Intolerable!

  He put down his glass so violently the brandy sloshed onto the table and banged the door as he stormed out of the room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Charity scurried up to her chamber scarlet-faced. Relief swept over her when she encountered no servants on the stairs and managed to close the door of her chamber before a sob rose in her throat. She had wanted Robert to make love to her, desperately. She loved him with a passion that would last a lifetime, whatever happened between them. The strength of her feelings made her gasp in surprise. He did not deserve her love, but she had glimpsed the fine man he could be, when he wasn’t retreating from any expression of love. If she allowed him to treat her badly from the beginning, their relationship would never rise above that of so many of the ton, an indifferent arrangement to suit both parties.

  It would not suit her to live that way. She threw off her gown, and paced from one end of the room to the other, wondering what was best to do. In the end, she fell upon the bed, her tears dampening the pillow, with the solution still no clearer.

  She woke to a shadowy room. She’d slept for hours, and night approached. Leaving the bed, she rang for Brigitte. A possible answer to their problems had come to her when she was half-asleep. Robert carried some sort of hurt. Might it have something to do with his estrangement from his mother? She remembered when they’d met in the ballroom, how on edge he had been! She might gain some knowledge of how to improve things between her and Robert from Lady Charlesworth.

  Tomorrow, she would go and see her. She and Robert had an engagement to attend that evening. She wondered if he would appear at dinner and how things would be between them.

  “Good evening.” Robert walked into the salon, cool and handsome in a sapphire-blue silk taffeta coat embroidered in silver thread with a froth of lace at the neck and cuff. His blue eyes glowered silently at her. He was angry, she could see by his stiff bow. Well, wasn’t she entitled to be angry too? He motioned to the crystal carafe on a silver tray. “Would you care for a sherry before dinner?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He offered her his arm and she took it as tension tied her shoulders in knots. What could she say to him that would make the situation between them better? She couldn’t think of a thing. The light touch of her fingers on his arm made her head swim. Her mind seemed obsessed with every detail of their lovemaking. How wonderful his hands felt on her body.

  She couldn’t even be near him like this and not want to be in his arms, to be engulfed by his strength and his maleness, and relish her own feminine power. She wanted also, quite desperately, to offer him tenderness and her love. Would that have happened if she’d insisted they go to her chamber?

  She wanted to explain that to him, but he’d retreated into his shell again and was as remote from her as the first night they met.

  Their sad lack of conversation continued as the first course was served. Not able to speak of important issues, Charity wracked her brain to find something light and amusing and failed. She swallowed a little of the oyster soup. When the course was replaced, she pushed potted asparagus around her plate.

  By the time the peacock pie was removed along with the vegetable dish, Charity could bear the silence no longer. She had to speak even if it meant an argument would ensue. “Did you have a pleasant afternoon?”

  “I did. And you?”

  “Not very. Robert …”

  “Not here, Charity.” He frowned as a servant brought in the dessert course.

  Charity declined the syllabub and selected a nut from the dish. “I thought I’d wear my damask this evening.”

  He lowered his wine glass. “What about the sea green?”

  “The Italian silk? If you’d like me to.” She was pleased that he expressed an interest.

  “Yes, it makes you look regal.”

  Regal? Charity would never have chosen such a word to apply to herself. Was that what he wished of her? Then it was understandable why she’d failed to impress him or gain his affection. Must she spend the rest of her life attempting to look regal? She didn’t know where to begin. Perhaps the dress of his choice would help. She threw down her napkin. “If you’ll excuse me, I must dress.”

  Brigitte had just begun the finishing touches to Charity’s toilette, when a knock sounded at the door. Charity gave a nervous start. “That must be Robert.” Had he come to inspect her and see if she looked regal enough?

  She swallowed as feelings of inadequacy consumed her.

  A footman bowed. “Lord Southmore is below, my lady. He wishes to attend while you dress.”

  “Watch me dress?” Appalled, Charity frowned into the mirror and pulled her wrap over her bosom. “What can he mean?”

  “He asks to come to your boudoir, my lady,” Brigitte said, “to assist with the placing of your patches, jewelry and hair adornment. It is often done.”

  “Indeed?” Charity thought this a most deplorable fashion.

  “You would insult him should you refuse, my lady.”

  Charity remembered Robert’s warning about his friend, but it only served to make her rebellious. Would Robert be just a little jealous to find he’d been here? “This is the way of things?”

  “Oh yes, my lady. I have seen it many times.”

  She was sure that Lord Southmore didn’t wish her to look regal. “Have him come up,” she said.

  Shortly afterward, the elegant man, dressed in peach satin, entered the room and came to kiss her hand. “Lady St Malin.”

  How civil he was. And quite attractive, she hadn’t noticed that before. She felt sure that a man such as he would never give a woman a moment’s heartache. “Lord Southmore.”

  He settled on a chair beside her as Brigitte opened the box containing patches. “Now let me see. One here, I think.” He traced her cheekbone with a feather light touch. “And one at the very corner of your mouth, to highlight one of your best features.” He brushed her bottom lip with the tips of his fingers before withdrawing his hand.

  Charity wanted to giggle, but as Lord Southmore appeared quite serious, she said, “Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your assistance.”

  His gaze moved over her, the warm light in his eyes failing to match his impersonal tone. “Now for the hair.” He turned to study her waiting gown. “An excellent choice. That lovely shade of green will pay homage to your eyes. For your hair, those silk gardenias are perfect.”

  Brigitte began to tuck the flowers into Charity’s hair. “Superb,” Lord Southmore said. “Now, I recommend — “

  “Emeralds,” a sharp voice came from the doorway.

  Charity turned to find her husband entering the room, a muscle clenching in his jaw. She trembled at his steely expression, but raised her chin and held his gaze.

  Lord Southmore rose and bowed. “St Malin. You are just in time for the gown.”

  “So I see,” Robert said through his teeth.

  Charity hurried behind the pai
nted screen. She slipped off the wrap. Brigitte helped her step into the gown, then her deft fingers worked at the hooks.

  Brigitte smoothed a silk ruffle. “There, my lady.” Charity stepped out to face the two men.

  “Perfect. I was right about the color enhancing your eyes,” Lord Southmore said, a mocking smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Wouldn’t you say, St Malin?”

  Robert’s eyes narrowed, and he didn’t answer. He opened a velvet box. She expected the diamonds, but he drew from it an exquisite emerald necklace. The deep green stones, set in a bed of diamonds, looked like pretty spring flowers. He tossed the box to the maid and clasped the necklace around Charity’s throat.

  Charity felt his fingers at the nape of her neck. She anxiously watched his face in the mirror. He looked as if he would prefer to throttle her rather than adorn her with jewels. She would not allow him to spoil the evening.

  “Thank you, St Malin.” The use of his title felt strange on her tongue, and she saw by the surprise in his eyes that she’d scored a hit. “Another beautiful necklace. I declare you spoil me.” She turned to Lord Southmore. “And my thanks to you, my lord, for your skillful artistry.”

  Lord Southmore bowed. “A pleasure.”

  She took her cloak and gloves from Brigitte. “Shall we go, gentlemen?” The tension in the carriage was thick enough to cut with a knife, and little was said beyond inanities. Charity sat beside Robert, but he held his body away from her and gazed out the window.

  Lord Southmore on the other hand looked entirely relaxed and smiled at her.

  Charity found herself comparing the two men as they approached the ballroom. Robert’s shoulders were squarer and his was the more powerful build. Southmore was lankier. Robert had a kind of smoldering intensity he kept under guard. Southmore was cool. He treated life and women lightly, she suspected.

  The orchestra tuned their instruments in the balcony overlooking the ballroom as they were announced. When the music began, Robert partnered Charity in a minuet, surrounded by ladies and their partners like jewels in their colorful finery. Over their heads, sparkling chandeliers hung from a ceiling painted with frolicking cherubs.