THE BEST MARQUESS: Wickedly Wed #2

by Nicola Davidson

  Once they’d eaten their fill of tart, Pippa moved her bowl to one side and then took another gulp of wine. “So. Between the black-shrouded body and the anecdotal stories that made my ears hurt and filled me with dread and despair, today was a scene cut directly from a gothic novel. Do you concur?”

  Finn hesitated, glancing at the footmen. “If you’re finished, perhaps we might retire upstairs.”

  Oh dear.

  “As you wish,” she said graciously.

  They walked to his bedchamber in silence, and Pippa was even more perturbed when Finn politely dismissed his valet and Ruby so they were alone. Then he ambled over to the chairs in front of the fireplace, sat down, and removed his shoes, stockings, jacket and cravat.

  “What an endless day,” said Finn, leaning his head back on top of the chair. “I take it the stories you heard were all about Saint Pinehurst the Great, sole reason the city of London has not fully turned into the darkest pit of sin and vice imaginable?”

  Pippa nodded as she joined him. “They were. I believe the phrase ‘a lion of the House’ was used on several occasions. Also ‘exalted lord’ ‘a man of noble virtue’ and ‘splendid husband and father’. It is my solemn duty to inform you, Finlay, that the man in the shroud who you had buried in the family tomb in a small, private ceremony mere hours ago, is not in fact your sire.”

  “Thank God for that. But I do have a tale that can best yours.”

  “Oh really? Your Regiment started attacking each other in their bid to offer you the finest embroidered handkerchief and the sweetest words of comfort, and your mourning jacket was torn to shreds by the fangs and claws?”

  Finn’s eyebrows almost quirked into his hairline. Mortified at her outburst, Pippa began studiously examining her fingernails. It seemed now that she’d been fortified by apple tart her mind had begun functioning again, and she remembered every single excruciating detail of her conversation with Natalie about deeper feelings. About jealousy.

  Which she had just demonstrated with such aplomb.

  Gah.

  “I mean, er…” she mumbled. “Do tell me your tale.”

  “Pippet…he replied, surprisingly gently. “They can offer as many handkerchiefs as they like, but I carry my own. It’s a small square of linen with a crooked embroidered ‘P’. You dropped it at a picnic when you were about eight or nine. I should have returned it, but I couldn’t bring myself to.”

  Her heart began to thump erratically. That sounded like a declaration. Except it couldn’t be. If Finn had held tender feelings for her since childhood, then how was it he’d grown up to be England’s premier rake? Everyone knew the Regiment wasn’t just for show, that he’d bedded all of them. It wasn’t logical in the slightest to claim affection that stretched that far back in time. “Er…well. Cunning of you to only confess that after our marriage, so I cannot pursue justice for such a shocking crime.”

  Unexpectedly, Finn looked a bit hurt at her jest, and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, an odd sensation pressing on her chest. But it was his own fault. Finn knew that even a hint of tender sentiment caused her to duck and weave like someone attempting to escape a swarm of bees. Acts of devotion she believed. Things she could see or touch or receive, like a book. Words, she did not trust. Good lord, one only had to look at her family to see the way words were used as tools of destruction. Either that or a way to conceal, and absolve themselves of any responsibility.

  No, she much preferred acts.

  “Quite,” said Finn eventually, as he drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Anyway, my tale. I had just sat down to have a restorative brandy with Gabriel, when we were interrupted by Lord Campbell and Sir Edwin Ironside of all people.”

  Relieved at the change of subject to something far removed from the realm of uncomfortable emotions, Pippa sat forward in her chair. “Ugh. What did those two cretins want? Do not spare a single detail.”

  Finn rolled his eyes. “Well, Lord Campbell wished to know my stance on pleasure clubs. Apparently, my father’s one true purpose in life was to get them all closed down. Sir Edwin, however, wished to tell me about a brand-new business in the city called Bliss that was peddling filth. They both desire to stamp out immorality with a steel boot, and demanded to know if I was going to follow in Father’s footsteps and join them.”

  Pippa stared at him, her mouth agape. “I don’t know whether to laugh or scream. They want you, the secret owner of Bliss, a provider of accessories to pleasure clubs, to…join a quest to destroy Bliss and pleasure clubs?”

  “That is correct. I will admit that I didn’t answer the question…and I may have threatened to toss them out on their arses in front of the other mourners.”

  “Finlay Knighton.”

  “Lord Pinehurst,” he replied quietly. “Now the funeral is over, it’s practically official, apart from the paperwork to take my seat in the House. And you are Lady Pinehurst.”

  The words seemed to hang in the air, then settle over both of them like a sodden cloak, dark and suffocating.

  “I think I might go to bed,” said Pippa as she stood, abruptly desperate for the warmth and comfort of pillows and quilts. “Would you unbutton me?”

  “Of course,” he replied, standing up to assist. “I just have a few more documents to peruse downstairs, then I’ll return and join you.”

  After a brief sponge bath in front of the fire, Pippa donned a fresh chemise and nightgown, then climbed into bed. But try as she might, her eyes would not shut, and the name Lady Pinehurst circled her mind until it ached.

  From a distance, being a marchioness had almost looked easy. But it could well prove to be the greatest challenge of her life.

  Was she ready?

  Chapter 12

  Finn woke up with a start, and groaned in pain.

  Shit.

  After promising Pippa he would finish perusing the pile of documents then join her in bed, he’d fallen asleep at his desk. Now he was chilled to the bone, his arms were half-numb from sleeping on them, there was a quill stuck to his forehead, and his fingertips were stained black from spilled ink.

  He was, as those in his life often informed him, messy.

  Gingerly standing and wincing with each movement, Finn stumbled over to the library fireplace and stoked it to warm the room. Then he lit several candles; fully illuminated the space was bad enough, but in the dim light of dawn it had a sinister air, like the one haunted room in a dilapidated manor. Indeed, redecorating this monstrosity was near top of his list of tasks. Perhaps sunshine-yellow or a nice dusky pink, the same shade as Pippa’s nipples. That would be pleasant, and it would ensure his father truly did roll over in his tomb.

  Finn sniffed at the air and the odor of perspiration made his nose wrinkle. He also needed a bath quite desperately.

  Ambling into the hallway, about the only speed his cramped limbs would permit, he came across two footmen on their way to the kitchens for breakfast, and ordered the copper tub sent up to his bedchamber. At this rate, the hot water would just about be waiting for him.

  When he finally made it up the stairs, Finn pushed open the door as quietly as possible, and slipped inside. Only to find Pippa sitting up in bed and reading by candlelight.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Which book?”

  She held it up, an unusually guilty expression on her face. “The Highland Marauder.”

  “A reread then. Any chapter in particular?”

  “Just a general review,” she replied, not meeting his gaze as she slid in a leather bookmark and set the novel down on the side table.

  “Liar.”

  His wife’s cheeks flushed scarlet, approximately the color of the gown she’d worn to their engagement announcement. “Am not.”

  “Did you make yourself come, Pippet?”

  “Is this the sated, relaxed face of a woman who had just had an orgasm?” she snapped, moving restlessly on the mattress.

  Inwardly smiling, Finn strolled closer, but didn’t touch her. Ins
tead, he picked up the novel and opened it to the bookmarked page. Oh. One of his favorite scenes, where the laird bound the Frenchwoman to a special padded table, blindfolded her, brought her to the edge of orgasm with his mouth, then penetrated her arse with a dildo. How many times had he read this, cock in hand, and imagined himself as the laird and Pippa as the Frenchwoman?

  Far too many to count.

  “So, this is the scene that makes your sweet pussy wet? An interlude with pleasure toys? How fortunate you wed a man with a business that crafts them.”

  Her indrawn breath echoed in the room. “Are you saying we could go to Golden Square and try some?”

  “That depends…” his voice trailed off at a brisk knock, and shortly afterward two footmen walked in carrying the copper tub, followed by several maids carrying full buckets of steaming hot water. They set it up in the usual place behind an embroidered bathing screen, filled the tub, then left the chamber.

  “Depends on what?” said Pippa huskily.

  “On the quality of the bath you are about to give me. I should add, today is going to be nothing but amusement. No talk of grandmothers, cretin lords and politicians, or newly inherited titles. With that in mind, let me tell you of my newest Bliss creation. It is a wicked little toy that ties around the waist and fills pussy and arse at the same time. I wanted to see if you could walk in it.”

  She quivered. “Please let me try that. And, er…I’ve always wanted to know what clamps feel like.”

  “Nipple clamps?” Finn asked, as if the business sold another kind. “It would have to be an exceptional bath.”

  “I’m willing to try my very best. I shall have to, judging by the feather imprint on your forehead, the ink stains on your fingers, and that tuft of hair that is poking up like a quail,” Pippa replied pertly, her nightgown swirling around her ankles as she got out of bed.

  He pulled her close, grinding his hardening cock against her pussy. “That saucy tongue again, lady wife. Perhaps you might consider putting it to a different use.”

  She whimpered, tilting her hips so he rubbed directly against her clitoris. “Like…kissing your cock? Taking it in my mouth?”

  Finn gulped, desperately willing himself not to come and ruin his trousers forever. She was just so warm and sleep-soft, and if he tugged the ribbon of her nightgown and pushed open the bodice, he would see the pretty pink nipples currently tenting the fabric. But better than that, his wife was just so eager and curious and blunt about sexual matters. He loved the way he could use the filthiest words in front of her, then hear them in return.

  “Yes. But you’ll need to be my valet again.”

  “It would be a singular honor, my lord husband.”

  As soon as he was naked, Finn sank into the hot bath with a heartfelt groan. Sleeping at one’s desk was foolish in the extreme. Then Pippa filled a porcelain jug with water and poured it over his chest, before washing him with a bar of herbal soap and a washcloth.

  This, on the other hand, was quite, quite excellent.

  “I think,” he said lazily, “you need to open your bodice so I can see those perfect breasts of yours.”

  “Really? Why is that?” she enquired, picking up a nail brush and scrubbing at his ink-stained fingers.

  “How else am I to judge which size clamps to use on your nipples?”

  Pippa’s lips twitched, but when she’d finished cleaning his hand, she loosened the ribbons and pushed aside the bodice of both her nightgown and chemise, teasing him with glimpses of her taut pink nipples. Then she moved onto washing his back, leaning over him, and Finn couldn’t resist circling both peaks with a wet finger before giving each a brief pinch.

  His wife shivered, her breath catching. “You’d better be taking measurements.”

  “I’m not sure. The bath is only half complete. I may be sparkling clean, but I still require drying.”

  She helped him to his feet, pausing while the water sluiced from his body, then he stepped out of the bath so she could dry him with a linen towel. Pippa first wiped her spectacles free of the fine mist that covered the lenses, but soon the rough material rasped against the backs of his calves and thighs. Finn’s cock rose, throbbing with need. He didn’t say a word, just lifted his arms and turned slightly so Pippa could dry every inch of him. She was thorough, but gentle as she tended to his cock last of all.

  “What must I do now?” she asked, her blue eyes glittering with excitement.

  Finn led her back to the bed, and perched upon the edge, briefly caressing her cheek. “Kneel down.”

  Pippa sank to her knees in front of him, peering at his length over her spectacles with intense concentration, then she carefully took his cock in hand. Already the thick shaft was stone-hard, the head swollen and darker in color, and damp with drops of pearly moisture.

  Extending her tongue, she lapped at the head. “Hmmm,” she said, frowning. “Another thing nobody tells you, the taste of seed is…just as earthy as the scent. A bit salty even. I’m not sure if I like it or not. Perhaps I should sample some more to help me make up my mind.”

  Finn groaned at the exquisite sensation, his fingers tangling in her hair as she dragged her tongue around the head and up the length of him, all the way to the coarse hair at his groin. Then she stroked his heavy balls with just her fingertip, and he groaned again. “Pippet.”

  Pippa paused. “You know,” she said seriously. “It’s rather interesting that I am kneeling, required to kiss my husband’s cock to gain a reward…and yet I feel so powerful right now. Like the Frenchwoman. She obeyed the laird, but never lost herself, only gained pleasure.”

  “That is how it should be.”

  “Mmmm,” she replied, holding his gaze as she took the head of his cock in her mouth and lightly sucked.

  Christ.

  Not only did it feel incredible, it was the most carnal thing he’d ever seen. His wife in her spectacles, modest nightgown gaping open to expose her hard nipples, struggling to take his engorged cock deeper in her mouth. But she kept trying, all while fluttering her tongue on the underside just like their favorite Frenchwoman did when pleasuring her laird.

  Finn swore, clutching her shoulders. “I’m going to come. Pippa…”

  But instead of pulling away, his wife sucked greedily, one hand squeezing his length and the other cupping his balls. His eyes crossed in ecstasy, his fists clenched, and with a low roar he came in her mouth, spurting his seed down her throat.

  Licking her lips, Pippa sat back on her heels. “Well?”

  “You are a goddess,” he murmured, as his brain floated away. “Also, romance novels are the greatest invention in history.”

  “I quite agree. Now, my laird, I’m going to have a bath, then after breakfast you’ll be escorting me to Golden Square for a session of nipple clamps and double dildo, yes?”

  Finn lay back on the bed and pulled the quilt over his body, a foolish grin near splitting his face.

  “Aye, madame.”

  “You mustn’t moan so loudly, Pippet. The driver will hear you.”

  At Finn’s teasing words, she bit her lip to halt a wail of need. The carriage curtains were open; no doubt everyone in London could see her sitting in his lap, thighs spread wide, her black gown folded up to her waist while his fingers caressed her pussy. But he wouldn’t let her come, wanting to save her orgasms for his inventing room at Golden Square. A quarter hour ago, that had appeared a fair and reasonable plan. Now…not so much.

  The only saving grace was the short length of the journey. Any distance longer than a mile and she might have lost her mind completely after being so ruthlessly and expertly prepared to receive the pleasure toys. Finn was a romance novel hero come to life. Well, when he wasn’t teasing her. While her fingers positively itched to delve between her thighs, the previous few times she’d tried to make herself come, release had remained elusive. It seemed her foolish, contrary body now sniffed at self-love, wanting the lusty touch of another.

  No, not another. Just Fi
nn. Her husband.

  He’d always been important. However now, apparently, she needed him in ways other than friendship, which was quite an intellectual leap. Her wariness remained when it came to sentiment, as had been obvious from her shamefully lukewarm response to his story about the handkerchief. But was it even possible to soften when you had been everyone else’s rock your entire life and had walls a mile thick around your heart?

  The carriage hit a small rut on the road, jolting her back to the present and making her cry out as his fingers penetrated her channel half an inch. “Finn…if I don’t come soon…”

  He kissed her neck. “Nearly there. Just imagine how good it will feel to have your pussy and arse stuffed full.”

  Pippa took several deep breaths, trying to think of anything other than orgasms. Which was nigh-on impossible. The delights of their wedding night felt like they had happened about a century ago; to have that kind of feast and then a famine of even three days was unacceptable. Not to mention, anyone who took a huge cock in their mouth and swallowed seed deserved to scream long and hard.

  After approximately one thousand years, the carriage finally pulled up next to the tiny mews behind a pretty townhouse. She couldn’t wait to see inside, especially the room where her husband created pleasure toys.

  Finn unfolded her gown, smoothed it, and helped her stand; a welcome gesture for her unsteady legs. Then a footman opened the door and lowered the step, and she alighted onto the footpath.

  When he joined her, Pippa turned to Finn and smiled brightly. “To the inventing room!”

  He studied her, his lips curving. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a tour of the premises first? Perhaps some tea and cakes?”

  “Do not toy with me, my lord.”

  His smirk widened. “Do not? I was under the impression you wanted toys.”

  Pippa smacked his shoulder. “It is neither the time nor the place for jests. Your wife needs orgasms.”

  “Very well,” said Finn, offering his arm. They walked through the gate and shut it firmly behind them, then continued on up the short path to the back door. A maid opened it and bobbed a curtsy.