Love With the Proper Husband (20 page)

She stared in astonishment. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “Far too cut-and-dried for my taste. I prefer things a bit more…spontaneous.”

“Spontaneous?” She huffed. “How can things be spontaneous? You and I both know what’s going to happen here. It’s not entirely a surprise.”

“You never know,” he said under his breath and started toward her. Without thinking, she backed up. “What are you doing?”

He grinned and walked past her, loosening his cravat.

“Where are you going?”

“I am getting ready for bed.” He pulled his cravat free and stepped into the dressing room. Good Lord, was he taking off his clothes? Now? With the lights on? No matter how prepared she was, she was certainly not prepared for the sight of a naked man. Mercifully, he was hidden behind the half-open door. For a moment she considered escaping back to her own room. Of course, that would entail going through the dressing room.

Besides, that would never do. She was resigned to this. No. She wanted this. Wanted him. She wasn’t sure why or when it had happened, but at some moment between their first brandy-laden kiss and now, something inside her had changed from mere resignation to an odd, aching need. She wanted to have him kiss her again and again and altogether more thoroughly than he had thus far. She wanted to lie in his arms and wanted her knees to grow weak beneath his touch and wanted to feel all the things Colette said he would make her feel.

She wanted her husband.

The door to the dressing room swung slowly open, and she clapped her hand over her eyes. Marcus’s laugh echoed in the room. “What are you doing now?”

“Nothing. Not a thing.” She waved her free hand. “Do go about your business.”

“That’s the second time you’ve told me to go about my business. Very well, I will.”

She heard the soft footfall of bare feet circle past her and couldn’t help but peek from between her fingers. She gasped and dropped her hand. “You’re wearing a dressing gown.”

He raised an amused brow. “Indeed I am. What were you expecting me to be wearing?”

“I expected you…” Her gaze reluctantly roamed over him and her mouth went dry. His shoulders were broader than she’d realized, indeed he was taller and handsomer in a decidedly roguish sort of way than she noticed before. In truth, he was much more
male
than she’d imagined and quite impressive. The robe was open nearly to the waist, revealing his throat and a significant portion of his chest, his
naked
chest, to close at the tie at his waist. Her gaze quickly skipped that portion below his waist—she wasn’t quite ready for that—to the hem hitting at his calves and the bare legs below. “You’re naked under that, aren’t you?”

“Indeed I am.” His tone was casual, as if they were involved in nothing more than lighthearted conversation in a parlor somewhere and not in his room with little more than a few scraps of lace and silk separating his body from hers. “I find the wearing of clothing, particularly during warm weather, as annoying to my pursuit of a good night’s sleep as you find the wearing of hats. Now then.” He nodded toward the bed. “I warn you, I am going about my business as per your request. I am taking my robe off now and getting into my bed. You might want to cover your eyes again to avoid my offending your maidenly sensibilities.”

“You haven’t offended my sensibilities,” she scoffed. “I was simply giving you some privacy.”

“Really?” He worked at the knot at his waist. “And here I assumed you were apprehensive at the sight of a naked man.”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said stoutly. “I have seen naked men before.”

“Oh?”

“Statues and sculptures and the like. Greeks and Romans primarily.” She tried to look anywhere but at him. “Museums, you know. Full of statues.”

“Indeed. Plenty of naked men there.” He chuckled and turned his back to her. “Last warning, Miss Townsend.”

Her chin jerked upward. “Lady Pennington, if you please.”

“As you wish,
Lady Pennington
.” His robe slipped off his shoulders to fall in a puddle of silk at his feet.

She bit her lip and stared.

He was exceedingly well sculpted.

The muscles of his back and buttocks were firmly defined, and his skin seemed to glow in the dim light. She had the immediate urge to run her fingers over those muscles, warm herself on his heated flesh. He climbed into bed as if she weren’t there.

“What are you doing?” Indignation sounded in her voice, and she stepped toward the bed. He rolled onto his back, clasped his hands behind his neck, and studied her. “I am going to sleep. It’s been a long and rather tiring day,” he said, reaching for the bedcovers.

“You’re going to sleep? Just like that?” She moved closer. “No kissing? No melting of my knees?

No…whatever?”

He thought for a moment. “I don’t believe so.”

“Don’t you want me?” She stared in disbelief.

“Indeed I do. Quite a lot, actually.” His voice was wry. “I’m rather proud of myself for my restraint thus far.”

“Then”—she flung her arms wide—“take me!”

He shook his head. “I think not.”

“Marcus!” She scrambled up onto the bed to kneel beside him, noting in the back of her mind how indignation and, indeed, impatience swept aside any trepidation. “Why not?”

“You’ve taken all the fun out of it. As if making love involves nothing more than following a step-by-step instruction booklet.” He considered her thoughtfully. “I don’t want you in my bed because you have no other choice. Because this is your duty.”

“That’s not why I’m here. I want this.” She laid her hand on his chest. “I want you.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. And I shall prove it.” Before she could think better of it, she threw her leg over his to sit straddling his hips. She cast him a wicked smile. “If you shall not take me, I shall be compelled to take you.”

“Really?” He gazed at her in amusement. “And how precisely do you plan on doing that?”

“With the help of my step-by-step instructions you made fun of.” She drew a breath for courage and stretched out on top of him, ignoring the feel of his delightfully hard body beneath hers and grateful that, for now, they were separated by layers of bedclothes. Her face was inches from his. He watched her, his hands still laced behind his neck, a slight smile playing over his lips. “First…” She brushed her lips across the hollow of his throat and was gratified to feel his body tense under her.

“This is the kissing part?”

“Um-hm.” She kissed his throat and ran a trail of light kisses up his neck to the line of his jaw. It was rather nice kissing him like this. Indeed, with every touch of her lips to his warm skin, she wanted to kiss him more. The curious fluttering she’d noted the last time they’d kissed started again within her. Delicious and demanding.

She reached the corner of his jaw and moved her mouth to nibble at the lobe of his ear. He sucked in a hard breath. She murmured against him. “Madame de Chabot says men quite like this sort of thing.”

“Does she?” His voice was slightly strangled, as if he couldn’t quite get the words out. “What else does she say men like?”

Gwen shifted to look into his eyes, sliding her body slightly over his with a seductive skill she didn’

t know she had. At once she felt the distinct evidence of his arousal beneath her and realized she wasn’t the least bit frightened but rather excited. “She says they like this.”

She cupped his face in her hands and met his lips with hers. His mouth opened to hers, and for a long moment she did nothing but taste him. He tasted slightly of brandy and perhaps vanilla, and she recognized it as the scent that lingered in his room. And tasted as well of heat and desire. She deepened her kiss, and felt him shift and his arms wrap around her, pulling her tighter to him. His tongue found hers, and a delighted shock surged through her and caught at her breath. He snagged her gown and pulled it upward until the evening air whispered over the backs of her legs. His hands found her bare flesh and his fingers teased along her legs and higher until he cupped her buttocks in his hands. And still her lips clung to his and she fell into a glorious abyss of sensation that was as yet no more than a promise. She pulled her mouth from his and moved to sit up, once again straddling his hips, his arousal hard beneath the covers underneath her.

“Now what?” His breath was labored.

“Clothing, I should think.” She yanked her gown over her head and tossed it aside. In some lone, still rational part of her mind, she noted her distinct lack of modesty but she no longer cared. Some demon far more powerful than mere maidenly reserve had her in its grasp and she wanted, she needed…more.

“Excellent.” He gasped and his hands grasped her waist, then trailed slowly upward to caress her breasts.

She moaned and her head fell back. His hands moved over her breasts, and his thumbs toyed with her nipples, now hard beneath his skillful touch. And she wondered that she had ever had the least bit of hesitation. And wondered as well how much sheer sensation she could endure. And what an amazing endurance it was.

Without warning he sat up and caught her in his arms, his mouth meeting hers with a demand and an urgency that could not be denied. An urgency she shared and reveled in. He shifted and kicked off the covers and entwined his legs with hers, his lean, hard body pressed tight against her. He pulled his lips from hers and kissed her throat and the side of her neck to a point she never suspected was at all sensitive just below her ears. His voice was low and labored. “There is no turning back now, Miss Townsend.”

“Lady Pennington.” She could barely gasp out the words. “If you please.”

“Oh, I please.” His words panted against her skin. “Lady Pennington. Gwen.”

His hands and his mouth roamed over her as if she were an unknown land and he an ardent adventurer. He explored and surveyed and discovered and she could not touch him enough, taste him enough, feel the searing heat of his body against her mouth and her hands enough. His hand slipped between her legs to touch that part of her she had never given much thought to. A shock of pleasure so intense it arched her back shot through her, and she cried out.

“Marcus!” She gripped his shoulders tightly. “That is…I don’t…oh my…”

“Not part of your instructions?” His voice was thick with passion.

“Perhaps it was mentioned.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. Marcus certainly knew what he was doing. She wondered that women survived such exquisite pleasure. Raw and intense, it spread in hard waves from his touch through every inch of her and stoked a burning need deep inside. A fire growing ever hotter and higher.

She struggled for breath and clutched at him. “I fear I may be a tart after all.”

“Thank God,” he murmured, his lips again claiming hers.

He swept her into a spiral of increasing sensation and with it swept away all rational thought. She existed only in the touch of his hand, the feel of his lips, the reality of his body pressing against hers. She felt his fingers slick and wet slide into her and marveled that it was not at all unpleasant but somehow right and proper and yet not nearly enough. She throbbed against his hand and yearned, burned for more.

He removed his hand and at once positioned himself between her legs. He hesitated, and she stared into his eyes, darkened with the desire she shared.

“Gwen, this might be—”

“I know and it doesn’t matter. I want”—she drew his lips back to hers—“you.”

He reached between them and guided himself into her with a slow, gentle pressure. She knew full well there could be pain and no longer cared. It seemed a small price to pay for such pleasure. He entered her, filled her, and she noted that he had not seemed quite this large with the covers between them. Still, it was an odd sensation but not bad. Not bad at all. He paused and she realized he had reached what Colette had called
la barrière de l’amour.
He drew back, then thrust forward hard and fast and unrelenting. A sharp pain stabbed through her. She sucked in her breath and clenched her teeth. She felt distinctly impaled, and it hurt.

“Perhaps I’m not a tart after all,” she said with an odd squeak in her voice.

“Bloody hell, Gwen, I am sorry.” He swallowed hard and stared at her. “We can stop if this is too

—”

“No, it will be fine in a moment.” There wasn’t the least bit of conviction in her voice. “I think.”

Colette had been right about everything else, and Gwen prayed she was right about this too. He lay inside her for a long moment and the pain eased. She moved tentatively beneath him, and it seemed to help. He started to slide gently back and forth within her, and it helped a great deal. The fire that had been building inside her rekindled, and she matched her movements to his. It helped a great deal indeed. In truth, it was rather remarkable.

He thrust faster and harder, and she arched upward to meet his body with her own. To welcome. To consume. What vague pain still lingered melded with this unimagined, newfound pleasure and added to the intensity of their coupling. Her existence expanded to obliterate the rest of the world and shrank to nothing beyond wild joy and pure sensation. He stoked the fire that seared within her ever hotter and ever higher, and she wondered if one could die from absolute pleasure and welcome the glory of it. Without warning the flames within her burst in waves of hot, unimagined bliss, and she cried out and dug her fingers into his shoulders and felt him shudder with her. It lasted forever and was far and away too brief.