Rebel Marquess (27 page)

He narrowed his gaze. “You question my prowess?”

She widened her eyes in all innocence. “I am just saying I would understand if a man of your years needs more time to rest and rejuvenate before he can perform again.”

He growled. “I expected you to be clever enough to keep your disparaging thoughts about my age to yourself. You should know now what consequences result from such a lack of confidence.”

She practically purred and rubbed her legs against his. “I am counting on it actually.”

He chuckled and dipped his head to claim her mouth in a deep kiss before he dropped to the bed beside her and pulled her against his side. She snuggled in with her head on his shoulder and her leg thrown over his as he drew the cover over their cooling bodies. She circled her hand over his chest a few times before releasing a heavy sigh.

“Perhaps I can wait a little while for a repeat performance,” she muttered with a soft yawn. “I have never napped a day in my life, but for the life of me, I suddenly cannot seem to keep my eyes open.”

“Rest, Eliza,” he murmured against her crown. “I will be here when you wake.”

Rutherford lay still and unmoving long after he heard Eliza’s breath slip into a slow and tranquil rhythm. Though it would not be easy for her to accept the new direction of her life, he hoped she would not fight it too strongly.

For better or for worse, their futures had become woven together.

All his life, he had followed his grandmother’s dictates regarding his duties as the Marquess of Rutherford. As a boy, he had dedicated himself to his education because she had insisted that an ignorant lord would never be respected by those in his charge. As a young man, he’d strived to be responsible, conscientious and balanced in his social activities. If he and his closest friends deviated on occasion in their need to test the limits of their freedom, it was never with any malice and he was careful to keep any of his more risqué activities from becoming common knowledge. In adulthood, he’d maintained a respectable demeanor and was honorable in all things. His duty to his family, his responsibility toward his tenants and future generations and his deep loyalty to his friends guided him every day.

But one thing he had always planned to keep for himself, outside the general expectations of his position as marquess, was his choice in a bride.

And now here was Eliza. A Terribury, whose impertinent conversation and bright laughter tempted him beyond reason. And a woman who’d made it clear from the start she would have nothing to do with marrying him.

She sighed in her sleep and shifted along his side. Her plump breasts flattened against his ribs and her thigh slid higher over his hips. The weight of her leg and the silky softness of the skin on her inner thigh warmed the sensitive flesh of his sex. Blood rushed from all parts of his body to fill his cock with the throbbing pulse of need. He closed his eyes as he resisted the quick wave of lust and longing that swept through him. Not since he was an adolescent had he known his body to be so insatiable and demanding.

He swept his hand down the length of her slim back and tensed the muscles of his buttocks, surging upward against her thigh. Tilting her face up to his with a gentle pressure of his fingers under her chin, he watched her lashes flutter against her cheeks.

The desire to taste her again roared through him. He flicked his tongue against the seam of her lips and she parted them on a sleepy sigh, allowing him to plunge his tongue into the sweet recesses of her mouth. When she moaned in luscious response, he gripped her hips in his hands to roll her forcefully atop him.

Her eyes flew open then and she pushed herself up to look down into his face. She was fully awake now and he saw the flash of desire lighting her gaze as he positioned her knees to straddle his hips. He cupped her full breasts in his hands and kneaded gently as he thrust between her thighs and felt the hot glide of her sex along his length.

“I hope you got enough rest,” he said harshly. “Your punishment is due.” He pinched her nipples to emphasize his words, testing her resilience.

“Oh God,” she moaned and more slick heat seeped from her body. She dropped her chin and the fine veil of her hair slid forward to shield her face.

“Do not bow your head, Eliza,” he demanded. He wanted to see the changes in her expression as he built her back up to her pleasure. He needed to see what thrilled her, what frightened her and what shocked her.

He pinched her nipples again, harder this time, and her chin snapped up. Her gaze met his, hazy with passion and she licked her lips. “What are you going to do?” she breathed softly.

“What do you want me to do?” His voice was rough with a lust that made his throat burn.

“Everything,” she answered quickly. “Whatever you want.”

He felt a surge of sexual anticipation so great he thought he might pass out from it. But the shining light in Eliza’s eyes kept him tethered securely to her in shared passion and rising expectation. He squeezed her breasts with gentle pressure before he released her to trail his fingers lightly over her belly. He reveled in the trembling of her body as he gripped her hips again firmly in his hands.

His need for her was present in every syllable he spoke. “I was hoping you would say that.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Realizing she could not in fact spend the entire weekend in Rutherford’s bed, Eliza insisted she could get back to her bedroom just fine on her own. The marquess disagreed, for which she was ultimately grateful as he offered to take her on an impromptu tour of the rest of the house before circling back round to her room.

He led her through a long gallery lined with family portraits and answered her many questions about his ancestors. He had an illustrious family history that began before the age of the Conqueror, and Eliza was inspired by many of the characters depicted in the vast collection of paintings. She wished she had more time to delve into their personal stories, suspecting there were some fascinating tales to be discovered there.

They continued on past the nursery and schoolroom where the marquess had spent many long days. Eliza begged for tales of childhood mischief, but he claimed to remember only hours of instruction and education with not much else to speak of.

When he showed her to the library, however, Eliza insisted they stop and take some time there. As she circled the room, trailing her fingers over the book spines, scanning the titles for those she had read and those she wished to, she could feel Rutherford watching her. She did not need to turn around to know he stood near the door with his arms crossed over his chest. She could easily imagine the stern, almost bored, expression on his face. But she also knew that if she looked deep into his eyes, she would see something new.

She had noticed it when she was dressing and had to ask him to help her with her corset ties and the buttons of her gown. She had seen it when she was standing at the mirror in his bedroom, fixing her hair into a proper chignon, and had met his gaze in the reflection as he stood silently behind her. And she knew it was there as he waited patiently for her to finish her perusal of the library.

It was a glimmer of possession.

She had been claimed in an ancient and primal way, and she struggled to understand how she felt about it. Her connection to him had become so intrinsic to her it was almost as if it had always been present, waiting to be fully awakened by the hours of shared intimacy.

She pulled a book from the shelf and turned it over in her hands, running her fingers over the leather worn smooth by the touch of innumerable readers. She glanced over her shoulder. He stood as she suspected, his gaze dark and direct. The intent gleam in his eyes and the subtle tension of his body hinted at a physical yearning. Bright memories of their recent hours together caused a swift tightening in Eliza chest.

How quickly he drew forth such a reaction without even trying.

She looked down at the book in her hands and opened it to a random page. She traced her fingers over the words, not reading so much as feeling the power of the text. There was an intrinsic connection here as well. An essential need that resided deep within her. She wanted to see her own words immortalized in this way, to know her stories would continue on long after she ceased to be.

Her heart heavy, she replaced the book on the shelf and turned back to the marquess.

By the time they made it to her room, the house was no longer quiet. The guest wing bustled with maids and menservants rushing about as they readied guests for the formal supper.

Pausing outside her door, she turned to face him, reluctant to part ways but unable to find a reason to keep him from walking away. A smile quirked at her lips. “Thank you for the escort and the tour.” The words felt terribly inane after the hours of intimacy they had shared in his bedroom. “Boarhill Manor is a fascinating house.”

He arched a brow. “I am pleased you think so.” He held his wrist clasped behind his back and looked stiffly down his nose at her. But she was not fooled by the haughty pose. The glimmer was still there in his intent gaze and her body warmed in reaction.

“I suppose I will see you this evening then.”

He nodded and gave a handsome bow. “Until this evening.”

Unfortunately, whether out of curiosity for the girl who had finally dragged a proposal out of the marquess or genuine interest, many of Rutherford relations were intent upon engaging Eliza in conversation as the party gathered for supper. She had no chance to speak with the marquess at all before the meal, and she was once again seated at the other end of table and could only glance at him now and then between courses.

But those glances were loaded with sensual impact because she nearly always found him looking back at her. Even at the distance separating them and with the distractions all around, Eliza could feel the heat from the barely banked fire in his eyes. Under his intent regard, it was so easy to recall the sensation of his hands roaming her naked skin and his body covering her. She could practically hear the echo of her own sighs mingling with his weighted breath. The taste of his kiss mingled with the taste of the wine on her tongue. Several times, she had to squeeze her thighs tightly together in resistance against her body’s reaction, and she prayed the evening would finish quickly.

When the ladies finally rose to leave the gentlemen to smoke with their port, Eliza released a deep breath of relief. Fearing that surely her yearning was plain for all to see, she was grateful for the reprieve and the opportunity to restore her composure.

But as she milled about in the drawing room, the reprieve proved to be superficial. What she felt for the marquess went far too deep to be affected by a simple change in rooms.

“Can you believe she chose to wear emeralds with that color gown?”

“Judith, must you be so snide?” Regina admonished.

Lady Judith Ashdown shrugged one slim shoulder and tipped her chin a notch higher so she could look further down her nose at her sister. “I cannot help it if I notice such things. Some people have no proper sense of style.”

“And some have not an ounce of benevolence,” Eliza countered in a dry tone. She had been standing with her sisters for barely five minutes as they waited for the men to join them after supper, and already she could not wait to step away. Judith’s condescending attitude was becoming unbearable these days.

Fortunately, Judith was not allowed to expound further on her waspish observation as their small group was joined by Lady Edeson and Lady Leatherby, young women who hailed from the Dorset branch of the marquess’s family tree. After the exchange of pleasantries, the other ladies fell into a discussion about a new French milliner who had opened up shop in London.

With nothing of interest to add to the conversation, Eliza allowed her thoughts to drift to the story idea that had formed that morning at the lake. There was something very exhilarating about contemplating a new project. Ideas were charged with fresh creativity and a world of possibilities was wide open.

“What is your opinion on the subject, Miss Terribury?”

Eliza blinked as she was pulled back into the conversation with her sisters and the ladies Edeson and Leatherby. She felt her cheeks warming as she realized she had no idea what topic was currently under discussion. She was so rarely asked for her opinion that she hadn’t expected to be called upon to comment.

For the first time ever, she found herself grateful for her sisters’ tendencies to disregard any contribution Eliza might make to a conversation as Judith spoke up before she had to answer.

“Oh, our Lizzie does not have an opinion on flower arranging,” Judith said with a snide little smile.

Regina laughed. “In truth, I doubt Lizzie has ever touched a single stem. Have you, dear?”

Eliza smiled. She felt no shame in admitting the truth. “I always felt it best to leave certain tasks to those who have a talent for such things.”

Lady Edeson’s eyes widened. “You do not know how to arrange a vase of flowers?”

“Our Lizzie would not deign to engage in such an acceptable expression of ladylike creativity.”

Eliza frowned at her sister. “I would not put it quite that way,” she protested, but Judith continued right over her.

“She is far too busy scribbling in her notebooks to take part in any activity that would contribute to a more well-rounded education.”