The Misbehaving Marquess (9 page)

Aching now, ready for touch, she lowered her hand between her legs to the secret place she sought at night.

“Yes.” A sheen of sweat glistened on his skin and, beneath her, his muscles tightened.

Cat tilted her hips forward so she could slide into her own hot depths.

“How does it feel?” He watched her hand.

“Wet. Soft.” Excitement sizzled through her. She dipped her finger inside, then worked the slick fluid around her tight bud.

The touch of her fingers sparked a thousand sensations. There was no loneliness tonight. Just shuddering breath. Fluid pleasure. And the erotic heat of Jamie’s eyes on her.

“Touch your breasts again,” he demanded.

Cat complied, drawing the fingernails of her free hand across her nipples. Her thighs clenched and her shoulders tensed. She was close to crisis already.

“I would think of you,” she panted. “I would remember what you did to me.”

“Tell me.”

“When you would kiss me here.” She rubbed her damp core in tight circles.

“Come here. Let me kiss you now.”

“Not yet.” She dropped her head back, enjoying the fierce heat of his gaze on her skin. She felt everywhere naughty, desired, voluptuous.

He had not forgotten her.

It was a quick tumble, her fall from the ledge of pleasure. Throbbing, undulating waves of euphoria washed up her spine, burst from her lips in a hot cry.

But she was hardly satisfied. She wanted him inside her.

She pressed up on her knees and at once Jamie’s hands were on her. “No,” she shook her head and her hair brushed across her bare shoulders. “Not yet. Hands behind your head.”

He groaned again, but complied.

Cat inched her way down the bed, keeping his legs between hers, until his erection stood before her. It was proud and hard and ready for her. She grasped it in her hand and he froze.

“Have mercy.”

Oh, she would. Just not yet. Cat moved her fist up and down as Jamie had instructed before they were married.

Tonight, she wanted more. She’d only used her mouth on him twice. He’d all but flown apart in her hands.

Leaning over, she took him, hot and smooth, between her lips and gave a gentle suck.

“Ungh.” He lifted his hips, trying to press deeper into her mouth. Cat smiled and took him as deep as she could, then drew back. She did it again and again, enjoying the heavy sounds of his pleasure filling her room. This room that had once felt so lonely.

When she felt his belly tensing beneath her, she pulled away. Sat back and looked at him.

“Is this punishment?” he panted. “Because if it is, I think I like it.”

Her smile was unbounded. “I want you to know exactly what you were giving up those five years.” Oddly, the words didn’t hurt as she said them. She was too full of want and power.

She crawled back up him so her knees were above his shoulders. “Make me feel good. Really good, Jamie. Then I just might let you have me.”

He grabbed her buttocks in his hands and pressed his mouth to her mound. Pleasure spiked through her, overwhelming and raw. She gritted her teeth and
grasped the top of the headboard as he laved and licked with his lips and tongue, driving her past the point of passion to someplace bordering on madness. His fingers wandered and pressed. She had no name for what he was making her feel.

She was arching, shattering over the cliff when he grabbed her hips, moved her down so that he could thrust his cock into the quaking core of her.

He filled her everywhere. He fit her perfectly.

She sought the softness of his lips, the tang of his skin as he lifted and lowered her hips, meeting her in hot, thick thrusts that were still somehow not enough. He tasted of desire. Smelled of man. She couldn’t get enough.

“More,” she cried.

“More.”

Still thick inside her, he rolled her onto her back and pressed her legs against her chest. Again and again, he drove into her, filling her and filling her more than she thought possible.

The slap of flesh and the smell of passion overwhelmed her senses, drove her mindless. Jamie leaned down and captured her lips with his. With a long, deep thrust, he sent them both tumbling, together, into a wordless void where self and other no longer existed. Where there was only one.

Cat stirred awake
with the birds. The room was still dark, the thick curtains blocking out the morning sun, and she rolled over to find her husband.

But he was gone.

Her bed was empty.

She sat up and searched the darkened room.

He couldn’t have been gone long. She could still taste him, smell him. He must have gone downstairs to enjoy a plateful of breakfast. The man would certainly be ravenous after the previous night. He’d awoken her twice in the darkness, their bodies slick and panting for more.

Come to think of it, she was rather hungry herself.

Cat slipped from bed and opened the window sashes. The sky was dark and roiling. Rain was imminent.

After calling her maid, she quickly dressed and went downstairs to find her husband. She did not mind the threatening clouds, the morning was still full of hope and possibility. She and Jamie would start a new life together, build a future out of the ashes of their past.

Jamie was not in the morning room either.

The butler found her as she stared confusedly at the coddled eggs.

“His Lordship asked me to inform you that he will be gone for the day, but shall return by dinner tonight.”

“Of course.” She said the words as if she had known he would leave. As if she could push away her disappointment. He’d left no note—again. But at least he had left a message. And he would return that evening. She needn’t be a ninny about it.

It was silly to feel lonely, even as the hours ticked by and darkness fell. She ought to just put her husband from her mind and tend to the final preparations for the cottages.

But dinner came and passed and he still had not returned. Not for bedtime either. Not even when the clock struck midnight.

She simply needed to ignore the doubt niggling at her thoughts.

Naked and alone, Cat awaited Jamie in his bed. Somewhere around three in the morning, she stopped listening to the chime of the case clock in the hallway and fell into a restless sleep.

He did not return the next morning.

Where the hell was he?

Anger sizzling beneath her skin, she called for a quiet breakfast in her own rooms. So much for their hopeful future. She was a fool to think Jamie would put his pride aside and forgive her. He had told her all along what mattered to him—an heir. Not her.

He’d never said he loved her.

Outside her window, the wind chased the clouds across the sky. She had no idea where Jamie was, when he would return. Again.

She
hated
being this wife.

She
hated
being left behind. Ignorant. Powerless. Rambling alone about an empty estate with the thrilling, frightening possibility of being pregnant.

With each chime of the clock, her body closed inward. Closed like the petals of a flower curling at the unbearable touch of dark and cold.

***

By the afternoon
, Cat was done waiting. She’d taken herself to the library, hoping to distract herself with a book.

The unending quiet of the day was broken by the pattern of footsteps hurrying down the hallway. Cat looked up, her silly heart in her throat. Was Jamie so eager to see her he rushed down the corridor?

The butler scrambled into the room with uncharacteristic haste. Her heart plummeted to her toes. Something was terribly wrong. Something had happened to Jamie.

“My lady.” The butler was flushed and out of breath. “It’s the village”—again he wheezed—“the village is on fire.”

***

After a frantic fifteen minutes
of calling for her cloak, her carriage—never mind what gloves—Cat finally arrived in the village. Already, the fire blazed higher than the cottages.

Men crowded around the hose carts, working at a desperate pace. The thin streams of water seemed a paltry defense against the hungry beast eating through the village. Cat pressed a hand to her mouth.

Most of her cottages were ruined. Fire shot out of the windows, blackened the walls, tore through the new roofs they had painstakingly rebuilt.

Only the Warners’ home remained untouched by the blaze. All her other work. Gone.

Anger burned her from the inside. Where the hell was Jamie? Of all times, she needed him
now
.

She could not worry about it. She elbowed her way into the throng of men, stopping only when a wall of heat blasted her skin. What should she do? What
could
she do?

Villagers scurried by carrying buckets and axes and lengths of chain. It was chaos. She whirled around, not knowing where to start.

And then he was there. Appearing out of the smoke. Her husband. Her Jamie.

She shook everywhere. Relief and anger and concern poured through her at once.

He frowned when her saw her and immediately came her way. “Darling, you have to stay back.” A dark smear of soot slashed one cheek. Ash colored his hair and ruined his clothes.

“How much has been lost?” Fear sharpened her voice.

“I do not know, exactly. The blaze started in the baker’s chimney and is moving fast. I’ve not been here long.”

“You look a mess.” Her fingers trembled as they brushed the soot from his face. “What have you been doing, fighting the fire with your bare hands?”

He searched her eyes. “Your cottages…” He did not continue. There was nothing more to say.

Her heart squeezed in her chest. Jamie had been trying to save her cottages. He’d been fighting for her. And still, the homes were lost.

Cat waved her hand. A gesture that said nothing. Nothing about her heartbreak. Her gladness at seeing him. Her fear for the future. “At least the Warners’ home still stands.”

The wind shifted, smoke and ash choked the breath from her lungs. She raised a handkerchief before her nose and tried to breathe.

Men shouted and Jamie looked over his shoulder, then back at her. “The Warners’ cottage is all that remains between the fire and the rest of the village.”

Pricks of pain stung her eyes. “What are you saying?”

“We have two options. We can fight the fire as is, and hope for the best.” His face looked grim.
The best
was not going well so far. “Or we can pull down the Warners’ cottage. Create a firebreak.”

Pull it down?

What of the family, gaunt and haunted and desperate for a new future? Of the tidy home with lovely curtains and warm beds? “They have nothing else, Jamie. Can we not save the cottage?”

His eyes were serious beneath lowered brows. “I do not know. Perhaps. Fire is not predictable.”

Again, a gust of wind blew a thick cloud of smoke across the crowd. Cat mopped at the tears coursing down her cheeks.

“The decision is yours, darling. I will honor whatever you choose.”

Shouts lifted up, and men ran down the street.

It was a terrible scene.

A living nightmare.

And she had to choose. Ruin or ruin. There was no good option. “Do you think it will work?” she asked. “The firebreak?”

“We have no other ideas.”

Ideas were often in short supply during times of crisis. Cat knew this. Had lived it before. “Then do it. Pull down the Warners’ cottage.”

Jamie brushed the tears from her cheek. “I’m sorry, Cat.”

She straightened her spine. Now was not the time to mourn. “What can I do?”

“Stay back. For God’s sake, don’t go near the blaze.”

“But—”

“You must listen to me on this. I am not lecturing you. Your skirts could catch a spark and easily set to flame.” He grabbed her upper arms. “I’m sorry I was gone last night. The bridge was washed out and I couldn’t get back before today. Please,
stay safe. For me.” He pulled her to him for a quick, hard kiss, then turned toward the angry blaze.

Cat couldn’t watch him go. She whirled away from him and the danger he faced. On the far side of the street, women and children huddled together and observed the men. She couldn’t help fight the fire, but she could help the villagers.

She grabbed a footman whose livery was ruined by soot. “Run up to the Abbey and tell them to fetch the doctor in Giltbrook, then to send any food and drink they can find to the village. I will be waiting for it.”

“Yes, my lady.” The boy hurried off.

“And salve and bandages,” she called after him. “For burns.”

It seemed a paltry thing, to worry about food and comfort now. But the men were exhausted and the children scared. And the women, the women silently endured it all, as they always had. The least she could do was offer the villagers strength for their bodies. And perhaps their spirits as well.