When It's Perfect (26 page)

He paused for a moment, tightening his jaw. Mary couldn’t move.

Somewhere in the distance she heard Gwyneth order hotter tea.

“Then I’ll wrap my arms around you,” he maintained in a husky whisper, without a glance in her direction, “pulling your warm, soft nakedness next to mine. Later, you’ll feel my urgency as I slide into you, and each thrust will take me deeper as I gaze into your eyes. Our souls will twist around one another, until we become something singular in both spirit and movement. Our bodies will tingle with pleasure while our blood surges with each moan and caress.”

Mary started shaking, wanting so desperately to run, to leave him behind, to hide. But she couldn’t quit the dining room without questions, and he knew that. That’s why he said this to her here.

Because he could, providing they were far enough away that nobody overheard.

Oh, Marcus, you are so clever, so good
…

He turned then, to stare down into her eyes, his own revealing depths of disquiet mixed with reflection she couldn’t read. She squeezed her hands together in front of her, reminding herself to stand composed, to keep from screaming for him to stop, to keep from melting into his arms in front of the family at breakfast. That absurd thought nearly made her laugh. She might have had he not leaned ever closer to her, close enough to touch should he choose to.

“As your ecstasy engulfs you, and it
will
this time,” he assured her in whisper, his soft breath touching her heated face, “your cries will drive me quickly and deeply into you as the world around me blurs and my mind focuses on the intense release of emotions I want to share with you.” His cheek twitched. “And at that moment, Mary, I will watch as you will find paradise with me.”

Time stopped. Past experiences washed away without care as she stared into his amazing blue eyes, so real, his feelings exposed. She couldn’t speak for a moment, had no idea what she would say to such an incredibly honest disclosure anyway. In essence, he had taken her breath away.

Suddenly he smirked and remarked, “Something for you to consider over breakfast, Miss Marsh?”

She blinked quickly from that slap of reality, feeling hot, flustered, ashamed of her state of arousal so obvious to herself and likely to him.

It made her terribly angry that he could do this to her in so public a forum as well, and within seconds, she wanted to claw those lovely eyes out for good measure.

“I never realized what a poetic man you are, Lord Renn.”

Innocent of expression, he clasped his hands behind his back.

“Indeed.”

“Renn, dear, the eggs are getting cold,” came the far-off voice of the countess.

His brows rose faintly but he never looked away. “Shall we, Miss Marsh?”

Very slowly, facing him directly, knowing George and Gwyneth were probably watching, she smiled wickedly and said softly, “And during

your breakfast, Lord Renn, I’d like you to imagine, in the most poetic term possible, where I’d like to stick those rubies.”

Undaunted, he laughed outright, his head tossed back, and she couldn’t help but thoroughly enjoy the sound of it. Even while furious at his gall, she delighted in him.

Straightening her shoulders, she reached for her skirts and turned her back on him as she fairly waltzed to the sideboard buffet.

More keenly aware than she let on, Gwyneth watched the exchange between her son and Mary from the corner of her eye. Of course she had no idea what he found so very important it needed to be discussed before breakfast, and without her and George’s ears as well.

But she assumed it to be personal, perhaps even intimate. Mary blushed like a veritable bride, and Renn… God, he looked not only amused, but smitten. In all her life, Gwyneth had never seen her eldest son positively glow in the company of a woman.

Yet glow he did. Or maybe that wasn’t the correct word for a man absorbed in romance. Still, it was suddenly clear to her that he was.

What made her slice her sausage with force was the anger she felt at herself for allowing this interaction between them to bother her.

Certainly Mary knew her position in their household and would never intend to romance an earl, and of course Renn knew this even better than she did. Seduce, perhaps; romance, no.

But their obvious attraction to each other did bother her in many ways, some undefined. On the whole, she supposed she wanted to dismiss Mary Marsh and send her home with a smile and a pleasant good riddance, her duties completed, although technically speaking, that could prove difficult now, with the earl in residence. However, in part, the part she couldn’t quite comprehend, she began to consider that even though Mary wasn’t near Renn’s level in station, she had some good qualities, including being the daughter of a knighted friend of Prince Albert. That certainly couldn’t hurt her status. It seemed unfortunate that she was so old, too old for a first marriage, at least, and yet Renn didn’t seem to mind the company of a woman near thirty.

Gwyneth chewed her sausage with care, eyeing both of them as they sat near each other at the opposite end of the table. Her son’s gaze would drift in Mary’s direction, and she would ignore it, though Gwyneth knew perfectly well from experience that Mary realized he fancied her, at least on some base level.

It was all so complicated. But then Renn seemed determined to leave soon again for Africa, neglecting his duties as earl, and his family. If

Mary Marsh could be one way of keeping him in Cornwall, where he belonged, many of her faults could be conveniently overlooked.

Gwyneth reached for her tea. Yes, she would have to give this unusual situation some further consideration…

« ^ »

Baybridge House

27 March 1855

…I’ve been telling Miss Marsh all about you, dear Marcus.

She’s so very curious though she tries to hide it. Honestly, if I
didn’t know better I’d think she fancied you, like a soldier at war,
a hero one never sees but adores from afar. I’ve only known her
for a few short weeks and already she seems like a sister to me.

Baudwin is suspicious of her, though I’m not sure why. George
likes her, as does mother, I suppose. But as you might assume,
mother keeps her in her place
…

M
ary was scared to death. Well, perhaps that wasn’t an accurate phrase. She could hardly be scared in the earl’s powerful presence, but it would be quite true to say she felt just about as anxious as she ever had in her life.

He entered the cottage silently beside her, closing the door behind them. He’d obviously been there earlier, as a lamp was already lit on the table. Just like a man to plan ahead, she mused, though at this point she wasn’t sure if she felt annoyed or thankful.

This afternoon he’d dressed as casually as she’d ever seen him, donning only navy slacks and a white linen shirt. It had clung to his chest as they’d walked against the wind along the cliff toward their secluded destination and it had been difficult not to stare at his handsome, purely masculine form. She supposed he dressed in easy clothing so he could get out of it quickly, and at that slightly lascivious

thought, her stomach clenched involuntarily.

“Are you cold?” he asked, standing in front of the door, merely observing her, arms crossed over his chest.

She raised her chin a fraction and glanced around the room. “No.”

He chuckled but didn’t offer another word.

She supposed her response had sounded like she’d snapped at him, but then he had to know she wasn’t cold. The wind had picked up along the cliff, brushing her skirts against her legs during the short and silent walk, but the day had been quite warm thus far, the sun shining down upon their shoulders and brightly reflecting off the sea to the east as they made their way along the grassy slope toward their private rendezvous point.

Mary knew with every breath that she should not be here now, in the tiny, dimly lit cottage, alone with him, that to follow the earl’s intimate suggestion, if one could call it a suggestion, could be the largest risk she would ever take. And yet she couldn’t stop herself. What made her mad was knowing he realized this as well. Smug man.

“I know you’re scared.”

Those softly spoken words touched the most intimate part of her.

“I’m not scared,” she countered softly, though she didn’t imagine he believed that.

“Nobody knows you’re here with me, Mary,” he reassured, once again.

She relaxed a bit and turned her attention toward the table, yet never really looked at it. “Someone could have seen us leave the house together.”

“True.” He stepped away from the door a foot or two, stopping in front of her. “But then we could simply be walking along the cliff, talking.”

“Employer to employee?” she offered wryly.

He grinned. “Man to woman.”

She closed her arms over her breasts protectively. “That’s probably worse.”

The statement either didn’t faze him, or he didn’t want to respond to it. But he didn’t move back.

“Why did you come to me last night, Mary?” he asked, voice low and serious.

She shifted from one foot to the other, but this time looked him straight in the eye. “I would think you’d rather want to know why I left.”

He continued smiling. “That, too.”

She rubbed an arm with one palm, hesitating.

He reached out and ran his fingers across her cheek. She shivered but refused to retreat.

“You’re not answering me,” he prodded.

Mary thought he might be on the verge of laughing, but instead managed to refrain himself for her benefit.

“My Lord Renn,” she started, squaring her shoulders, not sure if she should scold him, or lie, or tell him exactly what he wanted to hear, which would be the absolute truth.

She paused long enough for him to shake his head very slowly to cut her off. “That will not do,” he said pointedly. “Not privately, when we are alone like this.”

He continued to appear amused, but his quiet tone expressed a desire for complete closeness and honesty between them. She understood the feeling, took note of the moment, and had never wanted it more.

Resigned at last, Mary closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see his reaction as she fervently disclosed, “I wanted so badly to feel you, Marcus.”

He inhaled a staggered breath, and just as gravely replied, “I wanted to feel you, too.”

She swayed against his hand as it gently caressed the skin on her jaw and neck. “That’s why I’m here now,” she added in whisper. “That’s the only reason. You’re the reason for everything…”

His fingers stopped moving in mid-stroke. For seconds she heard nothing but the wind as it pounded against the sheltering walls surrounding them, felt only the heat of him through his fingertips. Then he lowered his mouth to hers.

Mary sank into him involuntarily. He captured her body against his in an embrace of both passion and tenderness, of perfection.

His lips coaxed hers softly, never pushing, just exploring, savoring.

She allowed herself to succumb with every breath, to every movement.

He cradled her back in his hands, pressing her against him just enough for her to feel his chest at her breasts. She reached up and encircled his neck with her arms, pulling him closer, pushing her fingers through his soft hair.

His tongue engaged hers, and she opened for the love play. He traced her lips with the tip, then inserted it deeply, and she took him in with abandonment.

One of his hands moved lower down her back, circling, stroking, until he reached the curve above her bottom where it lingered. Mary squirmed in his arms, feeling the sudden rush of pleasure to the spot he so expertly tempted.

At last he pulled back from the kiss, brushing his lips along hers, then her cheek and jaw.

“You make me insane with need, Mary,” he admitted in a husky timbre, his breath hot against her ear.

She rolled her head back and he took the hint, running his lips along her neck.

“Undress me, Marcus,” she urged softly.

She’d purposely worn a light day gown in rich chocolate, with only four large buttons along the back. He had no trouble finding them.

With her fingers playing softly in his hair, she felt him unfasten her dress, one button at a time. As it opened for him, she pulled the bodice from her shoulders with his help, and it quickly dropped over her corset of rich, sea-blue satin, fringed with black lace that allowed a shimmering peek of her nipples.

He let out a small, satisfied groan as he continued to help her push her gown over petticoats, which she quickly discarded in a heap at her feet.

“Should I examine the ties,” he teased, his voice deep and gruff, “so I get them exactly right when I dress you again?”

She smiled and gazed into his eyes. “I wore this one because it has fasteners. I wouldn’t want you to fumble.”

He grinned in return, but his fingers skimmed the lace at her breasts.

“And I didn’t want to confuse you,” she added as her breathing became shallow and she wavered into him again.

His face grew serious as his eyes bore into hers. “If I had my way, you’d never wear anything else in my presence.”

She sighed softly, bringing her thumb around to stroke his lips.

He kissed it, then whispered, “Your beauty staggers me, Mary. It has from the first moment I saw you.”

She whimpered, not just from the melting touch of his expert fingers, but from the sincerity in his eyes, the gravity in his expression, his caressing tone and utter abandonment of station, of preconceived notions. And more than all of it, to the knowledge that he knew she’d been with someone else and he still thought her beautiful, wanted her anyway.

“Marcus,” she whispered, her palm to his jaw, her gaze locked with his. “Make love to me.”

He sucked a breath through his teeth, and she closed her eyes once more, to feel him, to experience his caress, to show him her absolute surrender to this time that they were about to share.

He lowered his head to her neck, leaving a fine trail of kisses across her delicate skin, upward, until he reached her mouth again. Then he took possession and she gave him all of herself.