“You rutting beast!”
Marcus lifted his head from the girl’s shoulder and met a violet gaze of such fury he couldn’t breathe for a moment. Elizabeth stood with her hands on her hips in the stable doorway.
“I wouldn’t wed you for any reason!” she shouted, before spinning in a swirl of skirts and running away.
“Christ.” Marcus leapt to his feet and then yanked the servant girl to hers. Without another word, he was in pursuit, rushing past the gaping, sleep-mussed groomsman and out to the rapidly lightening dawn.
Elizabeth, a woman well accustomed to physical exertion, was several feet ahead of him and he lengthened his stride.
“Elizabeth!”
“To hell with you,” she yelled back.
Her pace was frantic and her path too close to the cliff’s edge for Marcus’s comfort. His heart racing madly in his chest, he leapt, tackling her and twisting to land on his bare back. Small rocks and the coarse wild grass cut at his back as he slid some distance in the morning dew, Elizabeth’s squirming body clutched tightly to his.
“Stop it,” he growled, rolling to pin her beneath him and deflecting her flailing fists.
“Constancy is beyond you, you horrid man.” Her face, so heartrendingly perfect, was flushed and tearstained.
“It’s not what you think!”
“You were half dressed atop a woman!”
“A mishap, nothing more.” He pinned her arms above her head to prevent sustaining any further injury. Despite the chill of the morning, the pain of his back and hand, and the consternation that drew his brows together, he was still intensely aware of the woman who thrashed beneath him.
“A mishap you were caught.” Elizabeth turned her head and bit his bicep. Marcus roared and shoved his knee between her legs, sinking betwixt them intimately.
“Bite me again and I will turn you over my knee.”
“Spank me again and I’ll shoot you,” she retorted.
Having no other notion of what to do, he lowered his head and captured her lips, his tongue slipping briefly inside before he yanked his head back from her snapping teeth.
He snarled. “If you worry so much about my fidelity you should ensure it.”
Her mouth fell open. “Of all the arrogant utterances.”
“Selfish wench. You don’t want me, but God forbid if any other woman does.”
“Another woman can have you, with my pity!”
He pressed his forehead to hers and muttered, “That chit is dallying with one of the groomsmen. You spooked my horse and caused a tumble.”
“I don’t believe you. Why was she standing so close to you?”
“I was injured.” Marcus held her wrists with one hand and displayed his makeshift bandage. “She was attempting to assist me.”
Frowning, but softening, Elizabeth asked, “Why are you bare-chested?”
“It was hot, love.” Marcus shook his head at her disbelieving snort. “I’ll present the libidinous parties to you for a confession.”
A tear slid down her temple. “I will never trust you,” she breathed.
He brushed his lips across hers. “More the reason to wed me. I vow marriage to you would exhaust any man into finding the female gender unappealing.”
“That was cruel.” She sniffled.
“I’m frustrated, Elizabeth,” he admitted gruffly, the soft pressure of her curves under his only exacerbating his discomfort. “What more must I do to win you? Could you give me some clue? Some inkling of the length of the road left to travel?”
Her reddened eyes met his. “Why won’t you cease? Lose interest? Seek the attentions of someone else?”
Marcus sighed, resigned to the miserable truth. “I cannot.”
The fight left her tense body with a silent sob.
He hugged her tighter. She looked as he did—tired, unhappy. Neither one of them was getting any sleep, tossing and turning, craving each other. Physically they were so close, shut off from the world and alone together, and yet the distance between them seemed unending.
For the first time since he’d met her, Marcus conceded that perhaps they weren’t meant for each other.
“Do you … Do you have a mistress?” she asked suddenly.
Stunned by the quick change of topic, he blurted, “Yes.”
Her mouth quivered against his cheek. “I won’t share you.”
“I wouldn’t make that request of you,” he promised.
“You must rid yourself of her.”
He pulled back. “I intend to make her my wife.”
Elizabeth lifted her eyes to his.
“Vexing wench.” He rubbed his nose against hers. “I’ve barely the energy required to pursue you. Think you I have the wherewithal to chase other skirts?”
“I need time to think, Marcus.”
“You have it,” he promised quickly. The hope that was near dying flared again.
She pressed her lips to his throat and gave a shaky sigh. “Very well then. I’ll consider your address.”
Chapter 13
Elizabeth paced the length of her bed. The drapes at the windows were open, as they had been since the third night of her stay, and the pearlescent light of the moon lit the path she paced. There was no point in closing them. Dark or not, she couldn’t sleep, snatching only an hour or two of rest a night.
She covered her face with her hands. If she didn’t get some relief from this miserable aching for Marcus she would surely go mad.
Over the last ten days she had collected hundreds of images of him in her mind—Marcus lying on a blanket on the beach, Marcus sprawled in his shirtsleeves on the settee reading aloud, Marcus at the hearth lit by the light of the fire as he banked it for the night.
She had memorized his smiles and the way he rubbed the back of his neck when he was tense. She knew the way the overnight growth of beard darkened his face in the morning, and the way his eyes gleamed wickedly when he teased her, and then darkened when he wanted her.
And he did want her.
The look in his eyes and the timbre of his voice told her daily that he wished he were holding her, touching her, making love to her. But he kept his promise, making no overt attempts to seduce her.
Sighing, she stared at her hands clenched in front of her. The truth of it was, no effort was required on his part to make her desire him. It was instinctual, uncontrollable.
So why was she here, pacing her room in fevered anguish, when the relief she sought was just a door away?
Because he was wrong for her, she knew. The epitome of everything she had never wanted. A libertine of some renown, he’d proven again in the stables that he was not to be trusted. She wanted to lock him away, keep him to herself, share him with no one. Only then would she find some measure of peace. Only then could she catch her breath and not feel this clawing ache that she would lose him.
Jealousy is a possessive emotion, love, he’d said to her that first day on the beach. You’ll have to wed me if you want the right to feel that way.
The right. The right to keep him, to claim him. She wanted that. Despite the torture she knew it would be.
There would be no pleasure in binding herself to a man like Marcus, a man whose appetite for life and adventure would make taming him impossible. There would be only heartache and endless disappointment. And the craving. The craving that would never go away.
She stilled and stared at the bed, remembering the depth of that hunger.
Were not a ring, his name, and the right to his body better than nothing at all?
Before she could consider it further, Elizabeth left her room and walked directly into Marcus’s without bothering to knock.
Heading straight toward the bed, she slowed when she saw it was empty, the covers tossed back and wildly askew. Startled, she glanced around and found Marcus in front of the window.
Naked, he stood immobile, bathed in moonlight, watching her with an unblinking stare.
“Marcus?”
“What do you want, Elizabeth?” he asked harshly.
She clutched the sides of her gown with damp fists. “I haven’t been able to sleep in over a week.”
“You won’t find sleep in this room.”
She shifted restlessly. Now that she was with him and he was naked, she found her courage had been an ephemeral thing. “I had hoped you would say that,” she admitted, her head down.
“So tell me what you want.”
Unable to say the words, Elizabeth pulled her night rail over her head and dropped it to the floor.
Marcus reached her in two strides. Wrapping his arms around her waist with a low growl, he clasped her naked body firmly against his. He took her mouth with breath-stealing hunger, his tongue thrusting in blatant imitation of what was to come.
Holding her secure with one arm, he lifted and anchored her leg with the other, his knowledgeable fingers tracing the curve of her buttocks before delving into the crevice and the damp curls of her sex. Moaning her relief and pleasure, Elizabeth clung to his broad shoulders, her breasts held tight to his furred chest as he teased through the slickness of her desire, and then slid upwards into her heat.
His cock, hard and hot, burned the skin of her belly. She reached for it, wrapping trembling fingers around it, her other arm gripping his waist to keep her balance. He throbbed in her palm, groaned into her mouth, his powerful frame trembling against hers.
Elizabeth could barely breathe, couldn’t move as his fingers fucked with the expertise of a man who knew his lover well. Hard and fast, he stroked her desire, making her mindless with need. She buried her face against his skin, gasping in his scent, imprinting it all over herself.
“Please,” she begged.
“Please what?”
She groaned, her hips undulating to match the movements of his hand.
“Please what?” he demanded, removing his touch.
Sobbing at the sudden dearth of sensation, she pressed desperate kisses against his skin. “Please, take me. I want you.”
“For how long, Elizabeth? One hour? One night?”
Her tongue tasted the flat point of his nipple and his breath hissed between his teeth.
“Every night,” she breathed.
Marcus lifted her feet from the floor and took the two steps to the bed, sinking into its disheveled softness over her. Elizabeth opened her legs with blatant eagerness.
“Elizabeth …”
“Hurry,” she begged.
Settling between her thighs, he thrust into her with consummate skill. He was harder, thicker than he had ever been before, stretching her completely and she tore her mouth from his, crying out as she climaxed immediately, primed for pleasure by days of longing and the mastery of his touch.
Marcus buried his face in Elizabeth’s neck and groaned hoarsely as the endless spasms of her release milked his aching cock. Against his will, he came, flooding her grasping depths with his seed. It was too much, too fast. His toes curled and his spine arched with pleasure so intense it was almost painful. Lost for a breathless moment, he clutched her body to his with near desperation.
It could only have been moments, but it seemed like hours before he could roll his weight from her. He draped her body across his chest, her legs straddling his thighs, their bodies still joined. Whatever doubts he might have harbored about marriage were burned away by the shudders that still wracked his frame.
“Christ.” He crushed her to his chest. Their coupling had lasted all of two minutes. He hadn’t thrust at all, yet he had never experienced anything as powerfully fulfilling in his life. Elizabeth had surrendered to him, acknowledged his claim. There would be no turning back now.
Her fingers stroked through the hair on his chest, soothing him. “I want you to resign your commission with the agency,” she whispered softly.
He stilled and released a deep breath. “Ah love, you don’t ask for much, do you?”
Elizabeth sighed, her breath warm against his skin. “How can you ask me to marry you, knowing the danger you court?”
“How could I not ask you?” he retorted. “I will never have enough of you, enough of this.” He thrust gently, showing her the power of his interest in his renewed erection.
“Lust,” she said scornfully.
“Lust I know well, Elizabeth. It does not come near to resembling this.”
She moaned as he nudged deeper inside her. “What would you name this then?”
“Affinity, love. We simply suit very well in bed.”
Elizabeth rose above him, pushing him deeper still, until the slick lips of her cunt hugged the root of his cock. She studied him with the narrowed-eyed glance that told him trouble was afoot. Then she clenched her inner muscles, hugging his cock in the most intimate of embraces.
His hands fisted in the disheveled sheets and he grit his teeth. Scant moments before he’d felt like he was dying. Already he was eager to feel that way again.
She lifted from him, his cock slipping free from swollen, wet tissues. “Promise me you will consider leaving Eldridge.” She slid back onto him slowly.
Sweat beaded his brow. “Elizabeth …”
She lifted and lowered again, caressing his cock with her silken cunt. “Promise me you will be careful while considering.”
His eyes slid closed on a groan. “Damn you.”
Elizabeth rose, withdrawing from him.
His entire body tensed, waiting for the exquisiteness of her body to sink and clasp tightly around him. When she hesitated, he looked at her. She waited, one finely arched brow lifted in challenge. She would continue to wait until he capitulated, he knew.
Unable to do otherwise, Marcus surrendered immediately. “I promise.”
And his reward was sweet indeed.
“Good God!”
Elizabeth jumped awake at the familiar, albeit horrified cry. Marcus’s outstretched arm pushed her back down and she gasped at the sight of the wicked knife in his hand. She lifted her head and looked toward the door, gaping at the sight of the beloved figure there. “William?”
Her brother stood with a hand clasped over his eyes. “I will await”—he choked—“you both in the parlor. Please … dress.”
