A sound almost like a groan escaped him.
Honoria pressed a hand to her throat, aware of the tension surrounding them. Her body felt flushed and heated, and her heart thumped against the base of her throat. Her gaze met his and locked. All she said was “Marcus,” but the word was fraught with meaning, almost a pleading.
“That’s it.” With that, he reached across the carriage, plucked her from her seat, and put her in his lap, his hands warm through the thin silk at her waist. He settled her there and then buried his face in her neck, his breath hot on her skin.
Honoria just sat, stunned. She was now sitting on those very thighs she’d been studying so astutely. They were just as firm as she remembered, rock hard and finely muscled. And it felt…good. Very good, if she was honest.
He stirred, lifting his face and smiling at her. He touched her cheek in a careless caress. “I have wanted to hold you for a week.”
Her heart leapt. “Yes? Then why…why did you stay away?”
“Because I had already put you in one untenable situation, and my control—” A faint, lopsided smile touched his lips, self-derision on his face. “You affect me strongly.”
And he affected her. Of course, physical attraction wasn’t love. But perhaps…perhaps it was something.
“Honoria, I don’t pretend that this is the best way to begin a marriage. But it’s what we have, and considering everything, there is a very real possibility we can make this work.”
The carriage swayed wildly and he caught her tight against his broad chest. Honoria let him hold her, closing her eyes and savoring the feeling of…what was it? Simple comfort in having someone to lean against? Or was it more?
They swerved again, only this time so wildly that she was almost thrown off Marcus’s lap. He had to catch her firmly to keep her from flying through the air.
“Blast Herberts!” Marcus said, glaring at the roof as if to send a heated message to the coachman.
“He’s quite unusual.”
“He’s horrid. I had thought to train him to a higher level and then return him to my brother, but I am beginning to believe it an impossibility. The man remembers nothing of what you tell him and—But that is neither here nor there. We were talking about our marriage.”
“Yes,” she said, taking a deep breath. “We should discuss our expectations.”
His thumb began a slow, circular movement on her waist, the gesture most likely unconscious and meant to sooth. But instead of soothing, it sent a lightning strike of sensation all the way through her, heating her skin and making her breasts swell as if in anticipation.
Honoria had to swallow twice just to breathe. Her whole body was focused on the feel of him, on his thighs beneath her rump, his hand on her waist, his chest against her arm. Heat began to simmer in her stomach and move lower. She hurried to blurt out what few thoughts she could still reach through the haze of sensuality he was weaving with his touch. “I—I told my brother and sisters that we would be living with you.”
“Of course.”
She regarded him through her lashes, enjoying the splay of his strong hand over her hip. “It might be difficult at first, since you aren’t used to having a large family about.”
“I grew up in a large family.”
“Yes, but that was some time ago. I daresay you have gotten used to being alone.”
He shrugged. “Treymount House is large enough that I daresay I won’t even know your brother and sisters are there.”
“If you think so,” she said, doubt thick in her voice. “What do you expect from me, as your wife?”
For an instant it seemed as if his expression froze. But then he said slowly, “Well…I suppose I expect this.”
With that, his hand closed gently over her breast. Honoria gasped, a flash of sensation scorching through her, sending her thoughts flying in a thousand different directions. “I—I see.”
“Do you like that?” He rubbed his hand slowly over her breast, gently kneading it.
Heat built and her nipple hardened. “I—Yes. That is quite nice.” It was better than nice; it was divine. “Marcus, I—is there anything else you think we should discuss?”
“Other than how good this feels?” he murmured, lowering his lips to her cheek and tracing a line across the crest.
She swallowed. “I just wanted to know what you expect.”
He paused, lifting his head so he could meet her gaze. “I suppose I expect decorum and honesty and…the usual sort of things.”
“What else?”
A frown darkened his face. “I don’t know. For you to oversee the household staff, which shouldn’t be too taxing. I’ve an excellent chef, Antoine. And Jeffries is quite competent to—” He frowned. “That’s not what you meant, is it?”
“Not quite. I just didn’t know…what do you expect from me as…as a wife?” She held her breath.
Realization crossed his face. “I see. Very well, then. Until you have done your duty in the way of an heir, I will also expect your fidelity to none but me.”
Her heart sank. What did he mean “until” she had done her duty? Did that mean that after that he didn’t care what she did?
He took her silence to mean something else. “I will, of course, provide you with a generous allowance and enough pin money that you should be able to enjoy life to the fullest.” He paused, then added, “And I will sponsor all of your sisters.” An ironic smile touched his lips. “As you’ve always wished.”
Honoria tried to find the words…some words, any words. By all accounts, she should be quite happy. After all, he was offering what every woman of the ton wanted, what every woman of the ton dreamed of. But somehow…she had to know.
She cleared her throat. “And when I’ve given you your heir? What did you mean by ‘until’?”
“Well—”
The carriage hit a wild bump and seemed to fly a moment before landing with a hard jounce. Marcus was tossed against the ceiling; he cursed under his breath. “Damn it, Herberts!”
Honoria held onto Marcus a bit tighter, wondering if they would make it to their destination or land in a ditch.
“Don’t worry about him,” Marcus said. “He’s actually rather competent. He has never once gotten lost, never overturned. Added to that, he makes the most damnable time.”
She relaxed a little, leaning against him, enjoying the feel of his hands as they splayed over her back, her waist, moving constantly. If he could touch her, she supposed that now she could touch him. She began with the top button of his waistcoat, unfastening it, then fastening it back.
His gaze darkened, so she said hurriedly, “You haven’t answered my question.”
“No, I haven’t.” His hand closed over hers. “Honoria, how do you want me to answer?”
Ye gods, what a question. “I—I suppose I just want to know…” She gulped, then took her emotions firmly in hand. This was not the time to become faint of heart. Collecting herself, she met his gaze steadily. “Marcus, what happens after I’ve given you an heir? Am I free then? To do as I please?”
His brows lowered and he growled, “When you have presented me with an heir, you and I will go our separate ways. Is that what you want?” His voice was almost savage in her ear, his hands no longer gentle, but harsh in the way they held her.
Honoria closed her eyes, fighting back tears. She would never be able to simply walk away. She couldn’t do it now; she’d already given him her heart.
The thought made her throat tighten. Loving Marcus wasn’t an act she had control of…it was just something that had happened, and all she could do was watch, dismayed and flinching at the inevitable pain. But now there was nothing she could do about it. They were married and she would see him day in and day out, and as the days passed what she felt for him would only deepen. Slowly, by degrees, her heart would continue to slip away.
But in the meantime, before the time of pain and suffering, she might as well enjoy what she did have of him. Enjoy life as his one and
only wife, if not his one and only love. At least until she’d presented him with an heir.
It wasn’t much, but it was all she had. Honoria reached up, twined her arms about his neck and pulled his mouth to hers as the carriage lurched madly to one side.
He was still but a moment as the carriage swung back the other direction, and then he was kissing her as passionately as he had a week ago. Kissing her and holding her and touching her, his hands roving over the delicate silk, ruching it as he pressed closer, closer.
His hands moved fervently now, finding the sensitive skin on the inside of her knee, sliding up, higher and higher, touching her through the softness of her undergarments, rubbing her as she moved restlessly against him, her body on fire, her mind twined around every sensation he produced.
Suddenly, he stopped. “Take off your clothes.”
“Off? But…we’re in a carriage.”
“I don’t care.” His gaze locked with hers. “Do you?”
She didn’t. She didn’t care at all. All she knew was that she wanted him, had wanted this, for far longer than she’d admitted to herself. She reached up for the tie behind her shoulders…
Within seconds all of her carefully pressed skirts were laying on the opposite seat and all she had on was her chemise. She reached for the neck, but his warm hands forestalled her. “Please,” he said, his voice deep and husky. “Allow me.”
Cool air abraded her bare skin as he removed the silky garment and tossed it away. Her breasts peaked and tightened, a sight that seemed to affect him strongly, for he groaned and immediately lowered his mouth to the crest. Sucking gently, his hot mouth sent a volley of lightning through her. Honoria moaned, clutching his broad shoulders, holding him tightly. “Marcus,” she managed to breathe.
One arm wrapped about her shoulders, his mouth moving from one breast to the other, he slid his free hand to her knee, then higher. Up the line of her thigh, where it stopped. She could see his mouth fastened on her breast, feel his breath on her bare skin, and see his hand resting so close…She opened her thighs and pulled his wrist up, so his fingers were against her tight curls.
He lifted his head at that, his eyes almost black with passion. And then he touched her. Deliberately, smoothly, parting her innermost secrets and finding the center of her heat.
She moaned, arching back, aware of his heat, of the mad, crazed passion that was rising inside her, of him, everywhere at the same time. Suddenly, she clamped her thighs closed over his hand. “Wait,” she panted. “Please. You must undress, too.”
“Are you certain? I can—”
“No. I want you. Please.”
That was all it took. He set her to his side and kissed her, his tongue stroking, suggesting. Keeping her mad with lust. She never knew how he did it, but he was soon as naked as she, breaking the kiss only to rip off his cravat and pull his shirt over his head.
The second he was free of his clothing, they tumbled together, the wild throb of the carriage urging them on.
He held her thus, pinned against the thick cushion, the coach rocking madly from side to side, his engorged manhood against her slick flesh. “Honoria—”
It was a question, a last gasp of control. And she answered in the only way she could. She locked her legs about his waist and pulled herself against him, impaling herself on him, filling herself. Her entire body stretched, hot and ready, a flicker of pain causing her to halt.
His breathing was harsh in her hair, his body deliciously warm. “Hold me,” he gasped against her ear, his breath stirring her hair and sending a new wave of heat through her.
She did as he said, wrapping her arms about his shoulders, pressing against him even as the pain increased.
He pressed harder and all of time held still. For the space of a moment there was nothing but the two of them, straining together, their skin damp where it touched, their bodies rocking with the rhythm of the coach. Then there was a sharp pain and he was inside her, deep and pressing. The pain swelled and she cried out, but he captured her cry with a kiss so heated, so passionate, that she found herself kissing him back, clinging to him as she gave herself to movement that was growing between them. Every thrust was exquisite, every stroke agonizingly delectable.
She was awash in feelings she’d never experienced and never thought to feel. He moved faster now, as did the coach. There seemed to be a connection. The faster Marcus moved inside her, the more wildly the coach swayed, every bump and jounce sending waves of pleasure though her.
Honoria’s heated response was exquisite torture for Marcus. One especially wild turn sent them shifting to one side. He moaned as he buried himself ever deeper into her, the warmth of her sheath clenching about him almost too much to handle. He grit his teeth and continued on, determined to make this time—her first—memorable. He didn’t have to wait long, for she was as wildly passionate as she was innocent and burst in wild cries as she came, her juices hot and creamy over him. Marcus was unable to hold on another moment and he came with her, emptying himself into her delectable warmth.
How long they remained thus, locked together, breathing hard, their bodies clasped about one another as the carriage drove ever onward, he would never know. But the slowing of the coach made him raise his head. They must be nearing the smaller road that led to the hunting lodge. They only had a short time longer.
Marcus lifted onto his elbows and looked down at his bride. Her eyes were closed, the thick lashes resting on the crescents of her cheeks, a rich color warming her skin.
She’d been a virgin, as he’d expected. The thought pleased him. Not that he had any right to demand such a thing—after all, he was scarcely in a position to demand anything. Nor had he been a saintly man in his life. But the thought that she was all his and had never had the touch of another man made him wish to shout out his possession from the rooftops.
He ran his thumb over her cheek and she instantly turned her face toward him, as if savoring the warmth. His heart softened a little at the unconscious gesture, as trusting as a child’s.
He’d expected her to be passionate after he’d taught her the arts of lovemaking. But she’d been a natural, moving against him, moaning so richly, her hands automatically clutching, pulling, and urging him on.
Good God, if she was this tempting as a virgin, how would she be once she’d learned a thing or two? The idea sent a shiver of pleasure through his replete body. This was going to be a marriage of fate, indeed. He reached down and touched the talisman ring, where it rested on her finger, surprised at how warm the metal felt, as if it was a living thing…
Honoria sighed, her lips parting sweetly, a smile touching her cheeks.
He’d made that smile happen. A heated tremor raced through him, and he realized with surprise that he was ready for another round. Good God, but she had an effect on him.
Smiling to himself, he kissed her cheek. “Are you well, madame?”
Her eyes fluttered open, a smile in the hazel depths. “I think so. Is that…is that normal?”
Marcus chuckled. “Indeed it is.”
An amazed expression crossed her features. “And it will be thus every time?”
“If I have anything to say about it, yes.”
She sighed, smiling sleepily. “I hope so.”
“As do I.” He sighed and rested his head against her shoulder. “I hate to mention this, but we need to dress. We’re almost there. I wish we could stay longer than one night at the lodge, but we must return to London and be seen. It will stop the gossipmongers faster than anything else.”
She sighed, some of her smile disappearing. “I had forgotten about the scandal. There will be talk, won’t there?”
“Not if we go back and pretend nothing untoward happened. All we have to do is convince everyone that it was a love match and the tongues will have nothing to tattle about.” Marcus caught her glance. She appeared quizzical, almost as if she was about to ask a question. “Yes?” he prompted.
“I’m sorry all of this ha
ppened.”
He wasn’t.
The carriage swung around a tight curve, and Honoria glanced at the curtain that covered the window. “I wish—I hate having to go back and face all of that. But it must be done, I suppose.”
He placed his fingers over her lips. “One thing at a time. First, we have at least one night together. Then, we go home and face whatever fate has in store.”
She hesitated, and he could see she was tempted to argue. But after a moment she nodded. “You are right, of course. There’s nothing we can do about it today. I can worry about all of this tomorrow.”
“Indeed you can,” he said, watching as she collected her clothing and dressed. At least she was no longer the polite stranger she’d been at the wedding. With time…yes, he thought suddenly. With time, he was certain she’d not only become reconciled to their fate, but would see the benefits as well as he.
Feeling immensely better, Marcus dressed, finishing just as Herberts pulled the carriage to the front door of the hunting box.
Chapter 18
It wouldn’t surprise me if the old bat left her entire fortune to that horrid bossy parrot she loved so much. I’d rather have a house full of monkeys than a pet like that.
Sir Harry Brooks to his sister, the rather opulent and bejeweled Lady Thistlewaite, as they sat at the funeral of their wealthy great-aunt, Lady Wilhelmina Frotherston, who did not, it turns out, leave either of them a single pence
Two weeks later the Treymount carriage swayed and bumped through town. Marcus stretched out, relaxing against the squabs. He’d discovered that if he didn’t fight the swaying, he didn’t feel so ill afterward.
It was odd to think about it, but here he was, a married man of two whole weeks. Two whole weeks of passion-filled nights and days of…he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Chaos wasn’t quite the right word. Disorganization was closer.
He and Honoria had enjoyed their brief moment of respite at the hunting lodge, but the efforts to staunch the scandal that had arisen around their marriage meant they had to return and immediately begin a dizzying round of visits, balls, musicales, soirees, and more. It worked like a charm. Now everyone was talking, not about the circumstances surrounding the engagement, but about how lovely the new marchioness was, and how beautiful her sister. Cassandra was guaranteed to be the belle of the season, so widespread were reports of her beauty and fortune.