Her Missing Marquess

by Scott, Scarlett

  The water clung to her hips now, her breasts already exposed. Soon, all of her would be on display. “What did you say?”

  “You put me in mind of a painting I saw when I was traveling in Italy.” His deep, decadent baritone sent a fresh shiver through her. “Birth of Venus, by Botticelli. It depicts Venus arriving on the shores of Cyprus, rising from the water, golden hair blowing in the wind. She is beautiful. A goddess.”

  His words ought not to make heat unfurl in her belly. Nor warmth pool between her thighs. But they did.

  She steeled herself against his charm, his allure. A few more steps. The water reached her knees. She focused upon the soft squish of the mud, giving beneath her soles. Oozing. Thank heavens her blisters had healed with the use of his ointment. Else, they would be burning now.

  “Save your gallantry for the next Lady Needham,” she advised him. “I fear it is wasted upon me.”

  “There is only one Lady Needham.”

  The certainty in his voice had her gaze flitting to him. His stare was dark and glittering, unreadable. He had not shifted in his pose, and she could not help but to note the manner in which his robe was parted. Her eyes devoured the sight of his bare, muscular thigh before she could help herself.

  “But after the divorce, there shall be another,” she said, injecting a lightness into her tone she did not feel.

  In truth, the notion of a replacement—another woman becoming Jack’s wife, another woman knowing his tender touches, his blistering kisses—felt rather like a sharp blade being inserted between her rib bones.

  “Do I need to demonstrate once more why there will be no other Lady Needham, save you?” he asked calmly.

  He was as unpredictable as ever, this man she had wed. Once, it had drawn her to him, the manner in which he was so changeable: at once laughing and charming and teasing, sometimes a savage lover and other times a tender swain, both the man who tended to her blisters and the man who had broken her heart. Now, it seemed his unpredictability would prove her downfall.

  The water was about her ankles now. She fought the urge to shield herself from him, for it would only reveal to him how little confidence she possessed in this moment. How little control.

  “No more of your little demonstrations, if you please.” She kept her voice cold as her bare foot connected with the grass and the shore at last. “I have had quite enough of those, Needham.”

  “Why do you insist upon doing that?” He cocked his head, considering her, still remaining otherwise still on the bank.

  “Do what?” She grimaced at the feeling of sticky mud between her toes and, one by one, swished them about in the water to clean them.

  “Refer to me as Needham,” he elaborated. “Earlier, I was Jack. When I was inside you, I was Jack.”

  His words set off an acute spear of need.

  “Need you remind me of my folly?” she snapped, looking about for her discarded night rail and dressing gown and finding only her gorgeous scoundrel of a husband. “What have you done with my garments?”

  “Garments?” His crooked grin in the moonlight and his teasing tone gave him away.

  “Have you hidden them, you miscreant?” She crossed her arms over her breasts and crossed her legs.

  “A miscreant now, am I?” He made a chastising sound rather reminiscent of the dragon of a governess, Miss Richards, who had terrorized her girlhood. “For shame, Lady Needham. Such insolence will not win you back your night rail and your dressing gown.”

  She gritted her teeth. “I am cold, you unspeakably ill-mannered brute. Can you not see I have not a stitch of clothing and I am soaking wet?”

  “So says the woman who decided to go for a swim after midnight.” His tone was light.

  Still, he had not moved.

  The bounder.

  The out and out cad.

  “I decided to go swimming alone. You and your clothing pilfering ways were decidedly not invited,” she snapped, holding out her hand. “Now give them to me, if you please.”

  “Hmm.” He paused, as if he were contemplating her request. “No, I do not believe I shall.”

  “Yes, you shall,” she countered, her irritation and desire mounting in equal measures.

  What was it about him? Why could she not shake the effect he had upon her? He had followed her here, when all she had been doing was seeking solace and separation from him, the chance to clear her mind and wash away all the unwanted need for him infecting her to her very core.

  “Ask me prettily, then.”

  His suggestion nettled her.

  She ground her molars. “Go to the devil. I shall walk back naked if that is what you want. What a sight, the Marchioness of Needham, parading bare-arsed through Needham Hall for all the servants to see. Is that truly what you wish?”

  “Of course that is not what I wish.” His voice softened, growing tender. Intimate. “What I wish is for you to stop insisting this nonsensical divorce between us will happen. What I wish is for you to see reason. What I wish is for you to move forward with me, leaving the past behind, so we may forge a new future together. What I wish is for you in my bed every night.”

  “That will not happen,” she growled, stalking past him.

  Enough of this conversation. Enough of lingering in the moonlight, of trading words and barbs. One boon of her ceaseless churns in the Needham Hall lake was that she was weary. At last. Perhaps she could join Queen Mab at last.

  His large, hot hand closed over her wrist, staying her.

  “Nellie.”

  Damn him, he was the only one who had ever called her that.

  And damn him twice, she loved the way it sounded in his voice, on his lips.

  Just the way she loved his lips upon hers, his hand on her skin. His cock deep inside her. Oh, no. Stop it, Nell. Cease this madness at once.

  But she did not heed her own advice, for she stopped, bare feet on the grass, turning back to him. “What do you want, Jack?”

  “You, Nellie.” He stood, towering over her with his broad shoulders and masculine strength. “Only ever you. Always you.”

  His words affected her. How could they not?

  “You had me, and you gave me up,” she reminded him. “You left. For three years.”

  “Your choice, not mine. Why must you be so stubborn?”

  “Why did you hide my things?” she shot back.

  “I will make you a trade,” he proposed then, ignoring her demand.

  Her eyes narrowed. She did not trust him. Not one whit. “What manner of trade?”

  “Your garments and slippers in return for an hour of your time when we return to Needham Hall.”

  “Blackmail,” she scoffed, but her wretched pulse sped up, quite erratically. To say nothing of the ache between her thighs, reminding her she still stood naked before him.

  “An hour, that is all I ask, and I will not do anything you do not want. I swear, Nellie.” His expression was solemn.

  She should tell him no.

  Swallow her pride and return to Needham Hall naked as the day she was born.

  “Half an hour,” she bargained.

  “An hour.”

  She scowled at him. “Forty-five minutes.”

  “One hour, wife.”

  He was immovable, and she was nude. What choice had she?

  “An hour,” she relented finally. “You, sir, are a scurrilous villain.”

  “And you, darling, are insufferably stubborn.”

  Fair enough. “My belongings, if you please?”

  He gave her his half grin. “I thought you would never ask.”

  He released her wrist and turned away, retrieving her slippers and folded clothing from beneath a nearby tree.

  He would pay for this, she vowed inwardly. Oh, yes he would.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jack had Nell where he wanted her.

  In his chamber.

  For the next hour.

  But the devil of it was, they both stunk of the lake.

 
They needed a bath. Fortunately, his father, whilst an old-fashioned clod in some senses, had been astoundingly foresighted in others. Needham Hall was one of the few manor houses of its age that had been outfitted with running water with heat on demand and special bathing chambers to accommodate the former marquess’s fastidious habits.

  In the low light of his chamber, he faced his wife now. Her hair was wet, and there was a green scrap of some manner of vegetation poking from her locks.

  “What is it you wish from me, Needham?” she demanded, pursing her lips and taking on that look of prim agitation that never failed to make his cock swell.

  Then again, when did she ever make an expression that failed to harden his prick?

  He was a slave to her and his desire for her, after all.

  He reached out and plucked the bit of vegetation from her hair, holding it aloft for her inspection. “A bath.”

  She frowned at the greenery. “No.”

  “I will draw it,” he told her calmly, as if she had not spoken. “No need to rouse the servants at this hour of the night all because Lady Needham wanted to swim naked in the lake.”

  Her lips tightened. “I am not having a bath, Jack.”

  “You are correct,” he agreed, keeping his tone amicable as he sauntered to the bath chamber in his dressing room. “You are not having a bath. We are having a bath.”

  “I am not having a bath with you!”

  He smiled at her outrage, keeping his silence as he went about filling the oversized porcelain tub with warm water. A few drops of scented oil, and the sweet smell of citrus perfumed the air.

  “Jack.”

  She had followed him, of course, still protesting. He closed the bottle of oil and turned to her. Her dressing gown was buttoned to her throat, hiding the glory of her figure from him. But that would not last long. Her hair had begun to dry, and it was a mass of wild curls, tumbling over her shoulders.

  “Nell.” He raised a brow. “Need I remind you of our bargain?”

  She pinned him with a glare. “I agreed to an hour of my time. Not to getting naked in a tub with you.”

  He shrugged. “You failed to ask what we would be doing with our hour. That was an unfortunate misstep on your part. Need I remind you of the many occasions upon which you were naked in a tub with me in the past? Or how much you enjoyed it?”

  Her cheeks flushed a becoming shade of pink at his words.

  Their gazes held.

  And he knew she was being beset by the same onslaught of memories of their shared baths that he was. Right here, in this very tub. In this room. He had delighted in washing her, his fingers inevitably finding their way to her cunny so he could make her spend.

  “You are insufferable,” she told him now.

  “We smell like a marsh,” he told her. “I am doing the both of us a favor.”

  “I will not get into the tub with you.”

  The water was rising. He dipped a finger in and swirled it about to test the temperature. Warm but not hot. Excellent.

  He cast her another glance. “Yes you will, my love. You made a promise.”

  “As did you,” she countered. “Need I remind you of what happened?”

  Mulish woman. Holding her gaze, he straightened and began undoing the knot keeping his dressing gown in place.

  Her eyes went wide. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting into the bath.” Keeping his voice calm was a struggle.

  She was about to see just how badly he wanted her without the darkness and the water to conceal him. It was a gamble. A risk.

  He dropped his dressing gown to the floor, facing her boldly. Her lips parted, her gaze dipping to his cock. The effect was instant as it twitched, growing larger. Harder. He took great pride in his athleticism. His body was naturally strong and always had been. But in his travels, he had made an effort to increase his activity. Now that he no longer imbibed, his form was leaner than it had ever been.

  Jack knew a poignant moment of vulnerability then, as he realized this was the first time he had been completely nude before her since his return. Did she still find him pleasing? The hungry way her stare traveled over him suggested she did.

  Thank Christ for that.

  He stepped into the bath and settled at one hand, bending his long legs to make certain there would be enough room for her at the opposite end. “Well, Nellie? Are you too afraid to join me, or are you going to get in?”

  His taunt was just the prodding she needed.

  Her chin went up. “I am not afraid. Why do you imagine, Jack, that I cannot control myself in the bath with you?”

  He raised his brows, saying nothing. The water continued to rise in the tub. They engaged in a staring match. Nell was the first to surrender, looking away with her standard hiss of irritation, her nostrils flaring.

  “Damn you,” she bit out.

  And then, her fingers were on the long line of buttons. She peeled off her dressing gown. Then the night rail, already nearly transparent with the effect of her wet skin beneath it, went over her head.

  He forgot to breathe.

  In the warm glow of the lamps, she was a revelation of sweet creamy skin and womanly curves. He drank in the sight of her as she squared her shoulders and crossed the tile floor. Her ankles were dainty, her calves and thighs shapely, her breasts full and tipped with rose-pink nipples he loved to suck. The thatch of golden curls between her legs hid the decadence of her pretty cunny.

  “You could have averted your gaze, you scoundrel,” she told him as she stepped into the bath.

  The tub was deep and large enough for two, and Nell was petite, her legs short, which meant he caught a glimpse of glistening pink folds before she sank low in the water at the opposite end.

  “I could have,” he agreed, grinning at her. “But I wanted to see you.”

  She pulled her knees to her chest, shielding her breasts from his view, and frowned. “You have seen me before.”

  “I could see you a thousand more times, Nellie, and it would never be enough.” He closed the tap and reached for a cloth and soap.

  Though his words were the utter truth, she looked at him as if he were the most egregious liar she had ever beheld. He supposed that, to a woman who had spent the last three years believing he had willingly bedded another, he must certainly seem the worst sort of villain.

  “This shall be the last time,” she promised sternly.

  Never.

  But he did not argue. Instead, he lathered the cloth with soap and reached beneath the water to find one of her slim ankles.

  “What are you doing?” She scooted backward, but there was only so far she could go.

  “Washing your feet,” he said calmly, lifting her right ankle from the water and covering it liberally with soap. “Your blisters are healing, but you still need to take care. And as we have already established, you appear to be in need of a keeper.”

  “You have determined to make a nuisance of yourself.” Her voice was cool, but she made no effort to yank her foot from his grasp as he had supposed she might. “That is the only thing we have established as far as I am concerned.”

  He recalled precisely where she was ticklish. The arches on her soles. Jack could not resist running his forefinger, raking his nail. Just once.

  She jerked, emitting a shrill squeal, and slid down in the slippery tub. Her head went under the water. She popped up, sputtering, outraged.

  “Nellie,” he said, regret slicing through him. “Forgive me. Had I realized—”

  “You bounder!” she interrupted, wiping water from her eyes. “You did that intentionally.”

  “The tickling was intentional,” he managed sheepishly. “The aftermath was decidedly not.”

  And because he was every bit the bounder she accused him of being, he could not wrest his gaze from the sight of her glorious breasts, bobbing in the water. He could not help but to remember what it had been like to press them together, to slide his cock between them…

 
“This is the outside of enough,” she said, as if she were reading his thoughts.

  And then, before he could react, she launched herself at him. Wet, warm, supple woman landed in his lap. Her eyes were brilliant in her pale face, hair still streaming down her cheeks. She looked wild. Beautiful. She walked her fingers up his sides.

  Uncontrollable laughter shot through him.

  By God, the minx had remembered where he was ticklish as well.

  But by no means was he going to sit there compliantly whilst she reduced him to a giggling heap. He tickled her hips, the softness of her belly. His fingers found her armpits next as they both launched a full assault on each other. She tickled his thighs. Water sloshed over the rim of the tub.

  Their helpless laughter and shrieks echoed in the tiled chamber.

  If any of the staff were about, they would likely suspect the lord and lady of the house were fighting to the death. The war went on until they were both breathless and soaked, Nell collapsing atop him.

  Suddenly, the air between them changed.

  His smile died.

  Their gazes met, and his cockstand rose, thick and insistent beneath her rump. He saw the recognition flare in her eyes, along with the awareness.

  “Nellie,” he whispered, breathless.

  She pressed a wet finger over his lips. “Hush.”

  Nell was mad.

  That was the only explanation for remaining where she was, practically in Jack’s lap as his cock swelled beneath her, her finger pressed over his lips. That was also the reason for the longing surging through her. The fierce ache pounding to life between her thighs.

  And it was definitely the reason she replaced her finger with her lips.

  Why she kissed Jack.

  Why her arms went around his neck.

  Why she slid her tongue along the seam of his lips until he groaned and thrust his tongue against hers.

  Madness. Lust. Weakness. So much of it. Her emotions were a tumult, roiling through her. What else could she blame this recklessness upon? She had vowed to herself she would keep her distance until Tom returned. That she could resist this man.

  But the truth was that she could not. She wanted him still. She would always want him. And that was why she needed to end this kiss, to get out of the bath, to return to her chamber. Alone.