by Stacy Reid
Relentless waves of pleasure engulfed her entire body, and a wild cry spilled from her throat. She hadn’t expected anything like this when they came together. The room spun, and she became distantly aware he had lifted her and placed her in the center of the bed.
Her hands reached for him, but he was not there, instead he was crawling down her body. Marianne’s entire body blushed when he parted her legs. He cupped her buttocks in his palms, tilting her hips and pressing his mouth to her aching sex. She cried out, gripping the sheets beneath her, twisting them. His kisses were sinful… deep and erotic. She rocked against him, wrapped in steaming sensuality, breathless cries echoing from her lips. The stark sensation went on and on, consuming her with pleasure.
He moved away from the bed, and from the rustling sounds she gathered he removed his boots, trousers, and stockings. Then the bed dipped, Michael rose above her, his sensuality carved into his handsome face. Her breath caught at the stark male hunger in his gaze. She gripped his shoulders and instincts made her wrap her legs around his thighs and bury her face in the crook of his neck. She could feel the pounding rhythm of his pulse, and she nipped lightly at his throat. Suddenly he was there, where the ache was most terrible. His hips pushed, and her body was wet, soft, and yielding, accepting the hard length that surged deep inside, but even so, her muscles quivered to accommodate his thickness. “Michael,” she gasped at the sharp pain.
He cupped her cheek, peppering soft kisses over her lips. “I am sorry,” he soothed. “It will soon pass.”
Her flesh burned as she adjusted to the thick invasion of his body into hers, and she didn’t think she could believe him. But then, he reached between their bodies and rubbed that spot.
She shivered in his embrace, unintentionally arching and driving him even deeper. Marianne moaned, her nails biting into his sweat-slicked shoulders. Then he started to move.
Oh! It was glorious.
Marianne lost her breath; she lost all control of her body. Sensuality hazed through her mind, and she lifted her hips, eager for the pleasure whispering through every part of her. He drew out and then plunged deep. Again. And again. And again, until she lost even the ability to moan. It was the most nerve-wracking pleasure she had ever felt. Marianne could only hold him to her as he rode her through the storm. She sank her teeth into the muscle of his shoulder as exquisite sensations sliced through her body. Each deep thrust ignited a burst of fire deep down in her stomach until sweet, mind-shattering ecstasy blew through her, and she unraveled with a sharp cry.
With a deep groan, he pulled from her, before releasing his seed on her quivering stomach. Panting, he dropped his forehead to hers. Even in the dim light of the fire, she saw the shock written on his face. And she understood. Never had she dreamed this was possible with two people coming together in intimacy.
After several moments he climbed off the bed, the flickering fire cast dancing shadows over his naked form. He returned with a damp washcloth and cleaned her gently, before coming down on the bed and tugging her into his arms. She closed her eyes, and her breath released in a long sigh.
“In a few more minutes, I am going to take you home,” he said softly. “Then I am going to take you into my room, place you on my bed, and love you all over again.”
She felt the tenseness as he waited for her reply. She lifted her head from the crook of his arm and looked into his eyes. Then with a smile, she simply said,
“Yes.”
Chapter 16
Marianne awoke slowly, her senses alive, her body pliant and sated. I am ruined. A mix of emotions assaulted her senses—fear, joy, and a sweet, tender feeling that felt frightfully like love. It wasn’t the wicked lure of the club which had distorted her senses. The feelings were still there in her heart, solid and immovable. She shifted slightly on the bed, lifting the heavy arm banded around her waist, and turned to face Michael.
How peaceful he appeared in sleep. She traced his brow and jawline tenderly. Marianne had given herself passionately without shame or reservation to a man who was not likely to marry her. While she felt no regret, she knew they could not decide to live a life of sinful decadence without consequences.
His eyes flickered open, and her smiled wobbled.
“How pretty you are,” he murmured.
His words brushed against her skin like a caress, and she craved more. With a soft cry, she pressed against him and kissed him most ardently.
“Why are you crying?” he demanded gruffly.
And it was then with some alarm she tasted the salt of her tears. “It is of no significance,” she said against his lips.
He rolled with her, drawing her underneath him with practiced eased. “Everything about you is important to me, tell me.”
She slipped her hands around his nape, but she could not bear to ask him ‘what now?’. She had been the one to visit his den of ill repute, and she had willingly surrendered to his ravishment. A desperate feeling of unreality crept through her. They had made love, at least three incredible times.
“I do not like the fear in your eyes.”
“I daresay say it is normal to feel anxious in this situation. I have never done this before, you know.”
His lips curved ever so slightly, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. “Do not worry, I will take care of you.”
Her heart shattered into pieces Marianne doubted would ever be put back together. He would take care of her. She knew what that meant. As his mistress.
Pain lanced through her—sudden and breathtaking. Her lips trembled against his as he kissed her with deep intensity. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she could hear nothing else. He pulled down the collar of the nightgown she had donned sometime in the night and slipped his fingers below the hem of her gown. She inhaled roughly, her breasts rising and falling with her quick breathing.
The smell of him aroused a wonderful sensation within her, and between her legs, it ached. The realization that this moment must be the very last she spent with him broke something inside of her. Thrusting her fingers through his hair, she melded their mouths together fiercely.
His groan vibrated deep inside her, and a need radiating low in her belly engulfed her entire body. He reached between them and something thick and heavy nudged at her entrance. Penetration was immediate. Marianne cried out into his still ravaging mouth at the fullness of his invasion. That burning pressure soon faded to unbridled desire. He was rough in the way he took her, but she did not mind, and Marianne gloried in every pounding thrust until she fragmented under the onslaught of ecstasy.
Once again, he released his seed outside of her body, cleaned her, and held her onto his chest. They lay on their sides, facing each other, their breaths trembling against each other’s lips, sweat slicking their bodies.
“I love you,” she said achingly.
He stiffened for several moments before he lowered his forehead to her. The fire had burned low, casting the room in more shadows than light, hiding his expression from her. He shifted, rolled onto his back, and curved her into the side of his arms.
“What I feel for you I do not know how to define,” he said softly. “I do know what I feel for you Marianne—this hunger to be beside you, kissing you, laughing, and just conversing, I have never felt with another.”
She made no reply, battling back the emotions crashing through her. They were not words of love, and she was uncertain if it was that she wanted from him at this moment. Or was it a reassurance that she meant more to him than a mistress.
How desperately silly I am.
He held her until she fell into a deep slumber, a most disquieting pain in her heart.
The bright sunlight shining through the drapes in her chamber woke Marianne. She turned, feeling remarkably exhausted and tender all over. She sat up in the bed as the wicked memories of the night came rushing in. Good heavens! She clasped her heated cheeks and glanced wildly around them. A soft sigh escaped her as she noticed that she was in her own chamber. She had not fe
lt when the viscount…Michael had carried her to her bed.
She hurried from the bed and rang the bell for Harriet to attend her. Almost two hours later, she felt refreshed after taking a bath and eating luncheon. It had been embarrassing to realize it had been after one in the afternoon. None of the staff had commented on her late rising, but Marianne had blushed infernally with every curious stare she met.
Worse, there was a heaviness in her heart that grew by the minute. Slipping into the nursery, she faltered on the threshold to see Michael sitting in a rocker with Lizzie in his arms. Marianne hadn’t realized he was in residence. She had simply assumed he was out. Doris was absent, and Marianne was glad for it. A wave of shyness fell over her. He glanced up, and a flare of lust entered his gaze…and also tenderness.
“I exhausted you,” he murmured, carnal knowledge of her gleamed in his eyes. She felt hot and achy and couldn’t break the intimacy of his lingering gaze. “I will be more mindful next time not to take you four times in one night.”
A violent wave of mortification seized her, and she gasped. She glanced over her shoulder to ensure no-one was about and could have possibly overheard his scandalous remarks. Then his words sunk in. Next time.
He stood and came over to her. Michael held Lizzie to his chest with one arm, and with his other hand, placed a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “Are you well?”
“Yes,” she replied, fighting the urge to blush with a ruthless will.
His dark gaze searched hers as if he did not believe. “I promise we will talk tonight…about everything. I must leave soon. I have a few investors I have to meet with and I am expected by Wycliffe and Viscount Shaw at the club. Come to the club tonight. I’ve arranged for you to be taken to a modiste who will outfit you in the latest fashionable modes. I’ve ordered that for each gown, at least a dozen, a mask should be made to complement it.”
Oh, God. It was worse than she imagined. “Michael…” and suddenly Marianne knew she had to leave because everything inside of her wanted to say yes and to live freely with him in wanton decadence. For him, she would lose all sense of herself because she loved him so very much.
“What is it?”
She took Lizzie from him. “Go to your meetings.”
He pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips, and then a tender one to Lizzie’s forehead, before leaving and ringing for his valet. Lizzie came awake, and Marianne hugged the baby close to her, the pain in her heart making her tremble. She could no longer stay under his roof, or every night she would submit to his wicked ravishment until she ended up with child. Then she would be in the very same position her sister and countless women who had fallen for the charms of a rake found themselves in.
It pained her so to leave Lizzie, but Marianne was completely assured that Michael loved her as he would a daughter. She had been in the viscount’s home for over six weeks and that bounder Thomas had never called again to see Lizzie, yet not a day had gone by, when the viscount had not visited her in the nursery.
Doris entered, and Marianne handed Lizzie over after pressing a kiss to her brow. It was not farewell forever, but when she had mastered this weakness she had for the viscount, she would visit, and only to see her niece.
Several minutes later, she sat in the carriage with her two valises and a hatbox, as it rumbled toward Grosvenor Square. The coach stopped at the stately townhouse of the duchess Wycliffe, and Marianne alighted with the aid of a footman. Lifting her chin, she made it up the stairs, and the butler allowed her entrance and led her to the drawing-room. A few minutes later the duchess entered, her eyes worried.
“Marianne!” she held out her hands, and Marianne clasped them.
“It is such a pleasure—” Sophia started to say.
Marianne was appalled when she burst into raw, ugly tears, all the agony she had been trying to suppress eating inside her heart.
“Oh, dear,” Sophia said. “What has that wicked bounder done?”
Marianne desperately tried to gather her composure. “Nothing that I did not want or invite,” she admitted with a blush. “Please do not blame his lordship…but I cannot be his mistress.”
“Of course not! You are a respectable girl.”
“I must leave…for Bath. Will you help me?” Marianne supposed she could take the train and then the stagecoach, but she needed to be away much quicker than that.
Shrewdness glinted in the duchess’s eyes. “Most certainly. And I shall not tell a soul to where you are headed.”
“Thank you, Sophia,” Marianne said with a tremulous smile.
No need for this heartache, she fiercely reminded herself. It was a deliberate choice she had made. To take a wonderful night of passion for herself and then to leave. So, oh why did she feel as if she were slowly dying inside? The ache of loss felt terrible, and she was mortified that she was crying like an idiot, for she’d not had the viscount’s affection or tender regard in the first place to lose it. But her heart and mind did not listen, and as the duchess made arrangements with her coachman, a maid to chaperone her, and a couple of footmen for protection, Marianne tried to pick up the tattered pieces of her heart knowing her time with Michael had altered her forever.
* * *
Michael entered his darkened townhouse a few minutes after midnight, his brother hot on his heels. The servants were abed, and Michael hurried down the hall, taking the stairs two at a time to reach the upstairs landing.
“I’ll be in the drawing-room,” a disgruntled Thomas called out.
Michael had sensed something had been wrong and had not wanted to wait until his return in the early morning hours. His brother, who had demanded that he most urgently needed to talk to him, had followed in his carriage. Michael made no reply and hurried down the hallway, the cold, empty feeling, which had gripped him in the club mounting, tightening across his chest. He opened the door to Marianne’s chamber to find it dark with no fire lit. The empty feeling dug deeper into his heart, and the swell churned and tossed, wanting to drown him.
Closing the door, he headed to the nursery and entered. A cozy fire roared, and a lamp was also lit. Doris was curled in a chair, reading a book. She glanced up at him and lowered the novel.
“Where is she?”
Doris stood. “Your lordship…Miss Ashbrook left this afternoon after saying her farewells. She…she said she will not be returning.”
Her words were a brutal punch to his chest. He gripped the doorknob until his knuckles whitened. “I see. Thank you, Doris.” Michael closed the door and leaned against it for several moments.
She had left without even a farewell. He recalled the pain in her gaze this morning…how haunting and sad he had thought she appeared. Several times he had thought to let her go, knowing she could not stay under his roof forever. He’d never known such sweet torture as her kisses, her sighs, the sound of her laughter, and the pleasure in her arms. He had never felt joy and satisfaction equal to being with her, and he doubted he ever would. Hours later he could still taste the heady scent of her passion, hear her pleasure-filled cries, feel the care in her touch as she had wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly to her. A rough breath escaped him, and he made his way to his room and stumbled onto the bed.
The crinkle of a paper sounded, and he felt around until his fingers grasped at something. He lurched to his feet, noting it was a letter. The fire in his room burned too low for him to discern the words. He bounded down the stairs and into the drawing-room where a roaring fire and two lamps were lit.
Dear Michael,
It breaks my heart to leave you and Lizzie. I had not been aware that I felt unmoored in this world, a ship without an anchor, or any sense of direction to where I must go. Being with you these past weeks have been a pleasure and have revealed much about my character and desires I did not know before. I found a friendship with you that was wonderful, and I also thank you for the time you allowed me with dear Lizzie. It made our parting less bittersweet, and I am no longer haunted b
y what the future will hold for her. I have the utmost faith you will care and love her and protect her at any cost.
It is one of the reasons I love you. I am not ashamed or afraid to admit that, but I also know you are not capable of returning my sentiments. I knew you were a rake of the first order when I gave myself to you, but it does not mean I will live as your mistress, for I know my worth. I do hope perhaps one day in the future we might be genuine friends.
Farewell,
In the event a dastardly villain should ever find this letter, I shall sign with,
Yours, Miss A!
Michael carefully folded the letter after reading it for the third time. Marianne had left, and he could already feel the loss of her smiles and tinkling laughs. He rubbed a hand over his chest, where his heart damn well ached.
“Is everything well?” his brother asked, taking a sip of his drink. “You rushed upstairs as if the devil chased you and now you are just staring broodily at that blasted note!” Thomas said, his tone very miffed. “Is it…is something wrong with the child?”
Now he sounded unsure and a bit apprehensive. Michael did not bother to reply, Marianne’s words resounding in his mind.
I do not want to be your mistress…I know my worth.
An unknown feeling swelled inside of him. It took him a while to identify it as pain. Raw and scraping at his insides. She had run believing him to only care that she was in his life to slake his baser needs. Bloody hell. He did know her worth. She was an irreplaceable treasure.
“Good God, man, what is wrong? You appear as if someone has died,” Thomas said, with a scowl.
Michael went over to the sideboard and poured himself a splash of brandy, truly shocked to see that his hand trembled. “Miss Ashbrook has left.”
