The Making of a Marquess

by Lynne Connolly

  “Safe?” She laughed. “I stopped being safe when I took off my clothes.”

  His smile turned warmer. “Then let’s be totally reckless and rid ourselves of the rest.”

  Her feet dangled over the side of the bed, so he started with those. Unfastening the buckles of her sturdy leather walking shoes, he let them drop to the floor. Her stockings came next, after he pushed his hand up her skirt to where her garters were knotted just above her knees. The cool air felt delicious and she wriggled her toes. His low chuckle announced his pleasure.

  Pulling her up, he tackled her stays.

  “You know your way around a lady’s clothes,” she commented, sighing in relief when the laces loosened.

  “I do.”

  He came around to the front of her and watched her slide the shoulder straps down, then pull the garment over her head, leaving the tapes still laced. She wore the thinnest of linen shifts, but she did not try to hide the shadows of her nipples where they grazed the fabric.

  Bending his head, he took a plump tip into his mouth and sucked.

  Dorothea clapped her hand over her lips, biting down to prevent her shriek escaping. Someone could hear, but that added to her anticipation, her sense of daring. Thrills of pleasure coursed through her from where his mouth anointed her skin, her nipple becoming unbearably sensitive. Bringing his other hand up, he played, tweaking and teasing until Dorothea thought she might die of it.

  She squirmed, restless for more. When he pulled away and gazed at his handiwork, then up at her face, his eyes were dark, sultry and heavy-lidded, his lips reddened. “You look adorable.”

  Nobody had ever called her that before.

  He made quick work of the rest of her clothes, her remaining petticoats and her shift, then leaned over her, blatantly scanning her body. The pale hair at the apex of her legs, the shocking dampness gathering there, then up, to where he’d turned her nipples into sharp points of need, and her breasts to plump cushions. Her skin was flushed all over.

  If she lost everything else, she would have this moment of complete abandon, when nothing outside this room mattered.

  Reaching out, she unfastened the first in the long line of buttons on his waistcoat. Fortunately, he’d left the garment open just below the waist, but even then there were twelve small buttons before she could get to the inner garments.

  He did nothing, but watched her, his gaze blatantly ogling her in a way that covered her skin with a sensitive prickling. Tiny invisible needles made her unable to keep still. Even though her hands shook, she completed her task, then found the buttons at the wrists of his shirt, and tackled them, too.

  Glancing at his breeches, and the fall of six buttons, she sucked in a breath and went for them.

  He caught her wrist before she reached his waistband. “No, sweetheart. I want you too much. Let me do the rest.”

  He stood on the bed platform, swiftly divesting himself of the remainder of his clothes until he stood before her, naked as the day he was born.

  My, was he beautiful! His broad chest gave way to narrow hips, the frame to what reared between his legs. His member was long and thick, the head red. As she watched, drops of clear liquid oozed from the tiny opening at the tip. Although she was familiar with the male anatomy, she had not seen a man in this state of arousal before, and it gave her a moment of doubt.

  But she had come this far. With determination, she reached her arms up, inviting him to take her.

  With a smile that promised much, he came down to her, and kissed her briefly. “This is madness,” he murmured against her lips, “but I want it too much to stop.”

  Then he deepened the kiss.

  Dorothea opened her mouth, eagerly seeking his tongue, finding it and stroking it. His broad hands caressed her flanks, reaching her hips. He held her as if she was no more than a feather of a girl, instead of the substantial woman she knew herself to be. But he was larger than her. Much larger.

  His erection swelled against her stomach, as if seeking entry there, driving hard as he lost himself in the kiss. Dorothea wanted more, and now, restlessness leading to desperate need, although for what, she wasn’t sure. She had only a hazy idea of what would happen now.

  Rhythmically, he pushed against her, thrust that part of him into the softness of her stomach again and again. He changed the angle of his kiss, moaning into her mouth. She sucked air in through her nose and pulled him against her, her grasp clumsy but determined.

  This was all so thrilling, the most intense experience of her life. She’d be a fool to turn it down in favor of some social niceties. The rest, the implications of this, she pushed forcibly to the back of her mind. She’d worry about all of that later. Not now, not now.

  He jerked away from her, finishing the kiss so fast her head spun. His body rigid, he pushed against the bed and reared up. Teeth clenched, he sucked in air in a hiss.

  Hot liquid spurted against her stomach.

  Dorothea held on to him, gripping his lower arms, his muscles bulging against them like cast iron.

  Ben closed his eyes and groaned. “Dieu, I’m sorry!”

  Dorothea shook her head. “That’s all right.”

  She tried hard to quell her disappointment. She might be relatively innocent, but she knew that after that happened, they would be doing nothing else. The veiled references in the literature she’d read made that clear.

  He opened his eyes. “No, it’s not. But it’s probably for the best.”

  Of course, if he’d come inside her, she could have fallen pregnant. Naturally she didn’t want that. Of course she didn’t.

  Rolling off her, Ben took a corner of the sheet and tugged it free, using the fabric to wipe up the mess on her stomach. “I’ve never done that before,” he said. “But then, I’ve never wanted anyone with that kind of desperation before.” After examining his handiwork, he dropped a quick kiss on her navel. “You must be sure to wash before you dress.”

  “What kind of creature do you think I am?” she demanded indignantly. Her nurse had taught her about cleanliness and godliness. However cold the morning might be, she always stripped out of her nightwear and washed before dressing. Although for once she was tempted to keep the memento he had bestowed on her. Foolish.

  He rolled over next to her, supporting himself on his propped elbows. “Do you want me to answer that? Well, I will, anyway. I think you are the kind of gorgeous woman I would be proud to call my wife.”

  When she would have answered, he touched his forefinger to her lips. “No, not yet. I want to finish what we started.”

  Dorothea widened her eyes. “I thought we had finished.”

  “Nowhere near.” He glanced down her body. “I have to take care of you now.”

  Leaning up, he kissed her. His hair, now loose from its tidy bow, fell across her cheek. It caressed her with its silkiness as he took control of her mouth, dipping his tongue inside with lazy sensuality. Finishing the kiss, he opened his eyes and gazed into hers. He was smiling. “If you don’t come by the time we leave this bed, you might not invite me back. I have every intention of persuading you to let me join you again. We’ve only just begun, sweetheart.” His breath heated her lips, and she reached up for another kiss, but he had gone.

  Smoothing her hair back from her face and carelessly flicking his own behind his shoulders, Ben kissed her earlobe. Who knew that such a tender nuzzle could cause her senses to riot? And when he took the lobe between his teeth and nipped, she nearly came off the bed.

  “You’re so responsive, my beauty.”

  Slowly, he moved down her body, taking his time touching and nipping. Tracing her nipple with his tongue, then sucking it in and subjecting it to delicious torture made her squirm, as every part of her body responded to him. She was to come? What did that mean? Like when she touched herself in bed occasionally? Although she had never brought herself up
so far. She had to stop before whatever it was happened. Her body had moved toward—something—but she’d always been too sensitive to continue, and afraid to do it on her own. Everything she had learned was from the literature she had read and the odd erotic print that had escaped notice in the library of her childhood home.

  This was so far from her experience that she didn’t know what to do. When she squirmed, trying to get away, he held her hips steady and murmured to her, soothing sounds that ended in, “Trust me. I’ll take care of you.”

  She did. She tried to still under his hands. The touch of his body sent her wild, and while she had been bold before, the hiatus had brought her doubts and fears crowding back. But she watched him, met his steady gaze and calmed.

  He went even slower, stroking and exploring her until he grazed the sensitive skin at the top of her thighs.

  “Open your legs, sweetheart. Let me in.”

  What could he do? When she did as he bade her, he lifted up and settled between her legs. Slipping his hands under her knees, he urged her to lift them, so her legs could widen, and the soles of her feet were flat on the bed. She was exposed to him as she had been to nobody before.

  Propriety had gone, probably forever. Even his gaze made her moan in suppressed excitement.

  He bent his head. Before Dorothea could make sense of his intentions, he’d drawn that peak of flesh into his mouth, the one she had touched before and then abandoned. He would hurt her. But he did not. His tongue was so much gentler than her fingers, and he knew what to do, how to arouse her. When the familiar tingling intensified, he gripped her thighs, holding her steady while he worked on her. When she arched her back in involuntary response, he released one leg and instead played his finger around her opening, circling it, driving her mad. She didn’t know what to do, how to push this intensity into a response, the one he must be searching for.

  His actions grew in intensity, his sucking harder, drawing her into his mouth completely. He made a sound, and it resonated through her body.

  And she broke.

  Gasping, faltering cries escaping her lips, Dorothea turned her head and crammed the back of her hand against her mouth. Her body jerked as waves of acute pleasure, thrills of delight coursed through every inch of her, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head and everywhere between.

  This was what the poets had written about, this single moment out of time when everything stopped except the sheer sensation soaring through her.

  Dorothea lost her mind.

  * * * *

  She came to curl in Ben’s arms, her head resting on his shoulder. They were still in the state bed, and he’d dragged the sheet over them. Startled, she sat up.

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Barely ten minutes.” He tugged her back down. “But we will have to go soon, before someone discovers us. I want an answer to my question.”

  “Which one?”

  He kissed her forehead. “You know. Dorothea Rowland, will you marry me?”

  Her heart plummeted as she gave him the answer she must. “No.”

  With a convulsive move, he sat up and leaned over her. “What?”

  “I said no.”

  Back in her own mind now, she stuck to her answer. She could love him so easily, if she didn’t already. Before, when they had nearly become betrothed, she’d been dazzled by the glory that was Lord Brocklebank, but she liked this man, Ben Thorpe, so much better.

  But he didn’t love her. He’d had a youthful passion for Honoria, then married a woman he still missed. His love belonged to Mary, and Dorothea wouldn’t share.

  “No,” she repeated. “I won’t marry you. I don’t have to give you a reason.”

  Confusion warred with anger in his eyes, but he didn’t make her afraid. “Dorothea, even if Sir James finds against me—which he will not—I have more than enough to ensure you live in luxury for the rest of your days. Is it Boston? Are you afraid to go so far away?”

  “Of course not.” Indignant, she pushed him off her and sat up, letting the sheets fall away from her body. Before he could prevent it, she climbed out of the bed and reached for her shift. “No, Ben. But I have the means to live as I wish, and the will to do it.” Angela had given her more than a fee when she’d asked Dorothea to help with this case. She’d given Dorothea confidence. To have someone who trusted her with a business matter, which it was for Angela, meant so much to her. Would she give that up? In a heartbeat, if Ben loved her. But passion and desire didn’t equal love.

  “So you wish to be a single lady for the rest of your life?” Anger simmered under his words.

  “I had thought that was to be my fate, and it’s not so bad after all.” Long years of loneliness, being despised as someone who couldn’t attract a husband; yes, she could tackle that, and make a place for herself. She had a choice. But she couldn’t articulate what she really wanted. She gathered the thoughts in her mind, and finally faced him, all but naked. And unashamed.

  “I want a man who will devote his life to me, who will love and cherish me, but not overwhelm me. I want a husband who will put me above him. I’ve waited this long, so I might as well go for the ultimate prize. And I’m not looking at him now.”

  Now she didn’t feel naked; she felt bare, exposed. She hurried into her stays, but when she reached around for her stay-tapes, he came up behind her and helped her tighten them, fastening them expertly. He’d probably done that before, for some other woman. His wife, most likely.

  “I meant what I said.” He kissed her bare shoulder. “I might not be able to give you everything you want. I doubt any man could. But I’d have a partner in you. Someone I can trust to manage the estate while I’m away. You’d have complete power to run Cressbrook as you wished.”

  “Away?” She turned around, and to avoid his gaze, bent and picked up her pockets. She tied them around her waist. “Where are you going?”

  “Boston. I can’t abandon my business. I have to visit from time to time.” He slipped his arms into his waistcoat and fastened a few buttons.

  “You see?” In the act of tying her pocket around her waist, Dorothea paused and turned to face him. “That’s it, isn’t it? You want a competent manager you can trust, not a wife. I was right to refuse you.”

  She hustled into her clothes as quickly as she could, inwardly cursing her decision to wear a hoop that held the fabric away from her body on this hot day. It made the process more elaborate. They dressed in silence, and when Dorothea glanced toward the rumpled bed, he said, “I’ll take care of that.”

  “Good.” Her steps firm, Dorothea walked away, not giving way to tears until she was in the safety of her bedroom.

  Chapter 13

  To say Dorothea’s answer stunned Ben would be to make a huge understatement.

  She’d given herself with such sweetness, her passion matching his, that he had assumed it was only a matter of time before she was permanently in his bed. He looked forward to that with a hunger he’d never felt before. Women fell into his arms, if he wanted them, and Dorothea had done just that. He’d enjoyed every minute of their lovemaking, so much that he had come long before he was ready. Now he wanted to experience the ultimate intimacy with her, but if she would not marry him, that had to be denied.

  He let Rougier prepare him for dinner in silence, answering the valet’s questions with monosyllables.

  She wanted respect? Devotion? Then he’d show it to her. But not love. After Mary’s death—before it—he’d seen what love could do to a person. Any illusion that he’d been under that he was in love with her had died when she had turned love into a weapon. He’d told Dorothea the truth, that he had considered himself in love with Mary when he’d met her, but he hadn’t told her the rest. Perhaps he should. Love was not for him. He would not contemplate it. Refused to.

  He went down to the drawing room in the worst of
moods, but with renewed determination.

  At the bottom of the stairs he encountered Major Thorpe. “I understand an announcement will be made tonight,” William said.

  “Indeed.” Ben nodded coolly and made to walk on.

  The major fell into step with him. “I’m glad of a quiet word with you. I have to admit I am relieved that you will become the next marquess. You understand I could not betray my brother, but I refuse to support him in his extravagances. I cannot approve of what he has done to the estate.”

  Ben regarded him steadily. The man was a good officer, by all accounts, who would make general before he was done. While he respected William’s loyalty to his brother, Ben appreciated the quiet words. “I see. Thank you.”

  The major returned his gaze. “I will not embarrass my brother in public by saying so.”

  He stood back to give Ben room to enter the room first.

  He sent Hal a small nod and smile. Hal, who appeared perfectly recovered from his injury and had dressed in royal purple for dinner tonight, smiled back. Dorothea stood with Hal, watching Ben warily. He had bridges to mend there.

  A hush fell over the room as Ben stood alone, framed by the doorway. Louis glared at him, and Honoria, from her seat on the best sofa, opened her eyes wide and tilted her head to one side, a slight smile playing on her lips.

  Before Ben could speak, Sir James joined him. “May I be the first to greet the seventh Marquess of Belstead?”

  His bow was precisely correct for a marquess. Ben had to admire the gesture. He gave the responding bow, much shallower, more a nod of his head. “Thank you.”

  As he turned to address the other people in the room, he noted Louis had gone completely white. Had Sir James not informed him? “I produced the required proof this afternoon. I regret having kept you in suspense, but the King works at his own pace, not ours.”

  “The King?” Louis almost spat the word. “Did you pay him a great deal to ratify your claim?”