The Marquess is Mine: League of Unweddable Gentlemen, Book 6

by Gill, Tamara

  Sarah wished she had friends like Molly. She'd been neglected as much as Hugh had been by their mother. However, her father had always been loving, but unfortunately, he passed when she was young. She was so thankful that Hugh was now home in England, although they would be returning to Rome sometime next year. They planned on traveling between their two houses, and Sarah had promised to go with them next year to see Rome and Naples.

  "By my calculations, you are eight and twenty, my lady. I thought by now that you would have been married. Why ever have you not? No lord in London good enough for Lady Sarah Farley?"

  She glanced at him. How dare he mention her name or turn the question back onto her?

  "Spying on me, Lord Gordan? I did not know you were so very observant to my every move."

  He scoffed beside her, sipping his whiskey. "You do hold yourself in high esteem. I was merely keeping watch on my friend's sibling while he was out of the country."

  "Of course you were, my lord."

  A shadow flickered in his eyes before he blinked, and it was gone. Did he remember how very close they once were? That he had been one of her best friends in the world? Or so she understood. All lies, of course. He'd not cared about her at all. Had only ever seen her as Hugh's younger sister and someone to protect, but never love.

  Those summers seemed so long ago now. So much had happened between them that there was no way they would ever get back the friendship they lost.

  "I hope that I did not teach you to be so cold and aloof as you are. Why, before I came over here to speak to you, you were busy scowling at everyone." He reached out with his thumb and smoothed the frown line between her brows. “What has you so out of sorts, Lady Sarah?”

  The moment his skin touched hers, the breath in her lungs hitched. She slapped away his hand, but not before reading the awareness that flared in his eyes. He'd felt it too, the reaction they had always had to each other. Their first kiss was proof of that, no matter what Lord Gordan professed otherwise. She was certain it had affected him as much as her, no matter his anger over the embrace may have said otherwise.

  A question lingered in her mind over what would happen should they act upon those feelings now. Would things progress differently between them? She could have sworn when she'd kissed him all those years ago, for a moment, he'd kissed her back. Having never kissed anyone before, she had never been certain if she had imagined his reaction or not, fleeting as it was.

  Her body ached with want for him, for his lips to touch hers. From the age of eighteen, she knew her infatuation with Lord Gordan was more than just a young girl's fancy. She'd wanted him to be hers, and he did not want the same.

  He had wanted Lady Rackliffe, Lady Edith Beadle then, an earl’s daughter and sweet on Lord Gordan. Or so he believed.

  Fool that he was, that had turned out not to be the case.

  "Do not touch me, Lord Gordan. You forget yourself."

  He bowed, seemingly sorry for his lapse in manners. "Apologies." He looked contrite, as if he had indeed lost his faculties for a moment. "It shall not happen again."

  "I should hope not." She sipped her wine, noting that he didn't move away, but kept beside her, quiet and still. "Was there anything else that you wanted from me, my lord?"

  A muscle worked in his jaw before he said, "You did not answer my question. Why are you so incensed this evening?"

  She ground her teeth, hating that the one man she did not want to know her secret would ask such a question. Truth be told, he made her angry. His denial of her. His pushing her away. His severing their friendship the moment Hugh had left England.

  "I'm not angry, my lord, merely weary of a gentleman like you who believes a woman should always look happy and jovial. I do not need to smile and simper just to please those about me. I'm a daughter of a duke, a sister to one, and have my own inheritance. If I wish to stand at the side of a ballroom and glare at those I do not think worthy of my family's hospitality, I shall do so."

  His eyes widened before he glanced back at the dancers. "Are you saying that I'm not welcome here, my lady?"

  She shrugged, feigning nonchalance when in truth, her heart beat loud in her chest. Giles had always been welcome at the Abbey, and most of all, by her. To say otherwise now would hurt him, but the slighted, angry debutante inside her growled at his denial of her. The injury he'd caused her heart that had never truly healed. "Hugh is happy for your company, that is enough, is it not?"

  He scoffed. "I suppose it will have to do."

  Sarah watched him stalk off, anger thrumming across his wide shoulders. A little piece of pleasure rolled through her that she'd hurt his feelings while, in turn, her heart ached at his leaving.

  Her eyes met those of her brother across the room, and she smiled, feigning pleasure. He threw her a dubious look that spoke of a future conversation between them over her antics with Lord Gordan. She sighed. A month more of this would be a chore.

  Chapter 2

  Giles stormed from the ballroom and ran directly into the path of Lady Rackliffe. He inwardly groaned at his apparent good luck this evening. First, his run-in with Sarah and now Edith, his ex-betrothed. She stared up at him, all innocent as if butter would not melt in her mouth. A marvel, really, considering she had failed to arrive at church on their wedding day, preferring another over him.

  The blonde goddess, Lady Rackliffe, was indeed a muse for men's fantasies. Large, voluptuous breasts, long, golden locks, and cool, blue eyes that slanted a little and gave her a wicked, enticing appearance that had once drawn him like a moth to a candle flame.

  Not anymore. Now he looked upon her with the knowledge of what a spiteful, using minx she was.

  Sarah floated through his mind, she too had long, blonde locks, but of a warmer hue, as if the sun had kissed her curls. Her eyes were a dark shade of green that he'd often thought the Scottish Highlands would be jealous of.

  His body clenched, and he repudiated the idea that Sarah hated him. He deserved her wrath, just like the woman before him deserved his after she had jilted him, thrown him over for a much older, richer peer.

  An ancient relic who had conveniently died within twelve months of their marriage, leaving her an heiress.

  "Giles, darling. How wonderful to see you again. We should talk while we're at the house party. It has been too long."

  He picked up her hands as they snaked their way up the folds of his jacket to wrap about his neck. He did not want her touching him any more than she had wanted to marry him.

  "I would like that, Lady Rackliffe, but tomorrow perhaps. I seek my rest this evening. A long day of travel has wearied me." Not to mention the fact that Sarah's dislike of his attendance here hurt more than he cared to know. He wanted to be friends with her again. To be as close as they once were. Her hurried and spontaneous kissing of him during her first Season seemed to have put paid to their association. He cringed, hating himself for telling her off like a spoiled child.

  She had not deserved his retort. He ought to tell her why he'd reacted so. Why he'd pushed her away and told her in no uncertain terms how inappropriate her kiss had been.

  "Shall we meet somewhere, Giles? St. Albans Abbey has a beautiful, secluded conservatory, I understand. We may catch up there if you wish. After luncheon?"

  He nodded, distracted, and having forgotten Lady Rackliffe was before him. "Of course. Tomorrow. Good evening, my lady."

  Giles went to start up the stairs, but she halted him, clutching the lapels of his jacket with more force than he thought her capable of. "Are you not going to kiss me goodbye? Surely we're past such formal goodbyes, are we not?"

  Giles recoiled at the idea of kissing her, but leaned down, kissing each of her cheeks.

  A clearing of one's throat sounded behind him. He whirled about to see Sarah passing him by, starting up the stairs. She made a tsk tsk tsk sound. "Behave, dear guests. There is no mistletoe above you to excuse away your display of affection for one another."

  Sarah's words were said
lightly, playfully even, but Giles could see the anger and disgust that stared at him through her eyes. Lady Rackliffe appeared immune to Sarah's veiled criticism of their goodnight kiss.

  She tittered before him, smiling up at Sarah. "Lady Sarah, so good to see you again. Where have you been for the last few years? We had thought that you ran off to the continent to live with your brother, so long have we not seen you."

  Sarah halted halfway up the stairs, turning to meet Edith's amused visage. "If only, my lady. If only," she said, before continuing on and disappearing along the corridor upstairs.

  Edith's smile slipped, and Giles bowed, seeing his moment to escape. "If you'll excuse me, Lady Rackliffe. I really must obtain some sleep."

  Distantly he heard Sarah's slippered footsteps upstairs. His need to talk to her again paramount. He did not want her thinking there was anything between himself and Lady Rackliffe, as there was not.

  "Of course, goodnight, my lord."

  "Goodnight." Giles took the stairs two at a time and made his way toward the family apartments in the Abbey. The building was old, a medieval-like structure more than a modern Georgian home. Still, the Duchess of St. Albans had done a lot to it in the short time she had been married to Hugh, and the house was warm, homey, and once again had a feeling of peace and tranquility he had only ever known it to have when Hugh and Sarah's father was alive.

  He turned the corner and spied Sarah almost at her bedroom door. Increasing his pace, he reached her room, just as she went to open it. He clasped the handle, slamming it shut. She spun about, the action placing him hard against her, his breathing ragged.

  He swallowed the pleasant feel of her against his chest, her bright-green eyes staring up at him with shock. She blinked, and the contempt was there again, mocking and hating him as it had for years.

  "Are you quite done rubbing up against me, Lord Gordan? I should not have to tell you twice in one night to remember who I am."

  He stepped back, missing the feel of her the moment he did so. "I needed to explain that what you saw just before was not what it appeared."

  Sarah raised her brow. Again, her derisive laugh grated on his nerves. "Really? You do realize, Lord Gordan that I'm eight and twenty and have long learned that when I see gentleman kissing ex-lovers, that one can only assume the ex should be excluded."

  "I'm not sleeping with Lady Rackliffe."

  She shrugged, her hand reaching behind her to open the door. "I couldn’t care less about what you do."

  He slammed the door closed again, pressing against her. Of course, he should not, but damn it, she spiked his anger and patience. "Is that true?" He leaned down, taking in the sweet scent of her hair, floral with a hint of rose. Damn, she smelled as good as she felt in his arms. Her hands fluttered to his chest, the pressure to push him away there, but not forceful.

  "Has been for a very long time, my lord. Are you so dense you need me to remind you?"

  He flinched, grinding his teeth. A smug look passed over her face, and rage tumbled through his blood. She did not care what he did? Well, he'd test that theory.

  Seizing her face in his hands, he leaned down and kissed her.

  And he was lost.

  Chapter 3

  The moment Giles's lips touched hers, Sarah knew the horrendous, catastrophic error it was. Not that she did not like having one of the most eligible, attractive, and rich men in all of England kissing her as if his life depended on it, but because a small, traitorous part of her loved it.

  Damn him and his mouth that moved over hers, coaxed and teased her senses until her wits were scattered.

  For appearance's sake, Sarah pushed at his chest. It was no use. He was steadfast in his preposterous notion of taking her lips and proving his asinine point. Even so, when his tongue slipped across her lips, she sighed, opening to him without realizing the devastation her acquiescence would mean.

  He deepened the kiss, and no more was it delicate and beckoning, but hard, demanding. Made that special place between her thighs ache and clench. She pushed her legs together, trying to sate her need. Her hands ran along the lapels of his coat, his breathing ragged, she could feel each breath, the air going into his strong lungs, his chest firm and corded.

  He would look so delicious without his clothing. Women had tittered about seeing him just so—the ones who had been fortunate enough to warm his bed. The idea of anyone seeing Giles unclothed so had sent such a shot of jealousy through her that she'd avoided society and all news of him for years, practically becoming a recluse.

  That had to change now. With her brother back, the man kissing her to a jelly pool at his feet would be about her often, whether at St. Albans Abbey or town.

  Their kiss was madness. Anyone could happen upon them, her family, a servant, her brother! The idea of being forced to marry Lord Gordan was like a cold bucket of water poured over her muddled head, and with all the strength she possessed, Sarah pushed him away.

  "Enough," she said, her heart beating fast in her chest. He stumbled back, his eyes heavy and dilated, and she'd seen that look before. He'd looked at Lady Rackliffe so before their engagement.

  She ground her teeth, hating that men could be so changeable. "You should not have done that, my lord."

  "I have done many things that I regret, but that kiss, Lady Sarah is not one of them."

  His words sent heat spearing across her face, and she took a calming breath, hating the fact that after all these years apart, he could still make her blush.

  "If you wish to enjoy your time here in Kent, may I suggest that your attention be better spent elsewhere? I am not looking for a husband, nor do I like men who kiss me only minutes after being caught kissing someone else."

  He flinched, a muscle working at his temple. "Do be serious. You cannot mean my kiss with Lady Rackliffe."

  Sarah raised her brow, staring at him. He shuffled on his feet, glaring at her. "I kissed her cheeks, not her lips, Sarah. If you had seen me," he said, stepping close again, "with my tongue down her throat, there may be a point to your concern." His breath was hot against her ear and she shivered, closing her eyes so as not to see his delectable self.

  "It was you that I kissed without heed or caution. I want to kiss you again." His eyes met hers, and she read the longing in them. Her body ached for fulfillment. She was eight and twenty, after all. Like all people, she had needs, and those needs were becoming more and more powerful. Harder to ignore with each year that passed.

  Having Lord Gordan tempt her in such a way was unfair, and she knew that she would not get an ounce of sleep tonight.

  "Let me kiss you again," he pleaded, his lips brushing hers, but not demanding anything more. "You savored it. Admit it."

  "Goodnight, my lord," she said, opening her door and all but throwing herself into her room lest she do exactly as he begged. Her eyes met his as she shut the door, and what she saw there sent heat and expectation down her spine.

  Determination on Lord Gordan's visage would be hard to deny. It was any wonder he was a renowned rakehell for who could refuse sin when offered to you in a rich, titled, handsome marquess package that was his lordship?

  One could not.

  The following morning Sarah broke her fast in her room, preferring not to dine with all the other guests. No doubt, Hugh and Molly would ask her about her absence later, but she could not sit across the table and see him.

  Giles...

  She may never be able to meet his gaze again after allowing him liberties last evening that she should not. Sarah sat before her dressing table, her maid pinning up the last of her curls, and she stared at her features, her lips that had been kissed most ardently, even now they tingled in remembrance. The shadows beneath her eyes told her the effect Lord Gordan had on her. Her sleep had been restless, her body not able to settle and rest.

  She pursed her lips. Lord Gordan had done that to her, and he probably damn well knew he would. All she could hope was that he, too, had a sleepless night and resembled hell also
.

  He did not.

  Sarah ran into his lordship, striding in from the back of the house a little after leaving her room. His boots were wet with melting snow, some of which was still sticking to his shoes. His tan breeches hugged his athletic thighs, and her mouth dried at the sight. Her eyes devoured his every article of clothing, the perfectly tied Napoleon cravat, and his top hat held loosely in one hand. His tan coat and white waistcoat giving him the air of a country gentleman, innocent and able. He may be able, but innocent was the opposite of what Giles was.

  He glanced up, skidding to a stop. He met her inspection, and something inside her crumbled just as it had when she was fifteen.

  Sarah had a name for the emotion that coursed through her blood back then. It had been love, innocent and adoring, but now it was laced with so many more conflicting sentiments—desire one of them. Anger, most definitely, but passion above all.

  This month-long house party just became a whole lot longer.

  Chapter 4

  Giles skidded to a stop, seeing Sarah watching him. He'd missed her at breakfast, having observed that she was not at the table, he'd eaten quickly and gone for a ride before the mid-morning breeze picked up and made it too bitter to go outside.

  He'd needed a good, brisk ride this morning, if only to wake himself up. After his kiss with Sarah, his sleep had been deprived most severely.

  He'd tossed and turned and thought about taking himself in hand to alleviate the need that coursed through his blood.

  The idea of Sarah in his bed would not abate, and it was a problem he needed to face.

  He was a friend to her brother, but also one of town's most notorious rakes. All thanks to Lady Rackliffe, but the idea of taking Edith or anyone else to his bed left a sour taste in his mouth.

  The only woman he wanted beneath him, on top of him, before him and every way else he could think of was Sarah.