Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2)

by Maggi Andersen

  Tension coiled low in her stomach.

  When he drew her down on the bed and lay over her, she was conscious of hard planes and muscles and the insistence of his erection against her stomach.

  “Sweetheart.” He kissed her again, and his hands swept down over her stomach and lower until his fingers brushed her core. His touch was like an eruption of fire. Carrie helplessly pushed up against his hand and blushed furiously at the rush of moisture dampening her thighs.

  As he continued stroking, circling, toying with the most sensitive part of her, she gave herself up to it, gripped by a fierce need.

  Their panting breaths filled the room. She wanted him inside her. She might have demanded it, she wasn’t sure. But he ignored her pleas, slipping a finger inside her, then withdrawing it again, his thumb circling the sensitive nub, driving her mad.

  Oh, how divine it was, and yet how frustrating. She bucked beneath his hand, grasping at something she knew not what until the tension became unbearable and then shattered, and she yelled as she lost sight of herself. Her head fell back on the pillow.

  Strangely languid, Carrie reached up and gently caressed his forehead. “That was… wonderful.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad.” He took her hand and moved it down his stomach to the throbbing hot skin of his erection. “Touch me, sweetheart.”

  Carrie took hold of him, marveling at how different and intriguing a man’s body was. She ran her hands over him, wanting to pleasure him, delighting in the effect her fingers had when he groaned.

  Nicholas gently removed her hand. He framed her face between his hands and smiled down at her. His eyes, heavy with desire, made her gasp. His breath warm against her mouth, he traced her lips with his tongue and pushed inside. As her tongue danced with his, it ignited a spark. Her whole body came alive, and the dull, insistent throb between her legs became urgent and demanding.

  He drew her thighs apart and settled between them. Gripping her hips, he pushed slowly inside her.

  She gasped at the fullness and the amazing sense of completeness, while still tense, anticipating the violent pain Mary had warned her about.

  With a nudge of his hips, he went farther. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No, a little. No, it’s all right now.” It really wasn’t bad at all, in fact…she welcomed it and would hate him to stop. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he pushed deeper, then briefly withdrew to thrust deeper still. They lay skin to skin, her breasts flattened against his chest. For a moment, his tongue inside her mouth mirrored his thrusts. Then he quickened, and her hips rose to meet him. Their urgent breaths filled the room. Sensation built, rising to an exquisite crescendo. And then ebbed away, leaving her limp and sated.

  With a loud groan, Nicholas stilled against her. He rolled off to lie half over her, his hand resting on her stomach.

  “Oh, how divine,” she murmured.

  Carrie stretched, feeling sensual and womanly. She stroked across his chest and stomach where taut muscles had loosened, and kissed his warm, smooth skin.

  The expression in his gray eyes was warm and lazy and tugged at her heart. “A woman’s first time isn’t always so wonderful, sweetheart.”

  “But it was.” She closed her eyes, suddenly very tired.

  “Sleep, my love,” he whispered, edging away to pull the blanket up and tuck it around her.

  ***

  Carrie woke beside Nicholas, her arm flung over his chest. Early morning light crept into the room, around the edges of the huge swag of gold damask curtains. She carefully lifted her arm. He was asleep, his dark hair rumpled, his sensual lips slightly open. In sleep, his face was finely drawn and appeared younger, more like the boy he’d once been, and her heart gave a throb for all the hurt he’d suffered throughout his life. The loss of those he loved.

  Carrie rested her head against his chest and listened to his even breathing.

  Mary’s description of making love had been nothing like this. It sounded rather perfunctory and uncomfortable. It fell way short of the ecstasy Carrie experienced with Nicholas. Especially when they’d woken earlier and made love again. Her friend had not mentioned what a man’s clever hands could do to a woman’s body. Or what one felt when he kissed her down there. Or how wonderful it was to be with the man you loved, to breathe in his clean sweat and kiss his salty skin. To lose yourself so completely, you cried out in abandonment. She grew hot remembering.

  His hand moved to stroke her hair. “How are you, my love?”

  She lifted her head from his chest. She was a little sore and sticky and longed for a bath. But she wouldn’t tell him that. “I am very well. But I wish to know where this sea voyage we go on will take us.”

  He propped his head up on a hand and studied her, his gray eyes alight with humor. “Greece.”

  “Greece!” Carrie squealed. She hit him on the chest.

  He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Have I married a violent woman? What was that for?”

  “You might have told me. I believed I’d never get the chance to see those places Papa wanted to take me to.”

  “And have Gwen learn of it? We would have half the ton at the docks to see us off.”

  She found she didn’t want that either.

  “It’s the fulfillment of the promise your father made to you.” He slid his fingers through her hair. “And besides, I want you to myself.”

  Her tresses fell in heavy waves over his chest and stomach. He brought a lock to his nose. “Mm. Lavender. You have beautiful hair.”

  “Some say redheads are difficult.”

  “No.” He grinned. “Do they?”

  “Am I, do you think?”

  He rubbed the supposed sore spot on his chest where she hit him. “You are perfect!”

  “I believe you are humoring me. No one is perfect.” She laughed as he pulled her atop him, and framing her face, kissed her until she was so breathless, she could only giggle and murmur his name.

  He tenderly enfolded her in his strong arms. “Sweetheart, believe me when I say, you have my heart and soul forever.”

  Epilogue

  At full sail, the big schooner surged through the waves, the hot Mediterranean sun dappling the sea with golden lights, the distant shoreline smoky gray. Nicholas stood at the rail, his arm around Carrie as the sea breeze ruffled her hair and threatened to steal her hat. Above them, seabirds wheeled about in the azure sky.

  They were both tired, having spent the last few evenings in their cabin discussing those places mentioned by the poets they intended to visit, while drinking the prince regent’s champagne, eating his foie gras, and making endless love.

  Nicholas couldn’t get enough of his beautiful wife. Her loving and passionate nature, her curiosity, and her desire to please him had been a wonderful surprise. Although perhaps not such a surprise, he’d seen glimpses of it that night when Carrie danced in the garden beneath the full moon.

  “What shall we do at Elm Park when the moon is full?” he asked her.

  She turned shining eyes to him. “Why dance with the fairies, of course.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “As long as we don’t have to dance naked, Carrie. The nights can be cool in Surrey.”

  “You are entirely too prosaic,” she said with a pout, but her loving gaze betrayed her.

  If his bride wanted to dance naked under the full moon, so be it. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” And he meant it with all his heart.