She gazed at him. He had a hard set to his jaw, and she did not know if it was from displeasure with her or merely the tension of lust.
“Do not break a promise to me again.”
She nodded. “I promise to never break a promise to you again.”
His shaft was at her slit, and she tried to wriggle herself onto him.
“And I expect you’ll never return here without my assent.”
“Yes, yes,” she replied, straining for penetration. She would go mad if she had to endure the vacancy in her quim much longer. “I will uphold my promise this time. Truly.”
In response, he flipped her onto her stomach. Grabbing the pillows, he pulled them beneath her hips. She flushed at how her derriere was raised in the air, but she was soon distracted by the length rubbing her folds, tantalizing her desires. She groaned, rapture swelling within her. Then, finally, he sank himself into her.
At that moment, there was nothing more exquisite than being impaled upon his member. Her quim clutched at his shaft, eliciting a groan from him. He pressed himself farther into her. The angle of her body allowed him to penetrate deeply, and he buried himself to the hilt, till she could feel the hairs of his pelvis against her rump. It was marvelous, even grander than the position of Angelique et Medor. Each thrust, each withdrawal was more delectable than the last. With his thumb, he strummed her clitoris as he bucked his hips. It was more than she could bear. All sensation hurled her toward that carnal purpose. Her orgasm erupted with the violence of cannon fire. A blinding white glory flashed through her, followed by much quaking and shaking, the intensity of which left her in a state of quasi-delirium.
Bracing himself over her, he pounded himself fast and furious into her to achieve his own end. The bed rocked beneath the force of his motions and thumped against the wall.. She would have cautioned him to pull out before he spilled his seed, but the words remained lodged in her throat. she In truth, a part of her wanted to have his essence inside her. She could feel the heat of his mettle, mixing with her own fluids.
“My God, Millie,” he breathed before a final shudder went through his limbs. He collapsed onto the bed and pulled her to him
His satisfaction gratified her. She wished she could remain joined to him forever, and for the time being, she would refrain from considering the grim truth that awaited her and relish the weight of his body against her and pretend that he was hers.
Chapter 34
HE WOULD HAVE PULLED out of her, but the temptation to mark her for his own, to leave a part of him in the deepest part of her, prevailed. He had already decided upon marrying her; thus, if there should be consequences to their congress, she would be safe.
Safe. He liked the certainty that marriage to Millie afforded. Liked that he would have many more opportunities to fuck her as he just had. It was the most brilliant paroxysm he had ever had. He hoped she had spent with equal glory, and he vowed to bring her to rapture as often as she wished. And more.
Settling back into bed, he wrapped her in his arms as they lay upon their sides. He could see that she was weary. She pushed aside the pieces of her torn garments
“I will replace the gown,” he assured her.
She nestled into his embrace. “Thank you, but it is unnecessary. My portmanteau is here with my effects.”
“You will have a finer gown—and shifts and stays—whatever you wish to spend your pin money upon.”
“Pin money?”
He breathed in the scent of her hair. “Though I suspect you are as likely to donate your pin money to Luddites and the like.”
She sat up, leaving his arms, to his regret. “Pray, it is not necessary to substitute my dowry with pin money. I am quite pleased you have revoked my dowry. I assure you that, despite what my parents may say, I am better off without one.”
He pulled her back down. “A dowry is unnecessary, but as the Marchioness of Alastair, you will want pin money.”
She sat back up. “The what?”
“The Marchioness of Alastair.”
She looked horrified. “My lord? I mean, Alastair—my lord—what is this jest?”
“Have you ever known me to jest?”
Her horror grew, and she scrambled from the bed. “Why would I marry you? I mean, why would you marry me?”
He could not help feeling a little insulted by the intensity of her reaction. He allowed she was in love with Winston, but the Marquess of Alastair was hardly rubbish.
“You have no need to salvage my honor, Alastair.”
“Then who will? Your journey to Château Follet has made it impossible to return home at a reasonable time. You will have to pass the night here. Have you considered what explanation you can offer your family?”
“I have not, but that is not your concern.”
He could not believe what he was hearing. She would not take his dowry. Now she would not take his hand in marriage. It could not be because she found him repulsive—her body had given him plenty of evidence to the contrary.
“Millie, I may be far from a saint,” he said, “but I am more worthy of you than Winston. He is not even deserving of the hundred pounds I gave him.”
“What hundred pounds?”
“I offered him an annuity to stay his distance from you.”
Her mouth fell open. “You bribed him?”
“I should have simply threatened him, but I knew money would move him.”
“You’re the reason he didn’t come!”
“Do not delude yourself. He never had any intention of marrying you without a dowry.”
She gasped, made a face, then began angrily collecting her garments.
“Millie, he accepted the annuity without hesitating a second. Why are you not vexed with him?”
He grasped her by the arm as she turned toward her petticoats on the floor.
“You flatter me once again, Alastair. I am pleased to know I could be forsaken for as little as a hundred pounds a year.”
“I would have offered more if I thought the bloody bastard deserved it. Devil take it, I would have offered a thousand pounds a year, but I think it quite telling that he accepted my offer as it was.”
Her shoulders sagged, but he still heard vexation in her voice. “You’re right, Alastair. I hope it pleases you to know that you are right.”
She wrested her arm from him and, taking up her petticoats, she tied them about her.
“I care nothing of that,” he protested. “I wanted to see you safe from him. Though you are of a stronger constitution, I would not want what happened to Miss Jones to befall you.”
“Who is Miss Jones?”
He started. “I thought you knew? She is the young woman he cast aside after getting her with child. She took her life afterwards.”
Millie paused. “That was not how he had told it.”
“That surprises me little, but he lost a good friend, Mr. Stanton, over the affair.”
“I suppose I owe you an apology, then, and my gratitude for rescuing me.”
She looked at her garments and realized they were too torn to wear. He gave her his shirt and began to dress as well.
“I do not require your apology or your gratitude,” he told her, relieved that she sounded less angry. “However, I would that my generosity was not wasted upon you.”
“I must seem an ungrateful wretch, and perhaps I am. You have been good to me, Alastair, even though I have not always deserved it.”
He liked the look of his shirt over her. Her coiffure had come undone, but the blush in her cheeks remained. “You deserve far more than you allow for yourself, Millie.”
A grateful smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
“And while you deserve better than a rogue such as myself,” he continued as he slipped into his braces and reached for his waistcoat, “I hope you will find some comfort in being married to me. I daresay your parents and Katherine would be happy.”
Her eyes widened, and the dread returned. She shook her head. “Alastair, yo
u are far kinder and more munificent than anyone could have imagined, but your offer is unnecessary.”
To his surprise, she turned on her heel and, carrying her garments in her arms, made for the doors.
“That may be, but—” He took several long and quick strides to catch her. “Millie!”
“You need not concern yourself with my wellbeing. I am certain I can find a situation to support me till my family has forgiven me.”
She opened the doors and hurried down the corridor. In her haste, as she turned the corner, she bumped into a couple. Her articles of clothing fell to the floor.
“Your pardon!” the various parties cried.
Alastair bent down to assist Millie.
“Lord Alastair, is it not?” the man asked. When Alastair made no reply, the man offered his hand. “Mr. Cornell, at your service. I represent Middlesex, and must say I was most pleased to hear that you had rejected the Farnsworth proposal regarding stocking frames. I think he may present a bill next year, but at least we were spared its consideration this year.”
Her garments returned to her arms, Millie stood and stared at him.
“I look forward to serving in Parliament with you, your lordship,” Cornell added before he and his companion continued on their way.
Alastair turned to Millie. Her eyes swam with emotion. “You did not support Farnsworth?”
“We had an agreement, you and I, did we not?”
“Yes, but I had bid you only to consider the subject more than you had.”
“And I did. I went to Nottinghamshire and observed the conditions of croppers and weavers. Their numbers in the poor houses have grown. You inspired me to consider their cause with more compassion. The Farnsworth proposal provides no solution for their suffering. I still consider machine-breaking a wrong, but I could not send a man to his death for it.”
Her countenance brightened with what he thought might be affection. Encouraged, he took her hand. “Millie, you could make me a better man.”
“You are far better than you credit yourself.”
“If you believe that, then there is hope in our marriage. If you think I will always assume the role of master as your husband and lord over you, I assure you that will not be the case.” Even if he did, he doubted she would submit to it. She tried to pull away, but he kept his hold of her. “You have my permission to give me a proper set-down when I am found to be overbearing.”
“Alastair, stop such talk. I don’t understand—”
“You may love Winston today, but I will earn your affections.”
“Alastair, you...Winston is...”
His face darkened. “You do not still harbor hopes that he will have you?”
“Not at all. I don’t love him. I never truly loved him because I loved...” Distraught, she continued to yank her hand from him. “We can’t marry!”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re the Marquess of Alastair.”
“I do not fear the consequences.”
“But—”
He pulled her into his arms. “If you do not love Winston, why will you not have me?”
Caught in his gaze, she seemed not to be able to speak. When she did, her voice was small and trembled. “Because I love you.”
Relief flooded him. He wanted to shake her a little for the unnecessary distress she had incited. “And I thought you had a proper reason for refusing me.”
“It is a proper reason! I will not allow you to make such a sacrifice on my behalf.”
“It is no sacrifice.”
“How is it not a sacrifice?” she persisted in arguing.
“Because I love you.”
She started, then returned a doubtful look.
“And I mean it,” he said, cupping her chin. Then, daring her to refute him, added, “As sincerely as you meant it when you claimed never to break a promise to me again.”
Her bottom lip quivered. “Alastair...”
“Say that you will have me, Millie, and then we may enjoy what remains of Christmas day.”
She followed his gaze up toward the ceiling, where a kissing bough hung.
Before she could say another word, he claimed her mouth, impressing his love through his kiss. Her lips parted willingly for him, and in that moment, he sensed the last of her resistance had given way, just as her body had submitted to him earlier. He kissed her with tenderness, with vigor and passion.
He never would have thought, when Katherine first orchestrated their encounter at Château Follet, that their path together would have ended in marriage. Perhaps Katherine had suspected its possibility, and though he did not appreciate her meddling, he would forgive her this one time. For he had in his arms a woman worthy of worship and whose body he would take great pleasure in exalting in all manner of delicious wantonness.
When he parted to give her a chance to collect her breath, he felt a familiar tug at his groin. He saw the same lust in her eyes, as well as affection.
“Merry Christmas, Alastair.”
He smiled and crushed her to him in another forceful kiss before bidding her a Merry Christmas, too.
THE END
WORKS BY GEORGETTE BROWN
Steamy Regency Collection
An Indecent Wager (Book #1)
Surrendering to the Rake (Book #2)
That Wicked Harlot (Book #3)
Tempting a Marquess (Book #4)
Tempting a Marquess for Christmas (Book #5)
Other
Pride, Prejudice & Pleasure
Tempting A Marquess
By Em Brown
A publication of Wind Color Press
Copyright © 2017
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