The Wild Marquis

by Miranda Neville

  “I’m having the most marvelous time, Cain. I met Sir Henry Tarleton and he wants to look at my stock.”

  “Thomas Tarleton’s heir?” Cain asked, not much interested. A lemony curl had escaped the black velvet bandeau and drew attention to the sweet indentation of Juliana’s collarbone, inviting him to taste the soft white skin.

  “Yes. He’s very upset that his uncle’s books are being sold.”

  If Cain were a better man he’d go after the new baronet and find out what he knew about the Burgundy Hours. But Tarleton could wait. He had other plans for tonight.

  “My dear girl,” he said. “If you are happy, so am I. And I’m very happy to see you looking so fine. Every woman in London will wish to scratch your eyes out when they hear what Compton had to say. Did you know the ladies of the ton and the demimonde die to win a compliment from him?”

  “How absurd. Why?”

  “Because his taste is reputed to be flawless.”

  Juliana gave a low chuckle that warmed his heart. He loved to make her laugh, he realized. She took life much too seriously.

  “Needless to say I’ve never received a comment on my dress from him before. Black bombazine does not apparently meet his approbation.”

  “But black velvet does. Why still black?”

  “It’s easier to remain in mourning. Fortunately I discovered this gown at a secondhand clothing shop in Conduit Street.”

  “Mrs. Timms. I know many actresses who patronize her.”

  “Actresses?” Juliana said. “Do you mean my gown might have belonged to an actress?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “More likely a courtesan.”

  She gasped delightfully. “Why do you think so?”

  “Did you wonder, my dear innocent, how Mrs. Timms came to have such an unusual garment?”

  “No, but she was quite pleased to sell it to me, at a reasonable price.”

  “I suspect it was cast off by Bella Starr. Her protector, Sir Mordred Morton, always insists on dressing his mistresses in black.”

  Her little freckled nose wrinkled. “How very morbid.”

  “Morton would be happy to hear you say so. He prides himself on his morbidity. Black liveries for his servants, black carriages inside and out. His upholstery and curtains are all black and he only allows himself to be served black food.”

  “That must limit his diet.”

  “Invitations to dine with Morton are not highly sought after.”

  “I can only think of grapes.”

  “Caviar.”

  “Blackberries,” she said, getting into the spirit of the conceit. “In season.”

  “Olives.”

  “Chocolate.”

  “Plums.”

  “Burned meat?”

  “Burned toast too,” he said. “That’s why he recently left for Bavaria. So that he can eat black bread without the charcoal.”

  “And black pudding.”

  “Precisely. He told me Germans are famous for their morbidity.”

  “Did he leave his mistress behind?”

  “Yes. And she wasted no time banishing black from her wardrobe.”

  “Well I’m glad, since I got such a bargain. This gown had scarcely been worn.”

  “And I’m glad she did too,” he said, suddenly serious. He looked at her intently and her laughter drained away, leaving her with lips slightly parted and naked awareness in her eyes as they met his.

  Then she dropped her gaze, clearly flustered. “I should meet some more people,” she said.

  Not ready yet. She wasn’t going to drop into his hand like a ripe plum at Sir Mordred’s dinner table.

  Good. He might not have inherited any part of his father’s character, but his title was apt. Cain loved the chase.

  Chapter 7

  On a chilly and damp March night the red chariot was warm. The marquis’s servants might not look the part but they knew how to make their master comfortable. Juliana settled back on the luxurious upholstery and let the hood of her black cloak fall to her shoulders.

  “Thank you for your assistance tonight,” she said. “I made some useful connections through your help.”

  She sensed his shrug beside her on the seat. “I merely asked Tarquin Compton to present you to Spencer.”

  “And others too. And they all seemed truly interested in my books.”

  “Are you sure they weren’t just admiring your figure in your new gown? I know I was.”

  “Certainly not. Besides, some of them were female.”

  “So?”

  “Stop trying to shock me. Seriously, thanks to you I met more possible customers tonight than have set foot in my shop in the last month.”

  “You are always so practical,” he complained. “I’d rather talk about something else.” His voice was a raspy whisper. In the dark cabin, lit by a single lantern, she could barely make out his features. Instead the confined space enhanced her sense of his presence. His thigh brushed against hers.

  “What then?” she asked. Perhaps he would tell her more amusing anecdotes of the demimonde.

  “About kissing you.”

  She gasped, or rather, she feared, squeaked.

  “Actually I don’t want to talk about anything.”

  She could no longer fool herself that this was a simple ride home, an alternative to a cold and dirty hackney.

  He framed her head between his hands and shifted to allow the light to fall on her face. The lantern light shone through his own locks revealing red tints in his brown hair and giving him an incongruously angelic halo. He examined her with absolute concentration.

  “You are very beautiful.”

  “I have freckles,” she replied nervously.

  “Only six.” He dropped as many gentle kisses on her nose and cheeks. “I missed one.” And kissed her again, his lips lingering on the delicate skin beneath one eye.

  Now was the moment to draw back but she didn’t want to. She remembered his previous kiss through a haze of wine. Tonight she hadn’t drunk so much as a glass of water and she couldn’t wait to find out what it was like to kiss him when sober. Remaining still, neither retreating nor advancing, she waited for his next move.

  He released her and leaned back into his corner. “Your gown matches my seats.”

  “That’s why I chose it, of course,” she replied, disguising her disappointment with an attempt at humor.

  “The effect is extraordinary. In this light everything fades away except your head. All gold and white like a disembodied angel.”

  “Oh,” she breathed. Compliments on her looks had been rare in her life.

  “But you aren’t an angel, are you? At least I sincerely hope not.”

  Those wonderful creases appeared to frame his mouth and he advanced again, without a hint of mockery in his smile or gaze.

  “Juliana,” he whispered, and he took her into his arms and kissed her with parted lips, mingling his breath with hers.

  This time she needed no prompting to open to him, to meet his tongue with her own. His arms tightened as she slid her own over his shoulders and threaded her fingers through his soft hair, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. His throat emitted guttural sounds of appreciation.

  As the black horses clopped through the quiet late-night streets, Juliana discovered the joy of kissing, an area in which her experience had been sadly lacking. She allowed her late husband a fleeting thought. Poor Joseph.

  Then the world contracted to a velvet-lined box and Cain’s lips on hers. And on her cheeks and nose and temples and neck and even, deliciously, in her ear. But mostly on her mouth, licking, sucking, nuzzling, creating the most delightful sensations that flooded her entire body. By the time they approached the end of their journey she was aching for something more. Yet he didn’t touch her anywhere else. She was locked in his embrace but his hands remained immobile on her back.

  Touch me…somewhere, she begged silently. She couldn’t bring hers
elf to ask out loud.

  The carriage drew to a halt and he released her. Groping in her reticule, she found her key and made no protest when he removed it from her limp hand, then helped her out onto the pavement. He unlocked her door and nudged her across the threshold with a nod over his shoulder to his coachman. As the door closed she heard the jingle of harness and the renewed clop of hooves.

  Then the sound from the street faded behind the stout wooden barrier and she was in the dark entry at the foot of the stairs. Alone with Cain.

  Now was the moment to thank him politely and send him home. But she didn’t want to be alone, imagining prowlers downstairs. Perhaps even now a thief awaited her above.

  At least that’s what she told herself.

  Cain would have preferred to take her to his own house, but he doubted she would agree. His honed instincts for the workings of a woman’s mind told him she might still bolt. Juliana was eager, yes. Her response was as passionate as he’d hoped. Yet her brain had not yet fully accepted what would happen. He wanted her to ache with longing until she lost any desire to retreat.

  He’d had to exercise every morsel of control he possessed not to lift her skirts in the carriage. Had a few weeks’ abstinence brought him to such a pass? Lovemaking might be his favorite occupation, but he hadn’t been this desperate for a woman in years.

  The art of seduction required taking things slowly and their first time together was not going to be a quick tumble, however comfortable his coach.

  Keeping a hand on the small of her back, he followed her upstairs and waited while she fumbled with a candle. The disordered room appeared mean and shabby in the flickering light and the atmosphere was damp and chilly. She deserved better quarters.

  “Would you like some tea?” she asked. “It’s cold.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and nuzzled the soft nape of her neck, relishing her warm, clean female scent.

  “We’d be warmer in bed,” he whispered.

  He felt her muscles stiffen and prepared to use all his powers of persuasion. Then the tension melted and she leaned back against him, relaxing into his embrace. For the first time he allowed his hands to wander, untying the strings of her cloak, palming her velvet-covered breasts, and pressing in to discover the slender waist and sweet swell of hips beneath the soft fabric. Soon, very soon, he’d be touching skin.

  Then she pulled away.

  “I need a few minutes to get ready.”

  “Let me help.” He held on to her arm, afraid to let her out of his sight lest she come to her senses. Besides, undressing was part of the pleasure. “You’ll need me to undo the buttons.”

  “How do you suppose I managed to do them up? I don’t have a maid tucked away here.”

  Dragging him with her she pushed open the door of her bedroom. “Give me a few minutes,” she said again, whisked herself inside, and closed the door in his face.

  “Don’t attempt those buttons without me,” he called.

  Sure that she’d talk herself into sense when freed of his presence, Cain was apprehensive, his usual self-assurance lacking. Putting his ear to the bedroom door, he tried to guess what she was up to. He heard none of the rustling of cloth and slamming of drawers denoting a hurried attempt to clear up. He’d known women who hated to reveal an untidy room. For himself, he enjoyed the sight of feminine clutter: stockings draped over a chair, discarded gowns piled on the bed, bottles of perfume and cosmetics unstoppered on a dressing table and lending their mingled scents to the ambience. Not that he suspected Juliana possessed an abundance of feminine fripperies: that was something he’d love to change.

  He heard a low thud, a muttered “damn,” and rushed into the room.

  “Are you all right?”

  She sat on the floor, legs apart, skirts askew. Her calves, clad in sensible black stockings that did nothing to disguise their shapeliness, were revealed to both knees.

  “I’m fine,” she said shortly.

  He might have joined her but there wasn’t room. In keeping with the rest of the flat the bedroom was tiny, most of it taken up by a chest of drawers and a none-too-large bed. That would have to change too.

  He reached out a hand to pull her up.

  “What happened?”

  She looked thoroughly embarrassed. “Nothing,” she muttered. “I lost my balance.”

  To his relief she made no objection to his presence. “Now for those buttons,” he said. “Turn.”

  Obediently she turned her back to him. He loved this bit, like unwrapping a package.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, caressing the contours of her upper back. “Your skin is soft as silk and not a freckle in sight. Like pure cream.”

  She flexed her shoulders with a purr of appreciation. Drawing aside the black velvet, he let it drop to the floor and ran his hands over her torso, sensing the curves beneath her no-nonsense linen undergarments.

  Another thing he’d like to change.

  “I knew there was something wonderful hidden beneath that black armor.” She was perfectly proportioned for her diminutive stature, with just enough flesh in just the right places. Arching her back, she pushed her behind against his burgeoning erection.

  The promise of enormous pleasure swelled to certainty.

  Her petticoat was the next to go, followed by shoes, garters, and stockings. He knelt to remove her footwear and stole a kiss on the sweet spot behind one knee.

  “Behold me at your feet,” he said, drawing a chuckle, though otherwise she’d accepted his ministrations in silence.

  He stood up and faced her, running his hands down her naked arms. “You have gooseflesh. I’d prefer to believe I have made you shiver with desire, but I’m afraid it’s the temperature.” And he drew back the covers on the bed, picked her up, now clad only in her shift, and deposited her there. She huddled under the blankets, staring at him with wide eyes.

  He tugged at his neck cloth. “I want to reassure you about one thing. I shall make sure you are safe from any…unfortunate consequences.”

  She blushed. “I’ve already taken measures to prevent conception,” she said primly.

  Cain was impressed. Accustomed to taking precautions, there wasn’t much he hadn’t learned from his friends about the prevention of pregnancy and disease. With Juliana he wasn’t concerned about the latter and, of course, she’d been married but had no children.

  “Do you use a sponge?” he asked.

  Her blush deepened as she nodded.

  “Splendid.” Far preferable to condoms or withdrawal as far as he was concerned. He grinned at her. “Did you fall over while inserting it?”

  She nodded. He decided not to mention that he could have helped. He doubted she was ready for that kind of game.

  Juliana’s discomfort faded at Cain’s matter-of-fact acceptance, a marked contrast to Joseph’s cringing embarrassment when faced with intimate personal affairs. On their wedding night, he had produced the sponges and a bottle of brandy and explained their use. He had been resolved, and she had agreed, that they couldn’t afford children. They’d never mentioned the matter again. She was particularly grateful now. She would never place herself at risk of bearing a child out of wedlock.

  Going to bed with Cain might be the most reckless thing she’d ever done but she was going to enjoy it.

  Now he stood in her tiny bedroom, laughing quietly as he unwound his neck cloth, his blue gaze fixed on her with a heat at variance with his careless stance. She sucked in her breath as he tossed the linen aside and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing etched collarbones and a glimpse of light brown hair on a muscled chest. He was truly a beautiful man.

  And for tonight, perhaps only for tonight, he was hers.

  She watched him remove his clothes. All of them. She’d never seen a naked man. She and Joseph had both worn decorous nightgowns to bed and despite their cramped quarters had respected each other’s privacy, each leaving the room while the other performed his toilet. Cain seemed to lack even a shred of m
odesty so she stared, eyes increasingly wide, as he shed his garments.

  My goodness. Had it not been for that wicked book she’d have had no idea how that thing looked in the flesh. The word rampant came inexorably to mind.

  She didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry when the exhibition came to an end and he joined her in bed, embracing her under the blankets.

  “Warm me up,” he murmured in that well-deep voice, and started kissing again.

  Not that he needed it. His body was hot as a paving stone in the sun and almost as hard. As he gathered her closer she felt solid, beautifully formed muscle under smooth, pliant skin, flesh to flesh exciting every nerve at each point of contact. One strong leg curved around her own, slightly coarse hair complementing the smoothness of her own limbs.

  And his kiss. Now she realized he’d been holding back in the carriage, keeping something in reserve. He took possession, devouring her, exploring and exciting every cranny of her mouth with his clever tongue. And since she was a quick learner she met him thrust for thrust, reveling in the taste and texture of him until she was as hot as he.

  As for his hands, they certainly weren’t still. At last her breasts, taut and aching, received the attention they craved. He stroked them with firm yet gentle touch and thumbed her small nipples until they tingled. She heard herself moan.

  “More?” he asked, releasing her mouth, but didn’t wait for an answer, fortunate since she was likely incapable of coherent speech.

  Somehow he managed to divest her of her shift and—oh bliss—took one of the stiffening peaks into his mouth and sucked. Who would have thought that would be so delicious? And while he worked her breasts his hands wandered south, warming her flat belly, her hips, the tender skin between her thighs.

  She lay passive, not sure what to do, reveling in Cain’s skillful ministrations.

  “Touch me,” he whispered.

  Of course. Yet could she possibly give him as much pleasure? Her relative ignorance of lovemaking nagged at her, but gathering her courage she tentatively ran her hands down his back and felt muscles jump at her touch.

  “Yes,” he urged. Encouraged, she applied her caresses with greater confidence, reaching everywhere she could, even to his buttocks, firm and shapely under her seeking fingers. His erection pressed against her pelvis and hardened even more.