His muscles tensed at a rustle in the outside corridor. Quiet, furtive movements, someone acting with deliberate stealth. He replaced the missive, closing the desk drawer. By the time a key scraped the lock of the bedchamber door, he was pulling the balcony doors closed behind him. Enveloped by shadow, he held his back against cold stone, wedging himself against the balustrade. Out of view, he waited.
Humid air clung to his face. The sounds of the masquerade floated up to him. He held perfectly still, slowed his breathing, and focused his senses on what was going on inside the bedchamber.
A slight shuffling from within—Pompeia checking her hiding places, ensuring all was intact? His ears prickled as he strained to hear every little sound. Footsteps… His hands closed around the hilts of his holstered daggers. Someone coming, stopping at the balcony doors. A soft swoosh of fabric, drapery being pushed further apart. He remained still, his back pressed against the chilled wall, picturing Pompeia looking out through the curtains. She was within a few feet of him, but she couldn’t see him, not yet. Not unless she decided to step out onto the balcony…
Glass rattled in the panes of the double doors. His blades gleamed dully, poised for action.
Another voice came from within the bedchamber. Muffled, deep. A man. A moment later, Pompeia gave a laughing reply. Gabriel couldn’t hear the exact words, but the tone was flirtatious. She’d been interrupted by her husband—or a lover.
Either way, the curtain twitched back into place. Her footsteps retreated back into the bedchamber, then farther away still. Gabriel didn’t move until the voices faded into silence.
He counted to fifty. Then did it again, calculating his next move.
Leaving through the bedchamber was too risky, especially if Pompeia had sensed threat. He had to get out of here now—and quickly. Sliding his knives back into their hidden sheaths, he crouched below the railing to keep out of sight. He crept forward; from between the balusters, he judged the distance to the ground.
Fourteen feet. On the run from enemy agents, he’d once jumped out the window of a hotel in the Marais from twice that height. Nothing to break his fall, either. At least here he could descend down one of the columns supporting the balcony. He wouldn’t even break a sweat.
As he readied to cross over the railing, a movement caught his eye.
In the far corner of the garden. A flash of scarlet—
Thea. She was… running? From some fribble dressed in gold. Before Gabriel’s disbelieving eyes, the whoreson caught her, flung her slender form against a dark hedge, and pressed up against her. Rage splattered across Gabriel’s vision, a roar in his ears. In the next heartbeat, he vaulted over the railing.
Chapter Eleven
“Let me go at once!” Thea’s lungs strained with effort, yet she forced herself to take a deep breath. To sound strong and firm. “Pray keep your hands to yourself, Sir Rathburn.”
“No need to play coy, my dove. You’ve been fluttering your feathers at me all evening,” the baron said with a leer. “Time to pay the piper.”
Cringing, Thea turned her head away. Even so, Rathburn’s lips landed slimily against her ear, his breath hot and reeking of spirits. So much for being calm. Planting her hands against his shoulders, she shoved with all her might. “Get off me, you oaf.”
The blighter only laughed. “A miss with sauce, eh? Just the way I like ’em.”
“I don’t care… what you like!” Thea dodged his slobbering lips. “I want nothing to do with you!”
Why, oh why, had she ignored her instincts and allowed him to take her out for some air? She’d been so intent on turning a new leaf and putting Tremont out of her mind that she’d acted rashly. Traded one disaster for another.
“You need to be taught some manners,” Rathburn said, smirking.
“I shall scream if you don’t let me go,” Thea warned.
“I don’t think so. Not unless you want to ruin your reputation. Now be a good girl and we’ll have some fun and games with none the wiser—”
Panic flared as he groped her bosom. She struggled, his grip tightening like a noose. When she tried to push him away, the sudden tearing of fabric snapped her to her senses. She couldn’t stop him; she needed help. Her virtue was more important than her reputation. She drew a breath to scream—
“What the—?”
The shriek came from Rathburn, his expression startled as he flew backward away from her. He landed against a hedge, groaning; it took her shocked faculties a moment to register that a stranger cloaked in darkness was beating her attacker, his fists connecting with lethal force. The baron flailed, his attempts to fight back ineffectual, like that of a housecat batting at a lion. When her rescuer’s knuckles smashed into Rathburn’s jaw, the crunch of bone jolted Thea out of her daze.
Dashing over, she grabbed onto Tremont’s drawn-back arm. The muscles were rigid, vibrating with elemental power. From behind the black mask, stormy grey eyes sucked the air out of her lungs. Awareness crackled between them.
“Stop it. You’ll kill him,” she said desperately.
“He deserves to die,” he growled in a voice she’d never heard from him before. “He touched you.”
The violence in his eyes made her swallow. As did the blood dripping from his hands.
“I’m fine. Truly,” she said. “Please, let him go.”
She didn’t care so much what happened to Rathburn, but she didn’t want Tremont committing murder because of her. The wrath in his eyes told her that he was fully capable of tearing her attacker from limb to limb. Gone was his skin of civility. With the façade ripped away, he exuded primal power, ferocity barely leashed. Her heart thudded with fear… and devastating attraction.
The admission rushed through her, bringing equal parts resentment and relief. She couldn’t hide from the truth any longer. What had been staring her in the face all along.
I want him and only him. If I have to risk getting rejected, then so be it.
If she was facing life on the shelf, she’d rather go with a splat than rot away never knowing what could have been.
“I let the bastard go, you do as I say,” Tremont rasped.
Slowly, she nodded.
Tremont loosened his grip on Rathburn. The baron slid down the hedge, slumping on the ground. He appeared unconscious and bloodied—but alive, thank goodness.
Tremont raked his gaze over her, a muscle leaping in his jaw when he saw her ripped bodice. Stripping off his domino, he slung the velvet cloak over her shoulders. He straightened her mask.
“We’re getting out of here,” he said.
“But I came with Emma and Strathaven—”
“I’ll leave them word. We’re going straight to my carriage. Now,” he ordered.
One look at Tremont’s fierce expression told her it was prudent to obey. He led her away, his hand proprietary on the small of her back, and even through the layers of fabric, the potency of his touch sizzled through her. He navigated them through the townhouse, shielding her with his large frame. They arrived at his carriage, the door parting to a dark, plush threshold.
As he handed her in, her belly fluttered with nerves... and anticipation.
***
As the carriage rolled off, he told himself, Remain calm. Keep your temper under rein.
Thea sat on the opposite bench. She’d removed her mask, and, in the faint light of the carriage lamp, shadows played across her fine-boned features. Her neck was white and graceful above the ties of his domino, red feathers peeking through the black velvet. Pins had loosened from her coiffure, her honey tresses tumbling all the way to her waist.
A princess unbound.
So goddamned lovely that his teeth ached.
“Your knuckles are bleeding.” She began rummaging through her reticule. “Let me find a handkerchief—”
“I don’t need a damned handkerchief.” His bloodlust simmered just beneath the surface. “What the devil you were doing in the garden with that bastard?”
S
he stiffened. Set her bag aside. In cool tones, she said, “Thank you for your intervention, my lord. Sir Rathburn was proving quite a nuisance.”
“Nuisance, you say? The blighter had his hands on you. If I hadn’t arrived when I did…”
His throat clenched at the possibility. A force, deep and feral, drummed in his chest. No one touches what is mine.
“As I said, I am grateful. In retrospect, my behavior was a trifle reckless,”—her voice wavered before she plunged on—“but even so, it is of no concern to you.”
“It bloody well is my concern. Now see here—”
“No. You listen.” Her chin lifted, her eyes blazing with golden fire. “I am not some delicate miss in need of a keeper! You have no right to dictate my actions. I will spend time with whomever I choose. You may not want me, but other men enjoy my company.”
His vision darkened. “Devil take it, I do want you. I told you, the problem is with me—”
“I’m done with your ambivalence. All your back and forth. If you want me, then I suggest you act upon it now.” Her shoulders drew back, the rounded tops of her bosom bobbing like twin lures. “This is your final chance so make up your dashed mind.”
Already roused from the night’s violence, his primal side reared at the challenge. There was no stopping this. Craving for her saturated him, every muscle throbbing with need. She wanted proof of his desire for her?
So be it.
***
Tremont hauled her into his arms. At last.
Sprawled against his hard thighs, Thea trembled. Finally, she was where she belonged. Where she’d longed to be since their last kiss. He made quick work of the domino, the cocoon of velvet falling from her. His kisses branded her bare throat.
In his arms, she was truly alive. The recognition blazed that no other man could make her feel this way. She wanted him and only him.
“If we do this, we do it my way,” he growled.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I’m not going to take you fully, but I will see to your pleasure. If there’s anything you don’t like, you will tell me to stop. Otherwise, you will do as I say. Are we agreed?”
His masterful tone made her shiver. She dipped her chin.
“I’m not the gentleman people think I am,” he warned her. “I’m no angel.”
“Just as I’m no porcelain doll.” Hesitantly, she said, “Do you truly want me, Tremont?”
“I have never wanted anyone more.” He cupped her cheek, his callused touch sending quivers up her spine. “Ready, princess?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
He claimed her mouth, and heat flared like a symphony, wrapping her in pure sensation. Only his lips existed, their firmness and warmth, the delicious, drugging friction. It was natural to part her own and welcome him deeper inside. Their tongues met in a glissando of delight that spread goose pimples over her skin. The tips of her breasts stiffened to tingling points beneath her bodice.
Seated as she was on Tremont’s lap, she knew the kiss was having a similar effect on him. Through the layers of clothing, she could feel the hard, rampant shape of his manhood. She gave an experimental wriggle, and he groaned.
In the next instant, she found herself lying on her back, her shoulder blades against the velvet squabs. Tremont knelt on the carriage floor, his features austere, his eyes smoldering with possession. The kind of passion she’d dreamed of.
“Beautiful.” His voice had a ragged edge. “You set me afire.”
“You make me feel all awash,” she confessed, reaching to touch his jaw.
He caught her hand. Placed it above her head, wrapping her fingers around something smooth, made of leather… the passenger strap? Turning her head on the cushion, she saw that he’d indeed made her grasp the black loop attached to the wall beneath the window.
“Both hands, love.” He took her other hand and placed it on the strap as well. “I want you to hold on and not let go until I tell you to.”
“But… why?”
“Because it is my wish.” His hands were a cogent argument, coasting along her spine and unfastening, loosening her very moors. “Because I need to know that you trust me.”
She wanted to ask what he meant by the latter, but the question dissolved as his lips traced the curve of her shoulder. Her mind turned hazy as he nuzzled the hollow at the base of her throat. If this is what he wants, she thought languidly, I suppose I’ll just have to suffer…
His kisses roved lower and lower, and she felt a tug on her bodice, exposing her bosom to a man’s eyes for the first time. Hunger was a silver flame in his eyes, and it burned away her modesty and shyness. Time later for maidenly concerns and rational thought.
In this moment, all she wanted was him.
“By God, you are lovely beyond words.” Reverence hummed in his voice.
His thumb circled one nipple, teasing it to an even fuller peak, and her breath hitched. Keep breathing, she reminded herself. You don’t want to miss this. Somehow, she managed to draw air steadily into her lungs. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Her confidence grew as Tremont touched her, telling her how exquisite, how perfectly made he found her.
“Ready for more?” he rasped.
For everything. “Yes. Oh, yes.”
“Then hold on tight to the strap, sweeting. Don’t let go.”
He bent his head, and she gasped, the leather going taut in her hands. The things he was doing with his tongue, his lips… When he licked one of her nipples, then blew softly on it, she felt a quivering tug deep in her center. He drew her into his mouth and suckled, and the sensation spread into her lower belly. Heat liquefied between her legs.
“So sweet and responsive.” His breath brushed warmly against the damp tip, making her shiver. “Do you like this, Thea? Like me petting and kissing you… like this?”
His tongue swirled, and she moaned in answer.
“Do you want more?”
Did she ever. “I want to experience everything. With you.”
He exhaled harshly, and then he was kissing her again. A steamy sharing of lips, tongues, and breaths. Her skirts rustled, his touch gliding up her silk stockings, tracing the skin beneath the garter. When his hand clamped over her bare thigh, a breath whooshed from her.
“All right, princess?” he murmured.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded.
His hand wandered higher. “You like me touching you here… and here?”
Words jammed in her throat for he’d reached the apex of her thighs. He parted her gently, and her cheeks flamed as she realized how damp she’d become. Goodness, was that normal?
“You’re so soft, wet. Like a flower after the rain.” His voice was low and reverent. “You are nature’s perfection.”
Well, then. Reassured by the heated approval in his eyes, she relaxed and let the wondrous sensations wash over her. At the same time, a strange pressure burgeoned in her belly. A tautness that seemed twined with the pleasure, that matched it beat for beat. Her pulse quickened as if she were in a race… for what?
“Tremont,” she said, squirming.
“Gabriel,” he said. “I want to hear you say it.”
He touched a place that wrung his name from her lips, her hips bucking off the cushions.
“And here,” he said huskily, “is the prettiest bud in your garden.”
Incoherent sounds left her as he continued to play with that aching peak, circling, stroking, building the tension inside her. She twisted restlessly against the squabs, brimful of sensation yet oddly empty at the same time. She needed something… more. Something she didn’t have words for.
“Gabriel, please.” She didn’t even know what she was begging for.
His eyes were dark with triumph. His lips closed over hers, the kiss rougher, more forceful than before. She reveled in his possession. Suddenly, she felt a stretching sensation, and then he was touching her… inside. Her breath held, her muscles clenching on unfamiliar fullness.
“Goddamn,
you’re small. Gripping me so tightly.” His chest surged. “Am I hurting you?”
“No.” It wasn’t painful exactly. “It feels… strange.”
“Strange in a bad way?”
“Strange in a strange way. Do it again.”
“Like this?”
This time, the exquisite, filling friction made her back arch. “Yes,” she sighed.
He groaned her name, and his touch changed. His fingers took on a rough, driving rhythm, the lunging cadence shoving the breath from her lungs. It was so good. When his palm met her swollen flesh in a light slap, she whimpered with pleasure. He did it again and again and again. Her head tossed against velvet as the crescendo in her soared…
“Pull on the strap,” he ordered. “Pull hard for me.”
She clutched the leather and yanked. Every part of her tautened, and his fingers thrust deep, a transcendent surge that made stars blur before her eyes. Her hips arched as he filled her completely, his palm grinding wetly against her sensitive bud.
“Come for me now, Thea,” he rasped.
She cried out as she hurtled over the finish line. Voluptuous spasms rippled through her, one after another, strong and unbearably sweet. The tides of bliss rocked her, cleaved her from her old self, and left her shivering with the new discovery.
When she regained her senses, she gazed up at Tremont. For once his expression was unguarded. In his gleaming gaze, she saw her own awe reflected. And the glimmer of something else, too, that might have been… hope.
Chapter Twelve
Gabriel awoke fully alert, a habit from his espionage days. Being groggy could get you killed, and that was no way to start the morning. Lying in the guest bedchamber, the dawn’s light seeping in through a crack in the velvet drapes, he was acutely aware of two facts.
First, he’d brought Thea to climax in the carriage last night, and it had been the hottest, most seductive experience of his life. Her passion had rocked him to the core. She hadn’t been afraid or repulsed by his lovemaking. She was a lady, an innocent, yet she’d wanted him—hell, she’d begged him to give her release. The wanton beauty of her orgasm had stunned him; if they hadn’t arrived back at the Strathaven residence, he’d have dearly loved to give her another.
M Is for Marquess Page 9
