M Is for Marquess

by Grace Callaway

  And Gabriel had helped her discover hers.

  When his mouth remained stubbornly closed, she licked the hard seam. She felt his coiling tension, and sensing her advantage, delicately nipped his firm bottom lip. He shuddered—and then all hell sprung loose.

  One moment Thea was standing against the door, the next she was swung up into Gabriel’s arms. His mouth ravaged hers, and she thrilled in the rough possession. When his tongue plunged with voluptuous force, she opened further, holding nothing back. He tasted of desire, dark and primal, and she couldn’t hold back a whimper of excitement.

  He set her on her feet by the edge of the bed, his gaze glittering in the lamplight. “Do you know what happens to naughty minxes who disobey orders?”

  She didn’t… but she had hopes.

  He sat on the mattress. The hem of his robe stopped beneath his knees, revealing his sleekly bulging calves. With his thighs slightly splayed and his eyes heavy-lidded, he radiated male power. “Take off your clothes,” he said. “Be quick about it.”

  His clipped commands filled her with heady, feminine triumph. She loved this demanding, intense side of him—loved even more that she had the power to bring it out. Following his instruction, she shed her wrapper, letting it pool at her feet. She kicked off her slippers and pulled her nightgown over her head. Her hair fell in a silken curtain to her waist, but she was otherwise laid bare.

  Naked and blushing, she held his gaze.

  He crooked a finger at her. “Come closer.”

  She took the two steps forward into the lee of his thighs. She could smell his clean scent, nothing but soap and male, and her nipples hardened, straining for his touch. Her toes curled in the soft fibers of the bedside rug.

  “Get on your knees, princess.”

  Her startled gaze flew to his; her breath lodged at the wicked challenge she saw there. Her knees trembled so badly that she couldn’t have remained standing even if she wanted to. Uncertain and stimulated, she slowly lowered herself so that she was kneeling at his feet.

  “How lovely you are,” he murmured.

  He, she thought with pulsing arousal, was more along the lines of magnificent. Eye-level with his groin, she couldn’t miss the massive bulge beneath the dark brocade. The words he’d uttered in the library suddenly echoed in her head.

  Today it was my pleasure to see to yours. At a time of my choosing, you will see to mine.

  She moistened her lips. What would it be like to pleasure him in the same manner that he had pleasured her? To kiss his most intimate parts, the way he had done to her?

  She had the shocking, almost overwhelming desire to find out.

  He lifted a lock of her hair and rubbed the glinting strand between thumb and forefinger. “You could be made of spun gold.”

  “But I’m not.” The last thing she wanted to be compared to was a weak, malleable metal. Lifting her chin to look at him, she said, “I’m not delicate. I helped find the blackmail note in Lord Davenport’s desk, remember?”

  “How could I forget? It took years off my life.” he said wryly. “But don’t confuse delicacy with weakness, love. Sometimes the softest things can have the most profound impact.”

  His acknowledgement of her power sent a buzzing thrill through her. As did the way he was stroking the silky length of her hair back and forth against her nipple, titillating the sensitive point. The feather-light sensation caused a hot rush between her legs. She squirmed, pressing her knees together as desire burgeoned.

  Her cheeks flushed. “Please, Gabriel. I can’t stand it.”

  “I like the way you look at me,” he murmured. “With those big hazel eyes of yours. You make me feel as if I’m the most powerful man in the world. As if I could share the darkest corners of my soul with you. As if I’d kill to have you.”

  His words elicited another gush of dew.

  “I like the way you look at me,” she said. “You make me feel as if I’m the most desirable woman in the world. As if I could give you everything you need. As if I’d do anything to please you.”

  They stared at one another, their breaths surging in unison. In that moment, Thea felt something shift between them, as intangible and powerful as an electric current. She saw her own awareness reflected in his stormy eyes.

  “You are the most desirable woman in the world,” he said, “and you’re going to give me everything I need.”

  He shed his robe, tossed it aside. It was the first time she’d seen him completely naked—and the sight made her dizzy with want. His masculinity overwhelmed her, virile strength in every aspect, from the muscled slabs of his chest to the carved ridges on his taut belly. His manhood stood fiercely, hugely erect.

  “Pleasure me, princess.” His words held both a command and a dare.

  Eager yet uncertain exactly how to proceed, she came up on her knees. Ignoring his rampant cock for the moment (not the easiest to do since it clamored for her attention), she ran her palms over his chest, savoring the texture of his satiny skin, the light scratch of bronze hair. He bore a few faint scars, mementos of the life he’d led, and it added to his tough potency, his uniqueness. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to the thin ridge of knitted skin below his right nipple. He made a raspy sound.

  “Does it hurt?” she said in surprise.

  His eyes smoldering, he gave a slow shake of his head.

  Relieved, she continued her exploration. She kissed his flat nipples, guessing from his uneven breaths that he liked it. Her hands smoothed over his leanness, learning his edges, his hidden corners, before arriving at the part of him where desire was not concealed at all.

  Carefully, she wrapped a hand around his bold member. The thick stalk pulsed with life as she caressed it, moving its velvety cover over the rigid core. Remembering what he’d taught her before, she tightened her grip and increased her pace. She heard his quickened respiration; a drop of liquid beaded upon the burgeoned crown of his cock.

  With great daring, she leaned forward and licked it off. His salty clean essence infused her senses. He tasted wild and raw, and she wanted more.

  She lapped at the tip, circling it with her tongue. She heard him groan, and determination filled her to please him, to be everything he wanted. She pressed kisses down the length of his shaft, following a veiny ridge down to the root, where his bollocks hung heavily over the edge of the bed. She gave the dusky sac a tentative lick… and his hand speared into her hair.

  “Enough.” He guided her head up. “We don’t want this over before it’s begun.”

  She looked at him, puzzled.

  He gave a dark chuckle. “My sweet innocent, let me have you the way I want.” With his palm at the back of her skull, he brought her lips back to the blunt head of his rod. “Open your mouth, and take me inside.”

  With sizzling excitement, she followed his instruction. Fitting her lips around the fat dome, she mouthed him and gently sucked. That had an instant effect, his fingers tightening against her scalp, a hiss leaving him.

  “Christ, that’s good.” His eyes were heavy-lidded, his features stark with arousal. “Take me deeper, princess. As deep as you can.”

  Giddy with newfound knowledge, she obeyed. It was thrilling to make love to him this way, to hear his grunted breaths as she tried to take as much of him in her mouth as possible. His dark encouragement inflamed her. Relax your jaw, love. Breathe through your nose. Swallow my cock—God yes, like that…

  Given his size, the task wasn’t easy. When she went too far, she choked, her throat convulsing around his thickness. A groan ripped from Gabriel’s chest.

  An instant later, he dragged her head up, and before she could catch her breath, she was tossed upon the bed, his mouth between her legs. His tongue stabbed deeply into her drenched core. He ravaged her sex, licking, sucking. The storm broke inside her, robbing her of all control.

  She bucked against his mouth, the climax wringing mindless words from her. “I love you, Gabriel.”

  In the next instant, she was
flipped onto her belly, his fingers thrusting into her from behind. The sudden fullness made her gasp, building on the rippling spasms of her orgasm. He penetrated her forcefully, slick hard pumps that sent her soaring toward another peak. He rammed into a place deep inside, and with a startled cry, she went over again. Suffused in bliss, her cheek pressed against the coverlet, she felt his fingers glide along the valley of her bottom, spreading her wetness there.

  She jolted at the thick, weighted slide of his cock along the crevice.

  “So good, princess.” His voice was thick, urgent. “Let me have you this way.”

  Heart pounding, she let her cheek fall back onto the silk. His palms pressed the hills of her bottom together, and her breath hitched at the decadent friction of his erection gliding between. Panting, he began to thrust in a bold rhythm, his hardness rubbing against her delicate tissues, his bollocks slapping against her softness.

  Unbelievably, she felt yet another climax building within her. Her pussy throbbed, his plunges grinding her against the mattress, but not stimulating the place where she needed it most…

  “Touch yourself.” His voice poured over her. “Come for me one more time.”

  It was so easy to obey. Her hand slipping beneath her, she found her pearl, pressing it, letting his rocking motion do the rest. He groaned her name, and she felt the scorching lash of his seed on her back as ecstasy claimed her once more.

  The moist sweep of a towel brought her back to her senses. As he tended to her, she lay there, her body limp with pleasure but her pulse pounding. She hadn’t meant to let slip those words of love, but it was too late to take them back. How would he react to her confession? She felt vulnerable, naked beyond her uncovered skin: it was her heart that she’d bared to him. Their future felt balanced upon his reaction, the next moment.

  He turned her over and tugged her to her feet. Eyes impassive, he brushed his lips over her forehead. She waited, breath held.

  “We’d better get you back to your room,” he said.

  Chapter Thirty

  London was always a hodgepodge of sights, sounds, and smells. Nowhere was this more apparent than the neighborhood in which Tiberius lived. From a tavern window, Gabriel watched the mix of affluence, poverty, and a distinct criminal element jostling together in the streets of Lincoln’s Fields Inn. It was nearing dusk, businessmen and laborers returning home from their day’s work just as pickpockets and thieves began to ply their trade. Already Gabriel had spotted two well-to-do merchants being relieved of their wallets.

  Across the table from him, Pompeia smirked. “Easy pickings if I ever saw. Pigeons like that deserved to be plucked.”

  It was easy to forget that she was a marchioness. A brassy wig, paint, and disreputable gown covered up any glimpse of the fashionable Lady Blackwood. She looked like someone who belonged in this smoky public house filled with the smell of roasting meat, the tables sticky with spilled ale.

  Gabriel himself was also disguised. He’d darkened his hair, donned a moustache. His clothes were the kind one wore to convince a customer that the goods one was pimping were worth the price and wouldn’t give you the pox.

  It was altogether strange to be on a mission with his one-time colleague. He didn’t entirely trust Pompeia, but the enemy of an enemy was a friend. At present, under the guise of pimp and prostitute trolling for the night’s work, he and Pompeia occupied a window seat at the tavern, keeping watch on the second-storey flat across the street. The light in the apartment window, the occasional shadow flitting behind the shade, told them the subject had not yet left the premises.

  “It’s getting late. Why hasn’t Tiberius left?” Pompeia said under her breath.

  An echo of his own thoughts. To lure Tiberius out from his lair, they’d laid out bait. Cicero had sent Tiberius a note, saying they had urgent business to discuss. Gabriel didn’t know what Cicero had planned, but whatever it was, it would be good. More than once, Cicero’s silver tongue had come in handy. Tonight, they were depending on him to keep Tiberius occupied whilst Gabriel and Pompeia performed the search.

  “There’s still time.” Gabriel sipped his ale. It tasted like piss.

  “I have until midnight. Blackwood expects me home when he returns from the club.”

  “How domestic you’ve become.”

  Her eyes had a dangerous spark. “Don’t mock me, Trajan. He’s the only reason I’m here. I couldn’t give a damn about spy business otherwise.”

  “You proved that years ago,” he said coolly. “After all, you jumped ship right before it capsized. With the rest of us in it.”

  “I owed you nothing. I gave years to Octavian, the obsessed bastard, and in return he bled me dry.” To an outsider, Pompeia’s expression was so bland she might have been discussing the quality of the beefsteak. “I wasn’t about to let him take what remained of my soul. You chose to stay—that was your problem, not mine. Don’t lay the consequences of your misguided loyalty at my door.”

  He tore off a chunk of bread. “I wouldn’t expect you to know anything of loyalty.”

  “Because you don’t know me.” Her smile was cold. “Amusing how with all your knowledge and experience you can’t understand the simplest facts. Unlike your little Miss Kent.”

  “Don’t bring her into this.” Warning edged his words.

  He didn’t like her even speaking Thea’s name. For an instant, the memory of Thea’s soft confession and their tempestuous lovemaking blazed; he snuffed it out just as quickly. Later, he would examine the damnable tangle of his feelings. For now, he needed to remain focused and in control. Sentiment had no place in the night’s work.

  Or in your private life, you sod. One torturous marriage wasn’t enough for you?

  “Touchy, are we?” Pompeia’s brows arched. “I don’t blame you. It’s not easy for people like us to fall in love.”

  Why was the world so obsessed with the blasted emotion?

  Before he could tell her to mind her own business, Heath’s disheveled figure emerged from the flat. Finally. Standing on the landing, Heath was dressed in the rough, casual clothes of an artist, his cravat carelessly knotted, his wild black curls completing the Byronic look. Gabriel angled his head away as Heath scanned the street. From the corner of his eye, he saw Heath descend the steps into the street.

  “He’s headed west. On his way to Davenport.” Pompeia’s eyes were razor sharp.

  “Let’s go in,” Gabriel said.

  They exited the tavern, him with swagger and her with a saucy stride that made them blend with the crowd in the street. The cooling night air was a welcome change from the humidity of the tavern. They headed for the alleyway next to Tiberius’ building.

  Kent and McLeod arrived moments later. The pair had been circling the neighborhood in a carriage, keeping an eye on things.

  “Subject’s headed west on Holborn. Hackney,” McLeod said without preamble. “It’ll take him a half-hour just to get to Davenport’s club and back. Depending on how long your friend can hold him up, you’ll have an hour tops.”

  “Let’s not dally,” Pompeia said.

  “We’ll keep watch here.” Kent tapped the whistle he wore around his neck. “I’ll sound a signal if Heath returns.”

  Once the coast was clear, Gabriel led the way up the creaking steps to Heath’s flat. On the landing, Gabriel took out a set of wires and set to work on the lock. Heath being Heath, the mechanism was absurdly complicated but finally yielded with a click.

  He opened the door, motioning for Pompeia to stay behind him. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the gloom—and then pointed to the slightly raised floorboard to the right.

  “Avoid that,” he said.

  “Ah, yes. Tiberius always did like to surprise unwelcome visitors,” she drawled.

  The surprise, as she put it, had tended to take the form of an explosive or other life-threatening device. Heath’s paranoia was trumped only by his creativity. With an eye for his former comrade’s old tricks, Gabriel crept cautiou
sly into the room.

  Pompeia found a lamp, lit it, and set it on the ground to keep the bulk of the light from the windows. It cast shadows over the floor and just enough of a glow to see the chaos of Heath’s apartment. Books, maps, and piles of paper littered most surfaces. The kitchen occupied a far corner, a pyramid of dishes standing precariously on a multipurpose table. In another corner stood an easel, several half-completed canvases lying around it. Finished paintings hung on the wall at crooked angles.

  Gabriel followed a hallway to a single bedchamber. He searched the sleeping pallet, piles of strewn clothing, floorboards. For all that Heath was a man of means, he lived like a resident of Bedlam. Gabriel returned to the main room to find Pompeia gingerly picking through the pile of papers and oddities on Heath’s desk.

  “How the devil are we going to find anything?” Gabriel muttered.

  “I don’t know. But something just moved under here,” she said.

  Rolling up his sleeves, Gabriel dug in. In silence, he and Pompeia methodically searched every filthy nook and cranny of the place… and found nothing.

  “It’s been nearly an hour,” Pompeia said at last. “We don’t have much time left. Do you think it’s possible there’s nothing to find?”

  “We’re missing something.” Gabriel circled the room, trying to see it from Heath’s eyes. “Tiberius always was a clever bastard. If he wanted something hidden, it wouldn’t be easy to find.”

  Pompeia made her own loop around the cluttered chamber. “He’d hide evidence someplace accessible to him but not others. Someplace that might have some meaning to him.” Her eyes narrowed. “Someplace hiding in plain sight…”

  They arrived at the easel at the same time. Gabriel examined the incomplete canvases piled on the floor; the agitated strokes of color could have been the beginnings of a flower field or a nightmare—memories of Normandy blazed through Gabriel’s brain. Perfect, now Heath’s madness was rubbing off on him. Grimly, he lifted the canvases and found nothing hidden behind them.