How to Impress a Marquess

by Susanna Ives

  At dinner, his mother tried to launch into her tired “ladies in my day” conversation when Lilith cut her off and directly asked the Duke of Cliven, the most powerful man at the table, to tell her about the grand tour of his youth. She laughed at his tales, gently encouraging others to share their travel stories. Now that he knew more of her agile mind, George watched her work in awe. She deftly controlled the conversational current by encouraging everyone to talk. She added little except to smile and praise the words of others, helping them to relax and enjoy themselves. It was masterful diplomatic maneuvering that no book of etiquette could teach.

  She turned her head and caught him watching. She hiked the edge of her lip and subtly glanced down. He followed her line of vision to see her spoon atop her knife. Meet me later.

  However, after the men had hurriedly finished their port, they returned to the drawing room for an evening of cards only to find Lilith missing.

  “Such a shame,” Lady Marylewick said. “She had another one of those headaches that have been plaguing her. Poor thing. We shall miss her.”

  Eighteen

  With Lilith gone, the other guests wandered off after a few hands. George, stuck in the role of host, had to listen to Lord Harrowsby’s diatribe on patent medicine and healers for hours over whist. At one in the morning, the last guest mercifully went to bed. George headed to his study for quiet and a glass of brandy.

  A low fire burned in the grate, folded blankets rested on chairs, fluffed pillows lay on the sofa. A refreshed decanter and clean glass waited by a lamp that was recently filled and lit. These attentive touches did little to combat George’s hollow listlessness.

  Even after the horrible episode before luncheon, he couldn’t deny the red-hot anticipation he felt when he thought she was signaling with her spoon and knife to meet her. Then she disappeared, sinking him into a dingy brown despondency.

  He reached for a letter from an elderly female relation, forcing himself to get Lilith out of his mind. He heard the quiet grind of a turning knob and lifted his eyes, expecting a servant, but instead Lilith stood in the doorway.

  She wore a black coat decorated with glass beads, black lace boots, and a blue hat dominated by a brilliant ostrich feather. She concealed her hands behind her back.

  Whatever misadventure she was proposing, he should adamantly refuse. But he couldn’t deny her anything, especially after this afternoon’s embarrassing episode. He rose, launching into his apology. “Miss Dahlgren, I want to apologize for my ungentlemanly behavior with regards to the, um, inappropriate sketch.”

  She said nothing, only watched him, an odd glitter in her eye. She uncharacteristically chewed the edge of her lip.

  “As your trustee, I have broken a bond of trust between us,” he continued. “But…but dammit, Lilith—” He flung up his arms. “After all we’ve done, you have to know that…that…” He couldn’t finish.

  She remained annoyingly quiet, swaying slightly on her feet.

  He smoothed his waistcoat and straightened his tie in an effort to compose himself again. “You’re a beautiful woman and I’m a man of natural lusty needs. Yes, I admit, I desire you.” He raised a finger in check. “But I will not act upon these desires in any capacity. You can trust me.”

  Finally she spoke. “So I’m safe around you?”

  “Yes. Please forgive any dishonorable behavior toward you. I am humbly sorry.”

  “Oh.” She gazed down, continuing to chew on her lips. “I’m afraid I cannot easily forgive.” He could scarcely hear her quiet words. “I’m quite upset and it will take a great deal more than mere words to make amends.”

  “I’m sorry. What can I do? Tell me.”

  “You can draw.” She brought forward the paper and sharpened pencils she had hidden behind her back.

  He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Please,” he said. “Ask me something else. Just not that. Not now.”

  “You don’t understand.” She set the paper and pencil on the table beside the chair. “You…”

  She didn’t finish, but stared at him with beseeching eyes. What did she want? What was she trying to say?

  Her hand slowly rose, past her bosom to her top coat button. She undid it. No gown or that familiar blue robe waited beneath, only luscious skin.

  “Don’t!” he cried, realizing her game too late. But the second button had been undone and the garment fell away, exposing her bare body.

  Her loveliness hit him like a punch to his chest. He couldn’t breathe but only stare as the firelight danced on her lush curves. “Good God, Lilith,” he finally managed.

  He had envisioned her all incorrectly. Her breasts were far rounder than he had drawn them and tipped with pale rose nipples. Her stomach tapered, further accenting her breasts and the generous swell of her thighs. The fire drew out the coppery tones in the auburn curls about her sex.

  Her chest rose and fell with nervous breaths as she watched him studying her. Her arms edged up instinctively to cover herself, but she forced them down again. “Draw me.” Her voice quaked.

  “Please don’t do this.” He reached for her coat, offering it to her. “Please.”

  “But you said I could trust you.”

  He gave a rueful chuckle. “I might have lied to myself and you on that account,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize you were going to be the most ravishing lady I have ever beheld. Foolish of me, I know.”

  She drew the coat from his hands, only to let it fall to the floor once more. Stepping closer, her nipples grazed his chest. Her vanilla scent exploded in his mind, burning away any rational thoughts.

  “Please have mercy, woman,” he cried through his clenched teeth. He tried not to glance at her body, but good God, she was magnificent.

  “I’ve never been truly naked before a man,” she said quietly. “You are the first one. I’ve come this far. Don’t turn me away. Draw me. Please.”

  He was unable to muster even a weak “no” to the raw vulnerability and longing in her eyes. Words like “duty,” “trust,” “responsibility,” “inappropriate” shouted in his mind. He knew what he was doing was wrong. But he was going to do it anyway.

  He reached up and removed her hat, letting her luscious tresses tumble down, down, down around her breasts as she watched his face. “Every day I secretly watch you, trying to capture your picture in my head,” he whispered. “The essence of you. But you are never still long enough. You keep changing, like light striking an exquisite diamond, sparking the different facets.”

  “I shall be still for you, then.”

  His fingers trembled as he combed the glossy fibers of her hair. “How shall I pose a goddess? How shall she catch the light?”

  The first choice of the sofa was too obvious. The flat, blackened leather would overwhelm her delicate coloring and curves. Then the image arose in his mind. He began violently yanking away pillows from the sofas and chairs, pilling them on the carpet before the fire. He then spilled a crimson blanket over them.

  “Come.” He patted a cushion. His hand shook as he lowered her, as if she were the most delicate thing he’d ever held. “Lie along the cushions so the gold light bathes your body.” She tried to follow his dictates, but couldn’t replicate the vision in his head. He wanted the light to illuminate her belly and peaks of her breasts and shine in her chocolate eyes but keep the rest of her body in the shadows. “Please, may I touch you?”

  “Of course.” She smiled.

  He tried to ignore the hot electricity that ran from where his hand touched her smooth skin, burning a blaze down his arm, through his chest, down to his cock. He drew deep breaths, trying to keep his arousal in check.

  He rested her shoulder flat against the cushion, drawing her hand between her breasts, gently curling the fingers as in repose and careful not to accidentally brush her nipples. The other hand he rested beneath her m
outh, touching her lips.

  “I’m going to remove your boots. I really think their blackness will put too much weight on the right side.”

  She laughed. “Of course, I meant to do that.”

  His trembling fingers struggled with the simple laces as he forced himself not to glance up to the deep red of her sex. But when he bent her leg to pose it, he caught a flickering glimpse of the peak of her clitoris peeking through her curls. Good God! It was more than he could handle. He had to step away for a moment.

  “Are you well?”

  “Yes, very. Just having my, uh, usual masculine ailment when I’m around you. I’m as hard as a blacksmith’s hammer.”

  Her bubbly laughter was that of a mischievous imp on a wild adventure. It disarmed him, releasing his tension, and he found himself joining in.

  He bunched the blanket around her, careful not to touch her intimate places. “Are you warm enough? Shall I stoke the fire?”

  “I am fine.” Her tender smile undid him. He could only stare, overcome by the exquisite image she made. The shimmer of wetness on her lips, the light from the fire casting her breasts, belly button, thighs in luscious gold tones as her hypnotic eyes pierced through the darkness.

  “Don’t move. Stay like that. Where is that paper?”

  She started to point. “It’s over by the—”

  “No! Don’t move!” He caught himself. “I mean, please don’t move.”

  He snatched up the page and paced about his bookshelves, yanking out a large atlas. He drew up a chair and then studied her. How could he begin? How did he capture that ethereal, lovely energy that enwrapped her? He wasn’t good enough.

  “Come, George, don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “Draw.”

  He released a stream of breath and drew a single line—the rise to the peak of her breast. Then another line sloping down her rib cage to the gentle concave of her belly. Then another line and another. He felt confined, his clothes constraining him. He feverishly tore off his coat and waistcoat and then yanked away his collar and tie. He grabbed his pencil again and began the extension of her legs. “You are lovely,” he said, not thinking, the words streaming out. “My God, you are more than lovely. I don’t have words to say it. Spirit-lifting gold, mysterious deep red, and the purity of white.”

  “You are quite beautiful too.”

  “Hush, you are the work of art and I the mere artist who can only capture a shadow of your brilliance.”

  “Spoken like a true, anguished artist.”

  He didn’t object—how could he—as he struggled to capture the gentle line of her jaw and contours of her hair. He needed to get the preliminary lighter strokes done to make sure he had her dimensions correct before he began shading.

  “You look so happy,” she said.

  “Shocking how a nude woman can cheer a man,” he quipped dryly. He couldn’t admit how fearful yet elated he felt in his heart, like a child finally freed to run wild outside after watching from the windows for weeks. Or was it years? Perhaps a near lifetime?

  “I mean when you’re drawing,” she clarified. “Don’t deny that it makes you feel alive. That this is your passion. Be truthful. I’ve taken off my clothes for you, after all.”

  He slowly raised his head. He couldn’t deny her the truth. She deserved it no matter the painful memories of lashings and self-loathing he had to rise above to tell her.

  “Yes,” he said quietly, holding her gaze. “Thank you, Lilith. Thank you.”

  * * *

  The truth in his voice undid her more than the way his eyes studied her body. She could hide nothing from him, but let his eyes have their way with her, teasing her breasts, caressing her thighs, and examining her face. Could he tell she was throbbing inside, that her folds had swollen with aching yearning? Her heart swelled with a sweet, pure love for him.

  As she watched him sketch with feverish joy, she realized that this drawing wasn’t enough. He may capture her on paper, but she had not captured him. The artist remained elusive to her. She wanted to know the passion and vision that drove him, not with her mind and eyes, but with her body. She wanted that beauty inside of her.

  She wanted him inside of her.

  The realization frightened and exhilarated her. Did she come here tonight to let him draw her or make love to her? Somehow these didn’t feel like two disparate questions, but the same. She came here to know his truth. To love all aspects of him.

  She had never loved a man so profoundly. Even though he could never love her with equivalent depth and dimension, even though her love had no future but pain, could she leave Tyburn without fully experiencing it?

  She eyed her coat lying on the floor. Should she slink away before she completely destroyed her heart? Or was this her only chance to know such an ethereal love?

  “Are you cold?” he asked. She realized he knew every twitch of her body and motion of her eye. He rose only to kneel before her. “I’ve finished your chest and hips, as best I can. You are too magnificent for my meager talent.”

  “Hush.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. He kissed them.

  “Lilith,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against her fingers. “We must be careful.” The pleasure on his face and the bristle and silk of his skin drove her desire higher.

  She didn’t want to be careful but reckless. To love him so fully and purely in this one night that it would justify all the pain of parting.

  And they would part.

  He edged away as if afraid to touch her again, and carefully nestled the blanket to cover most of her body, except her calves and feet. “There, are you warm enough now, dearest?”

  Her throat tightened as if she might cry. There was nothing sad about the moment except something in his caring voice that hurt her deeply. Suddenly she didn’t want him to draw now but to hold her and whisper things such as not to be afraid of the dark and to tell her that he would stay beside her until she fell asleep.

  He returned to his page. She didn’t like being covered. She liked being bared before him. “I’m a little too warm now,” she said and flung off the blanket.

  He continued to sketch, his handsome face drawn in concentration, until he finally threw down his pencil. “Enough!” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You’re stunning and I can only create rubbish. You defeat me.”

  “No!” She came to her feet, not bothering to cover herself. What had she to hide from him now?

  He bowed his head, refusing to look at his creation. She peered at herself staring back from the paper. He had posed her so that her breasts formed peaks illuminated by the firelight; her leg, slightly raised and resting on the other, drew the viewer’s eye into the valley of her sex. His desire bled through in lights and shadows contouring her body. Yet her eyes carried none of the sensuality evident in the rest of the image. Large and black with points of light, they dominated the drawing. Tenderness imbued them. And love. Did he see it too? Was she that transparent?

  Tears rolled down her face. “You are brilliant. See the primal and sensual juxtaposing with the gentle compassion? She’s a nurturing lover. But…is she me?”

  “She is how I see you tonight.” He wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs.

  “I wish I could look inside your beautiful mind. I wish I could view the world the way you do.”

  “You overestimate the contents of my poor m—”

  She placed her mouth on his. He couldn’t destroy the lovely moment with deprecating words that weren’t true. She released the sketch, letting it float safely away as her tongue slid along his and she felt his body harden with yearning. Her hand drifted down, exploring the rise of his chest to the firm plane of his belly and then to where his sex pushed against his trousers. “Let me recompense you,” she said. “For your art.” He groaned through their kiss. She let her fingers gingerly trace the
bulge before sliding them into his waistband to find the buttons.

  He tore away from their kiss, clamping his strong hand atop hers. His chest heaved with labored breath. “Please, woman,” he said, low and hoarse. “I’m too weak to deny you as I should. You owe me nothing. ”

  But she’d made her choice. Other women wanted a ring, husband, wedding night; she wanted pure beauty and truth—these rare things trembling between them. They might never come again.

  “‘O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine!’” she quoted Keats.“‘Withhold no atom’s atom or I die.’”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking of me. You’re not…ahhh.” His trousers fell away and his cock thrust up, rigid and wide. For a moment, she just took him in, letting her fingers gingerly explore, learning his contours. Slowly she caressed him, all the while watching his face. His eyes were closed, mouth opened in pleasure. “What we’re doing is wrong,” he said in a low rush of breath.

  “Hush, my handsome lover.”

  He leaned forward, his mouth roughly taking her breast, letting his tongue flick across the top. The surge of pleasure caused her to halt in her work, his magic paralyzing her body. She felt another hand slide between her wet, swollen folds and a finger slide inside of her. She released a high whimper.

  “Dear God, Lilith,” he whispered over her breast.

  What had been a dull, aching throb turned acute. She pushed against him, thrusting her nipple deeper into his mouth, pleading for more of his magic. Her entire body seemed to balance on his finger as it delved into her. She arched her back and made a strangled cry. “I want to feel you inside me.”

  She toppled him to the floor beside his sketch. Now he lay before her. He was too powerful, too big. She didn’t know what to do.

  Her only knowledge came from silly illicit books circulating at school and from what Frances had told her. But nothing could prepare her for this.

  She tentatively, cautiously straddled her legs over his sex. “I want you to show me how to love you.”

  “I can’t resist you. Don’t do this. I beg you.”