Sylvia Day - [Georgian 01]
Page 5
“Would you like me to tell you about my marriage bed, Marcus?” she purred. “Would you like to hear the many ways Hawthorne took me? What he liked best, what he craved? Hmmm? Or would you prefer to hear how I like it? How I prefer to be taken?”
Elizabeth strolled toward him with a deliberate sway to her hips that made his mouth dry. In all of his dealings with her she’d never been the sexual aggressor. He was profoundly disturbed at how it aroused him, especially considering the last four years had been spent indulging in liaisons instigated by his lovers and not the reverse.
It didn’t help that his reluctant passion was engaged by her words and the images they evoked. He pictured her face down on the bed, spread and willing as another man thrust into her from behind. His jaw ached from the force with which he clenched it, primitive feelings of claiming and possessing nearly undoing him. Pulling open the flaps of his coat, Marcus revealed the straining length of his cock within his breeches. Her steps faltered and then, with a lift of her chin, she continued toward him.
“I am not an innocent to run screaming at the sight of a man’s desire.” Elizabeth stopped before him and set her hands on either side of his knees. Before him hung the voluptuous swell of her breasts, nearly spilling from the rounded cut of her satin-edged bodice. In evening attire, her bosom was pressed flat by her corset. In day wear, the restriction was far less severe and his gaze was riveted by the bounty displayed for his benefit alone.
Never one to miss an opportunity, Marcus reached up and cupped the upper swell with his hands, gratified to hear the sharp hiss of her breath through her teeth. Her body had changed from the virginal ripeness of a girl to the fully curved figure of a woman. Squeezing and kneading, he stared at the valley between her breasts and imagined thrusting his cock through it. He growled at the thought and looked up at her mouth, watching in an agony of lust as she licked her lower lip.
Then suddenly she straightened, turned her back to him, and reached down to the small table. Before he could order her return, she’d tossed a sealed missive at his chest and walked away. He knew already what he would find inside. Still, he waited for his breathing to slow and his blood to cool before turning his attention to it. He noted the paper, a popular weight and tint he’d seen before.
Breaking open the unmarked seal with care, he scanned the contents. “How long have you had this?” he asked gruffly.
“A few hours.”
Marcus turned the paper over and then lifted his gaze to hers. Elizabeth’s skin was flushed and her eyes glazed, yet her chin was lifted at a determined angle. He frowned and stood. “You weren’t curious enough to open it?”
“I’m aware of what it must say. He is prepared to meet with me and retrieve the book. How he worded the demand doesn’t much matter, does it? Have you perused Hawthorne’s journal since I gave it to you?”
He nodded. “The maps were easy enough. Hawthorne had some detailed drawings of the English and Scottish coasts, as well as some colonial waterways I’m familiar with. But Hawthorne’s code is nigh indecipherable. I was hoping to have more time to study it.”
Refolding the missive, Marcus put it in his pocket. Cryptography was a hobby he’d acquired after Elizabeth’s marriage. The task required intense concentration, which allowed him a brief respite from thoughts of her, a rare gift. “I know this spot he refers to. Avery and I will be close by to protect you.”
Shrugging, she said, “As you wish.”
He stood and stalked over to her. Grabbing her shoulders, he shook her. Hard. “How the hell can you be so bloody calm? Have you any notion of the danger? Or have you no sense at all?”
“What would you have me do?” she snapped. “Fall apart? Cry all over you?”
“A little emotion would be welcome. Something, anything to tell me you have a care for your own safety.” His hands left her shoulders and plunged into her hair, tilting her head to the angle he desired. Then he kissed her as hard as he’d shaken her. He backed her up roughly, forcing her to stumble until he’d pinned her to the wall.
Elizabeth’s nails dug deeply into the skin of his stomach as she clutched at his shirt. Her mouth was open, accepting the thrusts of his tongue. Despite the lack of finesse, she trembled against him, whimpered her distress, and then melted into his embrace. She kissed him back with a frenzy that nearly undid him.
Suddenly unable to breathe, Marcus broke away. His forehead pressed to hers, he groaned his frustration. “Why do you only come alive when I touch you? Don’t you ever tire of the façade you hide behind?”
Her eyes squeezed shut and she turned her face away. “And what of your façade?”
“Jesus, you are stubborn.” Nuzzling against her without gentleness, he rubbed the scent of her onto his damp skin while leaving his own sweat upon her cheek. With a rough and urgent voice he whispered, “I need you to follow my instructions when I give them to you. You must not allow your feelings to interfere.”
“I trust your judgment,” she said.
He stilled, his fists clenching in her hair until she winced. “Do you?”
The air thickened around them.
“Do you?” he asked again.
“What happened . . .” She swallowed hard and her nails dug deeper into his skin. “What happened that night?”
He let out his breath in an audible rush. His entire frame relaxed, the tension of their past releasing its merciless grip. Suddenly exhausted, Marcus realized the cold fury he still carried over the demise of their betrothal was all that had fueled him these many years.
“Sit down.” He pulled away and waited until she crossed over to the settee. Studying her for long moments, he relished the sight of her mussed hair and swollen lips. From the beginning, he’d pursued her with singular attention, stealing her away to quiet corners where he would take her mouth with rushed, desperate kisses, risking scandal for glimpses of the fire Elizabeth hid so well.
Her beauty was simply the wrapping on a complex and fascinating treasure. Her eyes gave her away. In them one could find no trace of a lady’s expected docility or meekness. Instead there were challenges, adventures. Things to be explored and discovered.
He wondered again if Hawthorne had been fortunate enough to see all her facets. Had she melted for him, opened to him, become soft and sated by his lovemaking?
Clenching his jaw, Marcus thrust the torturous thoughts away. “You know of Ashford Shipping?”
“Of course.”
“One year I lost a small fortune to a pirate named Christopher St. John.”
“St. John?” She frowned. “My abigail has mentioned the name. He’s quite popular. Something of a hero, a benefactor of the poor and underprivileged.”
He snorted. “A hero he’s not. The man is a ruthless cutthroat. He was the reason I first approached Lord Eldridge. I demanded St. John be dealt with. Eldridge offered instead to train me to manage the pirate myself.” His lips curved wryly. “The prospect of exacting my own retribution was irresistible.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Of course. A normal life is so dreadfully boring after all.”
“Some tasks require personal attention.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Marcus enjoyed this opportunity to have her undivided attention. The simple act of conversing with her was a pleasure he relished, regardless of her scornful remarks. He’d been fawned over and catered to his entire life. Elizabeth’s refusal to treat him as anything other than an ordinary man was one of the traits he found most attractive in her.
“I will never understand the appeal of a dangerous life, Marcus. I want peace and quiet in my life.”
“Understandable, considering the family in which you were raised. You’ve had no structure, left to do as you wished by male family members too preoccupied with the pursuit of pleasure to see to you.”
“You know me so well,” she said scathingly.
“I have always known you well.”
“Then you admit how poorly we would have suited.”
She dismissed the topic with a wave of her hand. “About that night . . .”
He watched her chin lift, as if she awaited a punishing blow, and he sighed. “I learned of a man who offered potentially damning information about St. John. We agreed to meet at the wharf. In return for his assistance the informant had one request in return. His wife was with child and knew nothing of the activities he’d engaged in to provide for her. He asked me to see to her welfare should anything untoward befall him.”
“That was his wife in the robe?” Her eyes widened.
“Yes. In the midst of the meeting we were attacked. The sounds of a scuffle drew her attention and she came closer to investigate, into harm’s way. She was thrown into the water and I leapt after her. Her husband was shot and killed.”
“You did not bed her.” It was a statement, no longer a question.
“Of course not,” he answered simply. “But we both were covered in filth. I brought her to my home to bathe while I made arrangements for her.”
Elizabeth stood and began to pace, her hands clenching rhythmically in the folds of her gown. “I suppose I have always known.”
A humorless laugh broke from his throat. Marcus waited for her to say something further, wondering at his sanity in wanting her still. He’d long suspected his imagined infidelity was merely the excuse she’d sought to sever their ties. To his mind, this afternoon only proved that to be true. She did not run into his arms and beg his forgiveness. She did not ask for a second chance or make any attempt to reconcile, and her silence infuriated him to the point where he wished to do violence.
His hands clenched into fists as he fought the urge to grab her and tear her clothes from her skin, to press her to the floor and plunge his cock into her, making it impossible for her to disregard him. It was the one and only way he knew he could penetrate her protective shell.
But his pride would not allow him to reveal his pain. He would, however, effect some change in her, a tiny crack in her reserve at least.
“I was as stunned as you when she entered, Elizabeth. She assumed you were the woman assigned to care for her. There was no way for her to know that my betrothed would visit at such an hour.”
“Her dishabille . . .”
“Her garments were soaked. She had nothing aside from the robe lent to her by my housekeeper.”
“You should have followed me,” she said in a low, angry tone.
“I attempted to. It took me a moment, I admit, to recover from your slap to my face. You were too quick. By the time the widow was settled and I was free to come for you, you had departed with Hawthorne.”
Elizabeth stopped her fevered pacing, her skirts settling slowly as she stilled. Her head turned, revealing eyes that hid far too much from him. “Do you hate me?”
“Occasionally.” He shrugged to hide the true depth of his bitterness, a bitterness that gnawed at him from the inside and tainted everything in his life.
“You want revenge,” she stated without inflection.
“That is the least of it. I want answers. Why the elopement with Hawthorne? Do the feelings you have for me scare you that much?”
“Perhaps he was always an option.”
“I refuse to believe that.”
Her lush mouth curved grimly. “Does the possibility prick your ego?”
He snorted. “Play whatever game you like. You may hate wanting me, but you do want me.”
Moving toward her, Marcus was stopped by her outstretched hand. She appeared calm, but her fingers shook badly. Her arm dropped.
There was far more to their differences than he’d yet discerned. They were strangers, bound by an attraction that defied all reason. But he would learn the truth. Despite his fear that she would elude him again, his need for her outweighed his instinct for self-preservation.
She’d asked if he hated her. At moments like this, he did. He hated her for making him care, hated her for remaining so beautiful and desirable, hated her for being the only woman he had ever wanted in this manner.
“Do you remember your first Season?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“Of course.”
He walked to the intricately carved sideboard and poured a small libation. It was too early for alcohol, but at the moment, he didn’t care. He felt cold inside and as the fiery beverage splashed down his throat he relished the warmth it brought.
Finding a bride had not been his aim that year or any year thereafter. He’d made it a point to avoid debutantes and their marriage machinations, but one look at Elizabeth and his intentions had changed.
He’d arranged an introduction and she’d impressed him with a confidence that belied her age. Securing permission to dance with her, he’d been delighted when she accepted despite his reputation. The simple contact of her gloved hand on his elicited a powerful sexual awareness, one he had never experienced before or since.
“You impressed me from the first, Elizabeth.” Staring at his empty glass, he rolled it back and forth restlessly between his palms. “You didn’t stammer or look faint when I was overbold with you. Rather you teased me and had the temerity to scold me as well. You shocked me so deeply the first time you swore at me I missed a step. Do you remember?”
Her voice was soft as it floated across the room. “How could I forget?”
“You scandalized every matron there by making me laugh aloud.”
After that memorable first dance, he’d made it a point to attend the same events she did, which sometimes necessitated stopping at several houses before finding her. Society dictated that he could claim only one dance per evening and every moment spent with her had to be chaperoned, but despite these restrictions they’d discovered a mutual affinity. He was never bored with her, was instead endlessly fascinated.
Elizabeth was genuinely kind but had a quick temper that rose in an instant and dissipated as rapidly. She had in abundance all of the things that made a girl a woman but retained a childishness that could be at once endearing and frustrating. He admired her strength, but it was the fleeting glimpses of vulnerability that pushed him far past infatuation. He longed to protect her from the world at large, to shelter her and keep her all to himself.
And despite the years and the misunderstandings between them he still felt that way.
Marcus cursed under his breath and then jumped as her hand touched his shoulder.
“I know your thoughts,” she whispered. “But it can never be that way again.”
His laugh was harsh. “I’ve no desire to have it that way a second time. I want simply to be rid of the craving I have for you. You won’t suffer in the slaking, I can promise you that.”
Turning, he stared into her upturned face, seeing the violet eyes so unfathomable and sad. Her lower lip quivered and he stilled the betraying movement with a soft stroke of his thumb.
“I must go and make preparations for the meeting tomorrow.” He cupped her flushed cheek and then lowered his hand to her breast. “I will speak with the outriders Avery assigned to you. They’ll follow at a discreet distance. Wear neutral colors. No jewelry. Sturdy shoes.”
Elizabeth nodded and held still as a statue as he lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers. Only the racing of her heart beneath his palm told him how he affected her. He closed his eyes at the painful tightening of his loins and chest. He’d give up his fortune to be rid of this longing.
Sick with self-disgust he stepped past her and departed, hating the hours between now and the moment when he could see her again.
Chapter 5
Marcus stared through the cover of bushes, his jaw clenching as a droplet of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. Elizabeth stood a few feet away in the clearing with her husband’s journal clutched tightly in her tiny hands. The grass beneath her feet was trampled by her pacing, releasing the scent of spring into the air, but it didn’t soothe him as it normally would.
He hated this. Hated leaving her out there,
exposed to whoever it was that wanted Hawthorne’s book. She shifted nervously from one foot to the other and he longed to go to her, longed to soothe her and take the burden of waiting from her slight shoulders onto his own.
He’d had precious little time to prepare. Surrounded by trees, the specified location made surveillance frustratingly difficult. There were too many places to hide. Avery and the outriders, who stood nearby watching the worn paths that led to the meeting place, were completely undetectable to him. He couldn’t signal them, nor they him, and he felt helpless. Waiting patiently was not in his nature and he gripped the hilt of his small sword with barely restrained ferocity. What in hell was taking so damn long?
This mission was the most important of any he’d previously been assigned to; it required the presence of mind and unflappable calm that marked all of his dealings. But to his dismay, he was as far from level-headedness as he’d ever been in his life. Failure was never an option, but this . . . this was Elizabeth.
As if she sensed his turmoil, she glanced around furtively, searching for him. She chewed her bottom lip between her teeth and his breath caught in his throat as he watched her. It had been so long since he’d had the opportunity to study her at his leisure. He drank her in, every detail, from the uplifted chin that defied the world, to the restless way she shifted the journal. A slight breeze ruffled the curls at her nape, revealing the slender white column of her throat. Distracted momentarily by her courage and the fierce protectiveness it engendered, Marcus failed to see the dark-clad body dropping from the tree until it was too late. He leapt to his feet as the realization hit, his blood roaring so loudly he could scarcely hear past it.
Elizabeth was knocked to the ground, the book flying from her hands to land a few feet away. She cried out, the startled sound cut short by the crushing weight of the man atop her.