by Ask For It
With a low growl of fury, Marcus lunged over the bushes and tackled the assailant away from her, his fists striking before they rolled to a halt. A quick blow to the man’s masked face subdued him and Marcus continued pummeling him with punishing blows, his rage such that he couldn’t think beyond the instinct to kill anyone who threatened Elizabeth. He fought like a man possessed, snarling with the need to ease the fear that gripped him.
Elizabeth lay immobile, her mouth agape. She’d known Marcus was a physically powerful man, but he had always controlled himself with a confident air of self-mastery. She had romanticized him in her thoughts, imagining the self-assured rogue brandishing a sword or a pistol with careless arrogance, taunting his opponents with a few cutting remarks before making quick work of the matter with nary a bead of sweat on him. Her imagination had not pictured the Marcus before her—a vengeful beast, easily able to kill a man with his bare hands and at this moment quite willing to do so.
She scrambled to her feet, eyes wide, as he wrapped his hands around the man’s throat, a man who was their only clue to the importance of Nigel’s book. “No! Don’t kill him!”
Marcus loosened his grip at the sound of Elizabeth’s voice, the haze of bloodlust retreating. With amazing strength after such a beating, the assailant bucked upward, effectively garnering his release by throwing Marcus to his back.
Rolling quickly to his stomach, Marcus pushed himself up, prepared to fight, but the attacker scooped up the book and fled.
There was the barest glint of sunlight off the muzzle of a gun as the fleeing man turned and took aim, but it was warning enough. Marcus rose from the ground, his only goal to reach Elizabeth and shield her from harm. But he couldn’t move fast enough. The report of the pistol bounced off the trees around them. He yelled a warning and turned, his heart stopping at the sight that greeted him.
Elizabeth stood by her mount, her hair in disarray about her shoulders. In her outstretched hands was the smoking muzzle of a gun.
Realizing where the shot originated, he turned his head and watched in confounded wonder as the assailant stumbled to his feet from where he’d fallen, his dropped gun skittering away across the dewy grass. The man’s left hand was limp, the red journal abandoned, while his right hand pressed against a wound to his shoulder. Swearing, he ducked between two bushes and disappeared into the trees.
Stunned by the series of events, Marcus was startled as Avery ran past him in pursuit.
“Bloody everlasting hell,” he snapped, furious at himself for allowing the situation to go so awry.
Elizabeth took his arm, her voice shaky and urgent. “Are you hurt?” Her free hand drifted over his torso.
His eyes widened at her obvious concern.
“Damn you, Marcus. Are you injured? Did he hurt you?”
“No, no, I’m fine. What the devil are you doing with that?” He stared, dazed by the sight of the pistol she held at her side.
“Saving your life.” Her hand to her heart, she released her breath in a rush and then walked to the fallen journal to retrieve it. “You may thank me when you recover your wits.”
Marcus sat silently in the sitting room of his London townhouse. Divested of his coat and waistcoat, he lounged with his feet propped up on the table, and watched the play of light from the window behind him as it moved through the brandy in his snifter.
To say the morning had been a disaster would be an understatement, and yet Elizabeth had retained the book and wounded her attacker. Marcus was not surprised. His friendship with William had given him rare insight.
Her mother lost to illness, Elizabeth had been raised by a father and older brother who were both notorious voluptuaries. Governesses never lasted long, finding the young Elizabeth to be incorrigible. Without the calming influence of a woman in the house, she’d been allowed to run wild.
As children, William had taken his sister with him everywhere—galloping neck-or-nothing through the fields, climbing trees, shooting pistols. Elizabeth had been blissfully unaware of the societal rules women were expected to follow until introduced to them at boarding school. Years of rigorous training in deportment had given her the tools she used to hide herself from him, but he paid them no mind. He would know her, all of her.
The mystery of the book was proving to be far more dangerous than any of them had previously realized. Steps had to be taken to ensure Elizabeth was kept safe.
“Thank you for allowing me to repair myself here,” Elizabeth said softly from the doorway that led to the bedroom.
She’d used the room that was meant to be hers—that of the lady of the house. Turning to face her, he saw her staring down at her clasped hands. “William would have known something was amiss if I’d returned home looking a mess.”
Marcus studied her, noting the dark circles that rimmed her eyes. Was she having trouble sleeping? Was he tormenting her dreams the way she tormented his?
“Is your family not in residence?” she asked, looking about as if she could find them. “Lady Westfield? Paul and Robert?”
“My mother writes that Robert’s latest experiment is delaying their arrival. So that leaves you and me quite alone.”
“Oh.” She bit her lower lip.
“Elizabeth, this matter has become extremely dangerous. Once the man who attacked you recovers, he will come after you again. If he has associates, they won’t wait.”
She nodded. “I’m aware of the situation. I will be on my guard.”
“That’s insufficient. I want you to be guarded night and day, not just outriders when you go out. I want someone with you at all times, even when you sleep.”
“Impossible. William will grow suspicious if I have guards at the house.”
Marcus set the glass down. “William is more than capable of making his own decisions. Why don’t you allow him to decide if he can be of assistance to you?”
She rested her hands on her hips. “Because I have made the decision. He is finally free of that damned agency. His wife is with child. I refuse to risk his life and Margaret’s happiness for nothing.”
“You are not nothing,” he growled.
“Consider what happened today.”
He stood. “I cannot stop considering it. It rules my thoughts.”
“You were almost killed.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I was there . . .” Her voice broke and turning on her heel, she strode toward the door.
He moved swiftly to block her egress. “I’ve not finished speaking, madam.”
“I am finished listening.” She attempted to step around him, but he sidestepped quickly into her path. “Damn you. You are so bloody arrogant.”
She poked him in the chest with her finger and he stilled the movement with his hand. It was then he noticed her trembling.
“Elizabeth . . .”
She stared up at him, so tiny and delicate, yet formidable in her fury. The thought of her injured made his stomach clench. Deep in her eyes, he saw fear and his heart went out to her.
“Spitfire,” he murmured, pulling her toward him. His fingertips tingled from the touch of her ungloved hand. Her skin was so soft, like satin. His thumb brushed over the pulse at her wrist and it leapt to match his own quickened heartbeat. “You were so brave today.”
“Your charm won’t work on me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He tugged her closer.
She snorted. “Despite everything I say, you still insist on attempting to seduce me.”
“Merely attempting? Not succeeding?” He laced his fingers with hers and found her hand cold. “I must try harder then.”
Violet eyes glittered dangerously, but then he’d always liked a bit of danger. At least she was not thinking about the assailant anymore. Her hand was quickly warming within his. He intended to warm the rest of her as well.
“You are trying quite hard enough.” Elizabeth took a step back.
He followed, directing her backward steps toward his bedroom, which waited on the other
side of the private sitting room.
“Have women always fallen all over themselves for you?”
Arching a brow, he replied, “I’m not certain how I should answer that.”
“Try the truth.”
“Then yes, they have.”
She scowled.
He laughed and squeezed her fingers. “Ah . . . Jealousy was always the emotion most easily inspired in you.”
“I am not jealous. Other women can have you with my blessing.”
“Not yet.” He smiled when her scowl deepened. Stepping nearer, he slipped their joined hands around her back and tugged her to him.
Her gaze narrowed. “What are you about?”
“I’m distracting you. You are overwrought.”
“I am not.”
Her lips parted as his head lowered. He smelled gunpowder and her heady vanilla rose scent beneath that. Her palm grew damp within his and he nuzzled his nose against hers.
“You were magnificent this afternoon.” He brushed his mouth across hers and felt her sigh against his lips. He nibbled gently. “Although it disturbs you to have shot a man, you don’t regret it. You would do it again. For me.”
“Marcus . . .”
He groaned, lost in the sound of her voice and the sweetness of her taste. His entire body was hard and aching from holding her so closely. “Yes, love?”
“I don’t want you,” she said.
“You will.” He sealed his mouth over hers.
Elizabeth sank into Marcus’s hard chest with a sob. It was not fair that he could overwhelm her—by touching her, caressing her, seducing her with his low, velvety voice and rich masculine scent. His emerald gaze burned, half-lidded with a desire she’d done nothing to arouse.
Against her will, her hands slipped around his lean waist and caressed the powerful length of his back. “You’re horrid to be so tender.”
His sweat-misted forehead rested against hers. He groaned, his fingers slipping under the long hem of her riding jacket. “You’re wearing too many damned clothes.”
He took her mouth again, his tongue caressing with lush, deep licks. Lost in his kiss, she didn’t realize he’d lifted and moved her until he kicked the door to his bedroom closed behind them, shutting them away from the world.
Protesting, she attempted to pull away. Then his hand cupped the curve of her breast, bringing aching pleasure even through the barrier of her garments. She moaned into his mouth and he tilted his head in response, deepening an already drowning kiss.
Elizabeth stood rigid, her arms at her sides, her thoughts warring with the dictates of her body. Her blood was on fire, her skin hot and painfully tight.
“I want you.” His voice was a rough-edged caress. “I want to bury myself inside you until we forget ourselves.”
“I don’t want to forget.”
His tone deepened. “I must think of this mission and the events that took place today, but I cannot. Because all I can think of is you. There isn’t room for anything else.”
Placing her fingers over his lips, Elizabeth silenced the seductive words that should have sounded practiced and confident, but didn’t.
He tossed the counterpane back, revealing decadent silk sheets. With soft, tender kisses, he attempted to distract her from his fingers, which worked with deft skill to free the row of buttons that barred him from her skin. Slipping his hands under the open flaps, he pushed the jacket to the floor. She shivered even though she was flushed and he crushed her to his chest.
“Hush,” he murmured against her forehead. “It’s just you and me. Leave your father and Eldridge out of our bed.”
She buried her face in the linen of his shirt and breathed him in. “I hate it when you leave me no privacy at all.”
Turning her head to rest her cheek against his chest, Elizabeth took a shuddering breath. The bed was massive, easily big enough to sleep four large men side by side with room to spare. It waited . . . for them.
“Look at me.”
Her gaze found his again, discovering a deep needy emerald hunger. Her lips quivered softly and Marcus leaned over, brushing his mouth across hers. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.
Remaining in a bedroom with him was the worst sort of danger. Far more dangerous than the attacker in the park. That man struck swiftly, like a viper. Marcus was more of a python. He would wrap himself around her and squeeze the life from her slowly until nothing of her independence remained.
“I’m not afraid.” She shoved him backward as her stomach clenched tight. Caring nothing for her jacket, longing only to be away from him, she walked quickly to the door. “I am leaving.”
Escape was seconds away when he grabbed her roughly and threw her face down upon the bed. “What are you doing?” she cried.
Marcus held her down, his grip tight as he bound her hands together with his cravat. “You would leave here half-dressed,” he growled, “in your eagerness to put distance between us. This fear you have of me must be banished. You have to trust me implicitly, in every way, without question or you could be killed.”
“This is the way you win trust?” she snapped. “By holding me against my will?”
He came over her, his knees straddling her hips, his large body caging hers to the bed. His teeth nipped her ear and his voice, low and angry, made her shiver all over. “I should have done this years ago. But I was lost in your charms and failed to see the signs. Even until this moment, I thought you so skittish that a gentle hand was necessary not to frighten you. Now I realize you need a good, hard riding to be broken properly.”
“Bastard!” Heart pounding, Elizabeth struggled beneath him. In response he sat on her, effectively crushing her protest.
Nimble fingers tugged at the fastenings to her skirts and bustle. Then his weight left her. Standing at the edge of the bed, Marcus yanked the garments down. She briefly considered rolling on her back to conceal her buttocks, clearly visible beneath the thinness of her chemise, but didn’t, deciding the front of her was far more needy of protection. “You won’t get away with this,” she warned. “You cannot keep me bound forever and when you release me, I’ll come after you. I’ll—”
“You won’t be able to walk,” he scoffed.
He reached for her boots and she lashed out at him, kicking with all her might. She screamed at the sudden sharp sting to her arse. The first spank was quickly followed by several more, each drop of his hand burning more than the last until she buried her face in the counterpane and cried with the pain of it. Only when she stopped flailing, and took the abuse without movement did he cease.
“Your father should have taken you over his knee long ago,” he muttered.
“I hate you!” She turned her head to look at him, but couldn’t reach around far enough.
Marcus’s sigh was loud and resigned. “You protest too much, love. You will thank me eventually. I’ve given you the freedom to enjoy me. You can fight all you want and still get what you desire. All the pleasure and none of the guilt.”
His hands cupped the flaming curves of her derriere and stroked gently, soothingly. The gentleness of his touch aroused her, the contrast startling after his previous treatment. “So beautiful. So soft and perfect.” His voice deepened, became cajoling. “Let yourself go, sweet. If you must be forced, why not relish the experience?”
When his hands moved lower to the hem of her chemise and then slipped under it, she moaned in anticipation, her skin prickling with goosebumps at the feel of bare skin on bare skin. Her blood heated, her anger melting into something intoxicating as his thumbs moved higher, massaging either side of her lower back. Deep inside, her body softened at his skillful touch. The feel of air directly on her burning flesh coaxed a whimper of relief from her.
“You would fight me to the death, my stubborn temptress, if you were able, but tied up for my needs brings unexpected rewards, does it not?” He rolled her to her back before gripping her shoulders and pulling her into a seated position.
Elizabeth bi
t her lower lip to hide the pout of disappointment she felt at the unwanted distance between them. Her nipples ached, peaked hard and tight, eager for the pinch of his fingers to ease their torment. Marcus’s dark green gaze narrowed on her flushed face. There was no tenderness, no sign of possible mercy, just stark intent and she knew he would not be swayed. Her stomach flipped as moisture pooled between her thighs at her helplessness.
He assisted her to her feet and moved her to the nearby chair whose wooden arms curved so beautifully. Pressing her down to the seat, he then tugged his shirt from his breeches, before pulling it over his head.
Elizabeth stared, arrested by his virility which was displayed so beautifully by rippling muscles beneath golden skin. His left shoulder was marred by a circular scar left by a bullet and silver ribbons on his flesh betrayed nicks from the sharp edge of a sword. As magnificent as he was, the sight of his past injuries reminded her that he was not meant for her. Even as her blood heated, her heart chilled.
“The agency has left its mark on you,” she said snidely. “It’s revolting.”
Marcus arched a dark brow. “That explains why you cannot take your eyes from me then.”
Peeved, she forced herself to look away.
He crouched before her and cupped the backs of her knees, spreading her legs wide and hooking them over the carved arms of the chair. Her face heated in embarrassment as the damp lips of her sex were opened to his view. “Close the curtains.”
Frowning, he stared at the apex of her thighs. “God, no.” He brushed across her curls with his fingers. “Why would you wish to hide this? It’s heaven you hold here. A sight I’ve longed to see for far too long.”
“Please.” She squeezed her eyelids tightly together, her body tense and then trembling.
“Elizabeth. Look at me.”
Tears accompanied the lifting of her lids.
“Why are you so frightened? You know I would never hurt you.”
“You leave me nothing, you take everything.”
He ran a blunt fingertip through her cream and then dipped a bit inside. Against her will, she arched into the caress, despite the painful tension the angle placed on her arms.
