Sylvia Day - [Georgian 01]

by Ask For It

  As if she thought the same, Elizabeth lifted the goblet to her lips and took a large swallow. Normally, he’d chastise such an abuse of excellent vintage, but in this case he was pleased. A small droplet clung to the corner of her lips and he leaned forward and licked it away, closing his eyes briefly in contentment. He was startled when she turned her head and pressed her lips more fully to his.

  Eyes wide, she pulled back and drank the rest of the wine down. She thrust the empty glass at him. “More, please.”

  Marcus smiled. “Your wish is my command.” He studied her furtively as he poured, noting the way her fingers brushed restlessly over her thighs. “Why are you so nervous, love?”

  “You are accustomed to this sort of . . . arrangement. For me, however, sitting here with you half-dressed and knowing the entire purpose of being here is for . . . for . . .”

  “Sex?”

  “Yes.” She opened her mouth and then closed it, shrugging delicate shoulders. “It makes me nervous.”

  “That’s not the only reason we are here.”

  Elizabeth frowned, and took another large drink. “It’s not?”

  “No. I’d like to talk with you as well.”

  “Is that how these things are normally done?”

  He chuckled ruefully. “Nothing about this is like anything in my experience.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders sagged just a little.

  Catching her free hand, he laced his fingers with hers. Her cheeks were already flushed, betraying the effects of the wine. “Could you grant me one small favor?” he asked, even though he had promised himself he wouldn’t.

  She waited expectantly.

  Tamping down the sudden apprehension he felt, he rushed ahead. “Could you find it in your heart to tell me what happened the night you left me?”

  Her gaze lowered to stare into the contents of her glass. “Must I?”

  “If you would be so kind, love.”

  “I’d really rather not.”

  “Is it so dreadful?” he coaxed softly. “The deed is done and cannot be undone. I ask only to be relieved of my confusion.”

  Elizabeth released a deep breath. “I suppose I owe you that much.”

  When her silence stretched out he prodded, “Go on.” “The tale starts with William. One night, about a month before the start of my first Season, I couldn’t sleep. I often had that trouble over the years after my mother died. Whenever I was restless I would visit my father’s study and sit in the dark. It smells like old books and my father’s tobacco—I find the combination soothing.

  “William entered shortly after, but he failed to see me lying on the settee. I was curious so I remained quiet. It was very late and he was dressed in dark clothing, he’d even covered his golden hair. It was obvious he was going somewhere where he didn’t wish to be seen or recognized. He carried himself so strangely, all chained up-ferocity and energy. He left and did not return until dawn. That was when I first suspected he was involved in something dangerous.”

  Elizabeth paused to take another drink. “I began to watch him when we were out. I studied his activities. I noticed he sought out Lord Hawthorne with regularity. The two of them would detach themselves from the gathering and have heated discussions in quiet corners, sometimes trading papers or other items.”

  Marcus sprawled across the counterpane and rested his head on his hand. “I never noticed. Eldridge’s expertise at subterfuge never ceases to amaze me. I certainly never suspected William was an agent.”

  “Why would you?” she asked simply. “Had I not been watching them so closely, I would never have suspected anything either. But eventually William began to look exhausted, drawn. I was worried about him. When I asked him outright to tell me what he was doing, he refused. I knew I needed help.” She glanced at him then, her violet gaze tortured.

  “That is why you came to me that night.” The bitter irony was not lost on him. He took the glass of wine from her fingers and washed the taste of it from his mouth. “Eldridge keeps the identities of his agents a closely guarded secret. In the event one of us is captured or compromised we have little information to share. I personally know very few.”

  The tight line of her normally lush mouth betrayed her distaste for the agency. Right now he was not feeling too charitable toward Eldridge himself. William’s assignment, as well as his own, had contrived to bring his engagement to such a tragic end.

  Elizabeth breathed a forlorn sigh. “When I returned from your home I was too upset to retire, so I went to my father’s study. Nigel called for William later that morning and he was shown into the room, unaware I was there. I vented my rage on him. I accused him of leading William on a path to destruction. I threatened to tell my father.”

  Marcus smiled, imagining the scene. “I have learned to respect your temper, sweet. You become a veritable termagant when angered.”

  She returned a weak smile, devoid of life or humor. “I had assumed their activities were degenerate. I was shocked when Nigel explained that he and William were agents for the Crown.” Her eyes shone with withheld tears. “And it was all suddenly too much . . . what I thought you had done, the danger William was in. I told Hawthorne about your infidelity in a moment of weakness. He said marriages of high passion were not the stuff of longevity or true happiness. I would have been discontented eventually, he said. Best I learned your true nature when I did, rather than after it was too late. He was so kind, so gentle in my distress. He provided an anchor at a time when I was adrift.”

  Marcus rolled onto his back and stared at the red velvet canopy above him. After her mother’s death and her father’s decline into emotional apathy, Hawthorne’s words must have sounded like the veriest wisdom to Elizabeth. Tense and frustrated, his anger toward a dead man had no outlet. It should have been he who was her anchor, not Hawthorne. “Damn you,” he swore vehemently.

  “When I returned from Scotland I inquired about you.”

  “I had left the country by then.” His voice was distant, lost in the past. “I called on you that morning, once I’d settled the widow. I wanted to explain, and make things right between us. Instead, William met me at the door and threw your note in my face. He blamed me for your rashness. I blamed him for not going after you.”

  “You could have come after me.”

  Marcus turned his head to meet her gaze. “Is that what you wanted?”

  When Elizabeth shrank back into the pillows, he knew his rage and pain must be evident on his face.

  “I . . .” Her voice choked off.

  “Part of me held on to the hope that you would fail to go through with it, but somehow I knew.” His eyes narrowed. “I knew you had done it—married someone else. And I couldn’t help but wonder how it was that he was there for you, when the events of that night could not have been predicted. Perhaps, as you said, he was always an option. I could not remain in England after that. I would have stayed away longer if my father had not passed on. When I returned, I discovered you were widowed. I sent you my condolences so you would know I was home. I waited for you to come to me.”

  “I heard about your liaisons, your endless string of women.” Her spine stiffened and she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  “Where in hell do you think you’re going?” he growled.

  He set the empty glass on the nightstand and yanked her into a sprawl across his chest. Holding her instantly soothed the restlessness that was his constant companion. Despite everything, she was his now.

  “I thought the mood was ruined,” she said with a pout.

  He arched his hips upward, pressing his erection into her thigh. Her gaze darkened, the irises fading as desire quickened her breathing.

  “Don’t think,” he said gruffly. “Forget the past.”

  “How?”

  “Kiss me. We’ll forget everything together.”

  She hesitated only a moment before lowering her head and pressing her moist lips to his. Frozen, he lay aching beneath her, the soft pressure
of her curves burning his skin, her vanilla scent intoxicating him. He tightened his grip on her hips to hide the trembling of his hands. Why she affected him like this, he couldn’t guess, though he’d spent endless hours trying.

  She lifted her head, and he groaned at the loss.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, color washing across her cheeks. “I’m not good at this.”

  “You were doing beautifully.”

  “You’re not moving,” she complained.

  He gave a rueful laugh. “I’m afraid to, love. I want you too badly.”

  “Then we are at an impasse.” Her smile was sweet. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Capturing her hand, he placed it on his chest. “Touch me.”

  She sat up, straddling his hips. Several curls framed the beauty of her face. “Where?”

  Marcus doubted he could survive it, but he would expire a contented man. “Everywhere.”

  Smiling, her finger drifted tentatively through the hair on his chest leaving tingling paths in their wake. Her fingertips swirled around the scar that marred his shoulder and then brushed across his nipples. He shivered.

  “You like that?”

  “Yes.”

  Elizabeth hummed, her palms coming to rest against his stomach, which tautened in response. “Fascinating.”

  Choking out a laugh, he said, “I pray your interest is more than curiosity.”

  She giggled, a bit tipsy he suspected. “You are quite the handsomest man I’ve ever seen.” Reaching up, she caressed the tops of his shoulders and then down his arms to entwine her fingers with his. The moment was simple and yet achingly complex. On the surface, they appeared to be two lovers, hopelessly smitten with one another, but the heavy undercurrent of wariness ran both ways.

  “I’d hoped you would think so.”

  “Why? So you can seduce me with ease?”

  He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “You are doing the seducing.”

  Elizabeth snorted. “There is no help for you, Lord Westfield. You are a rogue through and through. When this affair is over—”

  With a firm tug, he yanked her down and kissed her breathless. He didn’t want to hear about the end or even think of it.

  Releasing her hands, his fingers moved along her spine, loosening her dress. He murmured his pleasure at finding nothing beneath it, no corset or chemise. As frightened as she was of the way he made her feel, she’d still come prepared. He’d also say she was eager, if the near frantic way she was caressing him was any indication. Parting the back of her gown, he tugged down the front and exposed her breasts, full and heavy with arousal. They were lovely, so pale, tipped with rosy nipples. He hadn’t had the pleasure of fondling them before, a neglect he planned to correct posthaste.

  When she lifted her hands, he brushed them away. “No. Don’t hide, sweet, I enjoy looking at you as much as you enjoy looking at me.”

  “After all the women—”

  “No more,” he admonished. “No more talk of that.” Sighing, he dropped his hands to her thighs. “I cannot change my past.”

  “You cannot change what you are.” All the softness in her face fled. Only Elizabeth could sit bare breasted on a man and be so remote.

  “Damn it, my sexual history is not who I am. And if I were you, I would think twice before complaining, since without my experience I would not be able to pleasure you so well.”

  “Grateful?” she snapped. “I would have been more grateful had you turned your attentions elsewhere.”

  She attempted to slip away, but he restrained her. Marcus pumped his hips upward, pushing the heated length of his erection into the burning dampness between her thighs. When she gasped, he did it again, watching as she ground herself onto his cock. Her immediate helpless response cooled his irritation.

  “Why does my past anger you so?”

  A finely arched brow rose.

  “Tell me,” he urged. “I truly want to know.” He would get nowhere with her if she kept these barriers between them. Certainly he could have her body, but he wanted more than that during the length of their affair.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Do you really care nothing for the women whose hearts you break?”

  “Is that what this is about?” He held his exasperation in check. “Elizabeth, the women who entertain me are vastly experienced.”

  Her look was clearly disbelieving.

  Sliding his hands beneath the hem of her gown, he caressed the lithe length of her thighs, his thumbs coming to rest against the soft curls of her sex. His cock hardened further at the realization that only the material of his breeches separated his torment from her sweet relief.

  “Women are a bit more susceptible to elevated feelings after a pleasurable sexual encounter,” he admitted. “But in all honesty, rarely has a woman become overly attached to me and even then, I doubt it was love.”

  “Perhaps you simply didn’t notice the extent of their attachment. I vow, William was always taken aback when one of my female acquaintances would no longer receive me because of their unrequited feelings for him.”

  Marcus flinched. “I’m sorry, love.”

  “You should be. I suffer from a deplorable lack of companionship because of men like you and William. Thank heavens he married Margaret.”

  He brushed the tips of his thumbs across the soft, damp lips of her sex and her hips canted forward in unmistakable invitation.

  “I shall be like your jaded paramours,” she said suddenly.

  Moving his hands, he spread her with his fingers and brushed against her clitoris. It hardened as he circled it. “In what way? I can conceive of no way you are like any woman I’ve ever met.”

  “I will discard you.”

  Gently, he pressed his thumb against the gathering slickness and slipped inside her. This was his. She would not deny him the pleasure of it. “Perhaps I’ll overwhelm you, drench you in rapture until you cannot conceive of a night passing without my cock here, deep inside you.”

  Her soft plaintive moan was the death of him. Reaching between them, he tore open the placket of his breeches. Glancing up, he watched Elizabeth’s eyes melt. Discard him, indeed. She would surrender that icy control that chilled him, he would see to it.

  “I wanted to savor you, Elizabeth.”

  She stiffened when he gripped her hips and positioned her over his cock. “What—” Her voice strangled to silence as he pulled her down, sheathing himself.

  He groaned as the molten heat of her clasped him like a velvet fist. Twisting rapture coiled in his loins and stiffened his spine, causing Marcus to grit his teeth and arch off the bed.

  “Christ,” he gasped. If he breathed wrong, he would come.

  Elizabeth writhed around him, finding a position of comfort that lodged him more securely within her. Sweat beading his brow, he relaxed his hold on her waist and sank back into the pillows.

  With her lovely face flushed, eyes huge and hot with need, she stared at him in silent inquiry.

  “I’m all yours, love,” he encouraged, needing to see her make the effort. Wanting to lie still and be fucked mindless by the woman who’d jilted him so long ago.

  Biting her lower lip, she rose, lifting herself from his cock until only the tip remained inside. When she lowered again, her movements were awkward, tentative, but devastating nonetheless. His hands fell to the bed and fisted in the counterpane. Elizabeth moved again, panting, and the cool air on his cock followed by the heated grip of her cunt tore a groan from him.

  She paused.

  “Don’t stop,” he begged.

  “I don’t—”

  “Faster, sweet. Harder.”

  And to his delight, she obliged, moving over him with her natural grace. The sight of her, barely dressed, with breasts bouncing, arrested him. He watched her, eyes half lidded with drugging pleasure, remembering her standing across the Moreland ballroom, a vision of regal unattainable beauty. Now she was his, in the basest way possible, her whimpere
d cries betraying how much she enjoyed him despite everything.

  When he couldn’t take any more, when the need to come was so overwhelming he feared leaving her behind, he held her in place and lunged his hips upwards, fucking her suspended body with rapid impatient drives.

  “Yes . . .” Her hands covered his and her head fell back, the gesture one of blatant surrender. “Marcus!”

  He knew that cry, understood the command, Take me. And rolling, he did just that, thrusting into her so hard he shoved her up the bed. Still he couldn’t get deep enough. He growled, frustrated that even this primal act was not enough to slake the need that grew stronger the more he tried to satisfy it.

  Elizabeth arched her neck, her breasts lifting to press hard nipples into his chest. With a sharp broken cry she tightened around him before dissolving into the rippling caresses that felt like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

  He fucked through them like a mad man, forcing his cock into grasping depths, dipping into the scalding cream that bathed her inner thighs and lured his seed. He roared when he came, his semen spewing until he thought he would die of it. Lowering his head he bit her shoulder, punishing her for being the bane of his existence, the source of his highest pleasure and deepest pain.

  The soft sound of pages turning woke her. Elizabeth sat upright, startled and a bit embarrassed to find herself completely unclothed and uncovered by the sheets. Searching the room, she discovered an equally naked Marcus seated at the small escritoire with Nigel’s journal open before him. His gaze was riveted on her.

  Bared and far too vulnerable, she pulled the sheet over her. “What are you doing?”

  Giving her a heart-stopping smile, he stood and moved to the bed. “I’d intended to puzzle out Hawthorne’s code, but was repeatedly distracted by the view.”

  She bit back a smile. “Lecher. There should be a law forbidding the ogling of sleeping women.”

  “I’m certain there is.” He leapt onto the bed. “But it does not apply to lovers.”

  The way he said the word “lovers” made her shiver. Staking a claim to his passion, however briefly, made her blood heat. And then chill. It was too much, too fast.