by Ask For It
“Vexing wench.” He rubbed his nose against hers. “I’ve barely the energy required to pursue you. Think you I have the wherewithal to chase other skirts?”
“I need time to think, Marcus.”
“You have it,” he promised quickly. The hope that was near dying flared again.
She pressed her lips to his throat and gave a shaky sigh. “Very well then. I’ll consider your address.”
Chapter 13
Elizabeth paced the length of her bed. The drapes at the windows were open, as they had been since the third night of her stay, and the pearlescent light of the moon lit the path she paced. There was no point in closing them. Dark or not, she couldn’t sleep, snatching only an hour or two of rest a night.
She covered her face with her hands. If she didn’t get some relief from this miserable aching for Marcus she would surely go mad.
Over the last ten days she had collected hundreds of images of him in her mind—Marcus lying on a blanket on the beach, Marcus sprawled in his shirtsleeves on the settee reading aloud, Marcus at the hearth lit by the light of the fire as he banked it for the night.
She had memorized his smiles and the way he rubbed the back of his neck when he was tense. She knew the way the overnight growth of beard darkened his face in the morning, and the way his eyes gleamed wickedly when he teased her, and then darkened when he wanted her.
And he did want her.
The look in his eyes and the timbre of his voice told her daily that he wished he were holding her, touching her, making love to her. But he kept his promise, making no overt attempts to seduce her.
Sighing, she stared at her hands clenched in front of her. The truth of it was, no effort was required on his part to make her desire him. It was instinctual, uncontrollable.
So why was she here, pacing her room in fevered anguish, when the relief she sought was just a door away?
Because he was wrong for her, she knew. The epitome of everything she had never wanted. A libertine of some renown, he’d proven again in the stables that he was not to be trusted. She wanted to lock him away, keep him to herself, share him with no one. Only then would she find some measure of peace. Only then could she catch her breath and not feel this clawing ache that she would lose him.
Jealousy is a possessive emotion, love, he’d said to her that first day on the beach. You’ll have to wed me if you want the right to feel that way.
The right. The right to keep him, to claim him. She wanted that. Despite the torture she knew it would be.
There would be no pleasure in binding herself to a man like Marcus, a man whose appetite for life and adventure would make taming him impossible. There would be only heartache and endless disappointment. And the craving. The craving that would never go away.
She stilled and stared at the bed, remembering the depth of that hunger.
Were not a ring, his name, and the right to his body better than nothing at all?
Before she could consider it further, Elizabeth left her room and walked directly into Marcus’s without bothering to knock.
Heading straight toward the bed, she slowed when she saw it was empty, the covers tossed back and wildly askew. Startled, she glanced around and found Marcus in front of the window.
Naked, he stood immobile, bathed in moonlight, watching her with an unblinking stare.
“Marcus?”
“What do you want, Elizabeth?” he asked harshly.
She clutched the sides of her gown with damp fists. “I haven’t been able to sleep in over a week.”
“You won’t find sleep in this room.”
She shifted restlessly. Now that she was with him and he was naked, she found her courage had been an ephemeral thing. “I had hoped you would say that,” she admitted, her head down.
“So tell me what you want.”
Unable to say the words, Elizabeth pulled her night rail over her head and dropped it to the floor.
Marcus reached her in two strides. Wrapping his arms around her waist with a low growl, he clasped her naked body firmly against his. He took her mouth with breath-stealing hunger, his tongue thrusting in blatant imitation of what was to come.
Holding her secure with one arm, he lifted and anchored her leg with the other, his knowledgeable fingers tracing the curve of her buttocks before delving into the crevice and the damp curls of her sex. Moaning her relief and pleasure, Elizabeth clung to his broad shoulders, her breasts held tight to his furred chest as he teased through the slickness of her desire, and then slid upwards into her heat.
His cock, hard and hot, burned the skin of her belly. She reached for it, wrapping trembling fingers around it, her other arm gripping his waist to keep her balance. He throbbed in her palm, groaned into her mouth, his powerful frame trembling against hers.
Elizabeth could barely breathe, couldn’t move as his fingers fucked with the expertise of a man who knew his lover well. Hard and fast, he stroked her desire, making her mindless with need. She buried her face against his skin, gasping in his scent, imprinting it all over herself.
“Please,” she begged.
“Please what?”
She groaned, her hips undulating to match the movements of his hand.
“Please what?” he demanded, removing his touch.
Sobbing at the sudden dearth of sensation, she pressed desperate kisses against his skin. “Please, take me. I want you.”
“For how long, Elizabeth? One hour? One night?”
Her tongue tasted the flat point of his nipple and his breath hissed between his teeth.
“Every night,” she breathed.
Marcus lifted her feet from the floor and took the two steps to the bed, sinking into its disheveled softness over her. Elizabeth opened her legs with blatant eagerness.
“Elizabeth . . .”
“Hurry,” she begged.
Settling between her thighs, he thrust into her with consummate skill. He was harder, thicker than he had ever been before, stretching her completely and she tore her mouth from his, crying out as she climaxed immediately, primed for pleasure by days of longing and the mastery of his touch.
Marcus buried his face in Elizabeth’s neck and groaned hoarsely as the endless spasms of her release milked his aching cock. Against his will, he came, flooding her grasping depths with his seed. It was too much, too fast. His toes curled and his spine arched with pleasure so intense it was almost painful. Lost for a breathless moment, he clutched her body to his with near desperation.
It could only have been moments, but it seemed like hours before he could roll his weight from her. He draped her body across his chest, her legs straddling his thighs, their bodies still joined. Whatever doubts he might have harbored about marriage were burned away by the shudders that still wracked his frame.
“Christ.” He crushed her to his chest. Their coupling had lasted all of two minutes. He hadn’t thrust at all, yet he had never experienced anything as powerfully fulfilling in his life. Elizabeth had surrendered to him, acknowledged his claim. There would be no turning back now.
Her fingers stroked through the hair on his chest, soothing him. “I want you to resign your commission with the agency,” she whispered softly.
He stilled and released a deep breath. “Ah love, you don’t ask for much, do you?”
Elizabeth sighed, her breath warm against his skin. “How can you ask me to marry you, knowing the danger you court?”
“How could I not ask you?” he retorted. “I will never have enough of you, enough of this.” He thrust gently, showing her the power of his interest in his renewed erection.
“Lust,” she said scornfully.
“Lust I know well, Elizabeth. It does not come near to resembling this.”
She moaned as he nudged deeper inside her. “What would you name this then?”
“Affinity, love. We simply suit very well in bed.”
Elizabeth rose above him, pushing him deeper still, until the slick lips of her cunt hugged the root of h
is cock. She studied him with the narrowed-eyed glance that told him trouble was afoot. Then she clenched her inner muscles, hugging his cock in the most intimate of embraces.
His hands fisted in the disheveled sheets and he grit his teeth. Scant moments before he’d felt like he was dying. Already he was eager to feel that way again.
She lifted from him, his cock slipping free from swollen, wet tissues. “Promise me you will consider leaving Eldridge.” She slid back onto him slowly.
Sweat beaded his brow. “Elizabeth . . .”
She lifted and lowered again, caressing his cock with her silken cunt. “Promise me you will be careful while considering.”
His eyes slid closed on a groan. “Damn you.”
Elizabeth rose, withdrawing from him.
His entire body tensed, waiting for the exquisiteness of her body to sink and clasp tightly around him. When she hesitated, he looked at her. She waited, one finely arched brow lifted in challenge. She would continue to wait until he capitulated, he knew.
Unable to do otherwise, Marcus surrendered immediately. “I promise.”
And his reward was sweet indeed.
“Good God!”
Elizabeth jumped awake at the familiar, albeit horrified cry. Marcus’s outstretched arm pushed her back down and she gasped at the sight of the wicked knife in his hand. She lifted her head and looked toward the door, gaping at the sight of the beloved figure there. “William?”
Her brother stood with a hand clasped over his eyes. “I will await”—he choked—“you both in the parlor. Please . . . dress.”
With her brain still sleep muddled, Elizabeth slipped out of bed, shivering as her bare feet hit the cold floor. “I often tell myself that William cannot possibly become more outrageous and yet somehow he manages it.”
“Elizabeth.”
She ignored the soft query in Marcus’s tone and moved swiftly to her discarded night rail at the foot of the bed. It was awkward, this moment, recalling the intimacy of the night before and the brazen way she’d elicited his promise. To wake to the sight of a blade in his hand was sobering. She’d agreed to marry this man, for no other reason than sexual affinity and misplaced possessiveness. She was daft.
“You can stay abed, love,” he murmured. “I can speak with your brother.”
Straightening with her garment in hand, Elizabeth paused at the sight him pulling on breeches. As he moved, the ripple of honed muscle along his arms, chest, and abdomen arrested her gaze.
He glanced up, caught her staring, and smiled. “You are a fetching sight, all sleep mussed and ravished.”
“I’m certain I look a fright,” she said.
“Impossible. I’ve yet to see you look anything but delectable.”
He rounded the bed, took the night rail from her hands, and dropped it over her head. Then he kissed the tip of her nose. “Nowise did I plan for us to be rushed this morning.” Shaking his head, he moved to the armoire and finished dressing. “Keep the bed warm and wait for me.”
“It would be best if you learned now that I won’t be ordered about. William is my brother. I will speak to him.”
Marcus sighed internally at Elizabeth’s stubbornness, acknowledging to himself that he would have to grow accustomed to it, and went to the door. “As you wish, love.”
He raked her barely clad body with an affectionate glance before closing the portal behind him and traversing the length of the hall. He really shouldn’t be surprised they’d been discovered, but he was, and disappointed. Their agreement was too new, the tie too tentative to set his mind at ease.
The first time he’d proposed he’d sat in the study of Chesterfield Hall and discussed the marital disbursements in cold, hard facts with her father. The banns had been read, and the papers notified. Teas and dinners had been held. He could not have expected she would bolt. He could not have anticipated she would marry another man. And at this moment he had far less than he’d had then. At this moment he had only her promise and she had proven that was not to be trusted.
Years of frustration and anger rose like bile in his throat. Until she made restitution for what she’d done to him he would never find peace.
He entered the parlor. “Barclay, your timing leaves much to be desired. You are—quite lamentably—de trop.”
William paced before the fireplace, his hands clasped at his back. “I am scarred for life,” he muttered.
“A knock would have been wise.”
“The door was open.”
“Well it’s moot in any case; you shouldn’t have come.”
“Elizabeth had run off.” William stopped and glared.
“After the tantrum in her room, I had to find her and see if she was well.”
Marcus ran his hands through his tumbled locks. He couldn’t fault the man for caring. “She sent word. I suppose I should have as well.”
“At the very least. Debauching someone else’s sister would also be preferable.”
“I am not debauching her. I’m marrying her.”
William gaped. “Again?”
“We never quite finished the business the last time, if you recall.”
“Damn you, Westfield.” William’s fists clenched until the knuckles were white. “If this has anything to do with that idiotic wager, I will call you out.”
Rounding the settee, Marcus sat and bit back the harsh words that longed to be freed. “Your sterling estimation of my character is most uplifting.”
“Why in hell would you want to wed Elizabeth after what transpired before?”
“We have an affinity,” Elizabeth said from the doorway, studying the two men who held such important places in her life—both of them so obviously restless. “Or so he attests.”
“An affinity?” William pierced her with a narrowed gaze. “What the devil does that have to do with anything?”
Then he paled and held up his hands. “On further consideration, I don’t wish to hear the answer to that.”
She didn’t move, simply stood in the doorway trying to decide whether to enter or not. The tension in the room was as thick as fog. “Where is Margaret?”
“At home. The journey wouldn’t be wise for her now. She becomes ill easily.”
“You should be with her,” she admonished.
“I was worried about you,” he said defensively. “Especially when Westfield conveniently disappeared at the same time. Your missive told me nothing of your mind-set or your location. You are both damned fortunate that Lady Westfield saw fit to give me direction.” He crossed the room to her and gripped her elbow. “Come outside with me.”
“It’s too cold,” she protested.
William shrugged out of his coat and tossed it about her shoulders. Then he dragged her outside.
“Are you daft?” he growled when they were alone. The chilly bite of the coastal morning was rivaled by the chill of her brother’s tone.
“I thought so earlier,” she said dryly.
“I understand. You’ve had a taste of . . .” he choked, “carnal pleasure, one denied you before. It can be heady and unduly influencing for women.”
“William—”
“It’s hopeless to deny it. A man can discern these things. Women look different when they are content with their lovers. You lacked that appearance with Hawthorne.”
“This is a very uncomfortable conversation,” she muttered.
“I am enjoying this as much as I would a visit to the tooth drawers. But I must beg you to consider this engagement further. There was a reason why you didn’t proceed with the marriage before.”
Elizabeth looked at the sky, seeing soft blue peeking from the heavy morning clouds. She wondered if she could learn to look for brightness in a marriage that would be rife with cloudy issues.
“You could refuse,” he suggested, softening his tone to match her mood.
“Even I am not that cruel.” She sighed and leaned into him, accepting the strength he’d always provided.
“You don’t
wed to alleviate guilt. And I’m not so certain his intentions are honorable. He has much to hold against you. Once you wed him, I would have very little recourse should things deteriorate.”
“You know Westfield better than to attribute such thoughts to him.” She returned his scowl. “Honestly, there are many times I cannot abide the man. He’s arrogant to a fault, stubborn, argumentive—”
“Yes, I agree, he has his faults, all of which I know well.”
“If he recovers some of his lost dignity by wedding me, I won’t hold it against him. At worst, should he lose interest, he’ll simply treat me with the faultless, albeit distant charm for which he’s known. He would never physically hurt me.”
William blew out a frustrated breath and tilted his head back to look at the sky. “I still cannot find comfort in this. I wanted you to find love the second time. You are free to choose whomever you like. Why settle for ‘affinity’ when you can have true happiness?”
“You are becoming as much of a romantic as Margaret.” Elizabeth shook her head and laughed. “There are times when Westfield’s company is quite pleasant.”
“So, enjoy a liaison,” William suggested. “Much less messy all around.”
Her smile was bittersweet. The fact was, Marcus was one of the very few individuals strong enough to stand up to William. She needed to show her brother she was in safekeeping with a man he could trust to be capable. Then perhaps he would worry about her less. Margaret needed him now, as would their child. If there had been any doubt about her forthcoming marriage, it was dispelled by her brother’s presence here. He could not continue to leave his wife to care for his sister.
“I want to marry him, William. I don’t think I’ll be unhappy.”
“You are using him to hide. If you choose a man who dislikes you, you have no worries about something more coming of the relationship. Our father has done you a grave injustice with his decline. You are still afraid.”
She lifted her chin. “I understand you don’t approve of my choice, but that’s no reason to malign me.”
“I’m speaking the truth, something perhaps it would have been best to do long before now.”
