Her Reluctant Groom (Groom Series, BOOK 2)

by Rose Gordon

  “How romantic,” she quipped.

  “Yes, well, what can I say? You weren’t a tin soldier, a fish, or a chess piece; therefore, you were not on the list of loves in my life at the time. I do love you now, though.”

  “I know you say you do, but your actions suggest otherwise.”

  Sighing, Marcus pulled her to the settee he’d been occupying. Wrapping his arms around her, he brought her down to sit on his lap. “Can you honestly tell me it bothers you naught that everyone thinks I was so besotted with your sister I ruined my body and future to run her down?”

  “No,” she answered with a slight hitch in her voice. “I don’t care about what others think. You’re far more important to me than their opinions.”

  Marcus swallowed audibly. “I’m sorry,” he said thickly.

  “Don’t be sorry.” Emma pierced him with her eyes. “Just accept that I love you. I love everything about you. From your scarred skin to your scarred past, I love you.” She raised her hand to stop him from breaking in. “You say you know, and you claim to accept my love, but you don’t. If you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Again.”

  Marcus’ grey eyes shifted from Emma’s for a moment before meeting them once more. “Let’s start fresh. Let me show you that I do accept your love.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “You’ll see.” He loosened his arms around her waist and, with a slight pat on her bottom, encouraged her to get up. He stood and offered her his arm. “Come along.”

  Without argument, Emma walked with him out to the entrance hall and waited while he went off to speak to some servants. A few minutes later he came back, a smile on his face that would rival the width of the Thames.

  “Your carriage, Lady Sinclair,” he said as he opened the front door for her to see their carriage waiting at the end of the walkway.

  An excited chill skated up her spine at the way he’d called her Lady Sinclair. “And where are you taking me, my lord?” she asked with a hint of a smile.

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Chapter 27

  “Where are we?” Emma asked an hour later when they’d pulled up to a little cottage only a few miles outside of London.

  Marcus climbed out of the carriage and helped his beautiful wife descend. “Hideaway. It’s a cottage that belongs to Patrick. He told me I could bring you here if I wanted.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I thought this cottage could allow us the freedom my townhouse couldn’t. Anyway, Ridge Water is too far away to reach today.”

  “There are no servants here, are there?

  “Not one,” he confirmed, pulling her to him. Without giving her a second to protest, he covered her mouth with his.

  Beneath his, Emma’s lips softened and parted as his tongue traced her lower lip. Slow and gentle, he pulled her bottom lip in between his lips and traced the bottom edge with his tongue.

  She sighed, and he pushed his tongue past her parted lips to taste her. Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders, her fingers digging into his flesh as his tongue slid over hers.

  Without thought, he brought his hands up to her face and ran the pads of his thumbs over her cheekbones while his fingertips tangled in the soft hair that rested behind her ears.

  “Oh, Emma,” he groaned against her mouth. He pulled back and stared at her flushed face. She was beautiful. Of course, she was always beautiful, but seeing her flushed from his kisses made her all the more stunning.

  She blinked at him. “You’re not planning to seduce me into submission, are you?” The worried wrinkle that creased her brow belied her light words and airy tone.

  “No. I already told you I have no intention of seducing you to do my bidding. We’re here to start over. Start fresh.”

  “And just how do you suggest we do that?”

  He grinned. “I think we should start by spending some time together down at the pond.”

  Emma clapped her hands together in what he could have sworn was sarcastic excitement. “Oh, Marcus, you are so romantic. I do believe I shall be the envy of all my friends when I tell them I got to catch a fish on my wedding night.”

  He frowned at her. “You used to like it when I helped you catch a fish. In fact, just a few weeks ago you practically begged me to help you.”

  “We’re not children anymore. Helping me catch a fish is not the way to go about mending what you’ve done.”

  “I know that.” He cleared his throat. “Would you just give me a chance and meet me down at the pond in half an hour?”

  “And what shall I do until then?”

  He grinned at her. “Practice your cast, of course.”

  With an odd look and a shake of her head, Emma walked off.

  Marcus waited for her to be out of sight before he hobbled about his business.

  Glancing out the window to make sure they still had just enough daylight for his plan to work, he set out about getting everything perfect.

  ***

  “You want me to what?”

  “Take off your clothes,” Marcus repeated with a roguish grin.

  “You’re cracked,” she proclaimed, her eyes doing a slow perusal of Marcus’ nearly naked body. Just as she knew it would be, the skin that covered his arms and chest was covered in rigid pink and white scars. She tried not to stare so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable, but it was horribly difficult for her to keep her eyes off him. She let her gaze travel down to his waist where he wore a simple pair of smalls and nothing else. His legs, for the most part, looked like they had escaped injury and had smooth skin covered in light brown hair.

  “All right, now that you’ve looked me over, remove your gown,” Marcus told her, instantly concluding her perusal of his body.

  Her eyes met his. “I—I—I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not fishing in my chemise, that’s why not!”

  Marcus shifted the weight off his injured leg the best he could. “I didn’t ask you to. Now, why don’t you turn around and I’ll undo the buttons on your gown.”

  “Marcus, answer truthfully. Have you suffered some sort of brain fever recently?”

  He shook his head. “No. Have you?”

  She wasn’t even going to dignify his ridiculous question with an answer. “Are you sure you haven’t? Perhaps you fell and hit your head on something.”

  “I did no such thing.” He took four steps toward her.

  She stood still and looked out over the pond as he walked up behind her and began untying the strings on the back of her gown. “Wh—where are the poles?” she asked a moment later when she realized he was truly going to undress her, and more disturbing, she was going to let him.

  A low chuckle sounded in his chest before he cleared his throat. “You don’t worry about that. On more than one occasion you’ve expressed an interest in seeing more of me than I was willing to share at the time. This is your chance, my lady.”

  “What are you about, Marcus Sinclair?”

  “Nothing. Just planning to take a swim with my new wife.” He unhooked several of the clasps on the back of her dress.

  “A swim?”

  “Mmmhmmm.” His fingers stilled. “Now, would you like me to continue to take your gown off, or would you prefer to swim with it on?”

  “You can take it off,” she answered, trying not to let him know how much she was enjoying him undressing her.

  He carefully undid the remainder of the buttons that went down her back then focused on untying her corset. Loosened just enough, he slipped his hands to the top of the undone fabric and with a slow and steady ease, peeled the dress and corset from her and let the unneeded clothes fall to the ground. Marcus sucked in his breath at the sight of her and clamped his hands on the flare of her hips, his fingers searing her beneath the thin layers she still wore.

  She cleared her throat. “Our swim.”

  His fingers tightened a little before letting go. “Right you
are, my dear,” he agreed huskily. He walked around to stand in front of her. “You had better finish…” He waved a hand downward toward her stockings then leaned against a nearby tree with his hands clasped together tightly in front of his waist.

  A wicked thought popped into Emma’s head, and she tried her best to act as if she didn’t notice him or his distress as she stepped out of the pool her gown made at her feet and stood next to it. Very slowly, she let her fingers grab for the middle of her chemise and pull up just high enough to expose the top of her stockings. Holding it still, she reached the slender fingers of her right hand down to grab hold of the top of her right stocking, her left hand following suit.

  Emma let her fingers slowly walk her stocking down her leg and she subtly peeked through her lowered lashes to glimpse Marcus’ rigid face. She inwardly smiled. She was definitely torturing him. Good. He deserved it for all he’d put her through.

  With all the skill and finesse of England’s well-trained courtesan, learned straight from the word of Lady Bird herself, Emma slowly peeled her stocking off, pausing after she’d lowered it every couple inches for no other reason than to torture her new husband all the more.

  She pulled the top edge of the silk down just below her knee. “Would you just take that confounded stocking off,” Marcus said in a gruff voice, accompanied by a strangled noise that sounded as if it were ripped straight from his chest.

  Emma looked up at him and turned her lips into a sultry smile. “That’s what I’m doing, dear.”

  “Well, do it faster.”

  She shook her head, dispelling some of her blonde tendrils. “You’re not in a rush, are you?” She nearly choked at the sound of aggravation he made in response to her jest.

  Without another word, she slid her stocking to her ankle then raised her foot a few inches off the ground before pulling her stocking the rest of the way off with deliberate slowness and ease. She tossed it to the ground and tried not to smile at Marcus’ groan when her fingertips found the top of her other stocking.

  With the same slow, torturous movements as before, Emma removed her second stocking and carelessly discarded it in the direction of its mate. “I believe I’m ready now,” she announced as she walked closer to the tree Marcus was resting against.

  His grey eyes swept over her. “What of your chemise?”

  She looked down at the offending garment and tipped one shoulder up in a sensual, one-shouldered shrug. Letting her eyes drop to his waist, she said, “I think we’re evenly matched.”

  He stared at her.

  She coughed delicately, but he didn’t act.

  Shaking her head at his blatant confusion mixed with what she guessed to be desire, she took mercy on him and stepped closer to him, gently placing her hands on his tense wrists. “Relax,” she murmured, pushing them away.

  Swallowing and simultaneously screwing up her courage, Emma lightly pressed her fingers to Marcus’ shoulders and let them trail from his broad but scarred shoulders to just above his waist, touching every inch of his imperfect-to-everyone-but-her skin along the way. Her eyes remained locked with his the entire time. She hooked the ends of two fingers from each hand into his snug waistband and with the barest movement, gave a gentle tug.

  He stepped forward to press his body against hers as his hands settled on her shoulders and his lips met her mouth.

  “Emma,” he groaned, digging his fingers into her shoulders and pulling her as close to him as she’d allow.

  She brought her arms up, wrapped them tightly around his neck, and parted her lips when the warm tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips.

  Deepening their kiss, Marcus’ tongue explored the inside of Emma’s cheeks and brushed her tongue. She sighed, and sank her fingers into the back of his silky brown hair.

  Marcus’ tongue continued to plunder her mouth, and holding nothing back from the man she loved, she boldly moved her tongue into his mouth to mimic his actions. Marcus’ hands came up to cup her face, his thumbs mindlessly brushing small strokes across her cheekbones.

  “I love you, Emma,” Marcus said raggedly, pulling his mouth only an inch or two from hers.

  “I love you, too,” she returned, her voice unsteady. Her eyes met his and in that minute, everything hurtful that had passed between them vanished. There, in the smoky depths of his grey eyes, she could see just how much he loved her, always had, and always would. He may have the power to hurt her more than anyone else, but he hadn’t intended to cause her pain. She saw that now. It was his love for her that made him send her away. Her heart swelled at the misguided notion. He didn’t need to send her away in order to give her everything she could ever want. All he had to do was give her himself. And just now, nothing stood in the way of him doing exactly that.

  “Emma, I—” he started.

  She lifted one finger to his lips. “Shhh. Don’t talk.” Not taking her gaze from his, she trailed a path from his shoulders to his wrists with her fingertips, slow and seductive, taking a measure of pride at watching his eyes grow darker with desire while the muscles in his arms involuntarily flexed under her fingers.

  Leaving his wrists behind, Emma wrapped her fingers around the loose knot in the drawstring of his drawers and tugged one of the ends, until the knot slipped and the waistband loosened. Still holding his smalls up to cover him, she walked her fingers around to grab hold of the fabric that hung on either side of his hips.

  Her eyes not leaving his, she gave a quick jerk and swallowed nervously when his drawers fell straight to the ground.

  “Satisfied?”

  “Not yet. She took a step back so she could admire his body. She let her eyes break contact with his and thoroughly sweep his body. Most women would be repulsed or disgusted by his body. But she wasn’t. No amount of puckered and scarred skin could dampen her desire. To her, those imperfections ceased to exist. Instead, she saw a broad, muscled chest that she longed to kiss and a firm midsection she itched to touch. Her eyes stopped just above his waist and she licked her lips nervously before letting her eyes continue their southward journey.

  She coughed and cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she sputtered inanely, patting her chest and trying in vain not to stare. Lady Bird had used many informative adjectives in describing the male part, but nothing she’d read or imagined compared to what she saw. Long and thick, his erection jutted out from a nest of springy curls. “I just—”

  “I was wearing breeches,” he teased, one side of his mouth tipped up into a hint of a smile.

  She blushed. “I know.” With a surge of bravery, perhaps spurred by curiosity, she reached forward and loosely wrapped her fingers around his hard length.

  A harsh breath passed his lips, emboldening and empowering her more. Tightening her grip, she slowly glided her hand up and down his shaft. With a pleasure-induced groan, Marcus closed his eyes and sagged against the tree.

  Emma tightened her grip a little more and quickened her pace, reeling with excitement as she realized how much power she held over him just now. There was no denying he enjoyed her attentions. A shudder wracked him and his fingers suddenly encircled her wrist. “You’d better stop,” he said thickly.

  “And if I don’t want to?”

  “You want to, I promise it.”

  Emma smiled saucily at him. A virginal young woman who’d never read Lady Bird’s Ladybird Memoir wouldn’t know just how close to the brink he was. But Emma knew. And it thrilled her. “No, I don’t think I want to stop,” she countered, giving him a brief squeeze.

  He groaned. “You little minx, you know exactly what you’re doing.”

  “Perhaps I do.” She tipped one shoulder up in a way that made one of the lacy straps of her chemise fall from the edge of her shoulder, her hand still firmly grasping his rigid flesh.

  His eyes turned nearly as dark as coal. “Now who's the one trying to seduce the other?”

  She lowered her lashes. “And did you think I was really in there practicing my cast?”


  He laughed. “No. I know better than that. Besides, no matter how much you practice, you'd still need my help.”

  “Ah, so that's how you planned to seduce me,” she mused, trying to distract him while the fingers of her free hand came up to try and pry his fingers from her wrist.

  Instead of letting go like she hoped, his tight fingers kept their grip. “I'm warning you, Emma, you may not like the end result if you insist I let go and you continue.”

  She glanced down at their hands then let go. He may not be quite as close to losing control now as he was a few minutes ago, but he was still on the edge, and there were other ways she could push him beyond his control. She stepped back and pulled her wrist from his loosened grasp. Licking her lips slowly she took another step back and used her fingertips to seductively play with the straps of her chemise.

  Marcus’ hand reached forward, and she swayed her body away just in time. “Not yet.”

  “Not yet?”

  “No, not yet,” she confirmed.

  “And just what must I do for you to drop that chemise?”

  “Beg.”

  “No.”

  She lifted the shoulder that still had the strap on it just enough to let it slip to the end of her shoulder, then turned around so he could have full view of the back of her neck and shoulders. Holding her chemise in place by the lacy edge that rested just above her breasts, she rolled her shoulder back just enough to let that second strap fall completely.

  Marcus’ breathing grew hard and labored as Emma used deliberate slowness. She eased her chemise down a few inches to expose another patch of skin to his gaze.

  “Do you have anything you wish to say?” she asked when the top of her chemise had just passed the bottom ridges of her shoulder blades.

  “Take that confounded chemise off now before I take it off for you.”

  She shivered at his words. “That's not what I was hoping you'd say.”

  Before her last word was out, Marcus’ warm body was pressed to the back of her, his big hands grabbing the delicate fabric and pulling it from her grasp, then letting it fall to the ground, forgotten. His hands roamed the front of her body, searing her with every touch.