His Wanton Marchioness

by Sorcha Mowbray

  Sorcha Mowbray

  His Wanton Marchioness

  A Lustful Lords Novella

  First published by Amour Press 2021

  Copyright © 2021 by Sorcha Mowbray

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

  ISBN: 978-1-955615-06-8

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Read the Whole Series

  Other Books by Sorcha Mowbray

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  This novella is a standalone story featuring two of the side characters from my Lustful Lords series. You can read this story without having read the rest of the series. If you are reading the series, you can read this story at any time without fear of spoilers.

  Happy Reading!

  Chapter One

  London, March 1859

  Elizabeth Grafton, the Marchioness of Carlisle, spun around as her heart skipped a beat. Stopping, she stared at the figure reflected in the mirror. Her skirts continued on their trajectory until they wrapped around her legs—that is, as much as the crinolines permitted—and then reversed course to settle around her ankles. She considered her familiar dark blonde hair coiled into thick braided loops. Her small waist appeared even smaller due to the corset that her mother had insisted she wear laced so tightly the act of breathing was a Herculean task. The blasted contraption also had her breasts teetering on the edge of spilling from her bodice. It was almost indecent! The ivory silk of her wedding gown had a soft sheen in the glow of the gas lamps that made her feel otherworldly. The woman reflected in the mirror was a veritable stranger.

  Lady Carlisle. The Marchioness of Carlisle. Mrs. Alexander Grafton… that was the moniker that gave her the biggest thrill. She had married the man she loved. Her life couldn’t be more perfect than it was in that moment.

  Despite the myriad unfamiliar names she now bore, she still felt like Lizzy, though her stomach executed a slow roll when her thoughts turned to her wedding night that lay ahead. She had hoped her new husband might play the role of lady’s maid on this night. But alas, he had sent her upstairs with the expectation that Sarah, her actual lady’s maid, would attend to her shortly. Her brows drew together as she puzzled over that decision on his part. Was he not as eager as she to commence marital relations? Perhaps he simply thought she needed the time to settle her nerves? Hhmmpphh. Carlisle was what she required. He had a steadying effect on her, one she badly needed as virgin jitters took up residence within her stomach.

  A soft knock interrupted her musings. “Come in,” she called out as an irrational spark of hope flared to life.

  The door opened, and Sarah bustled in with a gush of excitement. “My lady! You were beautiful today.”

  Lizzy tamped down her disappointment and offered her maid a smile. “Thank you, Sarah. You styled my hair so elegantly; I am still amazed it is me when I look in the mirror.”

  Her maid smiled. “Thank you, my lady. I am glad it pleased you.” She strode over to the armoire. “Let me just pull out your nightgown.”

  Sarah pulled the scandalously sheer night-rail from the Mahogany cabinet and laid it out across the bed. Then she returned to where Lizzy stood and began unfastening her gown. Together they made quick work of undressing her, and before long, she sat at her dressing table, clad in her filmy batiste cotton nightgown that exposed more than it covered, and pulled a brush through her tresses.

  “Let me do that for you.” Sarah reached for the brush.

  Lizzy waived her off. “I’ll brush my hair. It’s been a long day. You should retire.”

  Her maid hesitated, as though she feared Lizzy might accuse her of shirking her duty.

  Lizzy huffed her impatience. “Go!”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Sarah curtsied and quickly exited the room.

  Silence settled around her as she pulled the brush bristles through her hair over and over. The dark golden blonde hair shimmered as she continued to stroke through strands. Focusing on that was far easier than wondering where her new husband could be. She sighed and set the brush down. This was ridiculous. She stood up and paced toward the fireplace. She knew Carlisle—Alexander. He was her husband now. He was the man she had cared for, for over a year as he courted her and ultimately asked for her hand in marriage. He would never hurt her. He would never do anything to cause her pain—well, at least not beyond that one act that was unavoidable. Her mother had warned her that the first time would be unpleasant.

  She stared into the fire, watching the flames dance as she tried to settle her nerves. He would join her soon, and she did not want him to find a scared virgin. She tried to imagine how her intrepid sister, Theo, would handle this. Lizzy laughed. She would have marched downstairs and demanded to know where Alexander was.

  A firm knock sounded at the door that separated their rooms, causing her to jump and gasp. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. “C-come in.”

  Alexander Cornelius Grafton, the Marquess of Carlisle, stepped into the room. He was shrouded in shadows and what she thought looked like a dark dressing robe. Her heart raced, even as her feet seemed rooted to the floor. A low groan escaped from his general direction, spurring her to take a step forward. “Are you well, my lord?”

  He snorted and then spoke in a gravelly tone she’d never heard from him before. “Rather formal for a married couple, don’t you think?”

  “O-of course, Alexander.” She offered him a tentative smile. “Are you well?”

  He seemed to shake his head but then said, “What in the bloody hell are you wearing?”

  Lizzy glanced down nervously. “A nightgown.”

  “For the love of God, step away from that damned fireplace.” The words came out as nearly a snarl, which caused her to squeak as she hustled away from the light and into the cooler shadows with him.

  “My apologies. I didn’t mean to…” she trailed off. What had she done wrong? She wrinkled her nose a bit. She was just standing there. What could possibly have upset him?

  He seemed to shake off whatever had bothered him. “No, I shouldn’t have been so gruff. I simply—” He stopped speaking abruptly. “Bloody hell!” He cursed and strode over to where she stood. He hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

  Blood rushed through her veins as she grew lightheaded under his kiss. Had he not held her so tightly, she was certain her legs would have given out, leaving her crumpled at his feet. His tongue invaded her mouth, duelled with her own, and explored her with a thoroughness that addled her wits. All she could do was cling to his shoulders and follow his lead.

  His mouth pulled from hers and made a trail down her neck. She swore she could feel his tongue on her skin with each kiss he placed, as though he were tasting her. A shiver skated down her spine.

  Her breathing grew laboured, and chill bumps ripp
led across her flesh, though she felt as if she was trapped in a furnace. And there was an ache growing between her thighs that was shocking in its intensity. She rubbed her legs together in an attempt to ease the discomfort, but the effort was to no avail. The throb seemed to grow worse until a low moan escaped her throat just as he made his way down and across the tops of her breasts.

  “Please.” The single word burst past her strangled breath. Please what? What did she want him to do? To stop? To do more? She didn’t know. She simply hoped he would know, that somehow he would understand and take action. He had always made her feel so safe and cared for. Certainly, he could handle this… whatever this was.

  Then his lips found her nipple. Already pebbled and hard, they seemed to pucker even more as his warm, wet mouth settled on one nub despite the sheer cotton that shielded it. Or perhaps the fabric heightened the feeling? She wouldn’t know, having never had his mouth on her nipple before. Or really, any man’s mouth, for that matter.

  Nearly bent backwards, she couldn’t help but press deeper into his mouth. More, her body seemed to say. Though her mind spun, and started to lose focus as sensation overwhelmed her. The tingling in her breasts seemed to sweep down and meld with the throb between her thighs until her entire body felt like one giant raw nerve. Every brief touch merely made the flames grow higher instead of dousing them. This was terrifying. Terrifying and yet amazing.

  He shifted to her other breast and repeated the suckling and nipping he had subjected the first to. She lifted a leg, as much as her long nightgown allowed, and wrapped it about his hip in an attempt to get closer to him. To perhaps try to ease the unending ache in her core. “Please,” she pleaded again. The distress she felt over the throbbing between her legs crept into her tone.

  Alexander lifted his head until their gazes met in the shadows. His dark brown eyes melted into blackness but for the reflection of the flames dancing in them. He lifted her up and carried her to the bed, where he laid her down. Closer to the lamps and the fireplace, she could see a ferocity in his gaze that was unfamiliar and yet exciting. Gone was the kind, gentle man she had always known. In his place stood a ravening beast who seemed to want to devour her whole. And heaven help her; she was prepared to let him.

  The clock on the mantle ticked loudly as the moment stretched. Looming over her, he reached down and gripped the front of her gauzy nightgown in his fist. He jerked up, and the straps at her shoulders snapped. He pulled down, and the scrap of fabric separated at the seams until she lay there naked before him.

  Lizzy’s mind whirled as she tried to piece together what was happening with what her mother had told her. Alexander had touched her breasts as her mother had warned, but then he’d put his mouth on them as well. That had been unexpected. And her mother had told her to think of pleasant things such as shopping, but Lizzy found it incredibly difficult to focus her thoughts on anything beyond the sensations buffeting her body. And then he’d ripped—ripped!—her nightgown off her body. Her mother had spoken of him pushing the hem up and then his rutting between her thighs for a few minutes before his crisis would come. Was Alexander having a crisis? What was happening?

  Chapter Two

  Confusion blasted past all the other thoughts and emotions that vied for prominence as her husband knelt at her feet. What could he be doing down there? Was he? Oh, dear God, was he looking at her—there? To her horror, he was, in fact, looking at her there, and then he pressed his hands to her thighs and spread her legs wider. Her face heated—really, it was engulfed in flames—as he reached out and touched her there. No, he couldn’t be touching her with his hands. They remained firmly placed on her thighs. She lifted her head and peered down the length of her nude body to see her husband’s dark head was nuzzling between her thighs. There. Her mother had said nothing of this!

  But what could her mother have said that she would believe? Your husband will put his mouth upon you just between your legs, and he will lick you with his tongue? She’d have laughed in pure disbelief. And then she had a moment where she imagined her father doing—no! It was too much. Besides, her industrious husband was stroking her in the most distracting fashion. His tongue had found that secret spot between her thighs. The one she touched every so often because it always made her feel so good. And oh, the attention he paid it did wondrous things to her body. The ache between her legs had eased, or perhaps it had changed. Because her hips jerked upwards, seeking more of what he was doing.

  On a groan, he wrapped his hands around her thighs and pulled her closer while all the sensations he had created converged. Her hands fisted in the sheets, and then a scream sliced through the air. “Alex! Oh, God!” And then her body seemed torn apart as intense pleasure unlike any she had ever known cut through her. All the while, her husband continued with what he was doing with his tongue. Then slowly, her ability to focus returned as the lapping between her thighs slowed and gentled. He rose over her, his mouth glistening with what she knew to be her own wetness. He licked his lips and growled deep in his chest.

  What was that? Did all men do that to their wives? Would he do it again if she asked?

  And then her husband shed his own robe, and all of her questions fled as she spied his long, thick erection. She could see this because he was bloody naked beneath his robe. Logically, she had known they would both have to be naked at some level in order to copulate, but she had not anticipated his standing there in all his naked glory. And glorious it was!

  How did a man such as him keep so fit, so muscular? She longed to reach out and touch him. To run her fingertips over the many ridges and valleys of muscle that seemed to contour his skin in the most intriguing ways. Particularly across his stomach. The man was a fascinating study in contrasts.

  But before she could move, he crawled on the bed between her thighs and notched his manhood at her opening. “I’m sorry, Lizzy,” he said.

  That had been his only warning before he thrust into her body. She cried out, more in shock than pain. And then she lay there, impaled by his shaft. The feeling of fullness was intense, but the immediate hurt had already faded. He seemed to hang over her, as though suspended in time until his hips moved. He slid backwards, retreating from her body. She whimpered in disappointment as he pulled backward.

  “I apologize, Lizzy; I-I wanted this to be different… damn it all!” He ended on a curse, and then his hips slammed home, filling her once again.

  She wanted to say something, to tell him it was fine. But he stole the words from her as he shuttled in and out of her body. The rhythm reminded her of the housekeeper’s sewing machine, the way the needle bobbed up and down. He plunged in and out of her, over and over. Her body opened and welcomed his invasion more and more with each thrust. Rutting. This must be what her mother had meant. The word had confused her, but it was hard to misunderstand at the moment. And then she noticed the return of the throbbing sensation from earlier. It was low and not very intense, but she recognized it once again. Curiosity caused her hips to jerk up to meet his next thrust, and it surprised her to discover the throbbing feeling grew more intense. And even more surprising, she liked it.

  But her mother had told her it was best to lie motionless, and she dared not disappoint her husband. He seemed to be extremely focused on what he was doing, so she tried to hold still. But then her hips moved again, almost as if she had lost control of her body. And Alexander had grunted low, as though in approval of her movement. So she let her body do as it wished. Her hips thrusting up to meet his every downward stroke. The throbbing grew more intense and seemed to spread over her lower body as it had earlier when he licked her. Again, she was breathing hard and reaching for that pinnacle she had experienced earlier.

  Then he pulled out of her body, and she found herself flipped over onto her hands and knees. Before she could ask what the devil he was about, Alexander climbed on the mattress and plunged back into her body from behind. She could no longer see him, could only feel him as he loomed over her and pressed a hand i
nto her back. He pinned her upper body to the mattress as his other hand gripped her hip in a tight fist.

  “That’s it,” he cried out as he pumped into her over and over. She continued to brace against his onslaught, unclear what was happening except that her core ached once more, and she was certain that another burst of pleasure was coming her way. But then her husband, the man who had always protected her, the one she believed would never raise a hand to her, slapped her bottom.

  Smack!

  To be clear, he had not just patted her. No, she was quite certain she would have a red handprint on her right buttock for hours to come.

  Her backside tingled from his blow, and her body clenched him even tighter as the sting morphed into a warm, pleasurable sensation that mingled with the ache in her core. Good, God! How could she like such a thing? But she… no. Absolutely not. She refused to examine what had just happened. Or how she felt about it.

  That was when she realized her husband had ceased moving. He remained still as a statue above her as his breath labored in and out of his chest.

  “Fucking hell! What have I done?” He yelled as he pulled free of her body.

  Still on her hands and knees, she looked back over her shoulder in time to see him toss on his robe and turn to face her. He dragged his hands down his face and then dropped them at his sides. She could see his erection, plain as day, as he fisted his hands in the folds of his robe.

  “For God’s sake, sit down and cover yourself,” he snapped.

  Shocked by everything that had just happened, Lizzy scrambled to pull the covers down and slide beneath them. Clutching them to her breast, she looked at her husband. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Oh, Christ,” he muttered under his breath. “No, you did nothing wrong. It was me. I did—I am wrong. You have my sincere apologies about this incident. It won’t happen again.” And then he turned and marched from her room.