Second Chance Marquess (Second Chance Series Book 1)

by Jessica Jefferson

  She picked up her fork and began eating again, and he quickly followed suit.

  “You use your cane with little difficulty,” she managed to remark between bites.

  “Well, it isn’t the first time I’ve had to use one.”

  She paused. “Does your leg often bother you?”

  “Often enough.”

  Willie bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You’re not the one who shot me.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t believe my aunt would do something so malicious.”

  He raised one eyebrow.

  “Perhaps I can,” she corrected herself.

  “She was just defending you.” He understood the reason quite well, he just didn’t appreciate the means. The conversation wasn’t going at all as he’d intended. If he were going to spend one last night with Willie, he certainly wasn’t going to spend it apologizing for the past.

  “What did you do over these last few years?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “You mean after my husband died?”

  “Yes. Post-husband, but pre-London. You mentioned some of your married life and then reconnecting with your aunt. But there should have been a great deal of time in between that hasn’t been accounted for yet.”

  “We stayed in my husband’s home. There was some money, and we made it stretch. I took work where I could get it.”

  “You took a position in someone’s household?”

  She sat back, rolling the stem of her wine glass in between her fingers. “How else were we to survive? We rented a small home after Victor passed. He’d left something, but it wasn’t enough. So, I took a position as a private tutor for some of the families about the county. I suppose initially they might have been motivated by pity, but I was quite good. Good as any male tutor. I excelled at languages, which is quite valuable as tutors go.”

  He felt a swell of guilt in the pit of his stomach. “But it was a position?”

  “Don’t be such a snob, George. I enjoyed it. It allowed me the means to get Kitty a proper education, keep her in decent gowns and all that. By the time Aunt Louisa finally accepted me back, Kitty was more prepared for her debut than most young girls.”

  Willie’s face transformed as she spoke, lighting up with pride.

  “Why was it so important for you to get Kitty to London?” he asked. She’d always spoken so negatively about her own experiences with Society, he found it odd that she’d been so insistent in providing her younger sister with a proper debut.

  “I was raised in the country. Not poor by any means, but without the trappings of a more privileged childhood, like your own. I found the lifestyle Aunt Louisa inflicted upon me to be quite restrictive. I wasn’t allowed the same freedoms I was in my parents’ home. But after my husband’s death, I discovered for however stifling I may have found that life, poverty was more so, if not entirely suffocating. My actions had cost Kitty the same opportunities I’d been given as a young lady. I hated the notion that it was my foolishness that would impose a life of sacrifice and struggle. Getting her to London, allowing her to have an opportunity for a marriage without burden…that became my sole motivation for everything. I owed my parents’ memory that much.”

  She beamed as if pleased with her answer. It was a beautiful smile, and he couldn’t help but sit in admiration of it, basking in the beauty across from him. Candlelight illuminated her cream-colored complexion. Her skin was a shade darker than fresh milk and, if his memory proved correct, the rest of her body was just as lovely, unmarred by even a single freckle. Her beauty alone would have been enough to capture any man’s heart, but she also had an unmatched intelligence that he’d found to be the most captivating.

  “What about you?” she asked, leaning forward.

  Her breasts were on full display and he had to remind himself that he’d asked for the evening to enjoy a bit of friendship, nothing more. “Me? Well, I haven’t done all that much.”

  “Pish.” She dismissed his nonchalance with the wave of a hand. “It’s been a decade. Surely, you’ve done something.”

  He sat back, crossing an ankle over his knee. “After I recovered, I went about creating chaos wherever I could. I imbibed more than I should, caused quite a bit of trouble around Town. I got into a few scrapes, brawling whoever dared say something about me. I was a mess.”

  “And still you managed to build a decent life for yourself?”

  “Well, I eventually tired of it, or my father finally wore me down. Either way, I ended my little personal revolution and started following my father’s lead. I did what he asked, I helped manage our estates, and I went to all the appropriate social functions. I went to the club on Tuesdays for cards, Thursdays for cigars. Just as he did. It’s all fairly routine for me now. I wake up in the early afternoon, someone brings me some food, I read through the papers, sign some documents, and head out for the evening. And it all repeats the next day. I am my father’s son.”

  “But you never married,” she pointed out. “Wasn’t that one of your father’s primary motivations? To get you busy creating an heir and a spare to carry on the Chesterton title?”

  “Everything but that, I suppose. The old man wished for me to settle down, but that’s the one thing I wouldn’t do.”

  “Just couldn’t find the right woman,” she teased.

  He chuckled and raised his glass in agreement. He had in fact found the right woman, but he’d lost her and blamed his father for it. He’d remained a bachelor out of vengeance.

  “You know,” she said, her tone light. “I didn’t purposely look you up in the gossip rags. I couldn’t get Kitty to read a proper book to save my life, but put a bit of gossip in front of her and she wouldn’t put it down. I noticed your name once and then every so often I’d give it a glance to see what you were up to.”

  “I’m not all bad, you know. I also spend quite a bit of my time with gentlemen also, but the papers never publish anything as boring as that. I like to keep myself busy, it keeps my mind off…things.” He put down his glass. The wine was making him maudlin.

  George lost track of the time as he listened to her talk. Much of the conversation centered around Kitty, who he expected had been as close as a daughter as one could be. He in turn told her stories about London, anecdotes that he’d used at balls and dinners. Every so often they’d share something deeply personal and he’d feel his heart grow warm. Bitterness had a tendency to make one cold, but their exchange seemed to be thawing what he’d believed to be frozen.

  “Do you hear that?” she asked.

  He leaned back toward the entrance of the room. “Music?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Dancing. They’re dancing in the common room.”

  “Would you like to go?” The evening of drink had made him brave.

  She shook her head. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

  He stood up and bowed, then reached for her hand. “I don’t see how you could possibly resist. You love dancing.”

  Willie smoothed her dress nervously. “I used to love dancing. I can’t even remember the last time I had the chance.”

  But he remembered. It was at a country ball, the kind that his father detested. But he’d gone, not to spite him, but because he couldn’t pass up any chance to spend time with Willie. They danced twice that evening, which was daring enough. If her aunt wouldn’t have been so watchful, he would have tried to fill her card entirely. He could still remember how she felt in his arms – how his thumb brushed against her spine, how small her hand felt while he was holding it…

  “Dance with me?” he asked, determined to experience it all again.

  “But you’re hurt. You couldn’t possibly dance.”

  “Even if I were missing a leg, I’d somehow find a way.”

  She answered with action, setting her hand in the crook of his arm. He left the cane behind and escorted her down the hall, his limp improved considerably after the rest…and the wine. No one bothered to pay attention when the two ent
ered the common room where the improvised dance was taking place. A group of musicians were off in the corner and spectators lined the perimeter of the room. Couples were dancing a Quadrille, each partner spinning the other as bystanders cheered wildly. It was entirely too warm and smelled rather like stale ale and the musk of people who’d been long without baths, but he didn’t care.

  No ball in Mayfair could come close to rivaling such a perfect spectacle.

  George sat back as Willie was quickly invited to come out to the floor for the Duchess of Devonshire’s Reel. He watched her laugh as she faltered on some of the steps, then spinning with abandon as the dance progressed.

  No piece of music would warm his soul more like the sound of Willie laughing.

  He watched, hating to see other men dance with her. He couldn’t bring himself to deny her such joy, but every time he watched someone put his hands on her, he felt the primal need to rip her away, carry her over his shoulder and take her straight up to their room. She was his. Even after all these years, he was certain that Willie belonged to him, as he did to her.

  Finally, after several faster paced dances, the tiny orchestra began to play something slower. His leg ached, but come hell or high water, he would certainly manage through it and share this dance with her. He caught her gaze from across the room and walked over. George bowed upon approach and she curtsied her consent. He took her into his arms and finally he had the opportunity to touch Willie in the ways his hands had burned for since the start of the evening. His hand grazed her back, his fingers taking extra time at the nape, appreciating every inch of her. Her hand still fit in his, small but strong. He took liberties he’d only imagined he could, inhaling her scent, gently nuzzling her hair as he passed behind her.

  She was too close, her proximity intoxicating. Heat poured through his veins, draining him of all his good intentions. He wanted her. And when he grazed her bare arm with his fingers, her skin erupted into gooseflesh, causing her to inhale sharply – she wanted him, too.

  “Willie,” he whispered, his lips nudging her ear lobe.

  “George,” she returned in a strained whisper.

  “Do you want me to get the second room? I’ll do it without a single complaint.” It had to be her decision. She had to want him just as he wanted her. “I don’t, but it’s whatever you wish to happen.”

  She was trembling despite the sweltering temperature.

  “Willie,” he whispered, pleading. “I want nothing more than to take you to bed and show you just how much I’ve missed you.”

  She looked up at him and mouthed one word.

  *

  The two toppled on the bed.

  George had removed his jacket and waistcoat while kissing her, tossing it on the floor. He fumbled with his shirt before briefly pulling away from her, ripping it over his head and throwing it carelessly behind him.

  There he was. George, standing in front of her, naked from the waist up, his body well-muscled and lean. He was fuller than she remembered, maybe a little less firm in the middle, but the faint outline of muscles across his torso was still something to be envied by men half his age.

  They’d been talking, and then there was dancing, and now…well, Willie couldn’t fathom just how they’d gotten to this point, but they were there and there was no going back.

  “It was the conversation,” she managed to get out between kisses.

  George stopped, propping himself above her on his elbow. “Pardon?”

  “You never believed me,” she babbled, more nervous than she could ever remember being. She felt more like a young girl than the experienced widow she was. “You tried to woo me with flowers and ridiculous tokens, and do you remember that time you attempted to write a poem?”

  “Mmm,” he groaned noncommittally.

  “None of them worked. But conversation…simply talking to one another. That’s what made me want you most.”

  George smiled down at her, a lopsided grin that was equally potent to said conversation. “Willie?”

  “Yes,” she panted, her heart beating a thousand times a minute.

  “Stop talking and kiss me.” George’s mouth came down on hers, hungry and frantic. He kissed her more deeply than he ever had, bruising her lips in the most delicious way.

  He moved from her lips too soon, kissing down the column of her neck. She ran her fingers into his hair, damp with sweat. His mouth had moved to her collarbone, his tongue gliding along it, stopping at the hollow at the base of her neck, taking a moment to explore it, playfully flicking it with his tongue before moving further down her body.

  His hands pulled down the bodice of that ridiculous dress, her breasts tumbling out with little effort. His hands were more calloused than they were as a young man, but still soft to touch. He hovered just above her nipples, his warm breath causing them to pucker and ache with desire.

  He was breathing more deeply now, whereas she found herself barely able to catch her breath. She moved her hands down to his shoulders, running her fingers along the sinew and muscles of his upper back. He moaned, sending a wave of warmth straight through her core. His hands moved over her breasts, reacquainting himself with her body, the warmth emanating from his palms leaving a trail of scorched skin everywhere they touched. He bent his head down and took one of the dusky peaks into his mouth. She gasped, digging her fingers into his shoulders.

  As he suckled, his hand worked her other breast, caressing, working its way to her nipple, then pinching, rolling it between his fingers. Willie arched her back, trying to bring herself closer to him, giving him more of her. He nipped at her breast, sending a shock of exquisite aching through her. It was quickly met with pleasure as he licked, soothing the affected area. Her body was tense with bow-like tension, desperate for release.

  It had been so long since she’d experienced such pleasure. The last man to touch her like this, the only man, was George. Her husband, well, he wouldn’t have dared touch her in such ways. Theirs was a mutual understanding of friendship – nothing like this. She should have been embarrassed, shy even. But she wasn’t. Instead, she was unapologetically wanton.

  One of his hands was at her waist, his thumb brushing against her abdomen through her gown, excitement building in her belly, the warmth traveling down to her most intimate of parts. Her legs trembled with anticipation, her center, wet, waiting.

  He took his mouth away from her breasts and started kissing her again as his hand made its way down her belly, down to her thighs. He propped her leg up, her gown falling down, exposing her leg and her mound. He ran his hand along the inside of her thigh, then to the outside, tracing the outline of her muscle, firm after years of working around her small plot of land. The tips of his fingers brushed against her, touching the dampness. She felt herself close to climax, embarrassed it had taken so little time.

  Without warning, he took his hand away, replacing it with him. She could feel his cock through his trousers, hard and warm. Her body melted at the memory of him filling her. She was ready, her core empty for the want of him.

  They were kissing frantically now, each kiss deeper than the last. She wanted more of him—clawing his back, thrusting up to meet his cock, grinding into him.

  She’d imagined this exact moment, more often than she’d ever admit. But in her dreams, it was dressed with candlelight and silk sheets – every girlish notion of romance she could possibly conjure. They would take their time, appreciating each other, savoring each other’s bodies. But in reality, ten years of desire had taken its toll. The wait was too much – there would be no savoring, each of them too hungry for that. She’d been starved for him and him alone, and she felt an urgent need to have him inside her as quickly as possible.

  Willie felt if they moved any slower, then it might not happen at all. Any delay at all would only allow them time to come to their senses. Logic was certainly not leading her thought process, and she very much doubted that George was giving it all that much thought either.

  “I want
this off you,” he breathed, pushing the fabric past her mound, exposing her to him.

  “No,” she whispered. “Please.”

  He understood the urgency and began pulling his trousers down, freeing himself. She felt his hand graze her, his fingers taking time to touch that most sensitive part of her, then slipping one inside her core, making sure she was ready for him.

  She thrust up, desperate for more. He shifted himself, his cock nestled between her legs, pausing just before he entered her.

  “Willie…” he said, his voice strangled by desire.

  She held a finger to his lips to silence him. Words weren’t necessary, nothing good could come out of speech at a time like this. George took one of her legs, lifted it high, and she wrapped it above his hips, pressing his cock against her opening. She arched her back, raising up to meet him, and he thrust into her.

  Her vision splintered, every part of her body alive. He pulled back, then plunged into her again. He pulled up, his chest in the air as he brought his hips to meet her, his rhythm merciless, over and over thrusting his hips to meet hers, filling her, stretching her. He grabbed her other leg, wrapping it around him and burying himself even deeper inside her.

  Willie’s hands pressed against his sculpted chest, wrapping around to his arms, grabbing onto the muscles, holding on as he penetrated her, his pace constant, mindless. There was no reasoning, no thought. She could feel his cock swell as he grew closer to climax. She wasn’t far behind, her own body tensing, her center tightening against him as she tumbled closer.

  She bit her lip, the pressure building inside her almost exquisitely unbearable. His breath was unsteady now, erratic. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his eyes were pressed closed as he worked toward his pleasure. Seeing him, it was too much. Willie moaned loudly, the pressure finally exploding, working its way like fireworks through her belly and down her thighs. Her entire body shuddered again and again.