by Cheryl Holt
"Has it ever occurred to you that I couldn't trifle with a married man? Even if Melanie and I aren't friendly, she's eager to have a loving rapport with her
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husband, and if you believe I could betray her, then you don't know me, at all."
He scoffed. "If she presumes she can have a loving relationship with me, then she's a fool."
"If you marry her, I can't continue to reside at Don-caster."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Would you help me to relocate? To find a new situation? Could you do at least that much for me?"
"You're painting all these calamitous scenarios, and I don't understand why you are. Let it go, Kate. Stop worrying."
He'd avoided supplying any guarantees, which told her that if the worst came to pass, and he joined the family, she'd be on her own and couldn't count on him. She shouldn't be wounded by the notion—after all, she'd always been alone—but she'd so hoped that he cared enough to, at a minimum, have her safely settled elsewhere.
"Why are you contemplating marriage to her? It's obvious you're not interested. Why not bluntly advise her that she has no chance? Put her out of her misery and send her home."
"I have to wed by my thirty-first birthday," he explained, "and I don't want to, so it's all the same to me."
"One girl's the same as the next?"
"Yes."
"Oh, Marcus ..." She yearned to shake him! How could he be so cavalier about such a fundamental decision? "If you don't propose to her, we'll be gone in two weeks."
"I'm aware of that." His tone was cool, noncommittal.
"You'll never see me again."
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"No, I won't."
A wave of melancholy billowed over her. Would it kill him to give a small hint that he was fond of her? Was she truly so irrelevant? An image flashed, of the dozens of women who'd lain with him before she had, and the dozens who would after she left, and she was so despondent.
"Doesn't my imminent departure bother you?" she humiliated herself by asking.
"Kate," he soothed, "what would you have me say? Should I profess my undying devotion and claim that I'll be devastated, that I won't be able to persevere without you?"
"Maybe it's what I need to hear."
"I'm sure it is, but where would it leave us?"
"I don't know."
"Should I beg you to remain in London?" He was growing angry, and she was glad to have him evince an emotion, even if it wasn't what she'd been longing to detect. "Fine. Will you stay and be my mistress? Is that the existence you visualize for yourself?"
"No."
"Come now!" he sarcastically cajoled. "I'll establish you in an expensive house, and buy you a fashionable wardrobe. I'll pop in twice a week, so that you can earn your keep, flat on your back. The neighbors will remark on the odd hours my carriage is parked out front, and they'll titter about who you are, and how you support yourself. We'll persist till I'm weary of you, and when the allure has faded, and another tickles my fancy, I'll pay you a stipend and toss you over. It will all be so congenial, so tidy."
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She glanced away and peered at the wall. "There's no need to be cruel."
"I'm not being cruel, my darling Kate. I'm being brutally frank." He cradled her cheek in his palm, forcing her to look at him. "Can you conceive of what your life would be like if you hooked up with me? You're very special, and you should be cherished and adored, but I'm not the man to love you. I have no idea how."
"I think you are."
"It's a waste of energy to weep and lament over what can never be."
"But I wish for more than this... this sneaking around, and these fast gropings in the dark, where we're constantly fretting that we'll be caught."
"Of course you do."
"Why can't there be more than this?"
"Because you deserve someone better than me." He kissed her on the nose, on the mouth. "We have such limited time together. Let's not squander it. Let's be happy for what is, and not grieve over what might have been."
She tried to salvage some consolation in having wrangled his admission that she was special, which was a tepid compliment, but she'd hold it dear. What was to be gained by mourning reality, by pining for more?
She hugged him tight and whispered, "After I go, I will miss you every minute of every day."
Stupidly, she waited for a similar comment, but he replied with, "I know you will."
She groaned and punched him on the shoulder. "You are such a vain beast!"
"I've never denied it." Turning serious and pensive,
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he stared at her, a thousand sentiments streaming across his beautiful face, but he didn't voice any of them. "Don't be sad, Kate. I can't bear it when you are."
How could she rue and regret? Particularly when he was gazing at her like that, as if she was unique and exceptional, and every bit as extraordinary as he'd contended.
"I won't be."
He kissed her again, and it quickly altered into a profound embrace that seemed to embody all he couldn't speak aloud. Men weren't the most astute creatures, and it occurred to her that perhaps he liked her, but couldn't confess it. Or perhaps he hadn't realized the depth of his affection.
She relaxed, relishing their bond, and she was ecstatic that she'd had the opportunity to discover what it was like to be so close to another human being.
Lately, she'd been anxious, feeling as if she was laboring under a sinister cloud, that they didn't have the two full weeks she anticipated she'd be in London. What if this was their last rendezvous? If something happened, and they never subsequently dallied, she'd never forgive herself for not forging ahead to the ultimate conclusion. He'd explained it to her, in graphic detail, and she was so curious, so eager.
Their passions heated, and he blazed a trail down her neck, her bosom, to her breast, and he suckled until she was writhing and straining. He journeyed on, down her stomach, her abdomen, until he was rooting across her womanly hair.
"Open your legs for me, Kate," he ordered.
"Why?"
"I'll show you."
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"Show me what?"
"Kate," he scolded, "just do as I say."
"Not until you tell me what you intend."
"You trust me, don't you?"
"No, I absolutely don't."
The bounder chuckled, and she glared at him, unsure if she should acquiesce, but he was grinning at her, like the devil personified, and she couldn't refuse. She widened her thighs, furnishing him the access he'd demanded, and he dipped down, his tongue laving her, jabbing at her.
"Oh, oh my," she panted. "What are you doing?"
"I can make you come this way."
"We shouldn't... we can't..." She couldn't put into words all the reasons they shouldn't do such a wicked thing. It felt too good to be allowed. "It's too ... too ..."
'Too what?" He paused in his torment. "Too marvelous? Too naughty?"
"Yes."
"Precisely why I knew you'd love it. You have the heart of a strumpet."
"No, I don't!" she was compelled to insist, but he started in again, and any further protest was pointless.
He worked his arms under her legs and reached for her breasts, so that he could fondle her nipples, and after he'd grabbed hold of them, it was easy to hurl her over the precipice. With scarcely any effort on his part, she shattered into tiny pieces.
She was soaring, out of control, and she thought she screamed her delight, but she wasn't positive. Waves of pleasure deluged her, and they took forever to crest. As they waned, he was meandering up her torso, nibbling
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at her navel, nuzzling at her cleavage, and she was irked that it had ended so soon. When they philandered, he was always able to resist the onslaught, to contain the spiral, but she never could.
He was right! She did have the heart of a strumpet!
He moved to her nape, to her mouth, and he kissed her slowly, letting her taste
her sex on his tongue, and she wallowed in the dissipation.
Oh, what a wanton she was!
"Make love to me, Marcus."
"Kate..."
"Please."
He regularly claimed that he couldn't deny her any request, and she studied him, having him see how much she wanted it to transpire, how fervently she wanted him to be the one.
"Quit looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you can coerce me into it."
"I want it to be you."
"I don't."
"Liar."
She caressed his phallus, and he was rigid, throbbing. He'd taught her how to tease him with her mouth, how to satisfy him with her hand, but tonight, she yearned for a different conclusion. She couldn't go to Doncaster without it.
With a tad more titillation, perhaps he'd be beyond refusal. She rolled him so that he was on his back, so that she could goad him to the brink.
He was so hard, so impatient, and she traveled down his stomach, to his cock. She licked across the tip, over
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and over, driving him to distraction. Then, she sucked him inside, letting him thrust, letting him revel, until he was set to explode.
When he couldn't stand any more, she pulled away, and straddled his loins, her privates in direct contact with his own. She flexed across him, his phallus gliding along her sheath, and he trembled with anticipation and frustration. He was desperate to progress, but fighting his primal instincts, declining to relent, declining to harm her.
Blasted oaf! She was an adult, and she knew her own mind.
"Take me, Marcus!" she commanded. "Now."
Gripping her thighs, he manipulated her across his erection, each touch like a lightning bolt striking both of them.
"You're so ready for me."
"Yes. For you, Marcus. Only for you."
"It would be so simple," he muttered, more to himself than to her, and he urged her down, her breast dangling before him, and he nursed at her nipple.
"Show me how it can be, Marcus. I'm begging you."
He rotated them, so that she was on the bottom, and he was hovered over her. He appeared sinful, decadent, and inclined to commit any nefarious deed.
"I'm not a saint, Kate."
"No, you're not."
"I can't say no to you. I want this too much."
"Yes, you do." Maybe this was how he could demonstrate that he cared for her. He could attest to his affection with his actions, rather than his words.
"It will hurt—the first time. It can't be helped."
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"You've told me."
"Promise me one thing."
"Anything, my dear man. Anything, at all."
"Promise mat you'll never regret asking me."
As if she could ever regret the experience! She felt as if her entire life had merely been a journey to this place, where she would become a woman in his arms.
"I will always celebrate that it was you. I swear it."
"Oh, Kate..."
With their mutual decision to proceed, his intensity heightened; his lust increased. Rapt, engrossed, bent on achieving his goal, he was focused as he'd never been before.
His hands were everywhere, as he propelled her up and up, his desire escalating in proportion to her own. She was on the verge of unraveling, her ardor at a fevered pitch, when he centered his cock and stroked the blunt crown across her; then he prodded in, the slightest bit. Suddenly not as confident as she had been, she tensed and arched up.
"Relax."
"I'm afraid."
"Don't be."
"I can't stop myself."
"It will be over soon."
He was too big! Like the innocent ninny she was, she struggled against his invasion.
"Marcus!" She wasn't certain what she was seeking. She was about to receive that for which she'd pleaded. It was too late to demur.
"You are so perfect for me."
"Marcus!"
"Hush!" he barked.
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He was riveted on his task, so her entreaties were for naught. He clutched her thighs and splayed them even wider.
"I'm scared. I... I..."
"No regrets, Kate. Remember?"
She fought in earnest, but he wasn't about to desist. He lunged forward, his rod insistent and determined, and he broke through her maidenhead, plunging to her womb. Stunned by strange sensations, she cried out, and he kissed her, swallowing her wail of agony and surprise. He held himself very still, as her virginal body acclimated, as her mind came to grips with what they'd done.
He'd warned her what it would be like, but she hadn't listened, and she supposed that the process was very much like dying. A person could have it described, but until she actually went through it herself, it was impossible to comprehend the enormity of what would transpire.
"That's the worst of it," he murmured.
"And I survived." She tried to chuckle over her display of feminine histrionics.
"You did fine."
He smiled, which made it all right, and gradually, she adapted, her anatomy welcoming him.
"You fit inside me!"
'Told you I would."
"I didn't believe you."
"You never do, you scamp!" He was contented, merry, and incredibly aroused. "Let's finish it."
He flexed, and the feeling of him, planted deep, was like nothing she'd encountered prior, and as the initial pain passed, she was eager to join in. She met him
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thrust for thrust, her hips working with his in a precise rhythm. He was more agitated, more frantic, his motions crisp and exact.
Waves of excitement built, and with him embedded inside her, the surge was much more powerful. Another orgasm resonated through her, and as her inner muscles clamped around him, the pressure brought on his own release. He pushed into her once, again, again, and his seed rushed out. But at the last instant, he drew away, denying her the final and definitive knowledge of the culmination.
He spilled himself onto her stomach, and she sighed—with bliss but also a touch of melancholy. She should have known he wouldn't risk siring a babe. While she recognized that it was his way of being gallant, of protecting her, she mourned that he couldn't grant her this piece of himself.
As their ardor waned, it was terribly quiet, and now that it was over, she was curious as to what they'd talk about. She was much more overwhelmed than she'd imagined she'd be, and a sprinkling of tears dribbled down her cheeks. He was disconcerted, and he took the sheet and swiped them away.
"Why are you sad?"
"I'm not," she claimed, which was true. "I'm very, very happy."
'They're tears of joy?" He was extremely dubious.
"Yes."
"You're no longer a maid."
"A situation I heartily embrace."
"My little beauty. How glad I am that you are mine!" For a few minutes, he nestled with her; then he
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retrieved a towel and washing cloth and cleansed away the evidence of their reckless behavior.
"Are you sore?"
"I'll mend."
He snuggled next to her. "Let's nap awhile; then I'll ring for a bath. You won't ache quite so much if you soak a bit."
"That sounds splendid," she agreed, though she'd never let him order up a bath. He was so spoiled! It hadn't occurred to him that it was two in the morning and she'd never permit him to rouse a servant with such a frivolous request. "Afterward, can we do it again?"
He laughed. "I'll die in your arms!"
He covered them with a blanket, and she rested, taking note of every detail, and thinking how easy he made everything. Her deflowering could have been awkward and embarrassing, but he was so sweet, so blithe and nonchalant, which induced her to cherish him all the more.
Within seconds, he dozed, which gave her the chance to study him without his being aware, without his being able to hide his thoughts, or conceal his vulnerabilities and emotions.
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The air had cooled, and she tugged another blanket over them. She was as weary as he, but she daren't fall asleep. Her worst nightmare would be to wake up at dawn to see a maid reviving the fire, or his valet laying out his jacket and trousers.
She absolutely could not be caught with him!
His slumber deepened, and he snored lightly, and she leaned in and kissed his cheek. He smiled, though he didn't stir.
"I love you," she whispered, and she sneaked off the mattress, hurriedly donned her clothes, and tiptoed out.
The corridor was dark, the stairwell even darker, and she stumbled to her room and crept in undetected. It was so silent, so forlorn, and she was inundated by the impression that this dismal, dreary world was how it would be after she'd gone back to Doncaster.
Would he ever reminisce about her?
The answer was surely no, which was too depressing, and she lit a candle to ward off her sense of isolation. The flame sputtered and strengthened, and she stripped, then shrugged into her negligee. As she turned to fetch her brush and braid her hair, she was startled.
There, on the center of her dresser, was his signet ring. The sight was too spooky for words, and she picked it up, praying it wasn't real, but it was.
As usual, it seemed to glow and pulse, as if it were alive, as if it were trying to import some message she didn't understand. He'd drunk the potion, too, and he'd subsequently grown so enamored of her, and she wondered whether he possessed something of hers.
The moment the possibility popped into her head, she shook it away. Was she now relying on witches' remedies and ancient superstitions to guide her path?
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Maybe she should visit the apothecary and purchase some eye-of-newt and bats' wings!
