“The carriage? Marcus, we have all of these guests. Will you stop? I shall lose my shoes. Again. Who on earth are you looking for?”
Once they were at the top of the stairs, he stopped so quickly she ran into him. He turned to the side and curled his arm around her waist to steady her. When he pulled her close and looked down into her face, his heart stopped. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed and the gentle slope of her décolletage moved against the neckline of her gown in a fascinating tremor.
“Do you want to stay, Addy? With all of these people?” The question sounded so foolish, especially in the strained tone he managed. It did not matter. Her understanding was there in those sparkling eyes.
“No, Marcus,” she said. “I want to go with you.”
“Good,” he nearly shouted. “Go and change. I will find my mother and inform her.”
She nodded wordlessly. Before she could move, he snatched her into his arms. “God, Addy.” His lips closed over hers in a desperate kiss. Her soft sigh and the whisper of her arms as they rose around his neck, made his good leg weak and his bad leg tremble. The subtle touch of her tongue to his upper lip shot a bolt of lust from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. It lodged in his groin and made him shiver. It was an act of will to put her away from him.
“Go, Addy. Hurry.” He fell back against the balustrade and watched her hurry down the hall toward the guest chambers. His heart felt as if it would burst from his chest to go after her, his heart and a few other appendages he could not name in mixed company.
“Well,” an amused voice started from the stairs. “Welcome back to the world of the living, dear boy.”
Marcus clutched his chest and nearly collapsed again. “Lady Haverly.” He towered over her, but felt all of eight years old. Probably sounded that age as well. “I was… looking for my mother.”
“Down your wife’s dress, Selridge?” the old harridan asked. He could only splutter in reply. She took his discomfort as a sign to continue. “She’s certainly brought you back to life, young man. ‘Bout time too. Can’t mourn your losses forever.”
“I assure you, my lady,—”
“Piffle.” She snapped her fingers at him. “Don’t puff up at me, boy. Go and see to your carriage. I’ll find your mother and the girl’s mother too. They’ll want to talk to her before you whisk her away to start on their grandchild.”
“I beg your pardon.” Marcus had blushed more in the last fortnight than he had in his entire youth. “I will not—”
“No, you won’t, if Henrietta Formsby-Smythe tells that girl what to expect. I’d better take care of that part myself.”
Marcus looked at her and grinned. “She has given birth to six children, my lady.”
“I’ve given birth to twelve and buried four husbands.” She crooked her finger and he leaned down to listen. “Three of whom died in bed.”
He stared at her wicked smile for a moment, before a bark of laughter erupted from deep in his chest. He kissed her cheek. This time it was her turn to blush.
“You’re right, Lady Gertrude. You talk to her.” He thought he heard girlish laughter as he limped down the stairs in search of a footman. He definitely heard the word “scoundrel” float down from the landing after him.
“There you are, Your Grace. I must speak with you immediately.”
What now?
Marcus paused on the last step to avoid plowing into the round form of his nearest neighbor. What the devil was the man’s name?
“I’ve spoken to your man, Abercrombie, and he refuses to hand over your guest list,” the man blustered, mopping his brow with a dingy handkerchief.
“And why do you need my guest list, sir? John, have the carriage brought round.” Marcus stepped around the florid faced gentleman and signaled the young footman who’d just come from the drawing room.
“At once, Your Grace.”
“Selridge, I need your guest list immediately.”
Marcus stared at the man’s hand on his arm. Then he stared at the man. Who promptly removed his hand. “For what purpose?” he bit out.
“To find out which of your guests has murdered my son.”
Chapter Fifteen
It wasn’t until she settled into the luxurious squabs of the Selridge ducal carriage and surreptitiously slipped her feet out of yet another pair of new, and therefore, pinching shoes, Adelaide noticed her husband’s intensely focused gaze. There was something wild in those green eyes. It was the same something she saw at the top of the stairs right before he kissed her. Kissed her, he’d practically devoured her. She was hopeful he was about to do so again, when his eyes glanced down to look at her feet. Of their own volition, her ten silk-stocking-clad toes peeped out from the hem of her smart new slate blue carriage gown and pelisse.
Whilst the unnamed something she’d seen still lurked in the background, his eyes now crinkled in badly concealed amusement. With a mock scowl, Addy leaned forward to brush some stray rose petals from the shoulders of Marcus’s elegant dark blue jacket.
Through no fault of her own, Adelaide had left him cooling his heels for over an hour before she appeared in her traveling clothes. They’d made a mad dash through a gauntlet of well-wishing friends and relations and were now on their way to the hunting box on the far side of the estate. It was nearly a two-hour ride from the main house, but certainly no hardship in the cushioned comfort of the large crested carriage.
“One would think a woman who took two hours to change clothes had ample time to find a pair of shoes that fit,” Marcus observed.
“These shoes do fit, Your Grace. They are simply new and need to be broken in for a while.” There went that eyebrow again. If Marcus had a valet, she would pay the man to accidentally shave the sarcastic bit of hair off. Only such a drastic measure would keep him from cocking it at her in a show of smug superiority.
“Ah. I see. And did you pack all of your old shoes and send them to the hunting lodge for a visit of one week?” The eyebrow stayed up, but his broad grin indicated the teasing nature of his question.
Almost without thinking, Adelaide shot back a haughty reply. “Actually, Your Grace, I did not pack any shoes at all. As it is our honeymoon, I did not think I would need them.”
The only sounds were the creak of the springs and the rhythmic serenade of horses’ hooves and harness jingles. Suddenly, they were on those stairs again. His eyes glittered in some exotic combination of emeralds and jade. The dark blue of his wedding pantaloons wrinkled under the clutch of his stretched and then clenched hands.
She was not nearly so naïve as he believed. Passion roiled off him as white capped waves in a stormy sea. The kiss they had shared on the moors held a breath of it. In the moonlit gardens of Winfield Abby, she’d seen and felt a foretaste of it. Today, however, today she knew. Whatever else Marcus felt about her and this “unromantic” marriage, his passion for her could be in no doubt.
Her mind wanted a marriage of respect, a partnership that would serve them both into their old age. Her heart wanted his love, undying and romantic, the stuff of a girl’s dreams. For a long time, she did not know what her body wanted. Now she knew. Him. Like this. Dangerous, shimmering with it, and just a bit frightening. She’d felt his eyes on her as they had moved about the various rooms in which their wedding breakfast was held. His gaze would touch on her face, her hair, her hands; but the heat of it would suffuse her entire body.
So much so, when he’d dragged her from the room and up the stairs, she wanted nothing more than to leap into that fire. As the Duke of Selridge he was intimidating enough. The man who had crushed her to his chest and branded her with a kiss of nothing less than total possession completely overwhelmed her. And dear God, she wanted more, no matter what the cost.
“Addy, if you insist on making such remarks, and then staring at me like that,” Marcus said softly. “I will not be held accountable for my actions.” His voice had a gravelly quality to it that made her want to shiver.
“Was I
staring, Your Grace? I do beg your pardon. I was simply admiring my latest acquisition.” She held the valiant hope she sounded pert and unconcerned. What she really felt was a nearly irresistible urge to leap into his lap.
“Your latest acquis—Oh, you mean me.”
“Of course. It is not every day a woman acquires a husband, especially one as grand as you.” Good heavens, she sounded like a giddy schoolgirl, or perhaps a housekeeper purchasing a particularly good cut of beef.
“Happy to oblige you, my dear.” He leaned forward and covered the tell-tale tapping fingers in her lap with his calloused hand. “Would you like to know what else you won’t be in need of on your honeymoon?”
She knew her eyes were wide with wonder, from his nearness or perhaps from the realization he was very large and the carriage was very small. Which it had not been a moment ago.
“By all means,” she said, after she swallowed the large lump in her throat.
He touched his forefinger to her bottom lip and traced its contours, before moving up to its mate. She wondered if he knew the incredible urge she felt to close her teeth around that finger.
“You will not need,” he said as he cupped her face in his hands. “The words ‘Your Grace’ for the duration of our honeymoon. In fact,” He gave her nose a brief kiss. “If I hear those words pass your lovely lips whilst we are at the lodge,” He kissed her now tingling lips. “I shall turn you over my knee and spank you.”
She fixed her mouth to say something inane, like “Oh,” but then he continued. In a very rough, dark voice he said, “On your naked bottom.”
Her gasp of shock, or perhaps indignation, or maybe it was simply surprise, was audible but short-lived. It was cut off by the utterly ruthless press of Marcus’s full lips to hers. She threw her arms around his neck, and promptly fell into the carriage floor. With a slight grunt, Marcus hauled her into his lap and settled back onto the plumply-cushioned seat.
A dozen lady-like objections passed briefly through her head before the only thought that remained was Marcus, and the incredible heat he poured into her body with his lips, and tongue, and the caresses of his strong swordsman’s hands. She burned all over and where his hand touched or squeezed she felt seared. An ache settled into every inch of her flesh, an ache that cried out at the unfair barrier of her clothes.
Marcus must have felt it too. When he finally tore his mouth away, he buried his face in her neck and went to work on the buttons down the front of her dress. The soft, short pants of his breath on her already warm skin gave her chills.
“Marcus,” she whispered as she worked to press kisses to the uneven line of his scar. “Darling. Oh.”
Her last exclamation was in answer to the brush of his hand over the tip of her breast. A pleasurable pain accompanied the tightening of her nipple. When he brushed his thumb over it and squeezed gently, the sharp “oh” had escaped before she knew it.
He lifted his head to look into her face. She could not imagine what he saw; an innocent young girl, a new bride, a wanton woman who craved his next touch like a drought-starved field craved rain. What she saw was a man aflame with passion, passion she had caused. It was, perhaps, the most exhilarating moment of her life. She might not be the first woman to evoke such feelings in him, but she was fully determined to be the last.
“Addy,” he said roughly. His voice might be rough, but his face held such tenderness her heart wanted to burst with the glory of it. Passion meant he was attracted to her. Tenderness meant so much, so very much more. She drew her fingers down his unscarred cheek. He was some untamed creature, trembling at her touch, but unable to pull away.
“Yes, Marcus?” He closed his eyes. She watched him gain control of himself. He calmed his erratic breathing, steadied his shaking hands. When he opened his eyes again, something flickered in them before he made an almost desperate statement.
“I have to talk to the driver.”
“What?” She hoped she did not sound like her mother. If she did, it was little wonder. He was about to make love to her, right there in the carriage. She was sure of it. Now, after he placed her gently back onto her seat, he was leaned out the window to chat with the driver. It was difficult to tell which she wanted to do more. Burst into tears or push him out the window.
When he finally ducked back into the carriage and resumed his seat opposite her, she sat, arms crossed, and deliberately stared out the window on the other side. She hated to play the petulant child, especially in her current state, when she felt anything but childish. Her body ached with an unnamed, unfulfilled sensation. It pooled in her breasts and in her middle, raced around her body and clutched her throat, before coming to rest in places she never dreamed possible. What had he done to her? More importantly, why had he stopped? This marriage business was not all it was cracked up to be at all.
“You are angry with me, aren’t you?” At least he wasn’t a complete idiot. After a moment or two she turned to look at him. His face was flushed and he did look sincerely contrite. That much, at least, was in his favor.
“Why on earth would I be angry with you, Your Grace? I am certain every new bride longs to be fondled to the height of ecstasy, and then dumped like a smelly old dog so her husband may converse with his driver.”
It was infuriating. His face twitched in several places. He pressed his lips together, she knew, to keep from laughing. When he spoke, his voice sounded like he was choking on a large bull frog. Pity she did not have one handy.
“I have never compared you to a dog, smelly or otherwise, nor would I. And if you will but wait a moment you will discover why I needed to speak with the driver.” He folded his arms to mimic hers and stretched his legs out on either side of hers. “One more thing, my sweet. You were nowhere near the heights of ecstasy I intend to show before this night is over. You can be sure of that.” His cocky, self-assured smile made her want to lean over and smack him. How dare he.
“Of all the arrogant—umpff.” The carriage lurched forward and began to pick up speed. The sudden change dumped Adelaide in the floor. Again. Marcus picked her up and set her back onto her seat.
“Why on earth did he do that?” she asked. “Are we in a race now?”
“Absolutely.” Marcus assured her. “I told him there was an extra ten pounds in it if he got us to the lodge in the next hour.”
“The next hour? Good heavens, we’ll be killed at this pace.”
“If I have to keep my hands off of you for longer than that it won’t matter. I’ll expire if it takes any longer.”
“Expire? Why would you—Oh.” His eyes were relit with an irresistible flame. He reached to unfold her arms and held her hands in his. His hands were warm, a warmth that sensitized hers to the slightest touch. His thumbs rubbed tandem circles in her palms. She watched in fascination and felt as if her skin would start to scream at any moment. With a slow intake of breath, she brought her eyes up to look at his face.
“I want you, Addy. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Marcus, but I—”
“I want you so much, just touching you like this is driving me mad.” His voice was as hot as the touch of his hands. She closed her thumbs over his.
“Marcus, it’s fine. Really. I… I want you too. If you—”
He raised her hands to his lips and kissed each one in turn, slowly and gently, before pressing them back into her lap.
“I will not make you my wife in a moving carriage, Addy. I am still able to cling to the last vestiges of myself as a gentleman. At least until we get to the lodge.”
She stared at him for a moment in an attempt to memorize Marcus barely in control of himself. It happened so seldom she felt certain she would need to recognize it for future reference. At least she hoped so.
“Well, damn,” she said and shook her head. “You certainly picked a fine time to play the gentleman, husband.” A great gusty sigh escaped as she settled back onto her seat.
Marcus chuckled and then clucked at her like an old nanny. “A
delaide Winfield, where did you learn such language?”
“Say that again.”
“Where did—”
“No, Marcus.” She was almost shy now. “Say my name again.”
His face softened into a look of tenderness she determined to be her lifeline in the days and weeks to come. “Only if you call me husband again.”
“Please, husband.”
“Adelaide Winfield, my wife.”
They smiled at each other. She could tell he felt as silly as she did. It didn’t matter.
“Well, husband,” she started, as she settled into her rocking seat. “Even at this speed, we will be a while reaching the hunting box. What can I do to keep your mind off your…” Her eyes wandered down his body to the visible ridge in his pantaloons. “Troubles?”
“Stop looking at me like that for one.” He growled so she wanted to giggle out loud. His shifting about on the seat did not appear to offer him much relief.
“Very well.” She refused to even try not to sound smug. “Then what are we to do?”
“Talk.”
“About?”
“You could hang out the window and describe every rock, bird, tree and flower along the way. As I recall, you have quite a gift for that.”
“There is no need to make fun of me, Your—” He raised his damned eyebrow again. “Marcus. It’s not my fault you are in such a—” The other eyebrow went up. “You really are rude for a man who wants to go to bed with me. I have little experience of it, but I am fairly certain you are supposed to at least try to be nice to me.”
“I am trying to be nice, Addy.”
“No, you aren’t. You are making fun of me. As if you really want me to—”
“I do, Addy. Really.” He suddenly looked down at his feet. When he lifted his head to meet her eyes he looked young and almost shy. “It is… I mean… I like it.” He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “I like it when you talk about those things.”
She cocked her head to study his expression.
“Julius and I used to spend every summer here. We were allowed to run positively wild and we loved it.” His face was hard, but his words were not. “After he… After he died and mother and I came here it wasn’t the same. It seemed so big and empty.” He shook his head in what appeared to be disbelief. “I found myself seeking out my mother’s company for no other reason than to hear her voice.”
Lost In Love (Road To Forever Series #1) Page 17
