Tempting the Marquess (The London Lords Book 3)

by Nicola Davidson

  Seconds later he scooped her up in his arms as though she weighed nothing at all, and walked toward the wide, sculpted staircase leading to the upper floors. Every step was both a delight and a torment, as he held her tightly against him, and her breasts rubbed back and forth against his chest. By the time they reached the marquess’s bedchamber she was desperate, her taut nipples aching to be touched, and the pulsing between her legs unbearable.

  “Welcome to my quarters,” said William as he set her down in the center of the surprisingly warm room, the roaring fire adding heat as well as light. An oversized four-poster bed draped with bronze satin brocade curtains dominated the east wall. In another corner was a screened off area for bathing and dressing, and two comfortable-looking chairs sat facing each other along with a low table in front of the fireplace. The walls were plain cream, but the burnished wood paneling and bronze-striped rugs thick enough to sink into gave the room an elegant, opulent feel.

  “It’s beautiful,” she replied, her breath hitching when he trailed the back of one knuckle along her jaw.

  Oh God. This was really happening.

  Her fingers trembled and she fumbled with the clasp of her cloak, eventually managing to shrug the garment off. “I’m not really sure what to do. Last time…I didn’t disrobe.”

  William’s eyes flared, and he nodded. “Good. Because I’m going to enjoy unwrapping you.”

  Then he leaned down, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. It may have started sweet and gentle, as though to reassure her, then the flame sparked to life, and all thoughts were forgotten in a mad, needy tangle of lips and tongues. They didn’t stop, even when a few expert flicks of his fingers unfastened the ribbon of her chemise and tugged it over her head. Helpfully, she sent her slippers flying with two inelegant kicks behind her.

  “My stockings,” she said, starting to bend down and unfasten the little rose garters holding them up.

  “Leave them,” he growled, his gaze both approving and appreciative. Then he cupped the lush fullness of her breasts in his hands and dragged his thumbs back and forth against her swollen, jutting nipples.

  Samantha moaned at the exquisitely pleasurable sensation. But here she was, practically naked, and he was still fully dressed. This wouldn’t do.

  Reaching up, she grappled with the collar button of his shirt. After a few frustratingly unsuccessful attempts, she gripped each side and tore the fabric in two. “There.”

  “My lady is impatient,” said William with a grin, but soon it was him breathing unsteadily as she explored his hot, smooth skin and the sprinkling of dark hair on his chest.

  “Indeed I am, my lord, “she replied in a husky, sultry voice she didn’t even know she possessed. “What are you going to do?”

  “Take you to bed.”

  Again he lifted her as if she weighed nothing, and carried her over to the bed. After pulling back the embroidered quilt and setting her down on crisp linen sheets, he began to unfasten his trousers. She swallowed hard at the size of his erection, but he didn’t fully remove the garment. Instead, he gently parted her thighs, and shifted position so he knelt between them. It was a strange sensation, being so open and vulnerable. And yet the absorption with which he was studying her breasts and belly and the secret place between her legs gave her a heady feeling of power, too.

  “Well, William? Are you going to touch, or just look?”

  “So impatient,” he murmured, although his lips twitched. Finally he leaned down and cupped her right breast, capturing her nipple between his teeth and scraping it.

  She jerked, crying out. Yet he was merciless, tormenting her nipples with his mouth as he alternately bit and sucked them until they were so sensitive she could scarcely bear it. Her legs were shifting in agitation, wanting to press together to ease the ache between them, but she couldn’t. “Please.”

  As though he understood, William trailed his hand along the soft skin of her leg, stroking behind her knee then continuing further up. She nearly stopped breathing when he reached the tangle of blonde curls guarding her mound, but instead of cupping and pressing, he skated up and around and back down again. Samantha groaned.

  “Again, so impatient, darling. Anyone would think your clitoris was in desperate need of attention. Or is your aching quim the issue?”

  Uncertain, she frowned at the unfamiliar words. “I…I don’t know.”

  William’s gaze sharpened. “Ah. Allow me to demonstrate, so you may make an educated decision. This,” he said parting her nether curls and pressing a spot near the top that forced a gasp of delight from her throat, “is your clitoris.”

  “There!”

  “Wait,” he admonished, trailing the same finger down between her damp folds, back and forth until she tingled and his finger was slick with the wetness he’d spoken of earlier. Then slowly, oh so slowly, he pushed it inside her and stroked her inner walls. “Your quim.”

  Panting hard, Samantha stared at him. How could anyone be expected to choose? Both felt so wonderful. “I…ah…”

  “Hurry, now,” he said, tormenting her once more as he pressed that swollen nub then swirled his finger inside her. “Clitoris or quim?”

  She whimpered, her hips bucking. “I…please…”

  William’s eyes darkened with satisfaction. “Hmmm. I do believe my greedy lady wants both. Clitoris stroked and quim fingered, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then ask me nicely, and I’ll gladly oblige.”

  He wanted her to say those wicked words out loud? Her mind protested, even as her body screamed for her to obey. The ache between her legs had gotten so much worse, almost pulsing in time with her heartbeat, and the copious wetness gathering there was perfuming the air with a spicy, earthy fragrance. “William…”

  “Say it,” he said sternly, smoothing her nether curls with the back of his knuckles and yet maddeningly avoiding both special spots he’d just awakened.

  Samantha quivered. “B-both. My clitoris and my q-quim.”

  “Good. Very good, darling,” he replied, finally taking pity on her. His big hand cupped her entire mound, his thumb teasing her clitoris, and his middle finger again slid inside her.

  With a low cry, she writhed against him, frantically circling and lifting her hips to increase the friction. Perspiration glistened on her skin as she strived toward a goal she couldn’t even name but wanted more than anything in the world. “William…I need…”

  “I know,” he said, and simultaneously pressed hard with his thumb while plunging his finger deep.

  Her world splintered, sending throbbing waves of intense sensation rushing through her, and she screamed.

  Oh God.

  What on earth had just happened?

  He’d just given Samantha her first orgasm.

  Fierce satisfaction surged through William, making him a trifle lightheaded. That other bastard in Yorkshire didn’t matter a whit. He was a technicality. He hadn’t seen Samantha’s beautiful body, didn’t know the sweetness of her nipples or the delicious scent of her arousal, and he sure as hell hadn’t seen her look of stunned wonder and excitement as he introduced her to passion or made her come.

  William Hastings had.

  And now he needed to be inside her as soon as possible. His cock had never been harder, and it was humbling to think how fast he would probably climax. Well, it had been a while, and Samantha was like an erotic painting brought to life the way she lay sprawled on his bed, her creamy skin flushed and glistening, her nipples darkened to raspberry from his mouth, and her thighs spread wide.

  Gently extracting his finger from her soaked quim, he again slicked his fingers in her wetness, then lubricated his engorged cock.

  Samantha bit her lip and sat up. “Can I touch it? Your, ah…”

  This woman would be the death of him. “My cock?”

  “Yes,” she said, her cheeks scarlet.

  He nodded, one short jerk of his head, and quickly discarded his shoes, stockings, and trousers.
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br />   With an adorable frown of concentration, Samantha stroked his erection with a fingertip. Up and down, all the way from his swollen balls up to the head, damp with his own moisture and hers. But when she began to encircle him with her fingers and added the lightest of squeezes, he groaned and grabbed her hand.

  “You are too fast a learner,” he said ruefully, and her look of disappointment eased into a smile. “If you keep touching me like that it will be all over before it has even started, and I want to be inside you. I hate to be indelicate, but have you used a sponge before?”

  “No…why?”

  “Soaked in brandy, they are a way to prevent pregnancy,” he said, moving away from the bed and over to a drawer. Sifting through several items, he finally found a small drawstring bag with a sponge inside, a purchase made so long ago it was embarrassing for it to still be unused. “Like this.”

  “Oh! Do you know, years and years ago I was snooping in Mother’s things, and I found some. I thought I could use them for my dolls when they had bath time. Actually, I think that is when I may have been banished to Miss Chadwick’s…stop me, I’m babbling.”

  William smiled as he fetched a decanter of brandy and glass, then returned to the bed. “No you aren’t.”

  “I hope you know what to do with that. Because, um, I don’t.”

  Leaning forward, her cupped her cheek and brushed his lips over hers. “Don’t be nervous. It will be fine.”

  “All right,” she said, taking a deep breath and lying back down on the bed.

  “This will only take a moment,” he continued, swiftly soaking the small sponge in brandy, then, parting her thighs wide, he carefully pushed it inside her up as far as it would go, leaving the string outside so it could be easily removed later on. “There. How does that feel?”

  Samantha’s brow furrowed, then she smiled. “Good. I can hardly feel it.”

  Thank Christ for that. He was well out of practice.

  Resettling himself on the bed, William balanced on one forearm while he fisted his cock, pumping it once and rubbing it against Samantha’s slick flesh to recoat it in wetness. Even that action had him gritting his teeth against a surge of pleasure, although if her low whimpers were any indication, it felt equally good for her. Then he fitted the swollen head to her entrance, and slowly, so slowly, pushed inside.

  Tight. Scalding hot.

  Paradise.

  A guttural sound escaped and his hips jerked, forcing his cock in to the hilt. Samantha groaned, and her fingernails briefly dug into his arms. William immediately paused, sweat gathering at his temples as he waited for her to adjust to his size, and soon he was able to start a delicious game of advance and retreat.

  “Yes,” he gasped, grinding himself against her clitoris. “That’s it, sweet. Come for me again. Come when I’m buried deep in your quim.”

  “Please,” Samantha moaned, her thighs locked around his waist and her taut nipples scraping his chest. “William, please…more…”

  Faster and harder he plunged, reveling in her wild orgasmic cries as her inner walls gripped and released his cock, until finally he reached that brutal, blessed point of no return and came with a hoarse shout, his seed gushing inside her in several exquisitely wrenching spasms.

  Barely able to catch his breath, William collapsed on top of Samantha. He made to move away so he didn’t crush her with his bulk, but her legs remained around his waist and her arms pressed into his back, as though holding him in place. His neck prickled, and he sighed as she threaded her fingers through his hair and gently massaged his head.

  It felt good. Too good. Like returning home after a long absence.

  Like something he might want to do for the rest of his life.

  Imagine. Samantha Standish telling you her plans for the day across the breakfast table each morning. On your arm at the theater, or whispering amusing asides in your ear at dull soirees. Naked and eager in your bed each night. Her belly growing big with child. Dark-haired sons and daughters with golden curls running amok in the nursery, bringing Hastings House to life with laughter and banishing the dark and lonely times forever…

  No.

  Shaking his head, William forced himself to withdraw from the haven of her warmth and comfort. He’d already made too many mistakes tonight. White would string him up if he knew, and “I wanted her so badly” would never be an acceptable excuse for the destruction of a mission that could be the difference between life and death for so many Englishmen. Not to mention the uproar if Aunt Jane and Stephen found out.

  Silently, he settled himself beside her in the bed, pulling the quilt up over them both.

  Samantha blinked sleepy, sated eyes. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” he lied, unable to stop himself smoothing a disheveled blonde curl behind her ear. “Rest now.”

  “Mmmm,” she said, tucking herself against him.

  Soon she was fast asleep, and he stared at the ceiling. This absolutely would not happen again.

  Hours later, he sat perched on the side of the bed, bathed and dressed, drinking in the sight of her as she slept. Her hair was a tangled mess, her skin patched with pink where the overnight growth of his beard had rasped it, yet he had never seen anyone look more lovely. His self-imposed ban had lasted approximately an hour; when she’d moved against him, all warm and wet and willing, he’d had her a second time. Next he’d woken to her caressing hands, and he’d lifted her on top of him, sucking her nipples and stroking her clitoris while she rode his cock to ecstasy. Then the last time. It was difficult to believe that had been him as he’d put her on her hands and knees and taken her roughly from behind. Christ. The primitive, crude things he’d said as he thrust impossibly deep and bit her neck like some sort of animal. But he’d been desperate, knowing their time together would soon be ending, and Samantha had urged him on. She’d screamed his name as her soaked, greedy quim pulsed around him in a violent orgasm, and he’d come harder than he thought possible.

  Yet far worse than what he’d done…now he didn’t want to leave. Duty weighed heavier on his shoulders than a cart full of rocks.

  Giving himself a mental slap, William slung his large leather satchel over his shoulder, leaned down and brushed his lips against her forehead. She murmured unintelligible words, her nose twitching in a way that made him smile, but then sat bolt upright, one hand clutching the sheet to her breasts while the other reached for him.

  “Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Stay here with me, where it’s safe. They can find someone else for the mission.”

  Shaking his head took every bit of willpower he had. “I have to. But I’ll be back before you know it. Now…no other men in my absence, all right?”

  Samantha stared at him, and heat streaked along his cheekbones. Indeed, he had said the ridiculous words out loud. “Are you…are you asking me to wait for you, William?”

  A bland, noncommittal answer formed. Instead, the word “yes” broke from his lips. As if she understood the raw uncertainty churning through his mind, she went up onto her knees and wrapped her arms around his waist. Eyes closed, he allowed himself one long, luxurious moment of returning the embrace and breathing in her unique scent before pulling away. “I really have to go now. Be safe, Samantha.”

  “Goodbye. I...” she whispered, her voice catching, but he forced himself to leave the bedchamber without looking back.

  At the end of the hallway, his housekeeper Mrs. Kingsley attended to a neat stack of freshly laundered linen. “Morning, my lord,” she said briskly, bobbing a curtsy. “I’ve sharpened your dagger and Jensen has cleaned your pistols. Has your satchel been oiled to waterproof it? Hmmm, perhaps I should have done it myself.”

  William resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Why his mother had adored this blunt, overbearing woman with a chronic inability to mind her own business he’d never understand. But damned if he could let her go—it seemed the person who had changed your small cloths would always hold a certain amount of leverage over you.

&n
bsp; “Everything is fine, Mrs. Kingsley. As usual, you’ve done an exemplary job with the preparations.”

  “Well, one would hope after thirty years in this household I had learned a few things. Now, do you have any instructions regarding...?”

  “Regarding?” he said innocently, pretending not to understand her deliberate head tilt towards his bedchamber.

  “Your overnight guest!” she snapped.

  “The lady will require a bath, fresh clothing, and breakfast,” he replied in a warning tone which made her blink.

  “I see,” said Mrs. Kingsley. “Well. Of course it’s none of my business—”

  “You’re correct. It is not. But you, and everyone else here, will treat her as if…as if she were the lady of the house. Am I making myself clear?”

  His housekeeper gasped, her eyes softening. “Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. Rest assured we’ll mind her properly.”

  “All right then. I shall rely on you to keep the home fires burning until I return.”

  “Godspeed, sir.”

  Inclining his head, William hurried downstairs and out the front door, throwing his satchel into an unmarked carriage waiting at the steps.

  For better or worse, the mission to rescue Robert was underway.

  Chapter 8

  “Damn and blast!”

  Biting her lip, Samantha surveyed the three-inch gash she’d just made in the back of her bedchamber chair. It seemed that some early morning knife-throwing practice would not help her nerves after all. Usually she could hit the center of a cushion at forty paces, but at the moment, Westminster might be too small a target.

  William had been gone just four days, and she couldn’t bear it.

  How the wives and parents and families of soldiers did this every day, she didn’t know. They were certainly braver and far more stoic than she. Not knowing exactly where William was, if the guards around him were the very best, if he’d even found Colonel Lord Langley, consumed her days. At night, her dreams were feverish as she remembered the ecstasies of their night together in his bedchamber.