Lord Margrave's Secret Desire (Gentlemen of Intrigue Book 4)

by Samantha Grace

  “Kiss me,” she demanded.

  He smiled. “Yes, my love.”

  Lowering his head, he placed the sweetest kiss on her mouth. His lips gently nipped at hers; his tongue lovingly brushed against hers. They shared one breath, their hearts racing together. She could feel his own pounding against her breast. Lord, help me. Love swelled in her chest as the backs of her eyes began to sting. When he drew back, she blinked to keep her tears from slipping onto her cheeks.

  “Pr-promise you will come back to me,” she whispered.

  He kissed her softly once more. “I swear it to you.” His eyes glimmered in the firelight, and the edges of his strong jaw had lost its sharpness. “I love you, darling. Do you not know what is in my heart? Nothing will stop me from returning to you, and no one will take me from your side again. This madness will be behind us soon. Have faith.”

  The prospect of a future with this man she loved with every breath—the only man she had ever wanted to love her, too—overwhelmed her. Tears fell on her cheeks.

  Crispin released his grip on her arms, eased away, and sank to his knees. He held her hands and helped her to a seated position. “You are crying,” he said, as if she might be unaware she was leaking like a cracked teacup.

  She sniffled and swiped the back of her wrist over her eyes. “Yes, thank you. I thought the dampness might be rain.”

  He did not respond to her attempt to lighten the mood. The concerned V between his brows appeared carved in stone. “Tell me what is wrong.” He buried his fingers into her hair, his thumb caressing the rim of her ear. “Have I upset you?”

  She swallowed and shook her head; a watery smile broke across her face. “Quite the opposite. I am happy.”

  He exhaled and mirrored her smile. “Tears of joy?”

  “Of course! What did you expect? I was convinced you would desert me in the country as soon as we married.”

  He smiled ruefully. “You believed no such thing, love. You were determined to change my mind. This stubborn feature gives you away every time.” He lightly chucked her on the chin. “And you did—change my mind.”

  “Did I? How?”

  “It has become clear you can find trouble wherever you go. I dare not leave you to your own devices. I have no choice except to keep you close.”

  She wrinkled her nose, secretly pleased with his teasing. The strain of the last few days melted away. “Well, Lord Observant, have you realized I am the only one not wearing clothes?”

  “That did not escape my notice, darling.” He spread his arms to his sides and cocked an eyebrow. “Set to work. I suspect you have wanted to put hands on me for sometime—at least around my neck.”

  Her gaze lowered to the bulge in his trousers. She suspected he would prefer her touch elsewhere, but she was not so bold as to say so. Smiling, she reached for his cravat to untie it. Her hands began to shake and grow clumsy in her haste to strip away the last of the barriers between them—not just the physical barrier posed by his clothing, but the unseen ones that had been holding her at a distance.

  He covered her hands to still them. “Sophia, are you certain?”

  A moment’s hesitation washed over her. The wave receded. She locked gazes with him. “Make me yours,” she murmured.

  The smoldering fire was back in his eyes. He took over disrobing himself, yanking the knot free. He discarded his waistcoat and ripped the shirt over his head. Her breath froze in her lungs. A thick jagged scar was just above his nipple, a pale slash across a spectacularly muscled chest. It was an old injury but too close to his heart. She could feel her throat growing tight. What if this is the only time I will have to love him?

  “What if this is good-bye?”

  “Stop,” he commanded. “Look at me.”

  His tone snatched her away from the abyss. She obeyed. His expression was earnest and fierce. “This is not good-bye, do you hear me? If you want to be mine, I will gladly make it so, but let me be clear. Tonight will be the first of many times I will have you beneath me.”

  His promise hit her with the force of a gale wind. Her stomach swooped with excitement.

  He gentled his tone. “Have you changed your mind, darling? Is this what you want?”

  She tipped her head and gazed up at him. “Not exactly.”

  He flinched.

  A wicked smile spread across her lips. “I do hope to have you beneath me, sometimes.”

  Twenty-three

  “Damnation,” Crispin muttered as lust shot through his veins. It roared in his ears and made him hard as a bloody iron rod. The thought of Sophia astride him caused him to burn for her in a way he had never experienced.

  He tugged off his boots and released the front fly of his trousers.

  “Come here.” He caught her hips and tugged until she was lying on her back on the covers. He hovered above her, his gaze raking over her. She was perfection in his eyes—pale hair like moonlight, ivory skin unblemished, firm breasts like ripe peaches begging to be tasted. Her hips flared at her waist, and she had been blessed with a generous arse he found irresistible. God help any man who tried to take her from him.

  Hooking her thumbs in his waistband, she pushed his trousers low on his hips and squeezed his bum. She smiled, appearing proud of herself.

  “Do you want to play, vixen?”

  “Maybe.” Her smile widened and her blue eyes crinkled at the corners. Sophia was mischievous to the bone, and he loved her all the more for it.

  Shifting his weight, he caught her wrists, and pushed her arms above her head again. “Leave them there, while I have my way with you.”

  The stubborn little chin jutted toward him. He lightly nipped it, grazing it with his teeth. She inhaled sharply, and the playful mood shifted.

  He released her wrists and trailed the back of his fingers down her arms and along her sides. Her chest rose and fell steadily, her breathing deeper and quick. When he brushed the sides of her breasts, her nipples hardened. Unable to resist, he caught one between his teeth and gave a gentle tug. She closed her eyes, lips parted with a sigh. He licked a circle around the bud, taking it in his mouth when she began to grow restless.

  As he lavished her with the attention that she desired, she tunneled her fingers in his hair. He allowed her to touch him. The forbidden always carried the sweetest reward. Her nails lightly scratched his scalp before passing over the back of his neck and across his shoulders. She drew lazy circles on his back, sending sharp pulses down his spine and into his cock.

  He kissed a path down the middle of her torso and the small swell of her belly. Catching her beneath the knee, he raised her leg and began a new trail of kisses starting at her knee. He traveled down the inside of her thigh to taste where he had touched her.

  “Oh,” she said on a breath when he lovingly swept his tongue over her. He smiled and did it again. Her scent was an intoxicating blend of camellias and arousal that banished all thought from his mind, other than driving their pleasure. As he loved her with his mouth, her throaty moans grew louder and longer with each pass of his tongue. She came with an astonished cry, arching her back and gripping the quilt as the waves overtook her. Spent, she collapsed against the floor.

  “Oh, my heavens. I have never—” A small jubilant laugh slipped from her.

  Crispin lifted to his elbows. “You have never?”

  “I forgot. My mind has been turned to porridge.”

  He couldn’t help grinning in triumph. At his core, he was a man, and pleasing his woman tapped into something primal inside him. “You have never reached completion?”

  She shook her head, smiling lazily. He moved to lie beside her, wrapped his arm around her, and rolled to his back. She rested her head on his shoulder. Now that she was satisfied, he wanted to allow her a moment of clear headedness before she gave her innocence to him.

  She toyed with the sparse sprinkle of hair on his chest. Her touch made him throb. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to ignore honor and bury himself in her.


  “Does it feel the same for men?” she asked. “Completion?”

  He hugged her and placed a kiss on her hair. “I cannot say with certainty, but men derive the same pleasure.”

  “I see,” she murmured. “In the same manner?”

  “I do not understand the question.”

  “There is a drawing at Hartland Manor, from the Far East. It is a man and a woman seeking pleasure from one another.”

  Sometimes he forgot about her unconventional upbringing. Slowly, she slid her hand over his stomach, pausing to glance up at him. He smiled, encouraging her exploration. When her fingertips touched his cock, her light touch was too much. He caught her hand. She looked at him, startled. “I like it firmer,” he said.

  The lines on her forehead disappeared. She knelt beside him, tugged his pants down his legs, and tossed them aside. When she took him in her hand, she seemed more confident. He showed her how to stroke him, and closed his eyes, surrendering control. She was unskilled in pleasing a man, but her earnest efforts only increased his tenderness for her. When she bent forward to place a kiss to him, he ended her experiment and flipped her to her back. He was not ready to allow her that much power over him.

  She cradled his face and kissed him, her lips parted. He brushed the tip of his tongue across her top lip and slowly entered her. She tensed, sucked in a breath, and held it. He withdrew an inch, his muscles straining to keep his instincts to take her at bay. “Breathe, darling.”

  She exhaled, smiling sheepishly.

  He kissed her temple, her cheek, the tip of her nose. “Does it hurt too badly?”

  “It is bearable,” she said as she caressed the small of his back; her fingers feathered over his arse. “I want to be yours, Crispin.”

  With a low groan, he captured her mouth and drove into her to get past her discomfort. She cried out softly and nipped his lip. He drew back in surprise, aroused as hell. He forced himself to hold back, gently sinking into her again.

  Twice more, he withdrew and slid inside her. She held his gaze, flames flickering in her eyes as her body squeezed around him.

  “You are mine, too,” she said fiercely. “I want all of you.”

  His control shattered, and he surrendered everything. He gave his heart, soul—his body—everything to her. When he reached his climax, he buried his face in her hair, helplessly caught in the throes of passion. He remained close, drawing in her scent as his breathing began to return to normal. Her perfume would always remind him of this unguarded moment of happiness and deep sense of satisfaction.

  “I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Mm,” she murmured and hugged him. She did not return the sentiment.

  Crispin pushed off her and retrieved his pants. The rigid set of his shoulders caused Sophia’s stomach to turn. It was silly, this superstition she hadn’t realized she shared with her oldest sister, but it tied her tongue. Logically, she realized saying she loved him would not tempt fate or bring him bad luck when they were apart, but on a deeper level, she couldn’t disregard the belief easily.

  She sat up to hug him from behind and place a kiss on his back. He stood to pull his pants over his hips and fastened the front fall.

  “Crispin,” she implored.

  “We have work to do.”

  He snatched her dress from the ground and held it out to her. When she refused to take it, he laid it beside her then grabbed his boots and shirt. He sat on one of the ladder-back chairs at the table after pulling the white shirt over his head.

  Sophia ignored her gown lying on the floor, draped the quilt around her, and joined him at the table. Instead of assuming a seat, however, she came up behind him to rub his shoulders. His muscles were tense. He bent forward, out of her reach, to jam his foot into one of the boots.

  “I love you, too,” she blurted. “I am sorry. I should have said it when you did.”

  “It is not a sentiment to be spoken lightly.” He tugged on his other boot. “I understand if it is too soon.”

  “Too soon?” Sophia snorted. “I have been waiting for you to come to your senses since Christmas. I love you, you stubborn man.”

  He sat up quickly and swiveled on the chair, grabbing the rails. His biceps flexed, visible through the thin material of his shirt.

  “Crispin, could you truly believe I would give myself to anyone else? You are the only man I have ever loved.” She leaned forward to kiss him softly on the forehead. When she drew back, the worry lines had vanished. “Even with everything we are facing, I have never been happier.”

  A soft light emanated from his eyes. “Neither have I.”

  She rounded the chair; he turned with her, watching. When she sat on his lap, straddling his legs, she nearly lost the quilt. Crispin caught the edges of it and drew it around her shoulders. She held the corners and wrapped her arms around him so they were both cocooned in the fabric.

  “I only hesitated, because it is something we never say to each other when Uncle Charles is preparing to leave us. It is a tradition between him and Regina, really. Evangeline and I are passive participants. They attempt to outwit fate by wishing bad luck on each other. It is a silly practice, but I only now realized I place some faith in it.”

  He pulled her closer. “You wanted to keep me safe by hiding the fact you love me?”

  Her face heated. “I said it was ridiculous.”

  “I find it sweet.” He nuzzled her cheek then whispered in her ear. “I secretly love you with all my heart. Do not tell anyone until we are reunited. I would not wish to tempt fate.”

  She smiled. “It will be our secret until we are ready to share it.”

  He placed a brief kiss on her lips. “You had best don your gown, or I will want you again, and we will never rejoin the others.”

  She allowed him to ease her from his lap. She was a little sore and not quite ready to be loved again so soon. She found a washbasin and mirror in the small bedchamber. Once she washed, she released the side of her hair that hadn’t fallen during their lovemaking and attempted to create a simple knot with the pins she found hiding among the pillows.

  “Will you help me with my gown?” she called.

  Crispin appeared in the doorway with her undergarments and gown, anticipating her needs. Once she was set back to rights, they returned to the seating area hand-in-hand and sat on the settee. He passed her a glass of claret. She took a sip and smiled.

  “Teach me, wise one. What is it I must know about deciphering?”

  He provided an overview of the different types of ciphers, including King Charles I’s personal code. “I do not anticipate Lord Geoffrey was versed enough in ciphers to have created his own. Stanhurst did not find anything suggesting he created his own alphabet, and it would be difficult to memorize, except for someone with your skills. The duke said his brother always struggled with his lessons, so it is safe to assume he was not as gifted as you.”

  His praise warmed her heart. Crispin never made her feel as if all she had to offer was beauty. Sophia paid little attention to such shallow measures of a person, but she had been bombarded with compliments on her appearance since she joined Society. In the beginning, she was flattered, but she quickly grew tired of the fawning.

  “The Consul employs a Vigenère cipher—a code word that creates a polyalphabetic substitution method.”

  “We can discard that one, since the letter is written in numbers,” she said.

  “Precisely, therefore, I suspect he and his mysterious correspondent were using a book cipher. A common title that would not appear out of place left lying about.”

  “Did Lord Geoffrey keep a book with the letters?”

  “The duke does not recall seeing one. Perhaps you can help him remember or uncover something in Lord Geoffrey’s diary that would be useful.” He loosely laced his fingers with hers. “We may not have the luxury of time, Sophia. If you can decipher these letters, we will be closer to discovering what Lord Geoffrey and his associate were plotting.”

&n
bsp; “I understand. Stanhurst and I will begin work in the morning.” She took a sip of wine, her mind hitting upon a forgotten memory. She placed her glass on the small table next to her side of the settee. “I think I might know where Farrin and his men have gone. I cannot be sure, but after my brother-in-law was abducted, he was held at an abandoned farmhouse north of London. Benny—you recall the large man at the theatre?”

  “I remember.”

  “Yes, well, Benny lived there from the time he was a child. He said after the caretaker and his wife died, Farrin started using the house as a prison of sorts. He and his men interrogated captives in the cellar—and worse, from what I have been able to gather. Do you think Farrin and his men might have returned to the farmhouse?”

  “It is possible,” Crispin said. “North of London. Did your brother-in-law say how far?”

  “I am afraid not, but Claudine will be able to provide the exact location. Benny is the rightful heir to the property, and Claudine’s betrothed has engaged a solicitor to sort out the mess. You should start your search at the Drayton Theatre.”

  “Excellent suggestion.” He placed his arm on the back of the settee; she scooted closer to rest her head on his shoulder.

  “At dinner this evening, you seemed troubled,” she said. “Were you thinking about what is ahead of you?”

  “I am prepared for Farrin and his men.” He swallowed hard, hesitating as if he required a moment to gather his thoughts. Sophia waited patiently.

  “I acquired distressing information earlier today,” he said at last. “About my father. He and my mother corresponded several times after she left us, and she saved the letters. Alexander thought I should know of their existence, even if I chose not to read them.”

  “Did you?”

  He nodded. “Part of me wishes I had not. It is hard to reconcile my memories of my father with the callous man revealed in the letters. I always knew him as a kind and proud father, but he possessed a darker side I never saw.”