The Missing Marquess of Althorn (The Lost Lords Book 3)

by Chasity Bowlin

  That was a point he had to concede. In that assessment, she was entirely accurate. But he was beyond discussing it any further. Instead, he rose and returned to the narrow bed in the corner. Gathering the remaining blankets, he brought them back and spread them before the fire to form a makeshift pallet for them. Once the task was done, he remained crouched on his haunches on the floor, and held his hand out to her. She was barely an arm’s length away, but for his own peace of mind, he needed some show of willingness on her part.

  When she lifted her hand and placed it in his as she rose from the chair, he had all the confirmation that he needed. As she settled onto the floor with him, the firelight danced on her skin and the pale strands of her blonde hair picked up the red and gold of the flames.

  “I may have overestimated my degree of knowledge,” she admitted hesitantly. “I do understand what is to take place… but in a very vague manner and without the faintest notion of how to begin.”

  Marcus felt his lips twitching at her chagrined admission. “I rather thought that might be the case. If you’re amenable, perhaps it might be best to treat this as you would a dance… in other words, allow me to lead.”

  Jane made a slight moue that did not fully conceal her reluctant amusement. “Very well. I concede to your greater knowledge and expertise. You are an expert, aren’t you?”

  That was not a question he meant to answer. Ever. “I’m familiar enough with the particulars that it will be a more than satisfactory experience for us both.”

  She inclined her head much like a queen would to her subjects. Marcus reached for her simple wrap and slid it from her shoulders, letting the garment fall to the floor. Then he brought his hands up to her hair and tugged each of the pins free until the mass of it tumbled down, the golden curls spilling over her shoulders and the swells of her breasts.

  “I have wanted to see you like this from the start,” he confessed.

  “You did see me this way at the start… running about Oakhaven with a doll under one arm and grass stains on my dress which the governess scolded me for quite bitterly, if I recall.”

  He chuckled then. “That wasn’t the start I was referring to… you really were a child when I left. And while I understood that you would certainly mature and become a woman while I was away, I never quite imagined how satisfying a vision that would be.”

  “You don’t wish that I was less plump or more plump, or shorter or taller, or any of the other things that I’ve been told I was too little or too much of over the years?”

  With complete gravitas, he said, “I do not wish you to be anything other than exactly as you are. If others cannot see the value of that, they do not deserve to be in your presence.”

  “Kiss me,” she urged him fervently. “I don’t wish to talk anymore.”

  He could do nothing but comply. Leaning in, he captured her lips gently, his touch coaxing and tender. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She pressed herself against him, seeking and yearning, her lips parting beneath his in blatant invitation.

  Marcus had intended the seduction to be slow and careful, to afford her ample time to change her mind should she begin to have second thoughts. But as she clutched at his shoulders and pressed her chest to his, all thoughts of tenderness and taking his time fled.

  They were two people who had never been quite enough for anyone in their lives. But for one another, they were quite perfect. She fit to him like a glove, but even that wasn’t enough. As the kiss deepened and a soft moan escaped her, he wanted to consume her. The need to feel the softness of her body beneath his, to feel the satiny warmth of her skin against him, overwhelmed any good intentions he might have possessed.

  Marcus never broke the kiss as he pressed her back onto the mound of blankets. As she returned the kiss with equal fervor, he needn’t have worried that she was having second thoughts. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he forced himself to slow down, to introduce her to passion slowly rather than simply making a mad dash for the finish line.

  Easing back from her, he noted the flush in her cheeks and her kiss-swollen lips. He’d thought her lovely before, but with the bloom of passion, she was exquisite.

  “Why did you stop?” she asked.

  “I haven’t stopped… only slowed the journey. There is too much to learn about one another, too much to enjoy with one another, to rush through it all,” he answered. “And we’re both far too overdressed for the events planned for this evening.”

  “Oh,” she said and cast her gaze aside. “I hadn’t considered that… we would… that you would…” She trailed off then, unable to complete the sentence.

  “That I would what?” Marcus queried.

  “Well, that you would see me,” Jane admitted softly. “I hadn’t really thought much about it.”

  “I have… I’ve thought of nothing else. I’ve imagined it dozens of times in dozens of different ways every night as I close my eyes,” he offered.

  “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  “That is impossible.” Marcus realized that giving her an excessive amount of time to think was not helping the matter at all. Jane didn’t have any doubt about their course of action, but she did have a wealth of doubt about herself and her own attractiveness. All of that could be laid squarely at her stepmother’s feet, no doubt. The best way, in his mind, to combat that was to simply face the fear head on and conquer it. With that thought in mind, Marcus reached for the bib front of her gown, carefully undoing the buttons that held it in place. As the fabric fell away, revealing the delicate embroidery of her chemise, his eyes were drawn to the swells of her breasts above the fabric and the darker shadows of her nipples just visible above her stays. Brushing the back of his hand over that tender flesh, he felt her shiver.

  “Perfect,” he whispered. “Perfect in every way.”

  As if his words had given her courage, she sat up and shrugged the gown from her shoulders, letting it fall to her waist. “If we’re to remove my clothing, Marcus, I feel it is only fair that some of yours be shed as well.”

  Shrugging out of his coat, Marcus let it drop to the floor. “Never let it be said that I was anything but fair.” His cravat and waistcoat followed. Clad in his shirtsleeves and breeches, he raised one eyebrow at her. “I’ve called your bluff, Jane. It’s time to show me your cards.”

  *

  Jane drew in a deep and bracing breath as she faced her fear and removed her gown entirely. Rising on her knees, she reached for the laces of her stays and loosened the garment until it to fell away. Clad only in her chemise and petticoat, she met his challenging gaze. “I think we’re at a stalemate.”

  “Hardly that,” he offered in a teasing manner. “I would call it a detente.”

  Before she could think of an appropriate reply, he was kissing her again. His lips moved over hers voraciously, as if he wished to devour her. And heaven help her, she wished to be devoured by him. So long as he was kissing her, she couldn’t think. And if she couldn’t think, she couldn’t list all the numerous flaws and negative attributes that she so desperately wanted to hide from him.

  When his hand cupped her breast, his touch gentle but not in the least hesitant or unsure, she was incapable of describing the sensation. It swept her away entirely. From that single point of contact, she felt it throughout her body. It was as if every sense and every nerve had been awakened in that one precise moment.

  And yet that single touch led to more. His hands roamed over her, touching her, coaxing her body to blazing life. With his hands roving her flesh and his mouth burning a trail from her lips to the tender column of her neck where he nipped and scraped only to soothe with the sweep of his tongue over her rapidly heating skin, she had become a mindless thing. Animal, primal, hedonistic… wanton. He gave and she craved more.

  At some point during his more than simply adequate seduction, the remainder of her garments had simply vanished. Where and when he removed them she could not say, but when he parted her thighs and touched her in
timately, she was very aware that no barriers remained between them.

  “It isn’t too late,” he said. “If you have any doubts, now is the time to utter them.”

  “I haven’t the will to ask you to stop,” she confessed breathlessly. “Nor the desire to.”

  He kissed her again, muffling the sound of her cries as he moved his fingers inside her, stoking her desire to a fever pitch. With every touch, her body burned hotter for him. Muscles tensed and quivered as she strained toward some unknown destination.

  Jane gasped as he pulled his lips from hers and dropped them to her breast. His mouth closed over the taut peak as her hips arched toward him. Her eyes closed tightly and she let out a strangled cry as the tension he’d built so skillfully suddenly broke inside her. It wasn’t simply pleasure. That was far too tame a word to describe it, but it was the only one she possessed. The breath rushed from her and her belly quivered as it washed through her.

  *

  She was still breathless and languid when Marcus parted her thighs wider and slipped between them. Nestled there, the welcoming heat of her body pressed against him, he didn’t take the time to marvel at his good fortune as he wished. Other needs were more pressing. Watching her discover her passion had fired his blood to the point of madness.

  Opening the fall front of his breeches, he moved carefully as he nudged the blunt head of his cock inside her. “It will hurt, but only for a moment.”

  She wrapped her arms about him, pressing her palms to his back. “I’ve been warned… repeatedly. By every female member of our combined households.”

  It was little wonder then that she’d had no wish to marry, he thought. But then she moved beneath him, hitching her knees higher on his hips and granting him entry. With one small movement, she’d robbed him of thought entirely. Flexing his hips, he plunged into her welcoming heat. She was so tight, her flesh closing about him like a fist, and then he felt the delicate barrier of her innocence. Withdrawing slightly, he thrust once more, breeching her maidenhead and seating himself fully inside her.

  Jane didn’t cry out. She didn’t utter a sound, in fact. But she did go completely still beneath him, every muscle tensed and not even a breath escaping her. Marcus held himself in check, wrestling with his baser self for control. When at last she began to relax again, her body going, if not lax, then at least mobile, he let out a deep shuddering breath. “Are you all right?”

  She blinked several times and then, in typical pragmatic fashion, stated, “They lied. That was significantly more than just a little.”

  “And now? Does it hurt still?” he asked. It would kill him if she asked him to stop, but he would regardless.

  A slight frown pursed her lips and created a furrow between her brows. After a pause, she answered, “It doesn’t hurt anymore. But I’m not quite sure I like it.”

  “It gets better. I swear it,” he replied. To prove his point, he shifted his hips slightly, a short and shallow thrust that had her eyes widening and her lips parting on a soft “o” of surprise.

  “I can certainly see that it does,” Jane agreed.

  Marcus managed to keep his smile hidden, but only just. It was not an appropriate time to crow in victory. That, he would save for later, assuming he didn’t embarrass himself like an untried schoolboy.

  Setting a slow and easy rhythm, watching her reaction to each and every thrust, learning precisely what she liked, Marcus could feel the sweat beading on his brow. His breath was ragged and harsh as he struggled to keep that pace and not just lose himself inside her. When she arched her back, her head falling back and hair spilling around her, it took every shred of self-control he possessed. But as her legs locked around his hips and he felt the first quivering of her release, he was lost.

  Any thoughts of gentleness or taking care fled. Instinct drove him as he buried himself inside her. His body tensed and his own release claimed him, sending him hurtling over the edge with pleasure so intense it was blinding.

  Marcus collapsed against her, his forehead resting against hers as they both slowly returned to earth.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The gray light of dawn was still and a heavy shroud of mist clung to the small clearing as Charles and William Barrett neared the abandoned carriage and the small cottage where Marcus and Miss Barrett would have spent the remainder of the night.

  In the yard, Barrett dismounted. “If she’s been ruined, I’ll see him dead,” he said fiercely.

  “For someone who’s never seemed to have a particular care for his daughter, you’ve made a sudden change of heart, Barrett,” Charles pointed out.

  “She can toss her skirt up for anyone she likes once she’s wed to a legitimate title,” the man snapped. “But she’s only of value to me as a virgin who can be married off to the highest ranked bidder!”

  Charles smirked behind the man. “He’s not an imposter. I promise you that he is the real Marquess of Althorn. You’re doing all this for naught!”

  “It doesn’t matter whether he is or not,” Barrett responded. “Only that other people believe it without question. I’ve spent a fortune to connect my line to that of a duke, and forever more that union will now be tainted with doubt!”

  “You really are a grasping, social climbing weasel,” Charles said softly. Luckily, Barrett was too far ahead of him on the path to the carriage to have heard the whispered insult. Whether it was necessary or not, Charles decided that the man would have to meet an unfortunate accident on the road. They would all be far better off without his coarse manners and foul temper about them.

  *

  It had been just after dawn when they left the small cottage. The abandoned carriage, horseless and mud splattered, was parked in front of it. Marcus had led them into the woods, to a narrow and slightly overgrown path. He said it would lead them to the main house, but had been far too dangerous to attempt at night.

  At the noise of approaching riders, he’d placed a staying hand in front of her and insisted they conceal themselves behind several trees. At the first sight of her father and Charles, she’d thought perhaps it was to be a rescue attempt. After overhearing their conversation, she knew it was anything but.

  “What are they about, do you think?” Jane queried in a near silent whisper as she glanced at Marcus. He frowned in response and kept his gaze trained on the cottage door.

  “I believe your father is attempting to halt our marriage for the first time in our lives,” he answered. He then added with quiet menace, “And he will not succeed.”

  “And Charles? Why would he be here to help him when it’s clear that he orchestrated all of this?” Jane asked.

  “I don’t know the answer to that. I only know that we cannot trust either of them… and we must get well off this path or risk discovery. Come with me, Jane,” he said and held out his hand to her.

  Jane glanced back at the cottage. Two days earlier, any hint of her father having second thoughts about the marriage between herself and Marcus would have been viewed as a miracle. But the tides had turned irrevocably. Placing her hand in Marcus’ she allowed him to lead her deeper into the forest.

  It was dark, the heavy woods not yet penetrated by the weak sunlight. She could barely see and had to allow him to guide her. It was an apt metaphor for everything in their lives at that moment.

  Jane followed him along what might have been a path at one time but was now overgrown and difficult to traverse. She stumbled occasionally, but he was always there, steadying her and helping her when the way was rough. Evening slippers were hardly meant for such terrain, she thought grimly. Still, it was only a mile or so to the house. She could endure that. But then another thought entered her mind, one that induced panic.

  “What if they go on to the house and are waiting there for us? Surely on horseback or by carriage they will beat us on foot,” she asked.

  “We won’t go directly to the house. There’s a man nearby, someone we can trust implicitly, who will allow us to remain there until Charles
and the others have gone. It’s very likely they will go on to Gretna Green in pursuit… so we may have to change our plans. How do you feel about being married by special license in London?”

  “So long as it’s done, I don’t care where or how,” she answered. It wasn’t entirely true. Every young girl dreamed of a beautiful wedding in a church with flowers and a lovely gown. Of course, she’d also once dreamed of having her father’s affection and transforming into a rare beauty overnight. It seemed none of those things was to occur. Despite those things that might be lacking, her future and her present were far better than she’d thought possible. To ask for more would only have been greedy on her part.

  “You do care,” he countered. “Very much. And I’m sorry for that. Deeply sorry that this cannot be what you want it to be.”

  Jane considered her answer carefully. “Many young women have beautiful weddings and abominable marriages. I would much rather thwart convention and go the other route.”

  “Abominable?” Marcus repeated with a chuckle. “Will it be as bad as all that, do you think?”

  “Well, no. But we have been browbeaten, abducted, our reputations thoroughly compromised—”

  “More than just your reputation,” he reminded her pointedly.

  Jane blushed. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. Now, we’re scurrying through the woods like criminals in the same clothes we wore the day before. How else would you characterize it?”

  He paused to help her over a particularly large fallen tree. “What was it you asked me about my escape from the prison? ‘Was it dashing’ I believe you said. Is this dashing, Jane?”

  She grimaced at having her own words thrown back at her. “That was a terrible thing to ask. Not if you were hurt or injured or unwell… I just wanted something to put in that awful column!”

  He grinned. “When we are back in London, married by special license, and all the particulars of the marriage settlement suitably arranged… you can add the woeful tale of our elopement to your column.”