An unmistakable warmth stole through her, and her heart made one of those fluttery skips. She blinked, standing very still, the plate and goblet still lifted in her hands.
Oh Lawks.
She most definitely cared for him.
In exactly that way.
~ ~ ~
Marcus came awake with a start, not certain how much time had passed. The curtains had been drawn, the lamps turned low. Squinting in the shadowy light, he realized it was dawn. He pushed himself up on one elbow, wincing at the pain in his arm… and frowned at the blanket covering him.
He noticed that his boots were off, too, arranged neatly beside the bed—and freshly cleaned. His shirt, also recently washed, dangled in front of the open window, drying in the breeze.
On the night table, a plate of food sat within easy reach, beside a goblet of water.
Rubbing a hand over his face, he spotted Elizabeth nearby—curled up in a wing chair beside the hearth, asleep, her legs tucked under her. She was still fully dressed in her masculine clothes, her feet bare, her head nestled on a pillow she had apparently nicked from the bed. Her hair looked damp, her skin scrubbed pink, as if she had treated herself to a toilette while he slept… after taking care of everything he needed.
He felt that odd, knotted-up sensation in the center of his chest, just watching her sleep.
It seemed that not even all the growling and snapping he had done tonight could stop her from showing him kindness. Stubborn, impossible… tender-hearted lady.
At the moment, his stomach was doing the growling. Marcus sat up and snagged the plate of food, settling back against the headboard to eat, his gaze never leaving the woman who slept just beyond the foot of the bed.
He couldn’t fathom it, this bond that had grown between them. The gentle power she seemed to wield over him. Tonight, somehow, she had even gotten him to talk about his past—in every agonizing detail.
Marcus gnawed on a piece of roast beef. At least he wasn’t the only one so beguiled, he consoled himself, thinking of the way Elizabeth had talked her way into the innkeeper’s finest room—bold as brass, with nothing more than a bag of pebbles and a borrowed watch to her credit. The idea of her sending money to the man upon returning to London almost made Marcus chuckle… except that he had no doubt she would do it.
He had never met a woman who combined such softness with so much daring and cleverness. His fiery little lady Robin Hood.
His.
When had he started to think of her as his?
Elizabeth sighed in her sleep, her body shifting in a way that kindled a different kind of warmth in him. God, she could ignite his senses with only the smallest sound, the slightest movement. When she had tended his arm earlier—leaning over him, her hair tickling his shoulder, her fingers gliding along his bare skin—he’d felt as if he would shatter and fall in splinters to the floor.
Their last kiss seemed like a century ago.
Some primitive part of his brain urged him to walk over there and awaken her with a touch. Scoop her into his arms, carry her back to the bed. To kiss and caress her until they both lost themselves in the heat that had been simmering between them so long.
He set his empty plate on the nightstand, picked up the goblet of water, and emptied it in one long draught.
Unfortunately, he thought with frown, the civilized part of his brain wouldn’t allow him to do anything of the sort.
Elizabeth was still haunted by the ghosts that danced in the depths of her eyes—the husband who had mistreated her, the baby she had lost. Marcus had promised not to touch her, or so much as kiss her, and he intended to honor that promise.
Even if it killed him.
Grimacing with a pain that had nothing to do with his wounded arm, he let himself sink back down onto the pillows. He shut his eyes, listening to the soft sound of her breathing.
He didn’t want a woman in his life, he reminded himself as he began to drift back to sleep. There was no room for a woman in his life. Not now. Not until Montaigne was finished.
He couldn’t allow himself to forget that… to lose himself in Elizabeth’s softness…
To need her this way.
Chapter 16
A warm breeze ruffled the curtains, afternoon sunlight spilling through the window. Elizabeth awakened to the sound of her name. She sat up, rubbing at a kink in her neck, realizing she must have slept for hours.
“Elizabeth…”
Marcus was calling to her. His eyes still closed, he was tossing restlessly on the bed.
Oh God, no, had he become feverish? She moved to his side even before she completed the frightening thought.
She placed a hand to his forehead… and felt relieved to find his skin cool.
He flinched at her touch, opening his eyes.
“Are you all right?” she whispered, sitting on the edge of the mattress, noting that his gaze seemed clear. “You called out in your sleep.”
“I’m fine. I was… dreaming.” He blinked up at her, drowsily, as if he expected her to disappear in the daylight with the rest of his dream.
“It would appear that we’ve slept half the day.” She nodded toward the window, keeping her voice low. “If you’re feeling well enough, we should probably leave soon.”
“We should,” he agreed.
The lamp that still glowed on the night table bathed his bare skin with flickering fire—and she noticed that his every muscle seemed tense.
Only then did she realize that she was still leaning close to him… and still touching him, her fingers stroking through his hair as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
But she didn’t stop.
The flat planes of his chest rose and fell rapidly, the sound of his breathing harsh in the stillness of the room. “Elizabeth…”
She could hear a question in his tone, and a warning.
But she couldn’t make herself retreat from him. Without conscious thought, she moved her hand slowly downward, to the rough texture of the beard that shadowed his jaw. Her fingers explored the muscles of his neck, the broad, hard angles of his shoulders, the mat of crisp hair covering his chest.
“Elizabeth… sweetheart…”
She could feel his heart beating fast beneath her palm. Almost as fast as hers. Their gazes met and held.
Marcus remained still beneath her, his expression at once tender and scorching. “I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to… do anything… like this.”
He was being gallant again. The way he always was with her. For some reason, that brought tears to her eyes.
“Marcus…” She shook her head. “I don’t want to think about our agreement anymore.”
His voice was strained. “What do you want?”
She didn’t know if she could put it into words. It was too new, too overwhelming. All she knew was that no man had ever made her feel the way he did. Set her heart racing. Claimed her every thought.
Filled her with a need to be closer to him.
“I want… now,” she murmured. “All I want is now. I don’t want to think about anything but this moment… and you.” She took a deep breath. “And I don’t want to feel afraid anymore.”
She leaned closer to him, bracing her other hand on the mattress.
His eyes darkened, turning smoky with that look she had seen so many times before. “My daring, reckless lady.”
“Marcus,” she whispered, “I want you to kiss me.”
For the span of a single heartbeat, he didn’t move a muscle.
Then, keeping his arms at his sides, he lifted his head and brushed his mouth over hers, the pressure light, an invitation. A reminder of the passion they had shared before. His tongue traced her lips, tasting her. Unable to resist the tingle of sensations that went through her, Elizabeth lowered herself over him, her tongue playing with his at first, then darting forward to explore his mouth.
He groaned and opened to her gentle invasion, their kiss quickly turning hungry. Fire raced through he
r body. He tasted of the tavern punch. Spicy. Potent. His tongue stroked against hers, just teasing at first, then thrusting slow and deep in a way that left Elizabeth dizzy. She uttered a sound of pleasure, of longing.
She felt his fingers glide down her spine, his broad hand coming to rest at the small of her back. She was still fully clothed. He had no hold on her save that feather-light touch. The message was clear: he was giving her time to change her mind, break the kiss. To pull away—as she always had before.
To end this. Now.
But she didn’t want it to end. She wanted this, wanted him, cared for him in a way she had never cared for any man. He had unlocked some secret place in her heart, filled her with warmth that was like sunlight, but brighter, hotter. She had felt it every time he kissed her or held her or simply looked at her. Now it flared until it filled every sinew of her being. It was rare and exquisite and she wanted it to go on forever.
And she wanted to be closer to him, so much closer.
Her fingers curled through the hair that covered his chest. She broke the kiss and pressed her lips to his ear.
“Marcus, I want… I need you to touch me.”
A shudder went through him. He reached up to tangle his hands in her hair. “You’re certain, my sweet lady?”
“Yes,” she told him with a tremulous smile. “Being reckless does have its advantages, sometimes.”
With a slow grin, he gently drew her into his embrace, easing her down onto the bed beside him. When her hips brushed against his, Elizabeth flinched. She could feel his rigid length straining against his breeches—and couldn’t quell a memory of Geoffrey, of the suffocating feeling of being pinned beneath him in bed.
Marcus seemed to understand, without her saying a word. “Let’s forget about the bed.” He took her hand as he stood up, helping her to her feet. “We don’t require a bed at all.”
His gaze flicked around the room and settled on the blue brocade wing chair beside the grate. Raising an eyebrow, he looked down at Elizabeth and smiled.
The tenderness in his expression—and that scoundrel’s smile—sailed straight to her heart, reminding her that Marcus wasn’t like Geoffrey at all. He wasn’t driven by some crude need to assert his physical superiority. Marcus knew how to use his strength gently, how to share it with her.
He brushed a strand of her tangled hair back from her cheek. “There are as many ways to make love, Elizabeth, as there are days in the year. Probably more.” His voice was infinitely gentle. “Not all of them will get you with child.”
Elizabeth hadn’t realized until that moment that she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled and it came out as a sigh. The softness in his words and his gaze stole the last hesitation from her heart. She reached up to touch his stubbled cheek. “I trust you.”
Eyes shining at her words, he kissed her.
Then he led her over to the chair and settled himself comfortably, legs wide.
Elizabeth, still holding his hand, looked down at him in confusion. He pulled her closer until she was standing between his thighs.
“Take this off,” he murmured, tugging at her frock coat.
Mesmerized by his tone, by the promise of being tenderly enveloped by his strength, Elizabeth felt the fear that had gripped her for so long begin to slip away.
Yielding to his hypnotic command, she shrugged the garment from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
Marcus’s gaze never left her face. “This too.” He ran a finger over her waistcoat.
Elizabeth trembled and her throat suddenly felt dry. She realized with a little jolt of surprise that the feeling came not from anxiety, but from excitement, a heart-quickening sense of approaching the unknown.
She unfastened the buttons on her waistcoat and let it fall.
Marcus’s wandering hand strayed downward and came to rest on the waistband of her breeches. His eyes had darkened to a shade deeper than hot spiced wine. His lashes half-lowered, he looked up at her in unspoken request.
Elizabeth’s heart took up a new, wilder pace. The heat radiating from his fingertips held her transfixed. She unlaced the oversized trousers and stepped out of them before she realized just how little she now wore: a white shirt that fell to her knees, nothing else.
Not even the flimsiest camisole or pantaloons underneath.
The air in the room seemed hot and hard to breathe, despite the open window. Her very blood seemed to be afire, surging toward the center of her body. Marcus wasn’t even touching her at the moment, yet she felt a warm dampness between her thighs. It brought a flush of color to her cheeks.
He smiled, slow and sensual, as if sensing her response. Rather than asking her to remove the shirt as she had expected, he reached for her hand again and eased her down onto his lap, moving his legs so that she sat crosswise on his thighs.
She tentatively rested one arm on his shoulder for balance. He felt solid and muscular beneath her, all his strength and power held in check. She knew he must want to go more quickly, but he was holding himself back.
It gave her a feeling akin to wonder as she looked down into his smoldering gaze. When he reached up to touch her hair, she closed her eyes, turning her face into his hand, kissing his palm, his fingers. A low groan reverberated through his chest, and he quickly moved to unfasten the top button of her shirt.
He worked it loose, then the one below it, then the next until the white fabric—her last bit of covering—opened all the way to reveal her bare skin. Elizabeth shut her eyes, breathing hard.
“Shhh.” He kissed the soft place behind her ear. “You’ll be all right, I promise.”
She nodded, trusting him. He shifted so that she was leaning back, supported by his arm. The shirt parted and Marcus slipped the garment down over her shoulders, exposing her completely to his gaze. Elizabeth felt a flush over her entire body.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his fingertips caressing the curve of her breast, stroking gently, cupping it in his hand. His thumb flicked over the nipple and her harsh breathing deepened into a moan. He placed a damp kiss at the hollow of her throat, then teased her with little touches of his tongue along her collarbone. She tossed her head, feeling so vulnerable in this position—and so eager for more of the icy-hot sensations he lavished on her body.
His mouth lingered along her arched neck, then slowly moved to her breast, savoring every inch of her skin. His tongue played in circles around her nipple, then his teeth grazed it ever so gently. Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat, turning her moan into a gasp of pleasure. She dug her fingers into his leg. With a low sound of hunger, he turned his attention to her other breast, nipping and suckling.
Elizabeth’s lips parted as an unfamiliar, intense feeling began deep in her belly, a curling, tightening sensation. Marcus’s fingertips brushed across her breast, trailing the dampness from his kisses downward, over her ribs and abdomen in a searing path. When he touched the soft triangle between her legs. Elizabeth cried out and sat up suddenly, grasping his wrist.
He gazed into her eyes, silent, until she slowly released his hand. Uncertain and excited and breathless all at once, she leaned into his chest, laying her head against the sculpted curve of his shoulder. She touched her mouth to his skin, tasting him, warm and salty and male. To her amazement, the little kiss of acceptance made him tremble.
He held her close with one arm, while his other hand began a slow, erotic game unlike anything Elizabeth had ever imagined.
Never had she been touched this way. It was so utterly, breathtakingly new. Marcus’s fingers glided over her damp curls, arousing her gently, then sliding lower. He parted her, opened her to his touch. His thumb found an unbearably sensitive nub and rubbed it in slow circles. Elizabeth gasped quick breaths of air between soft, sharp cries of surprise and pleasure. She pressed her face against his throat, feeling his pulse throbbing beneath her cheek.
His chest rose and fell as rapidly as hers. His thumb moved faster as his fingers traced the feminine p
etals below, teasing at the wet entrance of her sheath. The trembling sensation in her belly built to a feverish intensity, like icicles and sparks clashing together. She was shaking, her hips lifting to meet every caress, her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulder and his thigh.
She closed her lips on the slick skin of his throat, kissing him hard, nipping him. His thumb slowed, flicking against that swollen nub with light, feathering motions, until the tension deep within her spun so tight that she couldn’t bear it any more. She could scarcely breathe, couldn’t utter anything more coherent than a pleading moan.
She needed some sort of release, and sensed that he knew exactly how to give it to her, but he was deliberately prolonging this sweet torture. She bit her lip to keep from begging.
He slid one finger inside her, withdrew it, then pushed forward again with merciless slowness. “Marcus,” she gasped, arching her hips shamelessly against his hand.
He nudged her head up with his shoulder, taking her mouth as he slipped a second finger inside her, deeper this time. Elizabeth groaned and kissed him back, opening her lips beneath his. His tongue explored her mouth, claiming her with thrusts that matched the rhythm of his fingers in her wetness.
The dual onslaught proved her undoing. His thumb grazed that sensitive bud once more and the storm in her belly broke, sweeping over her with stunning force. She cried out, his mouth capturing her shout of astonishment and ecstasy. Fire and ice rained through her in wave after wave, leaving her shuddering in his arms. When the last tremors finally ebbed, she went limp in his embrace, her mind and body floating on a cloud of exquisite sensation.
~ ~ ~
Marcus kissed Elizabeth’s closed eyes, wrapping his arms around her, cradling her against his chest. Never could he remember feeling such pleasure at giving pleasure. It filled him with a thoroughly male sense of possessiveness and satisfaction, knowing that he had been the first to bring her to release.
Her breath tickled his neck with each little sigh, and he smiled, stroking her back, feeling tender, protective, and something more… a feeling even stronger, yet elusive, mingled with the others.
Midnight Raider Page 19
