by Merry Farmer
He answered with a low laugh, bending to suck her nipple into his mouth. The warm, wet sensation left her panting, and the most scandalous noise escaped from her throat. That only seemed to encourage him as he continued to lick and suck and squeeze one breast then the other.
That in itself left Marigold overheated and hungry for more, but when his mouth left her breast and traveled farther down her stomach, the sensations more and more wicked the lower he went, she began to tremble all over again for entirely different reasons.
She was certain he would stop and return his lips to hers when he reached the thatch of curls between her legs, but to her shock, he kept going. His big hands stroked her thighs, and it wasn’t until his thumbs ran along her inner thigh that she realized she’d been steadily inching her legs farther and farther apart. The realization made her tense.
“Are you all right?” he asked, pausing and raising his head. “Do you want me to stop?”
“What are you doing?” she asked in return, panting. She lifted herself on her elbows just a bit. The sight of her legs partially spread with Alex’s face between them was as incongruous as it was fascinating. The ache that had been building deep inside of her grew, leaving her breathless with curiosity.
Alex grinned, his eyes flashing. “I believe the crude term for what I’m doing, or rather what I hope to be doing, is eating your pussy.” A shiver of excitement zipped through Marigold. “In more technical terms, I’d like to use my mouth and tongue to stimulate your sexual organs to the point of bringing you to orgasm.”
He could have been speaking Russian for all she understood from what he’d just said. It was the impish twinkle in his eyes that made her say, “Oh. All right, then,” and relax back against the pillows.
“I think you will find this most enjoyable if you open as wide as you can to me,” he continued in his devilishly formal tone.
Marigold nodded, then wiggled her hips. She had no idea what she was doing. Alex must have sensed that as well. He stroked his hands down her thighs to her knees, lifting them and pressing them far apart. The resulting movement left Marigold bristling with excitement, and a bit of embarrassment, as the most secret part of her yawned wide for him.
She had about half a second to consider the position the most ludicrous thing she’d ever done before Alex’s hands swept up her thighs to delve into the folds between her legs. The sensations his touch evoked were so potent that she sighed aloud and gripped the bedsheets on either side of her.
“You’re so wet,” he growled, as if that were a good thing. “But I can make you even wetter.”
He followed up his words by leaning in and raking his tongue along her opening. Every nerve-ending fired in unison as pleasure throbbed through her. She let out a long moan as his tongue continued to lick and tease, and even to thrust inside of her. She’d never felt anything like it, even in her own explorations of her body—which now seemed pitiful. Such intimate contact should have been terrifying, and indeed, fifteen minutes earlier, it would have been. But now, it was exquisite.
“Oh,” she panted as the pulling, tightening sensations inside of her began to grow pitched. “I think…I feel….”
Alex shifted what he was doing, drawing the folds of her flesh aside as he moved his mouth and tongue to tease the button of pleasure nearby. The sensation topped everything else he had done, sending her body over the edge. The world seemed to narrow down to just his mouth over her, his tongue stroking patiently, and then to explode into pure pleasure. She throbbed with it from the inside out.
Alex shifted over her quickly, while she was still lost in the bliss of her body’s release. The pressure of something large at her opening joined with the pleasure she already felt. A moment later, he thrust into her.
A flash of pain, like something tearing, cut through the trembling bliss. Marigold sucked in a breath with the realization that he was inside of her. Her virginity was gone. That part of Alex that had startled her so badly when she’d seen it before now stretched her from the inside. And it felt…wonderful.
“Are you all right,” he asked her, tension sharp in his voice, as though he were pressed to the limit as much as she was. He held himself perfectly still as he filled her, but she could feel just how much control that took.
She drew in a slow breath, lifting her arms to hold onto him. Instinct told her to shift her legs as well. He helped her along, positioning first one leg, then the other over his hips.
“Like that,” he panted, jerking slightly against her as if failing in his attempts not to move. He bent down and kissed her, but was panting too hard to draw it out. “I need to move now, my darling. Are you ready?”
She nodded, breathless with anticipation. Was there more to mating than just being joined together as they were?
Yes, there absolutely was. Alex began to move, using small, gentle strokes at first as he guided himself in and out of her. Each thrust brought a wealth of new sensations with it. They were wonderful. The feeling of being possessed and stretched intensified as his strokes grew longer and more powerful. Pleasure began to build within her all over again.
Alex’s sighs evolved into something deeper, more guttural, as whatever was driving him took over. Marigold felt the moment his careful consideration of her comfort gave way to ages old instinct. His every thrust was filled with purpose and pleasure, and she cried out in time with them, sinking into the amazing feeling of him using her body to reach for what he needed. But there was power in the way he needed her, and when at last he tensed and growled with release as he spilled himself inside of her, a second, throbbing orgasm hit her.
With completion came an enveloping sense of contentment. Alex relaxed, his weight strangely comforting as it pressed on her. She stroked his back as he caught his breath, tensing her inner muscles just a bit to make sure he was still inside of her. She loved the feeling, now that the first shock and pain were over, and she wanted much, much more of it.
All too soon, Alex recovered enough strength to roll to the side, breaking free of her. Marigold felt his absence acutely. Her body burned from exertion, but she still welcomed Alex’s arms around her as he pulled her body against his.
“What do you think?” he panted. “Should we do that again sometime when we’re both not exhausted?”
“I think it would be a pleasant way to pass an evening,” she gasped in reply, taking his hand from where it rested on her side and moving it to cup her breast, just in case he thought her casual sarcasm represented real indifference.
He went to work right away, kneading her breast and teasing her nipple to keep her pleasure simmering. “A few hours sleep, and we can try to reach step seven,” he laughed.
“Dear heavens.” Marigold tingled with need that was already renewing. “That was only six out of twelve?”
He kissed her cheek, then collapsed against the pillow. “Who said twelve was as high as the steps go?”
A shiver of anticipation shot through Marigold, even as she forced herself to close her eyes and let sleep take her. At this rate, she was going to have to name her first-born daughter Katya in honor of Lady Stanhope. She certainly owed the woman a mountain of thanks.
Chapter 7
Lazy contentment greeted Alex with the morning sun. He hadn’t slept so well in years, and not just because he and Marigold wore themselves out the night before, and once in the middle of the night. Silence blanketed the elaborate bedroom, broken only by Marigold’s deep steady breathing. She lay tucked against his side, one arm draped haphazardly across his chest. Her head rested on his shoulder, and one of her legs hooked over his. It wasn’t the most comfortable position he’d ever woken in, at least not physically, but the intimacy and tenderness of it warmed his heart, turning him into a sentimental old fool.
She was his wife, something he’d never dreamed he’d have. The bed they lay in was soft and warm, peace reigned. It was as far from the bustle and noise and stress of Parliament as he had ever been. The world’s problems seemed
distant and unimportant. It felt as though he might actually have half a chance to be the man he’d always wanted to be, a good husband, in Marigold’s arms. He let out a long breath and settled into the pillows, wanting the moment to last forever.
Which was why the hesitant knock at the bedroom door sent spikes of frustration through him. He tensed so hard and fast that Marigold stirred awake.
“Sir?” Phillips’s muffled, embarrassed voice came from the other side of the door.
Alex let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He would murder the man if his reasons for interrupting the morning after his wedding were anything other than national catastrophe.
The knock sounded again, slightly louder. “I’m sorry, sir?”
Marigold drew in a quick breath, clutching the bedcovers to her chest and burrowing against Alex’s side as though Phillips could see through the door. “Who is it? What do they want?” she whispered.
“It’s Philips, my soon-to-be late man of business,” Alex growled, then raised his voice to say, “You’d better have a damn good reason to come knocking at my bedroom door the morning after my wedding.”
There was a slight pause, then Phillips said, “Turpin has called a special session to vote on his repressive bill, sir. Rumor has it that he expects there to not be enough members present to vote it down, since so many of your key supporters were up late celebrating.”
Alex growled an oath that made Marigold’s eyes pop wide and pink splash her cheeks. He didn’t even have time to kiss her as he leapt from the bed and marched across the room. He had to avoid piles of wedding garments as he headed to the door.
“When does the session start, and do you have any idea when during the session this blasted bill will come to a vote?” he asked through the door.
“It’s hard to say, sir,” Phillips replied. “Turpin isn’t following normal procedure by any means, but he has enough supporters to get away with it. They say Disraeli is willing to support him.”
“Blast that man,” Alex thundered.
“He was at the wedding,” Marigold said.
Alex glanced over to find her sitting up in bed, the sheet held to her chest but not doing much to hide her tempting figure. Her golden hair spilled in tousled waves around her creamy shoulders. Her lips were still slightly red from their night’s activity, begging to be kissed again. In spite of everything, a surge of need ran through him, tightening his groin and pushing his frustration higher.
He banged his fist on the doorframe. So much for being a good husband. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he sighed, wincing.
“Yes, sir. I’ll see about rousing your supporters and getting them to Westminster immediately.”
“Good man.”
Alex pushed away from the door, glancing hurriedly around the room for the change of clothes Phillips supposedly left for him the day before. Knowing Turpin and his crooked ways, he wouldn’t have time to bathe properly or shave before dashing halfway across town to Westminster. The blackguard would pay for this.
“Are you leaving?” Marigold asked, scooting her way to the edge of the bed, the covers still clutched around her.
A second wave of regret and frustration stung Alex. “My darling, I’m afraid I have to.” He crossed to the side of the bed as she stood, and took her in his arms. The sheet fell away, leaving them skin-to-skin, which did nothing to stiffen his resolve to rush to Parliament to defeat Turpin. It stiffened other things instead. “I’m so sorry,” he said, tilting her head up to kiss her. In their hours-old marriage, he’d already apologized to her far too much.
“I…I understand,” she murmured when their kiss ended and he stepped away to search for his clothes. “You’re an important man. The nation needs you in vital ways.”
Alex glanced over his shoulder at her as he poured water from the pitcher on the washstand into the matching bowl and splashed the essential parts of himself. Marigold didn’t look as though she understood at all. She looked devastated. And she had every right to. “Today would have been a lot of fuss and nonsense anyhow,” he said, attempting to make her feel better, certain he was only making things worse. “While I’m working, why don’t you make your grand entrance at Croydon House and show all my servants who their new mistress is?” He tried to make it sound like a treat when, in fact, he’d been looking forward to presenting her as his wife and the new mistress of the house himself.
“That sounds lovely,” she said, gathering her robe from the chair where it was draped and putting it on. She tried to smile, but it didn’t look convincing to Alex.
He cursed himself and cursed Turpin doubly as he dried himself off and practically threw his clothes on. Phillips would have had a fit to see him make a mess of things, but Marigold came over to help. Between the two of them, he was dressed, his shoes were put on, and a comb pushed through his hair in about five minutes. Alex marched for the door, but paused to take Marigold in his arms for one more kiss before opening it.
“I will make this up to you,” he promised. “I swear it. I’m so sorry.” He was already picking out which jeweler he would visit on his way home from Westminster, whenever that would be.
“Be dazzling today,” she told him, stroking his stubbly cheek and kissing him one more time. “Don’t let Turpin win.”
“Believe me, I won’t,” he said, stole one last kiss, then rushed from the room.
He was gone. Marigold let out a heavy breath and stared at the door Alex had closed behind him when he left the room. It was the morning after their wedding. They’d spent the most magical night in each other’s arms. She’d discovered things about herself that she would never had guessed at, and already, Alex was gone.
Slowly, she dragged herself away from the door to flop in the chair where her robe had been draped, wondering if mistresses and secret paramours felt the same sense of abandonment after their assignations. She glanced across to the second, empty chair, Alex’s robe untouched over its back. A cold knot formed in her gut.
No, it wasn’t fair of her to resent him for leaving. She pushed herself to stand, even though she’d barely settled in the chair, and moved to the washstand to clean up. The intimate parts of her still carried traces of Alex and the way he’d made love to her. She blushed hot at the realization, feeling unusually awkward as she wiped herself clean. At least it all meant there was solid evidence that she could end up with child soon, if they kept that kind of activity up.
If Alex wasn’t called away to Parliament every time they got cozy with each other.
With a frustrated sigh, she pushed that thought away and focused on practicality. She did have an entire new household to introduce herself to. And her father and siblings would certainly be down for breakfast soon, even though they’d been up late reveling. She finished washing and rang the bell to call for the maid to bring a proper bath, then set about tidying the room and making the best of the situation.
She was washed, dressed, and back in her chair, lacing her boots as Judy, one of her father’s maids, picked up her wedding dress and Alex’s clothes from the night before when the envelope Lady Stanhope had given to Alex fell from the inner pocket of his jacket.
“I’m sorry, miss—I mean, Mrs. Croydon,” Judy said with a smile and a blush. “I’ll get it.” She bent to retrieve the envelope.
“No, no. I’ll take that.” Marigold rose from her chair and crossed to take the envelope.
“It was a beautiful party, madam,” Judy whispered to her, as though she wasn’t sure she should be addressing a woman who had been elevated so high the night before. “You looked like a princess.”
“Thank you, Judy.” Marigold’s first genuine smile of the day appeared. “But you don’t have to be so formal with me all of a sudden. I’m still the same old Marigold I was yesterday.” She winked.
“Oh, no, madam.” Judy looked scandalized. “You’re a married woman now, the wife of an important man.” She leaned closer and whispered, “They say he could be Prime Minister someday.”<
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“And you can say you knew me when I was just simple Miss Bellowes,” Marigold teased her. She adored Judy, and Gretta and the rest of her father’s servants. The fuss and nonsense of maintaining rigid social ranks had always irritated her, especially considering her grandparents had only been a half-step above the level of servants themselves.
“It’s a shame that Mr. Croydon was called away, though,” Judy went on, laying Marigold’s dress across the bed.
“You heard about that?” A twist of uneasiness and renewed disappointment washed through Marigold.
Judy sent her a sympathetic look. “He’s doing important work though, isn’t he?”
“He is.” Marigold smiled, but it wasn’t powerful enough to drown her discouragement. She tapped the envelope against her free hand, then marched for the door. “Thank you for your hard work, Judy,” she said as she exited.
Alex was doing important work, and he was an important man, but Turpin was the heart of the problem. She strode quickly through the halls of her family home one last time, heading for the breakfast room. Alex would still be in bed with her if it weren’t for Mr. Daniel Turpin. She and Alex might still be doing delicious things. Alex was sensual, and he’d been skilled enough to turn what had started out as raging fear into desire that was far from satisfied. She wanted more of that, more time to explore the wonders of marriage. She wanted more of her husband, and Turpin had taken that away from her.
The breakfast room was abandoned, just as Marigold had expected. Her father usually took breakfast in his study when the entire family was in residence, and her sisters were notorious lay-a-beds, particularly after parties. Marigold’s own arrival in the room was so unexpected that Clarence, their head footman, had to scramble and rush to bring enough food up from the kitchens for her to eat.
As she waited, she opened the envelope and read its contents. Within minutes, her cheeks burned pink with shock and anger. At the party the night before, all Marigold had been able to see of the papers was the name Ruby Murdoch as mentioned in a constable’s report. The story spelled out in the rest of the papers was a horror.
