She knew better. She did.
Her future consisted of promises to keep and people and secrets to protect. The downtrodden women she helped were her family. Their babies were the only babies she would ever hold to her breast.
God help her, when had she lost the ability to be satisfied with that?
Two hours later, with Emmy down for her nap, Jade followed Marcus, a hand firmly in his. He carried a basket in one hand, and a blanket under his arm.
“What are you hurrying to?” Jade asked, practically running beside him.
“Peace, quiet, and a minute alone—no business, babies, toddlers, brothers, ladies, or retainers to separate us.”
Jade laughed, allowing herself to feel light-hearted and carefree for the moment.
At the undercliff—the sea grass beneath the cliff that edged the part of her property arrowing toward the English Channel— Marcus dropped the basket and blanket and took her in his arms.
“A perfect beginning to a picnic,” she said.
“First, we have the rest of a minute to make up for,” he said, kissing her for longer than half a minute, but she didn’t mind.
He stepped back with a grin. “Better. I feel better. You?”
“I do, actually,” she said as she opened the blanket to spread it on the coarse grass. “Much better. And hungry.”
The breeze light, the smell of the sea, fresh and invigorating, Marcus stood transfixed. “I can’t decide what I want more, you or food.”
Jade waved a chicken leg under his nose, perversely hoping not to tempt him. “Nobody makes picnic chicken like Winkin.” Marcus caught her off guard when he grasped her arm to pull her down and roll her beneath him. He licked her chicken-flavoured fingers.
Her eyes widened.
His body swelled and hardened against her leg.
He threw the chicken back in the basket, then he tasted her mouth and she tasted his. Better than food. Or air. Or water.
The meal forgotten, they remained as close as two people could and feasted on each other. The best picnic in her memory.
“Last night, I sat in that chair on fire for you the whole time I watched you sleep,” he said, his breath in her ear warming her to the farthest reaches of her body.
“Before that, when you walked Mac,” she admitted, testing the texture of his ear with her lips. “I wanted to pull you down beside me on the bed.”
“You wanted to open my dressing gown.”
She slid her hands along his neck, to his nape, her fingers combing his hair. “Of course not! I wanted it to fall open.” She swallowed his chuckle with her kiss. “I would never have the courage to open it.”
“What about now?” He placed her hand against the buttons on his trousers, but her fingers fluttered up to his waistcoat, instead.
“I still don’t.” She buried her face in his neck. “Sorry.”
Marcus groaned and pulled her closer, dying for her touch. “Tell me what you have the courage for, Jade, because I’ll give you whatever you need, or take whatever you’re willing to give.”
“I want your weight on me.”
His heart clenched and his boy parts stood at firm attention. Marcus positioned himself full atop her, unable to believe she’d asked. He kept his weight on his hands at either side of her head, more than ready to adore her in truth, however she would allow, for however long.
For eternity, if possible.
“Now kiss me,” she said.
He traced her lips with his tongue, until she opened to him and he tasted her. Honey, pure and sweet. A nectar to sustain him beyond mere food.
They moved together to accommodate each other. She made a cradle for his need and he filled the void with his arousal. Like coming home. Jade moved beneath him, stroking him, firing his raging need, making him so ready, pleasure and pain grew and threatened to wreak havoc at one and the same time.
He lowered his weight, skimmed her side, learned and loved her body, his hand coming to rest by her breast, wanting, but not daring. He loved her to distraction, but had never bedded her, never cupped or kissed a full, lush breast, so much her victim, it was laughable.
She moaned and arched. “Touch me there again, Marcus. Really touch me.”
His body rose hard and fast like a randy stripling. Marcus feared he’d lose control.
She continued to caress him with her seeking body, her movements as painful and sweet as torture. “Touch me everywhere,” she said.
Marcus stilled. “Do you mean that Jade? Can I touch you anywhere? Everywhere?”
Her eyes widened, as if his question had just now reached the functioning portion of her brain, and she faltered for a moment, likely realizing the enormity of her request, and his response, then she looked straight at him. “Yes. Please.”
Jade felt Marcus’s heart beat a new and rapid staccato as he lay beside her and settled her facing him. She thrilled to the look in his smouldering eyes, and saw purpose, hot and heady, reflected there. Despite giving him her blessing, the scene, so near her midnight fantasies, caused a spiralling at her centre, carrying a warning she ignored as quick as she perceived it.
He took down her hair to lay it across them and filled his palm with a breast, finally, kneading and nuzzling, then he gave the same attention to the other.
He reached behind her to begin an undulating motion at the base of her spine.
Jade sighed in contentment, felt the ridge of his stallion ready man-part rutting against her thigh and smiled. He widened the motion of his soothing hand as he worked it up her back, then down to her bottom.
The sea beckoned, the sky, the earth, primitive and pure. A gull screeched in the distance.
She reached over to undo his neck-cloth, his waistcoat and shirt buttons. Then she allowed herself the ultimate luxury of placing the flat of her hand against his chest, weaving her fingers into the silken mat of dark hair covering it.
His breath caught in his throat at her touch and his eyes closed. She parted her lips and with a groan, he fitted his mouth to the invitation of hers, slanting first this way, and then that, as if he couldn’t get enough. This she understood.
His clever hand continued its soothing foray along her back and bottom with more and more purpose, pulling her closer and tighter against him—into him, if she had her way—and she moulded herself seamlessly, soft to hard, concave to convex.
She kissed that dimple in his chin, testing its depth with her tongue. With kisses, she explored his face, nibbling to his cheek, his ear, his neck.
Marcus groaned a suffering sound, grasped her chin and plundered her mouth. Jade revelled in the response she had elicited and met him, thrust for thrust, tongue and body alike, until she needed him as much as she needed air.
She lay her head on his arm and closed her eyes, gasping for breath.
Touching his forehead to hers, he did the same.
His hand at her back progressed from tentative, to sure, to greedy, in the way he cupped her bottom and touched nearer her centre. A range of emotions crossed his features, among them an ardour so wild, a pride at her power filled Jade. She touched a button at her bodice and loved that his eyes flared.
She unbuttoned her bodice, slowly, watching his face, feeling his response, as she moved the silken fabric aside.
Almost in reverence, he dipped his head to accept her offering.
The feel of his hand on her breast released her, as if from captivity, and allowed her to flow with the pleasure he drew from deep inside her. When his mouth lowered and opened over the budded nubbin, a roiling heat purled through her, sharp and wild.
She did not expect him to take suckle, but found herself as wildly shocked as she was greedy for his mouth. Arching for his greater access, Jade moaned and cried his name, and Marcus increased the pressure of his lips on her nipple.
In the farthest reaches of her awareness, he skimmed her legs under her gown, and along her inner thigh, his hand coming to rest at her core, only her drawers between his hand and her c
entre.
Despite her tremor at the intimacy, she ached for more, but hesitation held her captive. When he parted her drawers and found her, she gasped, her whimper as much in desire as protest.
“Jade, Sweetheart, I just want to touch you,” he said against her lips, bringing her deeper under his spell.
She faltered and he pressed his palm against her throbbing core, her body no longer hers to command, but his.
“I want to give you pleasure. Nothing more.”
She touched his face. “What about your pleasure?”
“Let me love you like this and I’ll be satisfied.”
Jade moved her legs to give him better access, afraid she was giving him so much more.
When he touched her, he found her slick and wet and embarrassed. “I knew you’d be ready for me. Warm and ready. Oh, God, Jade, you have no idea what you do to me.”
“If it’s anything like you do to me ...” She couldn’t speak any longer; she could only feel.
He played her like a fine instrument, raising her higher toward perfection, but never quite allowing her to reach it before he lowered her to rest. Then he raised her up again, plying her with kisses, stopping to suckle, enhancing his mastery.
At a point where she thought she must beg him to stop or die, the crescendo built to a point almost beyond bearing and she lost herself in pleasure.
Marcus sustained her climax until he feared she’d swoon, his body nearer the edge than he’d ever been, man or boy, when not buried in a feminine sheath.
This woman possessed his heart, perhaps even his soul, but he never imagined the power her first release would have on him, on his body. Pride mixed with a love that encompassed him, held him in thrall and he was powerless against it.
When Jade arched and spun away, soaring up and over the world, Marcus rose with her and damn-near spilled his seed. Holding steady to his control, he encouraged Jade to float among the clouds before she drifted back to earth and the surety of his arms around her.
He revelled in his love’s capacity for pleasure, in her acceptance of her own sensual nature, in the expressions on her face—surprise, shock, wonder, awe, and finally a blissful contentment.
He kissed the beads of moisture on her brow, her eyelids, her parted lips, grateful she trusted him to teach her the magic within her, rueful that his body had nearly betrayed him, as if she were more in control of it than he.
He lowered her gown, admiring her long, coltish legs. “Sleep for a bit,” he whispered. “I’ll watch over you.”
Aroused still, Marcus lay back, pulling Jade against him, amazed that the focus of his desire had changed from a need to receive ... to a need to give.
Only Jade, no other, could inspire the like.
He held her close, loving the feel of her sleeping, content as a kitten in his arms. He dozed for a time as well, the respite welcome and sweet, until she shivered, and he felt the bite of the wind and saw the dark of the sky.
He’d not told her about the railroad, his original purpose for coming—or not coming, as the case may be. He wouldn’t tell her now, except for the fact that he believed she needed his help in some mysterious way.
Sorry to spoil their afternoon, he had to do it. He plucked a blade of grass to tease her lips, then her nose, until she swatted it away and snuggled close. “It’s past dinnertime, slug-a-bed.”
“Hmnthngry.”
Marcus chuckled and freed her nose from his shirt. “Care to repeat that?”
“I’m not hungry!”
He laughed outright. “Surly, are you? After naps? Or simply after sex?”
That snapped her eyes open and set her spine straight. “We didn’t.” She examined his open shirt, and hers, then checked to see if his esteemed boy part was still neatly tucked away, and she sagged with relief. “We didn’t.”
“Ah, my lusty love, but you did. Don’t you remember?”
She squealed and buried her warm face against his bare chest again, and his much neglected boy part took note.
“Don’t be discomfited,” he whispered, stroking her hair, kissing it. “Do say, however, that I pleased you.”
Another squeal.
A long silence.
“Chicken leg?” he asked. “Or ham and veal pie?”
She shifted tentatively then sat up and arranged her skirts modestly about her before she accepted a piece of chicken.
Marcus chose a slice of cold meat pie. “Garrett heard some talk back home the other morning,” he said. “Something you should be interested in. Devilled egg?”
Jade took an egg and nibbled it. “Why would I be interested?”
“Because it has to do with the railroad. Do you prefer cider or stout?”
“I’m not interested in the railroad.” She took the pewter tankard of stout he held poised against his lips, and drank it down.
Marcus raised his brows and waited for a reaction to set it, but nothing happened. He grinned. “You’re going to be rich because of that land option you sold. Maybe you didn’t intend to sell, but the income from it could support your Benevolent Society for years.”
“I never thought of that.”
For dessert, he handed her a Dundee cake topped with burnt cream.
She examined it as if she couldn’t identify it.
“The rails are repaired and the train’s running again after that accident the other night.”
“That’s good,” she said, looking up at him, digesting his words, and, he imagined, fidgeting inside to undo the repair.
“An important shipment of lumber is expected to arrive tonight. After they finish the bridge over the River Ouse, if all goes well, they’re no more than a month away from laying the rails on your property.”
“It’s getting chilly,” she said, shivering, “don’t you think. Perhaps we should go back to the house?”
“We could move into that cave for a while to sit and watch the sea,” Marcus suggested.
“No!”
She caught his surprise at her tone. “I mean, no, I ... want to go back to the house.”
“Don’t you think we should talk about what happened first?”
“Please, give me a chance to get used to it. It was so, so—”
“Splendid?”
“New. I never—”
He sat closer and pulled her into his arms. “I know you never, and I’m pleased to have given you your first pleasure, proud to have introduced you to the wonder of loving.” He kissed her until she kissed him back.
“Oh, Marcus,” she wailed pulling away. “What are you doing to me?” Her words were more a cry of frustration than love, or lust, and that troubled Marcus more than he could express.
He held her face between his hands. “Jade, Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Let me help you.”
She knocked his arms aside and stood. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything is. You’ve done all you can, and I don’t mean by betraying me with my own body. I despise you Marcus Fitzalan. I really do.”
And she was gone, running fleet as a startled doe.
Marcus watched her go, struck by her accusation. For a minute he worried he’d taken advantage, until he remembered what she said. I want your weight. Touch me everywhere.
Tell me what you want, he’d said. If her reply had been, “let me go,” he would have. She knew that. She knew he’d give her whatever she wanted, pleasure or freedom. If she were in temporary shock, she would recover, but she’d seemed remorseful, which about broke him.
He started cleaning away their dinner, setting plates and napkins in the basket, tossing her untouched dessert to the birds. He shook the blanket and folded it, then he tossed it down and walked to the water’s edge.
There, he cupped his hands at his mouth and shouted as loud as he could above the churning sea. “Jade Smithfield I adore you!” Then he let his hands fall to his sides and hated himself, because, though he did adore her, he planned to follow her tonight to discover whether she had been the one committing crimes against the rail
road.
If she had, he bloody well needed to know, and why, then he must find a way to stop her.
Marcus cursed and turned to see Jade standing high on the cliff under which they’d loved, watching him, sea foam skirts flapping about her legs, sable hair in stormy disarray. The wild scandal who owned his heart, bearing so many secrets she was bending under the weight of their burden.
Proper Scoundrel Page 11
