by Jane Goodger
“May I help you with your dress?”
Lilian nodded, moving her hands through his short, soft hair, so clean it was slippery beneath her fingers. She leaned forward and kissed him in that small indent where his strong neck met his muscled chest. He was beautiful, like the statues she’d seen in museums. She’d thought that perhaps the artists had taken liberty by creating such perfection, but here it was in front of her, hot beneath her touch but nearly as rigid as marble. His stomach had no hair but a thin band that trailed from his chest to where his pants began, the first two buttons already freed from their moorings.
“You are lovely,” she said, pressing her forehead against him and smiling softly when he chuckled.
Then she straightened and, with hands that shook only slightly, began undoing the buttons of her dress. Without a lady’s maid, she had requested that her three layers of clothing and her corset be fastened in front.
“Let me, if you will,” he said, his voice deep as he brushed her hands gently away. One by one, he unfastened the buttons until her corset cover was revealed, and then he pushed her dress from her shoulders, down her arms, following the material with his hands, and let it drop to the floor. She stood before him wearing a chemise, a corset, a camisole, a crinoline, a single petticoat, and stockings. And felt completely naked.
“My God, Lilian,” he breathed, looking at her with such intensity he almost seemed angry, but she knew him well enough now to know it was raw desire in his eyes.
Lilian untied the corset, followed by the crinoline, and, taking a deep breath, removed her camisole and began to work on her corset.
“Allow me. I’d no idea how many layers made up a lady’s dress. Eleanor’s maid always took care of things—” He stopped suddenly, as if regretting bringing up his former wife in front of his new one. “Here.” He made short work of the corset, loosening it until it, too, dropped to the floor. The only thing between her and him were her chemise, drawers, and stockings.
He drew her to him and kissed her softly on her cheek, then moved his head down and nuzzled her neck, a simple enough caress, but she found herself nearly drowning in desire. “Oh,” she said, moving her head a bit, loving the way he made her feel. His hands worked on the pins in her hair. One by one, each pin removed was rewarded by a kiss—on her shoulder, her neck, her chest, and finally the tip of one breast. Her breathing was becoming more and more harsh, and Lilian wasn’t certain she could stand without holding on to him. Finally, her hair spilled down her back, feeling oddly sensual.
Pulling away, he drew her with him to the bed and, in one quick motion, lifted her and deposited her in the center with a little bounce.
* * *
Marcus lay next to her, one hand draped across her belly, the other bent and propping up his head so that he could look down at her. It was rather nice to have her in his bed, this time with him next to her. Her hair, a wild mass of it, was spread out on the pillow.
“We’re not yet unclothed,” she said softly, looking directly at him, a small smile teasing her lips.
“That will soon be amended, I assure you.” He leaned down and kissed her, at first softly, gently, and then he found he couldn’t stop himself from deepening the kiss. With a low moan, he pushed his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. One of her hands drifted behind his head and she relaxed beneath him as if drugged. How different was she from Eleanor, who had lain rigid, who had turned her head away when he’d tried to kiss her.
Slowly, he moved his hand from her waist, higher, to the curve of her breast, reveling in the way she arched her back, silently demanding more. He sought and found one turgid nipple, and moved his thumb back and forth until she let out a small cry.
“I should stop?” He pulled back to look at her, suddenly uncertain.
“You should never stop,” she said, laughing. “It’s quite lovely, actually.”
Smiling, Marcus deftly untied her chemise, slowly pulling upon the four satin ribbons that held the cloth together. Each tug revealed more creamy skin, and when he was done, he pulled the cloth apart and stared down at her breasts, thanking God and all the Catholic saints for putting this woman in his path that foggy June morning on the moors. “My God, you are beautiful.”
Her hands moved restlessly, as if she were contemplating covering herself, but Marcus would have none of that. “No,” he murmured, right before bending his head, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking lightly. Her gasp of breath created such a surge of lust, Marcus knew he was in danger of losing control completely, of coming before he could consummate their marriage. But she put her hand to the back of his head, keeping him there, urging him to continue, and so he did, making love to her breasts as if they had all the time in the world. His cock strained almost painfully inside his trousers, and he shifted to relieve some of the ache. If he were a bold man, he would have taken one of her hands and pressed it against him, taught her how to please him. He would guide her, down, down, until she took him into her beautiful mouth. Marcus was not a bold man in the bedroom, and so he suffered a bit, wanting release desperately, but just as desperately wanting this to last forever. So instead of guiding her hand to him, he let his own hand drift down her body until it rested at the apex of her thighs and he pressed, just slightly, just enough to show her there was more to this business of making love, that the pleasure she was feeling now was nothing compared to the pleasure he wanted to give her. She let out a small sound, of protest or pleasure, he wasn’t sure, and when she spread her legs just slightly, he knew it was pleasure.
She still had on her drawers, so he found the slit in them to touch her flesh, feel her heat. He groaned when he found her slick with need.
“I want to make you come,” he said, his voice gruff. “Do you understand what that means?”
She shook her head, her eyes drowsy.
“You will find your release and then I will find mine.” Marcus untied her drawers and began pushing them down. Lilian lifted her bum just slightly, assisting him in his endeavor, and when he’d tugged them off her, he swallowed heavily as he looked at her dark thatch of soft curls and resisted the urge to kiss her there. Perhaps someday. He unbuttoned his trousers and slipped them and his smalls off in one deft movement, revealing his erection to her rather surprised gaze.
“There you are,” she said, sounding nervous.
“Here I am. Sometime, if you’d like, you could touch me there. It would please me if you did.”
She looked so doubtful, Marcus nearly laughed. Then he brought his hand to her dark, moist curls and found her small nub. She inhaled sharply and closed her eyes as he moved his hand, exploring her, tense and waiting to see if she would tell him to stop, secretly praying she would not. He slipped one finger inside, and she was so hot and wet, he groaned and his cock grew harder still.
“Marcus, what is happening?” Her hips moved slightly as he moved his finger in and out, as he moved his thumb over her, back and forth, creating a rhythm for her.
“Let go, love,” he said, unaware he’d uttered that endearment, unaware of anything but how hot she was beneath his hand, how lovely she looked on the verge of her release. Suddenly, her hips began jerking wildly, and she clutched the counterpane almost desperately, and he could feel her clench around him as her body was lost in the throes of her release. With a guttural sound, she came around his finger, and Marcus felt as if he could command the earth and all the heavens.
When she was relaxed and drowsy, he kissed her softly and removed his hand.
“That was beyond lovely,” she said, lifting her arms languidly and wrapping them around his neck.
Marcus positioned himself between her thighs, splayed and pliant, and brushed his cock against her curls, closing his eyes at the pleasure of this simple movement. His eyes shot open when he felt her touch him, tentative and shy, and he stifled a moan.
“There, I’ve done it,” she said, grinning and pulling him down for a kiss.
“Very brave of you.”
&nb
sp; “Very brave,” she agreed. She looked up at him and her smile faded. “It’s time, Marcus.”
He took himself and pressed slowly at her entrance, watching her lovely face to make certain he wasn’t hurting her overmuch. Lilian shifted beneath him and opened her legs wider, never taking her eyes away from his. He felt her barrier, knew he was about to hurt her, but she felt so hot and tight and right, the only thing he could do was push through and make her his. And so he did, driving into her, stifling her cry with a kiss, his body taut and quivering from the effort to take things slowly when his cock screamed for him to drive into her again and again.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded and kissed his jaw, and so he pulled back slightly, then moved forward, as she tensed beneath him. Again and again, he moved, and at some point she relaxed and then she wrapped her legs around him. The feeling of a woman’s legs around a man is nothing short of miraculous, Marcus thought, right before he lost himself to the sensation, the rhythm, the pure joy of making love to a willing woman. He came with a groan, moving his hips quickly, releasing his seed into her, and felt quite literally that he had never in his life experienced such intense pleasure.
Marcus lay on top of Lilian for so long, she thought perhaps he’d fallen asleep, even though his full weight was pressing down on her. His breathing, at first harsh and labored, finally slowed to a more natural rhythm, and still he lay there.
“Marcus?”
“Hmmm.”
“I’m a bit crushed.”
He rolled off her, chuckling and dragging her with him so that she lay on top of his long length. The hair on his legs tickled her feet, and it was difficult to believe that just a few moments before, she’d been quite frightened by the thought of him seeing her naked, of even touching his flesh. Now she was splayed on top of him, her hair a curtain around his head, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Amazing what making love could do. It was hard to believe that a pair could do it without staying in bed forever.
“Better now?”
“Much. But now I’m crushing you.”
Tightening his arms around her slightly, he said, “You are not crushing me. You are keeping me warm.”
“So I am nothing more than a blanket?”
“Indeed.” He pulled up his head slightly and bussed her lips before rolling to the side so that they faced one another.
“I thought I wasn’t crushing you,” she said in mock anger.
“I lied.”
She gave him a small whack on his shoulder, then nestled her head into the crook of his arm, wondering if this thing she was feeling that made her heart swell and sing was love. And she couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling anything close to what she was. Her mother had told her, long ago, when Weston had seemed to set his cap for her, that men did not see the act of making love in quite the same way as women. Men could have mistresses and wives and lovers and treat them all the same. It wasn’t that the male sex was incapable of love, it was that they saw the act of making love differently. Lilian assumed her mother was warning her not to expect fidelity from her husband, but she realized, lying there next to Marcus, that she would want to die if he made love to another.
Lilian lifted her head and looked down at him. “You’re very dear to me,” she said in a rush, hoping she wasn’t saying too much, hoping her eyes didn’t say what she really longed to say. That she thought she was falling in love with him.
He said nothing, but something indefinable flickered in his eyes as he drew her back down so that when she was settled against him once more, she lay there wondering why he hadn’t said anything to her. Perhaps her mother had been right.
After a time, Marcus seemed to get restless, and he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Lilian allowed herself to admire the strong expanse of his back, the wide shoulders that tapered to a muscled waist and finally to his muscular bum.
“I should like us to be happy together,” he said, his words cutting through the silence in the room. Taken at face value, his statement would seem kind, but the underlying sadness Lilian thought she detected made her tense.
“I believe we shall be,” she said hesitantly.
“I wouldn’t want you to expect too much from me. I will be a good husband, and I will be faithful.” He turned his head to look at her before turning back. “I expect the same from you, of course.”
“I will never be unfaithful.” She saw his shoulders lift and fall, as if her words removed some great weight from them.
“That is all I can promise now. I . . .” He stopped, and she could tell he was struggling. “I wouldn’t want you to expect me to love you. That’s all.” With that, he stood and grabbed up his clothing, pulling his smalls and trousers on with haste, then making short work of his shirt. Taking out an informal jacket from his wardrobe, he finally turned to look at her. Lilian had snuggled beneath the covers as he’d dressed, feeling unaccountably cold even though the room was quite warm. “I’m going for a ride. Chief needs a good run.”
Lilian felt like crying. Why had she told him that he was dear to her? Why hadn’t she just let things go? She had no doubt if she had remained silent, they would still be in bed together. She felt his withdrawal, much like the ache that remains once a sliver is removed.
Chapter 13
Marcus rode like a madman upon the rolling hills of the moors, until Chief’s sides were heaving from exertion. He pulled up where he always did, at the crest of a high hill that looked down upon the farmlands below. The heather swayed in the moist wind, an ocean of purple and green that glistened from the earlier rain beneath a weak sun.
“What the hell am I going to do, Chief?”
His horse lifted his head upon hearing his master’s voice, then went back to nibbling on the sweet grass.
What the hell am I going to do? he asked himself silently. Lilian deserved better than him. He didn’t want a wife, and he particularly didn’t want a wife who looked at him all doe-eyed and said the sweetest things, things even the most hardened man would be hard-pressed not to revel in. You’re very dear to me. The words were bad enough, but the look in her eyes, the love he thought he’d seen, sent such a flood of panic through him, he almost felt physically ill.
He did not want to love her. He did not want to love anything. He wasn’t the sort of man who could have his heart ripped from his chest more than once. What was more difficult was knowing that even though he’d loved Eleanor, it hadn’t been the all-consuming love that he had only experienced once in his life. He’d managed to hold himself in reserve, and was profoundly glad he had, given what had happened. In the end, he’d been more humiliated than hurt, and still the pain had been nearly unbearable.
Perhaps he was weak. Perhaps that was why he tried so hard to keep his emotions in check, to never let them show. Marcus looked up into the cloud-mottled sky, wondering idly if it would begin raining again. He wished it would, a hard, blinding, drenching rain that would purge all thoughts from his mind.
He didn’t want to be married and he didn’t want to love his wife, but he was married and he was rather terrified that he might even be in danger of falling in love with her. It would be no pallid love, he knew. It would hurt and be glorious, and it would be the kind of love that could kill him if it all went wrong.
No, for now, he would step back, gather his strength, and try not to hurt her too much.
* * *
When Marcus returned from his ride, it was nearly dark and most of the servants had departed for Whitby. With no sign of the ghost since Lilian’s appearance, strangely enough, his house now had four servants who stayed overnight, including Sadie and Palmer, and another four who came daily. What he needed now more than anything was a butler who could keep things calm and steady, who would send unwanted guests away. He would have to search in London for such a man, for if one existed in Whitby, he would have already stepped forward and inquired. He headed directly to the kitchen, as he always had, expecting to
find a plate set aside for him by Sadie. This time, he found nothing. He had a feeling this was Sadie’s silent chastisement for abandoning his new bride for the day. With a sigh, he headed for the pantry and found some leftover ham from breakfast. Standing within the pantry, he shoved a few bites in his mouth, just to fill his belly, and looked up at the ceiling, wondering whether Lilian was in his bed or hers. It was still too early for sleeping, so perhaps she was in the parlor. He’d found her there once or twice with Mabel on her lap, reading to the child. His daughter. He supposed he would have to get used to calling her that.
The house was pitch black, so he lit a lamp, making a mental note to inquire about gaslight. Surely, in this modern age, his home should have it, as well as central heating. His townhouse in London had all the latest modern conveniences, and he had to admit lighting candles and lamps was getting a bit tiresome.
Marcus made his way to the parlor, only to find it dark and empty, then headed to the second floor, listening for the sound of voices. He thought he heard the low murmur of a feminine voice, and he couldn’t help but smile, but when he reached his room, it was empty. And cold. Lilian must be with Mabel in her own room, or perhaps Mabel’s. He left his lamp in his room and made his way into the hall, stopping outside Lilian’s door, where a sharp line of light could be seen beneath it. He stood there, staring at that sliver of light, torn between knocking and going back to his own bedroom to read.
“My, Grandma, what large teeth you have.”
Marcus grinned. Little Red Riding Hood. He could almost picture Mabel’s eyes as Lilian told her the famous tale. No doubt she’d found a book of fairy tales in the nursery. He took a step back and the floor beneath his feet creaked, and he froze when the voices in the room were suddenly silent.
“Did you hear that?” he heard Lilian ask. “Do you think perhaps that is our ghost outside listening to my story?”
“I think it’s the man.”
“You mean his lordship, your papa? Now why would he be skulking about like a thief outside my door?” She sounded piqued, and he nearly laughed.
