by Jane Goodger
“I’ve news of Theresa,” she said, coming to the bed and climbing up to lie beside her husband. He lifted his arm so that she might snuggle close by his side.
“Oh?”
“It is the constable’s opinion that Theresa had no knowledge of what Munroe planned. He mentioned that my sister would have been the finest actress in the kingdom if she was lying, and apparently Munroe said the same. She had nothing to do with Weston’s murder. I’ll have to visit her soon. She must feel awful about what happened. She loved Munroe and he murdered three men for her, two completely innocent. Theresa must feel horribly guilty.”
Marcus drew her toward him and kissed the top of her head. They lay there with their own thoughts for a time before Lilian drew out the copy of Frankenstein. “I found this in the library.”
Marcus smiled. “One of my favorites. I haven’t read that since I was at the university.”
“Shall I start?”
“I have a better idea,” he said, moving one hand to cup her breast and making Lilian smile.
“Oh? Shall we play cards?”
His hand slipped beneath her dress and Lilian’s breath grew shallow as he kissed her jaw, her neck. “No, not cards.”
“Chess?” she asked, then dissolved into helpless giggles.
“The sun is shining my dear, and it’s been far too many days since I made love to you.”
Lilian turned and gently placed her hand on his chest near his wound. “You have been a bit under the weather.” She bit her lower lip and Marcus’s eyes dropped to her mouth. “Are you certain you are up for such . . . activity?”
“Very much so,” he said, chuckling and looking down pointedly at the small tent in the covers. Lilian followed his gaze and giggled.
“Yes, indeed, but that’s not what I meant and you know it.”
Marcus sighed. “You are probably right. I am not able to make love to you.” Lilian felt a stab of disappointment until he said, “But you can make love to me.”
Lilian pulled back, brow furrowed, for she had no idea what he meant.
“Here.” He pulled back the covers and lifted up his nightshirt, revealing his member, bold and strong and clearly in need of attention. His golden eyes were hooded with desire. “I need you, love. I need to feel you.”
Lilian hesitantly brought her hand down to his member and trailed a finger from the base to the tip, and Marcus hissed in a breath.
“Here,” he said, and took her hand so that she was holding him, her fingers wrapped around. Velvet surrounding steel, she thought. He guided her, moving her hand up and down, showing her how to please him, and he closed his eyes, his face taut, his body rigid. “God, my God. I don’t think . . .” He stopped her hand and let out a chuckle. “I want to be inside you, but I fear I don’t have the strength. I must leave it up to you.”
“I’m not certain what to do,” Lilian said.
“Ride me, love.” Heat suffused her body as she realized what he was asking. She hadn’t realized such a thing was possible. “Undo your buttons so I can see you. I need to see you.”
Lilian slowly undid the buttons of her dress, thankful that she’d opted for one of her simpler gowns. As she loosened her clothing, Marcus’s eyes darkened and he swallowed heavily. “I like watching you undress,” he said, his voice low and gruff and sending a sharp stab of desire through her. Impatient, he brushed her hands aside and made quick work of the rest of the buttons, then pulled the ribbon on her chemise and pushed her undergarments down until her full breasts popped free. “Much better,” he said, before drawing her down to him so that he could suckle one taut nipple. He let out a sound, low and rumbling, and Lilian arched her back at the pure pleasure coursing through her. It had been too long since she’d felt Marcus’s clever tongue on her breasts, and her body sang beneath his caresses. For several long minutes he made love to her breasts, until Lilian could feel the moisture between her legs, until she was moving her hips to somehow find some relief from the building pressure.
“Ride me,” Marcus said, urging her up and helping to position her over him. “Take me in your hand like—” Lilian had it well in hand and he let out a harsh breath as he slid inside her, filling her, helping to ease the growing ache. She felt so wanton, so exposed, sitting atop him, his manhood inside her, thick and hard, her breasts displayed for his heated look. She moved slightly and he groaned. “Yes. Move, love.”
Lilian lifted her body up, reveling in the power, the sensations she was creating. It felt so good, so wonderful and right, and so she smiled. “Lovely.”
“Yes, lovely.” Marcus sounded out of breath, but he held on to her hips and guided her, up and down, setting a rhythm that she easily followed. She watched him, his eyes, his mouth, and knew she was pleasing him as much as she was pleasing herself. What a marvelous thing this was. “Oh, God, Lilian.”
One of his hands moved to a breast, the other between her legs, and what a clever hand it was, teasing her, back and forth as she lost herself in the rhythm she was creating. Somehow, Lilian forgot to think and only felt. Her body took over, wanting, needing release, and so she let go, followed what her body was telling her, moved with abandon nearer and nearer to that place where she would explode into a million beautiful pieces. There. Now.
Lilian let out a long, keening cry just as Marcus thrust deep inside her, arching his back and emitting a harsh, masculine sound, his manhood throbbing as they both found release.
Lilian collapsed on top of him, completely sated.
“Ouch!”
“Oh! Sorry. I forgot.” Lilian made to scramble off him, but he held her in place, still inside her.
“Lie still,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “Like this. Forever.”
Lilian giggled. “I fear we would eventually starve.”
“I could live off this for quite a long time,” he said, sounding drowsy.
After a time, Lilian slid off him, but stayed pressed against his side, uncaring that her breasts were still exposed and that her skirts were a wrinkled mess and still rucked up about her hips.
“I’m quite angry with you, Lilian.” He didn’t sound angry, so Lilian smiled. “Don’t you want to know what you’ve done?”
“Not particularly.”
“I’m going to tell you anyway,” he said, and kissed her forehead. “You’ve made me love you, confound it, and I’m not at all happy about it.”
“You love me?” Lilian asked.
“Yes.” This said nearly begrudgingly. “I can hardly warrant it. I didn’t plan to, you know.”
Another woman might have wished for something more flowery and romantic, but Lilian knew the fact that Marcus had made such an admission was like another man frolicking about a room and declaring his undying love. It was perfect. “Did you know, I saw you years ago at a house party? You were having a push-up contest with Adam. You won.”
He furrowed his brow as if not following what she was saying.
“I was hiding from Weston and there you were, shirtless. I fell in love right then and there.”
“The Barrington party. Yes, I remember. But I don’t remember seeing you.”
“No, you didn’t see me. And even if you had, you were married. Something that I found rather vexing at the time.”
Marcus lifted one brow. “And you fell in love?” He sounded quite skeptical.
Lilian felt herself blushing. “Perhaps not. But I did fall in love at some point. And that was quite vexing too.”
“Oh?”
She pulled up and looked down at him, giving him a frown. “Do you not recall telling me that you were quite incapable of loving me?”
“I don’t recall saying any such thing.”
She scowled and said in her deepest voice, “I wouldn’t want you to expect me to love you.”
“Ah. That does sound familiar.” He made an effort to take her into his arms, but lay back down and sighed. “Kiss me, will you? I’m too weak to do it myself.” Lilian complied, kissing him so
ftly, tasting him, and he groaned. “I cannot make love to you again today, but as soon as I can without feeling as though I’ve run a hundred miles, I will do so, madam.”
Lilian kissed his nose and giggled. “I shall look forward to it, my lord.” He was quiet for a long time, gazing up at the ceiling, so long, in fact, that Lilian began to worry that something was wrong. “Marcus?”
“Would you mind very much, even when I am well, sharing my bed? I’ve grown used to having you by my side, you see. I know it’s not the done thing, but I would very much like it to continue.”
Lilian’s heart, already nearly a puddle, melted even more. “Do you snore?”
“I have never been accused of such.”
“Then, yes. I will sleep by your side all the days of my life.” Lilian kissed him again, softly, and lay back down.
After a time, Marcus let out a long sigh. “I have another request.”
“You are very demanding.”
“Indeed.” He turned his head and kissed the top of her head. “I’d like to go home as soon as possible. I need to be at Merdunoir. Would that be all right? I daresay I should be fully recovered in a few days.”
“Dr. Landsdowne says weeks, Marcus. The knife pierced your lung.”
He frowned. “As soon as I can travel, then. I need to be home.” He swallowed thickly. “With my family.”
The room was suddenly unnaturally quiet. Perhaps it was because Lilian found herself unable to breathe, and if there was a tiny bit of her heart that hadn’t been filled with love, it was now overflowing. “Yes, Marcus. Let’s go home.”
Epilogue
“Papa, when can I see the baby?”
Marcus, who’d been pacing a path in the carpet of his study at Merdunoir, looked up at his ten-year-old daughter and smiled. “As soon as he or she makes an appearance.”
Stephen, Adam and Georgette, their five children, and Lord and Lady Chesterfield, all sat pensively in his study, awaiting news from upstairs, where his wife was giving birth. She’d been up there for hours, though once in a while Dr. Landsdowne would come down and give them news of her progress. Servants came and went, and his butler, Mr. Dawson, formerly of Mount Carlyle, seemed to make every possible excuse to come into the room and hover about. Everywhere Marcus looked, there was a person.
Mabel grinned and raised her eyebrows. “Unless one of the maids secretly has a baby, I believe my little brother has arrived.”
“Or sister,” Marcus said. “Wait, you’re not jesting? You heard a baby?”
Mabel gave a happy little jump. “Yes. Can we go? Can we?”
Marcus grabbed Mabel’s hand and the pair ran up the stairs, leaving the others behind, only to nearly bowl over the doctor as he was coming out of the room, his face unreadable.
“A son, milord. Both mother and son are well.”
“Thank you.” Marcus pushed a hand through his hair in relief, then brushed past the doctor to where his wife and son lay. Servants bustled about, but when they saw Marcus, they hastily finished what they were doing and left the room.
“Come see your son, Marcus. And your little brother, Mabel.”
Marcus walked almost hesitantly to his wife, unable to believe she was lying in their bed, holding their child. Her hair was neatly braided and she looked lovely, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. They had both given up long ago on ever having a child, but there he was, a red, ugly thing with a smooshed-up face and downy dark hair. “Isn’t he beautiful? The most beautiful boy in the world,” Lilian said, gazing down at her son as if he truly were beautiful. Marcus and Mabel exchanged looks of doubt, and Lilian laughed. “He is beautiful,” she insisted.
Just then, he opened his eyes, revealing the stunning shade of blue Marcus had seen only twice in his life: on the wings of a morpho butterfly and in his wife’s lovely eyes.
“He’s got blue eyes,” Mabel announced. “I wish my eyes were blue.”
“If everyone had blue eyes, the world would be quite boring,” Lilian said.
“He is cute,” Mabel said, gazing down at her little brother. She held out a finger and the baby grabbed onto it, making Mabel giggle. “He’s strong. What’s his name?”
“Thomas, after my grandfather,” Marcus said. “This was his home. And now it is my son’s.”
Mabel furrowed her brow. “That’s not fair.”
Marcus chuckled. “What I mean to say, Mabel, is that this is his home, in the same way it is your home.”
“Our home,” Lilian said, kissing the top of her son’s head.
Marcus had come to understand that the ache he felt in his heart at times like this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing; it was simply his heart making a bit more room for those he loved.
And so the man who’d wanted nothing more than to live by himself, found himself with a houseful of people bustling about, making noise, and generally being annoying. And he wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Have you found the other Lost Heiresses?
BEHIND A LADY’S SMILE Available now from Lyrical Press
It’s one thing for a girl to lose her way, quite another to lose her heart . . .
Genny Hayes could charm a bear away from a pot of honey. But raised in the forests of Yosemite, she’s met precious few men to practice her smiles upon. Until a marvelously handsome photographer appears in her little corner of the wilderness and she convinces him to take her clear across the country and over the seas to England, where she has a titled grandmother and grandfather waiting to claim her. On their whirlwind journey, she’ll have the chance to bedazzle and befuddle store clerks and train robbers, society matrons and big city reporters, maids and madams, but the one man she most wants to beguile seems determined to play the gentleman and leave her untouched. Until love steps in and knocks them both head over heels . . .
HOW TO PLEASE A LADY
The Lost Heiresses
Run though they might, love will find them . . .
Lady Rose Dunford is shocked—and titillated—by the number of female visitors coming and going from her mysterious new neighbor’s Manhattan brownstone. Recently widowed by the death of her very sweet, but not very exciting husband, Rose finds it difficult to imagine just what the attraction could be.
And then she meets the bachelor in question. Not only is Charlie Avery dashing and outrageously good looking—she knows him! He is none other than the man who once helped her escape the dreary matchmaking plans of her father, the man she once dreamed she could love. Can Charlie’s presence next door be an accident? Or has he come to show her everything he has learned about . . .
HOW TO PLEASE A LADY
Praise for the novels of Jane Goodger
“Fun, delightfully romantic—and sexy.”
—Sally MacKenzie on The Spinster Bride
“A touching, compassionate, passion-filled romance.”
—RT Book Reviews on A Christmas Waltz
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jane Goodger lives in Rhode Island with her husband and three children. Jane, a former journalist, has written and published numerous historical romances. When she isn’t writing, she’s reading, walking, playing with her kids, or anything else completely unrelated to cleaning a house. You can visit her website at www.janegoodger.com.
