Chapter Two

 

 

 

Marcus tidied himself before he answered Mariah's sharp inquiry, simply enjoying the humor of the situation. He buttoned his shirt and retrieved his jacket from her shoulders as she shook out her cloak and wrapped it protectively around her re-covered breasts.

Pity about that. They'd been rather nice breasts. Marcus found himself wanting to explore them in greater detail.

Finally comfortable, if he ignored the arousal pressing against the front of his breeches, he glanced at her. "Marcus Camberley, madam."

"Sir Marcus Camberley." She corrected him.

"Indeed." He bowed slightly. "And now apparently, as far as your little community is concerned, your fiancé."

She snorted and spun on her heel. "Nonsense."

"Where are you going?" Marcus paused.

"Home." She sighed. "I suppose you'll have to come too. In case that idiot has some foolish idea in his maggot brain to watch me. I wouldn't put it past him."

"Well then—" Marcus grasped her arm before she could stride off and leave him standing alone on damp turf, "let's use my horse. He's over there." It took a few tugs to get her to turn and look where he was pointing.

She thought about it for a moment or two. "Oh, very well."

A curl lifted Marcus' mouth as he spared a brief thought for all the women who would have scrambled for such an invitation. This Mistress Mariah Dean was quite unique. He was definitely enjoying himself.

Together they retraced the path to the top of the rise. "I assume the maggot-brained idiot would be Stinson? An admirer of yours? He certainly seemed quite disturbed by finding us together."

She let a tiny growl slip from her throat. "He may think to woo me, but you can certainly believe I've given him no encouragement whatsoever." She stopped and stared at the horse. Then she glanced at Marcus. And looked back at the horse. "This is a truly fine mount. You're not lost in the depths of England because you're rolled up, are you?"

"Not at all." He untied the reins. "My fortune is quite intact. Or was the last time I checked it. I'm actually not even lost." Marcus reached for Mariah and lifted her easily so that her boot could find the stirrup. Without a second thought, she swung her leg over the saddle, sorting out her skirts and her cloak. Countrywomen would sometimes ride astride, but Marcus had never seen a lady quite so comfortable with the notion.

It fired up his awakened lust even more.

Which wasn't the best course of events, given that he had to sit behind her and hold her slim waist to reach the reins.

Wincing, he hoisted himself onto his mount's hindquarters. His cock objected painfully to such treatment, but settled down a little when snuggled nicely against Mariah's lush bottom.

He felt her stiffen slightly in his gentle embrace, but ignored it. She was a widow. So the odds were fairly good that she knew a hard-on when she felt one prodding her. Still, she hadn't been the beneficiary of his hard-on. Yet. And from the sound of things, her marriage hadn't been all roses and sunshine.

Oh yes, he'd bet his last guinea that Mistress Mariah Dean would enjoy the experience. He'd make damn sure of it. Visions of them together, naked, learning about each other and her making that tiny little growling sound as he slammed into her plagued Marcus' brain and distracted him to the point where he nearly jumped when she spoke.

"You'll need to turn right—here." She pointed to a small path leading off the main lane.

Obediently, Marcus pulled on the reins. "You have a house? Do you live alone?"

"Yes and yes."

"Well, that's a nice concise answer. You're not much of a woman for polite conversation, are you?" He resisted the urge to nibble on her earlobe. But it wasn't easy.

"Yes, I have a house. And yes, mostly I live alone. There's an elderly couple in a nearby cottage who help take care of the basic chores."

"Ah." Marcus breathed the word into her ear, grinning in the darkness at the tiny shudder he felt ripple down her spine. "That clears up everything."

"No, it doesn't. But it's all you need to know."

"Darling." Marcus surrendered to impulse and briefly touched the lobe with his tongue. "I'm your fiancé. You should be sharing everything with me." The horse was making his way carefully along a dark lane, cleared of undergrowth, but very deeply shadowed all the same. "Such as how did you reach the shore tonight?"

She huffed out a breath, her ribs moving beneath Marcus' free hand. "I walked, of course. What did you think?" She shifted against him, taking the breath from his lungs. If she moved back one more inch... "There. There's the house."

Dredging his brain out of his cock, Marcus looked ahead to see a dim light gleaming between the trees. The path had widened, joined by a better-traveled road leading to her home.

Anxious to get off the damn horse, Marcus dug in his heels and spurred the mount to a trot, pulling up in front of a weathered door. The leaded glass beside it held a candle, flickering a little through the ancient window.

It looked like it was an old farmhouse, although what he could make out of the front seemed well tended.

"Snug." Some comment seemed appropriate. "And quite private too."

Carefully, he dismounted, holding out his hand and allowing her to slide into his arms as she unhooked her foot from the stirrup. His relief at being off the back of the horse was mitigated by the sensation of holding her once more, tucked into his chest. She was tall but slender, a perfect armful of warmly fragrant woman.

"You'll find the stable around the back." Unconcernedly, she waited for him to put her down. "There's a door to the kitchen there and I'll light candles. I expect you're hungry."

"Mariah, you have no idea." With a sigh, he put her back on her feet and watched her enter her home without a backward glance.

Marcus gazed at his horse. "You know, I'm not really used to this being ignored stuff she's trying on me." The horse stared blankly at his master. "It's rather aggravating, if you want to know the truth." He sighed. "Come on. Let's see what the stables are like. If I can get you settled down, then perhaps I can spend a little more time with our delightful hostess. My fiancée, that is."

Wondering why the sound of that word didn't send a frisson of terror across his skin, Marcus gathered the reins and led his weary horse around to the back of Mariah's farmhouse and spent the next half-hour feeding him, removing the harness and generally doing all the things he'd hired a lot of grooms to do in the past.

Finally, he patted the strong nose. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen, my four-legged friend. I'm now a stable boy and you're being tended by a knight of the realm. Don't let it go to your head."

The lights Mariah had promised beckoned from what was obviously the kitchen. Eagerly, Marcus picked up his saddlebags, closed the stable door and headed that way. It was time to get a good look at his new fiancée, up close. And if he could get those clothes off her while looking, so much the better.

 

*~*~*~*

 

Mariah jumped as the heavy kitchen door swung inward, admitting a cool rush of night air and the man who had occupied her thoughts without cessation for the last hour or so.

Although she was forced to admit to herself that it was his kisses occupying a majority of said thoughts, not a careful and collected evaluation of her newly acquired fiancé.

She paused at the long table where she'd been slicing bread and cheese—and simply stared at him.

He blinked at the light from the branch of candles and his gaze fell to her fingers. "I'm not sure whether being welcomed into a strange kitchen by a woman with a large carving knife in her hands is a good thing or not."

Nervously, Mariah chuckled. "I assure you, sir, 'tis only to prepare some food for you. Although having a stout knife handy isn't such a bad idea."

He eased his shoulders free of his jacket and ran his hands through his hair, dark eyes fixed on her face the entire time. "You mean if I should entertain unwontedly lustful thoughts about your person, for instance."

The blade clattered a little on the plate. "Quite." She tried to pull herself together. "There's water at the sink for you to clean up if you'd care to avail yourself?"

Unable to suppress the internal shivers that welled from someplace most unexpectedly, Mariah turned away from him, silently ordered her body to behave itself and returned to her task. Although the consequent slices of bread were somewhat irregular.

There was a good reason for it, of course. She couldn't seem to see the loaf at all. All she could see was him. Marcus Camberley. All six foot or so of him, complete with a body that looked like it was well-nigh perfect, a face that could melt a statue's heart and hair as black as the night sky. The quick glance had burned its way into her brain and just sat there, daring her to think about it, toy with it, do decadently naughty things with it.

Dear God above. The man was sex incarnate and right at this moment he was washing away the dust of the road in water she'd used herself not long before. The intimacy of the situation was amazingly unsettling.

In an attempt to keep all her fingers attached, Mariah sighed and put the knife down. He'd crossed the room and pulled out a chair, seating himself at the old table for all the world as if he always ate late at night in a kitchen.

Given his title, she wondered if he'd ever actually been in one before, but kept her thoughts to herself as she pushed the food toward him. "Eat."

"In the face of such a gracious invitation, how can I refuse?" Marcus took the proffered bread and cheese and did as he was bid.

"I have a jug of ale." Mariah crossed to her pantry.

"I have a thirst that would put that to good use."

She poured him a tankard and pushed that across the table as well. For some reason, she was unwilling to get too close to him. He was...disturbing.

And it was that particular facet of his personality that had run rampant through her thoughts as she'd prepared his humble meal.

Mariah watched him as he devoured the bread and sliced the cheese with enjoyment. His hands were strong but shapely, his hair a tumbled chaos of black silk, shining in the candlelight.

He ate heartily and with an aristocratic ease that betrayed his high-born roots—no pulling or tearing at the food, but a hungry pleasure coupled with a tasteful display of table manners.

The rest of him sang a song to her body that astounded her.

Mariah had come to a decision over something as mundane as a loaf of bread. She wanted this man. His touches had awakened something inside her that had surprised and shocked her. Something she intended to fully explore. Then he could be on his way.

After all, when life presented opportunities, should they not be accepted?

"So." Marcus glanced up at her as he reached for his ale. "Tell me about yourself, Mariah."

"There is little to tell, Sir Marcus." She met his gaze straightforwardly, suppressing a little dart of what she thought might well be lust. Although it could have been nerves or indigestion...

"Sir Marcus? I think we've passed the stage of such formality, my sweet. We're engaged. I've held your breasts in my hands." His grin was wicked and sensual.

Yes, it had to be indigestion.

She ignored the flash of heat arcing between them and focused on the copper pans glowing in the candlelight on the wall behind his head. "I am twenty-eight years old. I am a widow. I have no children and have lived here in Buckler's Hard for the last three years." She snapped her mouth closed.

"Doing good works and being a support to the community?" One black eyebrow lifted in question.

"Something like that, yes."

"Darling liar." His mouth quirked. "Such a woman as you have just described wouldn't be prowling the shores at night helping smugglers unload their cargo."

"Oh." Mariah bit her lip. "That."

"Mmm hmm."

"I support the community by helping where I can." Damn if she was going to reveal her secrets to this man, hot eyes and great body notwithstanding.

Marcus sighed and leaned back in his chair, idly drumming his fingertips on the old oak tabletop. "You are less than forthcoming, my love."

Mariah swallowed and stood up. "Look, Sir Marcus. I am not your love or anything else. You've rendered a great service to many people you don't know and who've never heard of you before tonight and for that I thank you. But you are not my fiancé, so you can drop the pretense of acting like it."

He watched her silently, that predatory smile still in place, his eyes roving over her body like a caress. Mariah shivered, wondering if she had the strength to utter her next words.

She did. "However, that said, I recognize your service should not go unrewarded. Your quick thinking probably kept a few lads out of jail and a few families from starvation. For that alone, I'm grateful."

She took a breath, knowing that what she was about to say was totally and utterly outrageous, but that she was going to say it anyway.

"So I have considered the matter. If you would accept a night in my bed as reward for your gallant behavior, then I would welcome you." She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye. "Tomorrow morning you can leave, of course."

Marcus, caught in the act of finishing off his cheese, sucked in a breath and promptly choked.

Mariah rounded the table and dealt him a swift blow between his shoulders that nearly forced him off his chair. It did, however, dislodge the crumb of cheese and allow him to speak clearly.

"Uh...what?"

Well, perhaps not too clearly. There still seemed to be something stuck in his throat. Perhaps it was his cock, since that disobedient organ seemed to find something extremely attractive about the notion of a night with this fascinating woman.

"Would you say that again, please?" He coughed a little.

"No. You heard me the first time." She stared at him defiantly.

Her eyes, which he'd thought at first were blue, gleamed smoky gray in the candlelight. Her cheeks were flushed—understandable, he supposed, given the highly erotic nature of the suggestion she'd just made.

Her face wasn't beautiful by any stretch of the imagination. Her nose was straight to the point of being sharp, her eyebrows were thick and expressive and her mouth—ah, now there was a mouth. Wide and full, it made a man forget everything else in his desire to taste it, to run his tongue over it, to feel it wrap around his—

"Well?"

Her voice interrupted his lust-filled visions. Gathering his thoughts, Marcus took a moment to quell the leap of desire that had rattled his groin, finishing his ale. Then he set the tankard on the table with a snap and leaned forward, narrowing his gaze as he stared back at her. "Sit down."

Blinking at the command he'd poured into his tone, she sat.

"Let me see if I have this correctly. In exchange for my part in tonight's—festivities—you'll let me spend the night in your bed."

She nodded, a pulse beating rapidly just above the lace of her tightly buttoned shirtwaist. "Yes."

"Fucking you."

She winced, blinked again, then nodded once more. "Yes, if you care to put it that way."

He breathed slowly, pondering the situation. And incidentally recalling how her breasts had molded themselves so perfectly into his hands. He pushed the memory aside. For now.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you make such an offer? To me? A man you've known for less than a night—less than hours, actually. Why do you want to take me to your bed and fuck me?" He kept his gaze on her eyes.

Incredibly, she snorted out a wry huff of laughter. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"What?" It was Marcus' turn to blink.

"Sir Marcus." She sighed and her eyes slid away from his gaze. "You are—how shall I put this without feeding your vanity—a fine figure of a man. You showed, earlier tonight, the ability to touch a woman with sensuality and passion." Her eyelids lowered, veiling her gaze. "I would know more of such touches. Such passion."

"'Tis an unusual...reward you're offering me." He shifted on his chair. Damn his cock. "So I must ask again. Why? And don't give me any roundabout nonsense about my looks."

She shrugged a little. "I am a widow, sir. I was wed for several years to a man who failed to arouse such feelings in me as those you magically awoke tonight in mere seconds. It would seem that I have the opportunity here to explore those feelings without any strings attached to them." She glanced at him briefly, then returned to her contemplation of her hands. "It's not unnatural to be curious about those experiences I might have been denied during my marriage."

Marcus thought about that. "So your husband was a failure as a lover?"

"Until tonight, I had not even considered the subject of his lack of finesse. Apparently I erred."

This, thought Marcus, was the truth. She seemed vaguely surprised.

"But I cannot help be aware of the passage of time." She sighed. "Sir Marcus, I live quietly, in spite of what you might think after tonight's activities. My life, such as it is, will probably remain thus. Uninterrupted by more than the occasional small foray into free trading. I foresee my years ahead as tranquil and, hopefully, spiritually fulfilling."

Marcus barely restrained a shudder at the gloomy picture she was painting with her words, but kept his peace.

"You are a stranger who has been kind enough—or perhaps I should say foolish enough—to assume the role of my fiancé, thus providing an excellent reason for you to spend the night here. My instinct tells me that you would be discreet. There would be little for you to gain by bragging of our activities—ruining an unimportant countrywoman's life doesn't seem like much of an accomplishment. It's not an untoward request, I believe, for me to suggest one night together, during which I hope to learn a little more about the physical responses I perhaps missed out on." Mariah squared her shoulders. "Of course, I shall completely understand if you find the notion repulsive."

Marcus bit back a laugh. "I don't believe that will be a problem." He stood and stretched, knowing his arousal was distending the front of his breeches. Might as well let her get a good look at the merchandise she was requesting. "Do you fully understand what this will entail, Mariah?"

He grinned as she dragged her gaze away from his crotch to his face. "Er—pardon?"

He moved closer to her then, circling her, casually pushing an errant lock of hair away from her shoulder. "We shall bed each other. I will fuck you and you will fuck me. All night long."

She gulped. "All night?"

"Oh yes, Mariah, my sweet. All night long. I want to show you that passion you asked for. I want to suck those really delightful breasts of yours. I shall probably suck other places too."

"Other places?" Her face was quite pink now, but she couldn't conceal the flash of interest that had flickered in her eyes.

"I will make you shake and shiver and hopefully scream. Several times. I will touch you, anywhere I wish, and you will touch me. This has to be a time for us both, darling fiancée of mine. A man can fuck a woman, yes. But true pleasure comes when two people fuck each other."

"Oh."

"I want you naked beneath me. Above me. I want to be between your legs and I want you between mine. I want to sink my cock into your body and watch your eyes as I do it. And then I'll probably want to do it all over again. Several times."

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She seemed stunned.

"So I'll ask again. Are you sure you understand what this entails?"

"Naked? No nightclothes?"

"Naked." Marcus' voice was emphatic. "Utterly naked."

Almost instinctively, Mariah's hand lifted to the buttons of her shirt. Then she caught herself and lowered it once more. She swallowed and faced him bravely.

"Yes, Sir Marcus. I do."

"Very well." Marcus' body was thrumming with the heat his own words had engendered, in addition to the brightness of her stare and the fragrance of her body. "I have only one condition."

His hand fell to the softness of her shoulder and down a little, his fingers caressing the smooth rise of her breast through the lacy fabric.

"Wh-what's that?" She closed her eyes as his touch dropped lower to her nipple.

"At no time during the hours ahead will you call me Sir."