Chapter Seven

 

 

Mariah was tired. But the sound of Marcus' horse clattering to the barn acted on her like a dose of tonic. Accompanied by a bolt of lightning to assorted locations beneath her serviceable gown.

He was back.

Somewhere in a tiny part of her brain, she'd wondered if he would, in fact, return. In her experience, men didn't always do what they said they were going to do. But she should have known better.

Her instincts told her that Marcus was an honorable man. However, the past had proved that trusting her instincts wasn't always the wisest course of action. She'd shoved the whole matter aside for the afternoon, doing what she always did—keeping busy around the farm and her home.

The morning's gathering had gone well, even after Marcus' dramatic appearance. Although it had taken her a few moments to restore order after his exit. Eventually though, she'd reassured her guests that she would give his offer serious consideration. And if she did, by any chance, accept, she would make it a condition that they stay exactly where they were. On the farm.

Which, upon reflection, would probably be enough to send him scurrying onto the London road posthaste. Not that it was a bad place to live, but for someone used to the elegancies of an aristocratic life? It would probably seem like punishment or something.

Mariah sighed as she closed the chicken coop gate and latched it securely. Ned had mentioned foxes in the area and her flock of chickens was precious to her. The eggs they provided on a daily basis were a staple in her larder and on the rare occasions they had to actually kill one for food—well, it was just awful.

Eating something one had raised from a yellow ball of fluff and even named...it never tasted quite the same and Mariah promptly turned craven at the mere idea, leaving the job of executioner to Ned.

The three cows had been milked, the pregnant sow had been fed...everything was cleaned up, stored for the night and Mariah heaved a sigh of relief when she realized that Peg had left a good-sized meat pie warming near the fireplace. They'd run late today and Mariah hadn't looked forward to cooking up something herself. If she'd been alone, she would have made do with bread and cheese.

But, of course, she wasn't alone and Peg knew it.

The reason she needed a pie that size walked into the kitchen moments after Mariah. "Hello, sweetheart. Miss me?"

Marcus strode to her, grabbed her by the waist and kissed her hard on the mouth, his tongue finding hers, teasing it, toying with it and generally making a delightful nuisance of itself. Sighing into the kiss, Mariah relaxed, finding an odd pleasure in letting someone else take her weight for a moment or two.

He tasted warm and wonderful, a flavor she was learning to crave. The feel of his arms, hard and strong around her waist—well, if she'd been asked to describe her concept of heaven, this moment would be very, very close.

Being the woman she was, Mariah promptly slammed the Pearly Gates shut.

"No, I didn't miss you at all." She tore herself from his arms.

"Liar." He grinned. "Ooh. Meat pie. Perhaps I should persuade Peg to run away with me instead."

"You can try." Mariah snorted. "Would you like cheese or something with it?"

"What?" Marcus' voice sounded from the depths of her pantry where he'd disappeared. "Here. Can I have some of these?" A hand appeared clutching some carrots she'd pulled from the ground earlier in the day.

"All right."

He remained closeted in the cool darkness and Mariah could hear things being opened and closed as he rummaged and she cleaned the vegetables for him. "I have bread too..." She paused, struck anew by how domestic and comfortable this interchange was.

Who could possibly have imagined she'd ever discuss fresh produce with a peer of the realm while he scuttled around her pantry?

"What's this?" He emerged holding a glass jar topped incongruously with a little bunch of dried flowers.

Mariah glanced over. "Honey. Nora Dunnigan has bees."

"I'm sorry to hear that." His eyes twinkled. "Do they bother her much?"

"Idiot." Mariah thumped the cleaned carrots down onto a plate and cut a large slice of the meat pie. "Nora's bees make the best heather honey this side of Southampton. She sells it occasionally, when she has enough. And she always brings me a pot when she can spare it."

"Mmm." Marcus had the top off and was sniffing appreciatively. "I can smell the heather." He put the pot down on the table. "I'd like to try some."

"Have the pie first."

"Yes, dear."

Mariah had added cheese, some cucumber—forcing herself to forget about Lucy's earlier lecture—and the carrots to his plate, then put some of the same things on her own plate. Honestly, she was going to cut her hands to shreds if she couldn't focus on what she was doing, rather than constantly veering into lascivious thoughts of sex with Marcus.

They took their seats, and without further ado, began their meal.

"So." Marcus paused between mouthfuls. "This is excellent pie, by the way. Remind me to tell Peg she's a treasure."

Mariah lifted an eyebrow. "So...what?"

He smiled. "So I learned a few things this afternoon."

"Such as?"

Dark eyes met hers. "Such as your late husband was an abusive drunkard."

Mariah swallowed, letting her eyes slide away from his gaze. "Yes."

"Tell me, Mariah."

He leaned across the table and brushed his fingers over the back of her hand. He kept touching her. Distracting her. It was...wonderful. And annoying. Both at the same time.

She straightened in her chair. "There's little to tell. My parents arranged the match. Before they succumbed to the influenza. I was wed and orphaned within two months."

He winced. "I'm sorry."

Mariah shrugged. "It happens. All too often. At least I was married and not left to fend for myself."

"Didn't your parents realize what sort of a man Dean was?"

This time Mariah made no effort to withhold a snort. "Oh, they knew. But his independent income outweighed any considerations. My father felt that stern discipline was vital to a marriage. He was...stern...to both my mother and myself." She risked a glance upward at Marcus' face, seeing his features harden at her words. But he should know it all.

"My father and my husband were kindred spirits, Marcus. Although I begged my mother to stop it, my marriage was inevitable. She was no more able to prevent my husband's abuse of me than she was able to prevent her own."

His fingers curled into a fist. "There is no excuse for raising one's hand to a woman, Mariah. None whatsoever."

Her head jerked up. "Do you think I don't know that?" She swallowed. "I refused to become the victim my mother had been. I fought back. Sometimes it worked. Especially when he was completely drunk. I began to hope he would drink himself insensate—at least I knew then I'd be relatively safe."

She sighed. "When he received the magistrate's appointment to Buckler's Hard, I hoped that things would change. That having something practical to do would take his mind off being a gentleman of leisure, drinking too much...and all the other sins that go along with it."

"But—it didn't?"

"No. It turned out that he had a barely suppressed need to lord it over everybody he came in contact with. Shortly after we arrived here, he decided this farmhouse was useless and we should live in a fancy house, more like the one he'd left." She grimaced. "He'd gambled away most of his fortune by then. This property was still in the family, however, which is probably why he got the appointment in the first place. It was quiet, out of the way and unlikely to be an embarrassment to the lieutenant of the county who has to deal with such things."

"What happened?" Marcus' voice was unemotional.

"He was on his way back here after a day visiting likely mansions. He stopped at an inn—possibly several, I don't know—and never made it home. His body was found the next morning."

She lifted her head. "I was glad, Marcus. God forgive me, but I was glad, relieved...as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I knew at that moment that I would do everything in my power to help other women avoid brutality in their marriages."

He nodded, idly finishing the remains of his pie. "I see."

Mariah sought for the right way to explain, to voice beliefs she wasn't quite sure she understood fully herself. "It's wrong for a man to dominate a marriage by virtue of his physical strength. It's wrong for him to take out his anger or his frustrations against the one person who can help him overcome them—his wife. And it's absolutely appalling for a man to use violence."

Silence fell for a moment or two and Mariah used the time to clear away their dishes, rinsing them quietly in the sink, then drying her hands and turning to Marcus, who still sat motionless at the table. She'd spilled her guts to him so easily. What was it about him that had inspired her to reveal things she'd not spoken of in so long?

And why did it feel so much better now that she had?

"Mariah? Did he hurt you in bed?" Marcus' hand gripped her wrist and drew her to him, pulling her inexorably onto his lap and settling her there, for all the world as if she belonged exactly where she was.

Relaxing into his embrace, Mariah realized that she did indeed feel as if she belonged there. It was quite strange.

"Mariah?" Marcus' voice recalled her thoughts to his question.

"Um..." She paused. "Not really." How to talk of this? How to describe a marriage that had been such a disaster? "It was over quickly. He didn't hit me when he wanted to do...that. He had some common sense, I suppose. It hurt—a little. When he—when he—er—entered me."

She stumbled over her words. This was difficult for one as reticent as she. "But as I said, it was over very quickly. And...my late husband wasn't what you'd describe as—well, to use the common phrase—he didn't possess anything resembling equine equipment."

Marcus' chuckle rippled up Mariah's spine where she rested against him. "Not hung like a horse, huh?"

She couldn't help a slight giggle. "Not at all. Of course, I didn't realize it at the time. It wasn't until..." Her voice tapered off as she realized where this was heading.

"Until last night?" Strong arms tightened around her and she felt a light brush of his lips on her neck.

"Yes."

Reticent she was, but there was a need for honesty there too.

Marcus sighed. "He was a fool, Mariah."

"I know that now. More than ever before." The truth again. Good Lord, could she keep nothing private?

Marcus reached for the pot of honey and opened it, dipping his forefinger into the contents and gently moving it to and fro. He pulled it out and touched it to his tongue. "Mmm. Excellent."

Mariah absently watched. "I'm glad you like it. I'll tell Nora." She shifted a little on his lap.

The finger roamed to her lips and he stroked the sticky stuff over them.

Then he bent to her and kissed her, licking the honey and her tongue and blending the tastes together into a flavor that sent her senses reeling. A tiny moan of pleasure gurgled in her throat as they shared the sensation.

"Will you tell her about this?" Marcus grinned as he eased away from her.

"Uhh..." Mariah blushed. "Probably not."

Gently, Marcus unfastened her dress all the way to her waist and spread it apart, slipping her chemise away from her shoulders and baring her breasts. The finger dipped back into the honey and this time he dappled her nipples with it.

Bemused, Mariah could only watch as the languid heat of arousal spread through her limbs and rendered her motionless.

"D'you think she'd like to know about this?"

In anticipation, Mariah found herself arching her spine, inviting those lips, urging that mouth to lick away the sweet stuff from the hard buds taut beneath their shiny topping. When he finally suckled her, she had to fight the little cry of pleasure.

Tingles of sharp delight shot from her nipples to her groin, a shattering explosion of desire making her shiver in his arms. "Oh God, Marcus..."

"Oh yes, Mariah." His tongue laved her, teasing her nipples with tender skill. Then he opened his mouth wide and sucked hard on her breast, almost engulfing it with his wet heat.

She arched even more, angry at the clothing that chafed her body, wanting only the touch of his hands, his skin—the hardness she could feel throbbing beneath her buttocks where she rested on his lap.

Magician that he was, he could render her insane with the slightest touch of his mouth. And she was willingly rushing headlong into the madness.

Suddenly she was standing, clothes tumbling around her arms, blinking at Marcus as he stripped rapidly. "I want you naked. I want you now."

"But..." She glanced at the door leading to the stairs and her bed. "Here?"

"Here." His voice was firm and brooked no argument. Within seconds, his clothing lay scattered around them and he was busily unfastening and untying everything Mariah wore, carelessly tossing it aside to join the pile beside them.

"Here—and now." His eyes were dark pools as his hair swung free of its ribbon around his shoulders.

God, he was beautiful. Mariah's gaze fell to his cock, reddened and hard, protruding eagerly from between his legs.

Fired by her desire, freed by the honesty that now lay between them, Mariah reached out and touched him.

He sucked in a breath.

"Am I hurting you?" She glanced up at his face.

"Dear God, no, sweetheart. No, you're not hurting me. Do what you will. The pleasure—" His lips firmed as she ran her hand experimentally along the length of his cock. "The pleasure you give me is extraordinary."

Mariah felt a tiny smile curve her lips. "Oh good."

She reached for the pot of honey, then slowly lowered herself to her knees in front of Marcus.

Knees rapidly weakening and head spinning, Marcus watched Mariah as she knelt before him, her smile doing as much to make him tremble as what she was about to do. Dear Lord, she looked wicked—and wanton. And what man on God's earth could ask for more?

He gripped the back of the chair with one hand, set his teeth and clung to his sanity like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood.

When she touched him, delicately, gently, he let go of the driftwood and simply drowned.

When she brought a honey-tipped finger to his cock and coated him—well, he was sure he could hear choirs of angels singing in his ears. Although Saint Peter was probably looking the other way and blushing.

Her mouth, her tongue—Christ, she was devouring him from his cock to his earlobes, long sweeps of moist heat licking the honey clean and tugging so sweetly on his sensitive skin.

Marcus' breath was ragged as he fought for control, fought the urge to thrust deeply into her throat and empty himself into her soul. He'd been pleasured like this so many times before—but never had he enjoyed it more. Nor had he experienced the rare delight of being the object both of straightforward passion and honest curiosity.

Mariah was investigating him, with honeyed fingers and tongue, with her eyes as she discovered his balls and gently caressed them, her expression intense as she continued her explorations.

She ran her lips down his cock and back up, licking her way along its length, toying with the tiny dips and ridges along the way and lingering at the swollen head. She sucked a little drip of his arousal, then swirled it with honey, tasting it, savoring it—by God, if he died at this moment, it would be as a happy man.

Her fingers still a little sticky, she wandered around the tops of his thighs, making him shiver as she dipped between them, softly discovering all the places that set him on fire.

When she returned to grasp his cock and suck him deep, he smothered a gasp of ecstasy. There might have been more orally talented women in the world, but for Marcus—from this moment on—there was only Mariah. And he doubted that he'd ever be able to eat honey again without thinking of her and this experience.

To keep himself from coming in her mouth, Marcus tried to think, to distract his mind from his cock. Had he ever felt quite this way? Had he ever felt the need to preserve a sexual memory, associate any lovers with something as simple as honey?

To his surprise, he couldn't even remember any of his previous lovers, let alone dredge up any foods to go along with them.

Mariah had indeed finished what the blood of an ancient vampire had started. She had obliterated all that had gone before. His life really had begun anew.

Shuddering with that knowledge, as much as from Maria's mouth, Marcus pulled away. He was near to coming, near to erupting and he wanted it to be inside her. He wanted her there with him, around him, sharing it all with him.

"Mariah." He breathed the word like a prayer, reaching for her and pulling her to her feet.

She was flushed and panting, her arousal scenting the air around them and mingling with the delicate fragrance of the heather honey. God, he wanted her so much. Wanted everything with her. He wanted to hear her every breath, her every heartbeat—to share all that he was with her.

She stared at him, her eyes heavy-lidded and filled with the heat of desire, her lips red and full and shining with traces of honey.

He kissed it away roughly, needing to show her how sharply he needed her. She met him with her own desire, forcing her tongue into his mouth, rubbing her body to his with a tender lust that neither could deny.

"Here." Marcus turned her, pushing her hands onto the back of the chair. "From behind. I want you from behind."

Without a blink, Mariah bent over. She trusted him now—that much was clear. Trusted him with her body, trusted him to make this a wonderful fucking. And he would. The next step would be to get her to trust him with the rest of her life.

But—first things first.

Her buttocks were firm globes, shining in the candlelight. Marcus ran his hand across the silken skin, watching her shiver as he did so. The cleft was shadowed, mysteries yet to be explored. She gasped when he ran his finger down past her anus, barely touching it, yet making sure she could feel his stroke as it pressed fleetingly against the delicate rosy ring.

"Not yet, love. That will come later."

"I don't—I don't—"

She lost the words as Marcus delved into the folds of her pussy and played there, his hand firm against the soaking flesh. No, she probably didn't understand some of the wonders a man and a woman could explore. Or the number of times Marcus had explored that same pleasure with another man.

All in the past now, though. All paled beside the vision of Mariah offering herself to him without hesitation.

He toyed with her clit, knowing instinctively how to caress it so that she squirmed and drenched his hand with her juices. She widened her stance, urging him silently to do what he was doing—to do more—to do anything to ease the growing ache his fingers were creating.

He fully intended to. Marcus had an ache of his own that was threatening to blind him. He would have enjoyed playing like this under other circumstances, but Mariah had set fire to his cock and his balls. Such a blaze would not be denied much longer.

Delicately he set his teeth to one of her buttocks, lightly nipping, then licking the tiny mark he'd left. She groaned and he felt like groaning too, the dull red touch of his teeth branding her as his and sparking every possessive instinct he'd ever had.

It was almost too much.

Marcus set his hands to her hips and nudged her pussy with the head of his cock. "It's time, Mariah. Time to take me—home."

Where those words came from, Marcus had no idea. But they were out and spoken before he could think. Then his cock began to slide into her and he forgot to think at all. He simply drowned in the moment, every particle of his being focused on the sensation of hot silk engulfing his pulsating arousal.

She was tight and slippery and perfectly made for his cock, her inner walls contracting and pulling him into her body as he thrust slowly, inexorably, forward until he filled her.

With her ass against his groin and his balls touching her thighs, Marcus sucked in air.

He was, indeed, home.

"Damn it, Marcus. Do something. Anything. Move—"

He laughed aloud. Like any simple man coming home, his woman was there to greet him. And tell him what to do.

Like any simple man, he obeyed.

Driven by a need to possess all that she was, Marcus began to thrust, his hips finally slapping hard against her ass as he picked up the pace and just let himself go, following a path that would lead to the inevitable conclusion.

It happened sooner than he'd anticipated, the tight constriction of his balls gathered momentum and erupted even as he pounded his cock into Mariah. He arched into a rictus of pleasure, spurting his seed hotly into the passage that trembled around him. He heard himself shout, a meaningless sound ripped from his lungs by the force of his orgasm.

He emptied himself, overflowing her body, great endless bursts of pleasure draining him.

She sighed beneath him, her buttocks thrust against him, clenching him with her muscles, holding him where he was as he rode out the waves of extraordinary passion. He would not take this journey alone.

Still inside her, Marcus reached for her clit, holding himself pressed against her as he stroked it gently. His other hand found one of her breasts, swinging freely in response to his movements.

He grasped the nipple with his fingers and tugged, softly at first, then more firmly, pinching it a little as he teased her clit. Finally he pressed against her pussy, letting his fingers spear through the soaked folds as he squeezed her nipple sharply.

She shattered, a guttural cry drawn from deep within her body.

Marcus held her fast, arms around her belly, his softening cock sensing each and every rippling spasm, his abdomen alive to the twitches of her ass, his hands aware of the trembling that racked her lower body. He loved to share a climax, to know that there were two of them lost to the maelstrom.

But this...this moment was special. He'd passed the peak of his own pleasure and now he could fully devote himself to Mariah's. He could learn how she came, how her body released the tension he'd created. He could feel the little waves of her climax as they shimmered inside her, both through his cock and through his hands. He could hear her heart thundering in her chest and her breaths as they hissed through her teeth.

He held her and rested his forehead against her spine, smiling as he felt the dampness—the two of them were sweating freely. A testament to their endeavors, perhaps. Or maybe the air in the kitchen.

Mariah shifted and sighed, an exhalation that seemed to come from her kneecaps. Marcus could feel it since he was in pretty much the same state.

"Oh, great heavens."

He let her go as she spoke and helped her straighten, although there was more touching and clinging to each other than actual physical assistance. They were both a little dizzy and when their gazes met, they shared similar chuckles.

"I'm..." Mariah looked confused. "Well, I don't know what I am."

Marcus held her to him, reveling in the simple delight of flesh to flesh, skin to skin. "I know what you are. You're mine."

She wrinkled her nose. "At this particular moment, I'm naked and sticky. Not to mention hot." She moved and peeled her breasts from his chest, proving her point. "Eeuuch."

Marcus felt a drop of sweat roll down the side of his face. "I will admit to being a trifle warm myself. Did you put a log on the fire?"

Mariah grinned. "No. 'Tis the land breeze."

"The what?"

"Every now and again at this time of year, the air from inland gets very warm during the day and rushes to the ocean at night. Sometimes we get storms before it reaches us. Other times—like now—we get a last taste of summer."

Mariah grabbed her dress and pulled it over her head. "Come on. I have something to show you."

Marcus blinked and leaned on the table. "Now?"

"Oh." She paused, hands on her buttons. "Are you too tired?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Cheeky wench." He was in his breeches within seconds.

"You won't need your boots. 'Tis not far and the way is all grass." She paused at the door. "I believe you'll enjoy it."

He moved to follow her. "I'm sure I will. Lead on."

Sir Marcus Camberley, peer of the realm, followed Mariah Dean out of the humble farmhouse and into the surprising warmth of a late autumn night, clad only in his breeches and a gleeful grin.

Life was certainly full of unexpected surprises.