Marcus watched Viola all through supper. She had not eaten much. The shock of seeing Freddie had coalesced a few matters in his mind. When he’d said “betrothed,” the word sounded like a perfect way to describe her.
He stuck his fork into an overdone potato, parsley sprinkled over it in a desultory fashion. The food on this journey had been uniformly dull and for the most part overcooked. The pie had black edges. The peas could have been spooned out in lumps. The carrots were of the consistency of mash. They would all go in his personal book of remembrance. With any luck, they would never be repeated in his life.
With this woman, he could find himself on another harebrained journey and forced to eat mashed carrots and lumpy, overcooked potato once more. He feared he would do it, too. He never knew where he was with her. He found her volatile moods and unpredictability fascinating. She had agreed with him only when he made it clear he would not give in, but she’d been ready to return home to her father. Her real father, the man who had brought her up from babyhood onward.
Why had he ever allowed his father to separate them? At the age of nine he had little say, but he could have contrived something. If his father had not made him so anxious to fulfill his role in life, perhaps he would have arranged to meet her clandestinely.
He would not allow anyone to separate them now. Whether they would end this adventure as friends or spouses he did not know—he, who organized and planned everything in his life. Who had condemned reckless behavior in his brothers and sisters. They would so enjoy teasing him now he allowed one small woman to lead him around.
Once he’d ensured nobody was following them, Marcus had relaxed considerably. That first night he’d spent in the taproom of the first inn, he had remained awake, watching and waiting for an attack. When none came, he was satisfied they had escaped the people who would have killed her—or him. That was why he’d decided to go to London. He would find out who was doing this, and he would stop them.
Now he leaned back and watched her trying to choke down the food, shooting glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. She was planning something. He had not the faintest idea what it could be, but he would wait on events and keep watching her.
His announcement had unnerved her, but surely she would not be so idiotic as to try to escape him. He would find out, no doubt.
Giving up on his meal, he pushed his plate away. “This is by far the worst food in the whole journey. Let’s hope the bedroom is in better heart.”
Ah. Her glance certainly held apprehension. And something else—speculation. She having such dark eyes made interpreting her glances difficult, but he fancied he was improving in that respect. Two more days and they would be in London. Freddie wouldn’t arrive until the beginning of next week, and he would probably not consider undue haste necessary. A betrothal, especially of a man not particularly known for excess, would not excite many gossips. Or so he hoped and prayed.
She forced a few more mouthfuls down before she sighed and leaned back against the hard settle. “You are right, and I’m not particularly hungry.”
“Shall we go?”
“Very well.”
She wouldn’t look at him. He rose from his seat and came around the table to hers. She took his hand suspiciously meekly and allowed him to lead her to the stairs.
The inn appeared well kept, no collections of dust in the corners. Not something he usually looked for, but in this case, the food had made him suspicious. If that was bad, was the rest of the inn similarly ill-kept? Were the beds clean?
He opened the door to a bedroom with a reasonably sized bed and gleaming furniture and floors. Simple enough, with no extra furbelows, but adequate. They could find better inns in the city, but he had no mind to seek them out at this time of night. Without compunction, he dragged back the covers on the bed, but he saw nothing but clean white linen. No insects, or traces of them.
When he turned around to speak to her, she leaped at him.
Marcus barely caught her. As it was, she propelled him backward on to the mattress. The timbers creaked alarmingly under their combined weight but it held. She weighed nothing, and without her hoops, her body pressed against his all the way down.
Then she crushed her lips against his, and finally he knew what her plan was.
She would not have this all her own way.
* * * *
When Marcus kissed her back, Viola would have breathed a sigh of relief. Except his mouth was on hers, doing the most delicious things to her. When she opened her lips, he surged inside, exploring her with his tongue. Returning his caresses proved easy. He accepted her with a small groan.
He kissed her like a man denied sustenance, even though they had eaten well that evening. Unless he was hungry for something else. Oh, she hoped so, because she was. She’d tortured herself in the short journey back to the inn from the cathedral and then during the meal she didn’t want. All the time her stomach rebelled against anything but him. Now she had him. On the bed, just where she wanted him.
What next? Should she touch him? Her hands had landed on his chest, and now he held her close she could not move them. His heart thundered in a rhythm that matched the pulse between her legs.
Perhaps she should just follow his lead. Except he still might reject her, as he had before. No, tonight she would discover what all the fuss was about. When he spread his hands over her back she squirmed, trying to make him move, but he needed no encouragement. He slid his hands up to her shoulders where he tugged at her jacket. He left her mouth long enough to mutter, “Take it off,” before he returned to kiss her more.
She could not remove the jacket without breaking the kiss, so reluctantly, she pulled away.
Moving up enough to create a gap between their bodies, she kept his gaze. “I have to unfasten the buttons.”
He did it for her, smoothing his hands around her, until he met the center fastenings. One by one he undid the row of small buttons, watching her reaction. So she smiled, and as he moved down her jacket, she leaned up, sitting astride him.
Keeping her attention on him, she slid her arms out of the sleeves. If she had been wearing a fashionable riding habit, she’d have found the task more difficult. But the sleeves did not fit as tightly as in a custom-made garment. With a little work she had the jacket off. Underneath she wore her shirt and stock. Lifting her hands to her neck, she unfastened the tiny buckles at the back of her neck and let the stock fall. He touched the hollow at the base of her throat, making her feel strangely vulnerable. But desirous. “I want you to touch me all over.”
He smiled, slow and slumberous, his eyes warm. “I would like that. Will you do the same to me?”
She nodded. After undoing the buttons of her cuffs, she tugged the garment out of the skirt. Before she could lose her nerve, she pulled it up and over her head. And off.
“Lovely. You are lovely.” He stroked her from her throat to her cleavage and back again. He traced the lines of her collarbones. Curving his hands over her shoulders, he cupped them. “Your skin feels like silk.”
From his lips, the words did not sound like compliments. He made them sound like the truth. She waited as he explored the areas of skin she had exposed, her shoulders and her upper chest. He lifted his gaze to her face and undid the first hook on her stays. Although they fastened at the back, she had a row of hooks at the front, so she could get into her stays without help. He seemed to approve. He turned his attention to his work, and he finished the job with slow deliberation, as if committing every hook to memory.
Finding the hooks of her skirt, he undid them too. “How far dare you go?” he said with a smile.
“All the way,” she said boldly. Otherwise, she could not see much point in this.
He lifted his hand and gestured like an emperor giving orders. “Continue.”
His aristocratic attitude made Viola smile. She took off the skirt and lifted her foot on to the chair next to the bed to unbuckle her shoes, one after the other. “You should have leather riding boots,” he said. “I will buy you a pair. Then you may wear them for me. And nothing else.”
The thought of the leather caressing her all the time she rode caused shivers to break out, but delicious ones that increased her sensitivity. His eyes heated more as he watched her.
“Should you not undress?”
“How does the idea of you naked and me fully dressed strike you?” Rolling to his side and turning his body the right way, Marcus leaned up on his elbow. He even had his coat on, his neckcloth tied tidily around his throat.
“It’s dangerous,” she said. “I feel like a wanton.”
“What’s happening to your body?”
How could she tell him that? Her jaw dropped, and she paused, her hands on her petticoat drawstring.
“I will find out soon enough,” he said, almost growling the words.
“I thought you’d make me stop.” She swallowed. Confession was difficult, as was admitting her vulnerabilities.
“Did you? Why would I do that? When you want me and I want you?”
Doubt seized her, tightening her throat. “Are you daring me?”
“Do you dare, Viola?”
He was a different person. None of his grave sense of responsibility remained to taunt her. She put up her chin. If he left when she had revealed her body to him, she would never forgive him. But if she did not do it, she would never forgive herself. And she wanted to show herself, to let him know what he could have for the asking. Not even for the asking.
She stuck out her chin. “Yes, I dare.”
Before she could change her mind or let her fears get the better of her, she stripped off her stockings. Then she let her petticoats slip to the floor and lifted her shift over her head. “There!”
He was still fully clothed. He gazed at her, taking his time, his eyes hot, caressing her body, raising goose bumps as if he touched her. “Show me your breasts,” he said. “Hold them for me.”
Her heart beat so fast she was afraid he would see its pounding. But she would do this. Raising her hands, she cupped her breasts and lifted them, displaying them proudly.
“Come here.” His voice held a low command that utterly thrilled her.
She leaned over, releasing her breasts to rest her palms either side of him, letting them swing free.
He closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. “I can smell your arousal. It’s sweet and spicy, spiked with sharp fruit. I want you badly, Viola.”
Those simple words made her gasp. But she did not move away, instead crawled on to the mattress, straddling him. That meant she had to open her thighs. He could see anything he cared to. More than she could.
Grasping her waist in a sudden movement, he rolled her over so she lay where he’d been a moment before. The abruptness made her lose her breath. Would he leave her now? Was this just so he could judge her and find her wanting?
He climbed off the bed and stood where she had done a moment ago. “My turn,” he said.
Viola opened her eyes.
He already had his waistcoat half undone when she dared to look at him and see him watching her with simmering heat. “Don’t close your eyes again. If you do, you might find me gone. Keep watching, Viola. I want you to see what you are taking with me. I want to see your reaction, and I want to watch you. See me, not the titles or the wealth. Just me.”
Yes, this was the man she wanted, the direct one, the man who was demanding parity from her now.
He stripped efficiently but without ceremony until he wore only his breeches and stockings. His chest was bare, his nipples crinkled into sharp points. Her mouth watered. Would he allow her to taste him? Or should she just take? What did he like? Would he like her?
Those questions and more rocketed through her as he unfastened the fall of his breeches and stripped them and his underwear off. When he stood, she saw everything.
His member was large, more than she’d imagined, stiff and pointing up. The head looked damp, and a bead of moisture seeped from the tip. Forbidden thoughts entered her mind—tasting, sucking, wrapping her lips around that juicy shaft and tasting him intimately.
“I fear I must be a wanton,” she said. To emphasize the point, she touched her breasts again. Her nipples weren’t soft any more, either.
“You want this?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
A strange question, surely. “For as long as you will allow me here. With you, naked.”
A slow smile curved his lips. “My answer to you is the same. As long as it lasts.” His eyes promised more than she dared to dream. He’d said he wanted her to see him—the man—but his title and his standing in society were inseparable from that. Even the way he bore himself—proudly and without shame—spoke of it.
Tonight he belonged to her, and she to him. “Are we to stare at each other all night?”
“Perhaps.” He propped his hands on his narrow hips. “What do you see?”
“A man. An earl.”
He shook his head. “Only the man. I don’t see an estate manager’s daughter, only Viola.”
She did not understand what he meant. She was Viola, a woman, and an estate manager’s daughter in all but conception. But she would let him have his way, as long as he let her have her way. “Marcus. Marcus Aurelius Shaw.” Stripped of his title, that was his name. A good one, named after a strong man. He could have made his own way in the world with no trouble at all, just bearing that name and no other.
He cupped his balls and stroked his shaft. “You want this?” A curious expression touched his features, the lines bracketing his mouth deepening fractionally. He had thought of something. She would let him guide her.
“Yes, I do.”
“We shall see,” he said, and at last, at long last, climbed into bed. He pulled her into his arms.
She sighed with sheer pleasure as her breasts grazed his chest. He glanced down and then back at her face.
“We shall see,” he repeated before he kissed her.
He eased her on to her back and came over her, surrounding her as he had before. But he’d never done it naked. His shaft nudged her stomach, as if demanding entry. She knew what should happen next and she opened her legs, eager for him to take possession.
His kiss made her melt. He darted his tongue into her mouth in quick forays, teasing her, and then he finished the kiss and gazed into her eyes. “Remember to keep them open,” he reminded her before dropping sweet, soft kisses on her cheek, her neck, and pausing to tease her throat.
When he nipped her, she yelped in surprise. He had sent a shot of pain around her body, a sharp contrast to the lush waves of pleasure consuming her. The difference sent her soaring.
He did not stop, but kissed further down. Viola held her breath as he pulled a nipple into his mouth and sucked.
“Oh!”
His dark hair, unencumbered by his wig but still tied back, tickled her when it swept forward. As he ran his tongue around her nipple, she moaned and squirmed. He covered the other breast with his hand, teasing and plucking until the other peak was stiff and hard. She had not realized her breasts could be so sensitive.
He released the nipple and kissed it lightly. “Such a pretty color. Dusky pink. I shall find a rose that color and dedicate it to you.”
Lavishing her with kisses, he gave the other nipple a similar treatment before moving down once more. He could not be—but she had thought of it, so why should he not think something similar? Dipping his tongue into her navel, he showed her how he could make tingles spread over her torso. They travelled down her arms and legs, so she clenched her fists to keep the sensation.
Down even more. He drew a breath, noisily. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he murmured.
Yes, he was. He was touching her with his tongue. The little peak of flesh at the front of her cleft rose as if to meet him, and then he had it in his mouth. She could say nothing, only gasp and fight to keep her body still. At first warmth spread through her, the peak becoming the center of her body, everything she had to give. He sucked harder and then brought his hand into play. He touched her opening, pressed a finger against it. Would he take her virginity that way? Viola cursed her innocence and wished she knew how she was supposed to respond.
Thoughts fled when her arousal rose to swamp her reasoning, overwhelming her with sheer sensation. As if it had a will of its own, her body jerked up, arched into him. His only response was to hum against her and suck harder.
When he flicked his tongue across the tip, she was lost. Grasping his head, she cried out, heedless of anyone who might hear her, before she crammed her fist into her mouth and bit on the knuckles. If she had not done so, the whole establishment would have heard her screams when she tightened and bucked against him. Ripples turned into a veritable torrent. Viola could not have restrained herself, even had she wanted to.
She was outside herself, a strange experience. Part of her observed the proceedings and condemned them as immoral. That was the part that had always stood outside her, the rational part had warned her and kept her safe.
But tonight she did not want safe. She wanted the man doing wicked, lascivious things to her.
A dreamy lassitude settled over her as Marcus came back to her and eased her into his arms, holding her close. She would have snuggled in and drifted off to sleep, but something made its presence apparent, and guilt rose to swamp her. “But you have not—”
“And will not,” he said softly. “Believe me, what you allowed me to do gave me happiness enough.”
“I want it. I want you.” She did, more than anything.
“Then touch me.”
Grasping her hand, he guided it down to where his shaft still rose hard and hot. She closed her hand around it as much as she could, for it was large enough to give her pause. Then she let him show her what to do. He seemed to want her to move her hand up and down. When she tried to ease her hold, he tightened his hold on hers, so she gripped him more tightly.
“Yes, just like that,” he murmured, his breath hot against the rim of her ear.
When she lifted her chin to see how her actions affected him, he smiled down at her and kissed her. His tongue moved in her mouth in lush praise that went further than words.
She continued the up and down rhythm, hardly noticing when he moved his hand away and laid it on her breast. He kissed her repeatedly, his eyes closed as she worked him.
He paused, completely still, before he rolled on to his back, and covered his eyes with his forearm. He let out groans as he shuddered. Every part of him responded, as she had done in her turn. His shaft pulsed, emitting its seed, which splashed in a hot stream on to his stomach.
His chest heaved as the breath sawed in and out of him. He lay supine, affording her a view that awed and excited her. Naked, Marcus was all man. Hair skimmed his chest, concentrating in a line as it descended to the bush surrounding his member. A shade darker than that on his head, but still with a reddish sheen. He had long, strong legs, sculpted with powerful muscles.
A fine figure of a man, and for tonight at least, all hers.
Tilting his head to one side, he let his arm fall and met her gaze. “What are you looking at?”
“You.”
“Not just my cock?”
Oh, that word, used by country folk. She had not known a word could contain so much power, but when he said it, it did.
He took a corner of the sheet and roughly cleaned himself before swinging off the bed and going to the washstand to do it more thoroughly. That action gave her a fine view of his back—the rounded buttocks she had a sudden urge to feel under her hands and the long, strong muscles either side of his spine and framing his shoulders.
Glancing at her over his shoulder, he smiled. “Do you need anything?”
“Only you.”
“Now those are words every man longs to hear.” He strolled back to her. Although she had pulled the sheet over herself, she felt vulnerable, and she loved it. He could do whatever he wanted to her. She had put herself in his power, and she could not wait for more.
He settled next to her and pulled her into his arms. “We should get some sleep before we leave. We have to be up early, don’t forget.”
Even Viola in her inexperience knew the night was incomplete. “But you haven’t…” How to say it?
Luckily, he got her gist. “We will not. Not tonight.” He gave her a soft kiss, passion temporarily gone. “I do not want to limit your choices, Viola. If you choose me, it will be because you want to, not because I have forced you into it. But I do have one request.”
“What’s that?” His reasoning came from the heart and because of that, Viola could accept it. Reluctantly. She had done her job as far as she could. Falling on him as soon as they had entered the room was the only way she could have shown him she wanted him. While disappointed he had not taken her, she had to accept his reasons.
“We arrive in London as a betrothed couple and we remain that way until we have tracked down who wants you and why.”
“Will the task be easy?”
“We shall see.” His voice gained a grim tone. “I will discover it, though. Never fear that. When it’s over, you may break the engagement, if you will.”
Jilt him. Not that anyone would mourn her loss. Marcus was too good a catch. Once society knew he was looking for a bride, young ladies would flock around him.
She didn’t want to do that, especially now. But she might have to, in the interests of fairness.
When he pulled her into his arms, Viola had no difficulty sliding into slumber. With his scent surrounding her, their bodies pressed close together, she slept better than she had ever in her life before. For now, she forgot her troubles. Tomorrow was time enough.