Marcus’ hand, resting atop her clothing on her bosom, sent a scalding pleasure from her chest to her thighs. Her mouth went dry, and she had difficulty speaking. “Ah, yes.” She faltered.
She’d had her lips on him. She’d bit through the linen of his shirt when she’d felt the hard nubs beneath it.
What would it feel like for him to do the same? Meeting his gaze, she froze. Was it possible to look inside of a person’s soul? Because it felt as though that was what he was doing to her. He was looking into her soul.
He squeezed and drew circles with his thumb. More than anything, she wanted him to kiss her as well.
Except that notion frightened her. It seemed disorganized, muddled. What would she focus on if he wreaked such havoc in more than one place at a time?
Conflicting wants drifted through her consciousness when his other hand slipped behind her, unbuttoning her dress.
Ah, yes. madness.
Chaos.
He intended to touch her skin.
She yearned for it. Would it burn? Would she faint?
Her sleeves loosened, and Marcus lowered one and then the other. His hand hovered over her bodice, and he asked the question with his eyes. God, yes. Please do! Now!
She nodded with a jerk.
And then he lowered the material. She knew what he would see. Pale, almost translucent skin set around dusky pink areolas.
She watched anyway.
The sight of his dark, masculine hand, holding her, rubbing her, sent sparks shooting into her limbs. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she forced herself to look up.
She wanted to see his expression. She needed to know he wasn’t disgusted by her.
He focused intently upon his task, his pupils so large that his eyes almost looked black.
“Mouth.” She tried to say the word, but nothing came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Your mouth.”
He glanced up with a wicked expression. “Don’t rush me.” He touched her boldly, using both of his hands now, lifting, kneading, rubbing. When he pinched her, she could not control her response. She groaned. Her neck could barely hold her head up anymore. She felt heavy… everywhere.
He’d returned one of his hands to her back, catching her, clasping her, while his other hand continued its perfect onslaught. From under her lashes, she watched his dark head dip. His mouth was on her throat, and then lower… He trailed it between her breasts. Very short whiskers scraped against her skin.
Emily’s hands settled in his hair. This was nothing like what she’d seen in the library that night. This felt more like a form of worship.
Worship and exquisite torture.
Her mind searched to make sense of it. How could torture be so… magnificent, so breathtaking?
Oh, God. Moist heat pulled at her breast. Laving, testing. And then he tugged at her, harder, longer, deeper.
White fire exploded behind her eyes, whipping and spinning her into an unknown vortex. The sensation was inexplicable. Unable to breathe, she couldn’t prevent the cries that escaped from deep inside. She jerked and throbbed and whimpered, utterly vulnerable, at the mercy of her own body, until the foreign spasms subsided.
Marcus rocked her. Shushing her. Reassuring her.
She buried her face against his chest, clutching at his shirt. What had come over her? Surely, that couldn’t have been la petite mort. She’d read about it but the literature she’d found had indicated such a phenomenon to be rare and requiring a different sort of stimulation, clitoral stimulation.
It was too much to contemplate right now, though. She’d ask Marcus about it later. She felt boneless, utterly spent. She’d move in a moment. She’d climb off him and return to her side of the bench.
In a minute, she prodded herself… and then immediately snuggled into his chest and drifted off to sleep.
His arm was numb, and his legs were cramped but Marcus didn’t want to wake her. He needed to regroup. What had begun as an innocent experiment had quickly gotten out of hand.
She was a revelation.
She astounded him.
She just might prove more entertaining in bed than she was out of it, and that was considerable. Maybe he wouldn’t be so quick to abandon her in the country.
She snuggled into him and murmured something unintelligible. He ought to cover her, provide her with some modesty while she slept, but that might involve waking her.
He liked her like this. Quiet and kittenish. With her asleep, he didn’t have to constantly manage the waves of energy coming at him. Waves that consisted of curiosity, sensuality, and… anxiety.
Glancing down, he studied her. All that pent-up energy had exploded like a flint to gunpowder.
Would she have been the same with any man? Had she simply been waiting for one of the male species to come along and take care of her needs? This thought irked him.
He covered her breast with his hand protectively.
Despite the undeniably tender emotions attacking him, he wasn’t fool enough to believe this marriage would turn out to be anything more than one of convenience. Passions flared, sentiments faded. He’d seen it happen too many times to count.
But for now—he dropped a kiss on her hair—he’d enjoy her. They could take some pleasure from their circumstances, throw this sham of a marriage in his father’s face, and then live their separate lives.
Good thing she was such a practical miss.
He stared out the window and sighed. They had one and a half more days to travel. He wondered if he could keep her virtue intact that long.
Perhaps he should ride up top with the driver for a spell or two. This sort of proximity to Miss Emily Goodnight’s learning experiments could only lead them further into trouble. And as tempted as he was, he knew they’d best not risk anything until they actually tied the knot.
Emily awoke to an empty carriage. Instead of his chest, her head rested on a cloth pillow.
Where had Marcus gone?
Marcus!
She’d fallen asleep on him after… She shivered and then clasped her arms. Maybe she could pretend that nothing had happened. Maybe he’d be gentleman enough to go along with such a plan.
Emily knew she’d broken just about every rule there was to break. Even though they were to wed, she’d allowed the experiment to go too far. If she could fool herself enough into believing that’s what it had been. Learning. Testing.
She wasn’t sure she could even remember all of it, let alone document it.
Glancing out the window, she could see the sun starting to set as the carriage bounced along. He must have decided to ride with the driver.
He probably just needed some air.
He needed to be outside, take in a bit of the sun.
Get away from her.
She needed to learn decorum. She needed to learn how to not allow her curiosity to get the better of her. But then she remembered his expression when she’d touched his chest. And she understood it a little better.
Exquisite torture.
Such an intensity of physical sensation, it ought to be enough, and yet it demanded so much more. She’d seen similar expressions in art. She’d read of it in literature. But until this afternoon, she’d never come near to understanding it.
The sound of male laughter could be heard over the crunching of the wheels along the road. Something warm unfurled within her.
That man out there. That elegant, charming, devilish man was going to marry her.
Rhoda was going to kill her! Surely, she would have changed her mind upon reconsideration of her situation. Was she even now waiting at Eden’s Court, expecting them to return so that Marcus could save her reputation?
What kind of friend was Emily turning out to be? Running away like this?
Moments such as this caused her to second guess the decision she’d made yesterday morning. She could hardly even remember why she’d thought it would be acceptable to say yes to Marcus’ ridiculous proposal.
Oh, yes. Because Rhoda had told Sophia she’d changed her mind.
And trusting soul that Sophia was, she’d sent Emily to tell Marcus that Rhoda wouldn’t be meeting him that night. She’d not told Emily to run off and elope with the man herself.
Emily dropped her head into her hands and moaned. And poor Lord Carlisle! What must he think of her now? Good God, and Prescott!
Turning her head side to side in guilt, she inadvertently realized that although her dress had been adjusted to cover her properly, it hadn’t been buttoned up again as it ought to be. She twisted, arched, and eventually managed to put herself back together.
Marcus had undone those with surprising ease. Almost as though he’d done it dozens of times before.
Heat spread up her chest and into her face.
Experiencing an odd sort of wonderment, she guiltily placed her own hand over her breast.
It simply wasn’t the same. She kneaded a little, squeezed, and even pinched. Nope. Not the same. She wondered if she closed her eyes and imagined it being Marcus’ hand…
The sliding door to the driver’s box opened, and Marcus’ voice jolted her out of her… experiment. “We’ll be stopping soon.” She could barely make out the fabric of his breeches through the small opening. She caught slivers of sky and flashes of sunlight. “There’s an inn just ahead.”
Emily shoved her hands under her legs and bolted upward, spine straight, feet together.
Thank heavens he couldn’t look inside at her. He’d have had to stand up on the box and tip himself upside down to peer through the slot, but it was not completely impossible. Dangerous, perhaps. But not impossible. She’d have to remember such a possibility in the future. Being caught touching herself like that would be even more embarrassing than earlier.
“Uh… Very well!” She adjusted her dress a little more. She was going to have to face him again.
She felt the carriage sway as they turned off the main road and then halted outside of a busy stable area. She quickly donned her bonnet. When the door swung open, Emily kept her head down and carefully climbed down the step.
“I take it you slept well?” Marcus asked quietly beside her ear. His mouth was so close that she felt his hot breath against her skin.
“I’m very well rested, my lord.”
He merely chuckled at her response. Marcus was always finding humor in something she said, drat the man. Likely, he was laughing at her embarrassment.
He led them through a crowded tap room and up to a long counter. “Two chambers, please.” He leaned his elbow casually along the well-worn rail. “One for me and one for my… sister.”
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to thank him or swat him.
“Heading north, I take it?” A weathered old man leered in her direction before turning to assess the keys hanging on the board behind him.
Marcus placed a hand upon her shoulder. “Can’t miss my cousin’s wedding.” He winked. This man was outrageous. And yet she wanted to sidle up closer to him, feel his strength along her side.
Except that wouldn’t be appropriate, even if they weren’t pretending to be siblings. “Elizabeth would never let us hear the end of it.” She glanced toward Marcus and finally met his eyes. She might as well participate in this little charade of theirs.
Marcus watched her and then one corner of his mouth tilted up. “Good old Lizzie would have our hides for certain.” But as he held her gaze, she couldn’t help but imagine what he’d done with his mouth. What he’d seen with those thunder-gray eyes…
“Right then.” The innkeeper obviously didn’t believe them. “All I have is the one room left, though. It has a trundle. I’m sure your brother won’t mind taking it.”
Emily bit her lip, and her heart raced. “I’m smaller.” She knew Marcus would suggest they travel farther, but it had already been a very long day. “I’ll sleep on the trundle.” And she meant it.
She would see if she could find something to read. He could take in a pint or two. And then she’d sleep.
No problem.
“If you’re sure, sis.” He raised his brows in her direction and she nodded.
“We’ve managed before.”
“We could have traveled farther,” Marcus practically growled as they climbed the stairs behind a small dining area.
“I know,” she responded sharply. “But it isn’t necessary. John is tired and so are you. It’s not as though we’ll be sleeping in the same bed.”
Marcus grunted. “You aren’t sleeping on the trundle.”
Emily tried to imagine his large frame on the tiny bed most inns kept for servants and children. “We’ll see.”