Nineteen

“I don’t want to ride behind you,” she said.

Moonlight sloped light and shadows across Lord Bowles sitting in the saddle. With her standing on the mounting block, they were eye level. Expressing needs of the emotional variety was never easy for her. Seconds ticked by. Did he understand?

His sensual mouth softened above his collar. “Come.”

Khan stood still as Lord Bowles settled her in the saddle. A hip nestled between his legs, and her feet dangled to one side. She fixed her skirt, aware of his gloved hand touching her knee. They were on the verge of something…the uncertainty nettling yet vague. The night’s events left her bruised in spirit, but in the quiet, she knew. One man would heal the pain. Her husband. The lines of his face were perfection, but she saw more than symmetry, more than the handsome man who turned women’s heads.

He was a tender man. A good man.

She ached to touch him, to reach deep places hidden from others. He sat quietly, waiting, the faint stars lighting his eyes. She shivered but not from cold. It was because of him and the want for him sinking into her body.

Bold as you please, she unbuttoned his redingote. “I need your warmth.”

His breath skimmed her forehead as she freed the last button. The wool coat parted, and she slid both hands around his waist. His inhale was sharp. Nostrils flaring and his brows hard slashes above his eyes, her new husband was the satyr she’d kissed in the Pallinsburn barn days ago, but there was tightness around his fine mouth.

Did he restrain himself for her sake?

“Please. Take me home.”

Home. Pallinsburn. The two were one and the same in her heart.

Lord Bowles wrapped one arm around her and held her tight. “Whatever happens, I’ll take care of you.”

She melted into him and closed her eyes, aware of Khan’s ambling gait and her husband’s steady heartbeat against her ear. Tonight, she’d shut away the world for a while.

No Reinhard Wolf.

No one to remind her she was nearly penniless.

Or that she was alone in the world. A true orphan, despite her sham of a marriage.

Tonight, someone cherished her enough to help her and ask nothing in return. She buried her nose in Lord Bowles’s neckcloth, the cambric warm with his scent…strength, leather, and a little horse. She’d treasure his unique smell, treasure him for however long this lasted.

Her chin quivered, and she shot a prayer to heaven. Why couldn’t things work out for her? Was a little goodwill too much to ask for?

Eyes stinging, she sniffled, holding back tears for the second time in one night. No answer came from her muffled prayer, save the River Tweed’s gentle rush as they crossed the bridge. Time moved on, and soon enough, so would she. Lord Bowles would close down the Pallinsburn cottage and take himself back to London. He struggled with the drink, but in his time here, from what she knew, he’d conquered it.

Khan’s clip-clopping hooves took her back the way she’d come. She had no regrets about returning to the cottage and sweet Hester. But, tonight, she needed a tonic for the hurt. Nestling against her husband’s chest healed her. Gentled her. Erased time. The ride to Pallinsburn could go on forever, but then Lord Bowles squeezed her.

“We’re home.”

She lifted her head. Warm light touched the iron scrollwork on the barn door. Candle lamps burned from the barn and the cottage, a different reception from her first arrival many weeks ago. She’d made a home here. Her home.

Lord Bowles dismounted. She grabbed the pommel to slide down on her own.

“Wait,” he commanded. “Let me help you.”

Strong hands gripped her waist. Her feet hit the ground, and gloved hands slid higher up her ribs, the friction whisper-sweet on wool. His hands stopped under her breasts. The tip of his hat brushed her hood. An ache wove between them, heavy and unsaid. A man could woo a woman as easily with words as without them. If he had the skill. Goodness gleamed from her husband’s eyes, the effect more enticing than his even features.

“Good night,” he said.

“Thank you, milord. For everything.”

He took the reins and led Khan to the barn.

Was this another facet of their friendship? A gentleman’s compassion for her plight, biding his time until the favor was done? This marriage and its eventual end would cost him his social standing and the family coffers.

Loneliness and lust mixed inside her, a potent combination for a woman with nothing to lose. She pushed inside the cottage and found her way to the kitchen’s green cabinet. Orange embers flickered in the ashy hearth. Pallinsburn had won her heart, a labor of love to clean and set right.

How long she’d stay was uncertain.

How she’d stay was hers to decide.

Working in scant light, she set a bottle of brandy, a cup, and clean linen on the table. She poured the brandy and drenched the linen square in the cup. Stiff-limbed, she took the cup with her to Lord Bowles’s chamber. There, she stoked the fire and kicked off her shoes. Chin to chest, she untied her gown’s front laces, working them loose until the gown slackened. Each step was methodical. She was numb, removing layers from her body, undressing down to her shift and ripped black stockings.

She wanted to feel good again.

No sadness. No worry.

The blaze warmed her, but it didn’t take away the dullness inside her. Planting one foot on the winged chair, she raised her shift waist high. Firelight glowed on white skin and burnished curls at the apex of her thighs. She stuffed the soaked cloth into those curls. Her outer folds parted. Wetness dribbled to the floor. One finger pushed the rag up her channel.

“Ssssss,” she hissed. The sting… How long since she’d taken preventive measures?

Liquid spirits trickled down her inner thigh. Her legs tensed. Tender skin smarted inside her, but she pushed the linen up into private flesh.

Hinges creaked. She stalled and looked across the chamber, her finger high inside her quim. Lord Bowles filled the doorway. He fixated on her hand between her legs.

“Oh, please. Don’t stop on my account.”

Her nipples peaked against her shift. Being watched was potent…his stare roving over her like a touch. The bulge in his breeches grew before her eyes, forcing out remnants of doubt. Smiling, she bent forward. Droplets splattered on the floor, and with one more nudge, the linen blocked her womb.

She withdrew her finger and sucked the brandy-wet tip. “Are you thirsty?”

His body visibly jolted at her carnal invitation. “This is unexpected.” Voice dipping low, he adjusted his placket.

“Surprise,” she whispered.

Holding her shift waist high with one hand, she untied her hair ribbon with the other. It was a balancing act with one foot on the winged chair, but she wanted him to see her slick, pink folds.

She wanted him to take what he saw.

By the predatory gleam in his eyes, he would.

Her pulse skipped faster. Being desired gave a woman certain control. Being desired by the right man gave her singular glory.

Eyeing the curls between her legs, Lord Bowles took his time advancing on her, each step measured, decisive until he stood a handsbreadth away. His warmth touched her before he did. Her skin pebbled everywhere, and her breasts thrust forward as though her body would take things from here.

The teeter of lust and loneliness leaned in favor of hot and sensual.

Gold-tipped lashes half shuttered his eyes, leaving dark crescents of color to take their fill of what she displayed. His fingers stroked her inner thigh, a slow slide ending near damp curls.

He tasted his fingers. “Brandy. You know I’ve sworn off the stuff.”

“I promise it’s for medicinal purposes only.”

His raspy chuckle tickled her skin. “Aren’t you the resourceful one? A preventive, I presume.”

“Yes.” It was all she could say. The sight of his hand on her thigh stole her breath.

“You’re enticing me. And we both know how dangerous it’d be if I took a drink.”

A shudder racked her at the image of his mouth consuming the brandy between her legs. “I-I hadn’t thought of that.”

Her lids grew heavy. Their mouths were close, his breath mingling with hers. A magnetic draw pulled her. His beautiful mouth. Him.

Slowly, slowly…their lips met. A spark burst inside her. She clutched his arm, but Lord Bowles gentled her with a long, tender kiss. The rightness of his mouth on hers was a gift.

Masculine fingers burned on cool skin, stroking her leg as he deepened their kiss. His tongue touched hers, languid and soft. This was searching and need. Kindred souls locked together. His other hand grasped her arm, and she waxed tender and erotic at the same time.

Heart banging, she broke away. Reds and golds glinted among darker hairs in his whiskers. She wanted to rub her palm along his jaw, but her leaden limbs refused movement. Those talented fingers of his kneaded her thigh…each stroke possessive and knowing. Her toes curled into the chair’s seat cushion. Her husband teased her inner thigh, his fingers stroking close to her exposed flesh, then skimming lightly to her knee. Anticipation was agonizing and sweet.

New wetness trickled between her legs. Her hips rocked into him. “Please,” she begged, her eyelids fluttering low.

Her lungs could be in a vise grip. This wasn’t good. He’d hardly done anything and—

“Eeehhh…” She whimpered, a mewling sound, high-pitched, another one building deep inside her, rising up her torso. “Mar…eeehhh…” Her mouth opened wider. She clutched her shift, a wave of bliss shuddering her body.

Oh dear. She was in trouble.

A petite mort spasmed sweetly between her legs, and he hadn’t even touched the typical places men counted on to prime a woman. She opened her eyes. A salacious smile spread on his face, a man ready to take a bite of what she offered.

Definite trouble.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Wife?” His hand reverently brushed feminine curls, just missing the hot nubbin of flesh peeking at the top of her cleft.

The hearth’s blaze snapped. Sharp points of light reflected off his coat’s metal buttons. Bracing a hand on the chair, she tried to think, tried to answer, but couldn’t. He took his sweet time, grazing her bush, his hand light and careful.

Little by little, his palm increased pressure.

Teasing her. Playing with her.

Until—finally—he rubbed her mons.

The pleasure shocked her. She groaned loudly.

His lips brushed her forehead. “I’ll ask again. Why have you come to me now?”

Fingernails digging into her shift, she lifted the hem higher. Her body gyrated with need, the coil burning everywhere. “I want…I want you to make me…for-get.”

His satyr’s grin split wide. “You mean you want to use me. For sex.”

Expert fingers teased her quim’s outer fold, careful not to slip inside. More heat pricked her skin. Her breath came in starts and stops, stirring his neckcloth.

“For one night.”

A deep chuckle rumbled as his hand kept up the assault. “One night only?”

The aggravating man knew what he was doing. He denied her, touching and teasing, avoiding her sensitive inner folds. She scrunched the shift under her chin, taking an eyeful of Lord Bowles stroking her springy curls.

Orange and yellow flames illuminated her skin. Hot, mellow pressure built, bringing slickness and desire to private places. Featherlight touches skimmed deeper between her legs. He stroked her quim’s outer folds and her thighs, strumming away her life’s pain. The unnerving sense of her body blending into his consumed her, and they’d barely begun.

This wasn’t good.

She grabbed her husband’s busy hand. He smelled of brandy and sex, and his hazel eyes promised sweet seduction. “We both know you’re not long for this place,” she said, planting her foot on the floor. “I’ll move on too, I imagine.”

Fierce protectiveness flashed in his eyes. “When it’s safe.”

A man looking out for her… She couldn’t fathom it. She raised his hand and kissed his palm. “You make me feel safe.”

He groaned, staring hard at her mouth on his hand. Good. It was his turn to feel agonized lust. His bulging placket brushed against her. Hands and legs bumped. Together, they yanked the shift over her head. Lord Bowles snatched the flimsy garment and let it fall.

His eyes feasted on her body. “You drive me to distraction, yet I find I want to devour you. Slowly. One taste at a time if I can.”

He pinned her to the wall and kissed her hard. His hands tangled in her hair. Metal buttons pressed against her ribs. Breasts mashed into his wool-covered chest. Openmouthed, his lips grazed her jaw, her chin, seeking more skin to taste. Whiskers scraped her skin as he made a path of searing kisses down the center of her body.

Down her breastbone. Down her navel. Down he went on bended knee, kissing lower.

Till his mouth landed on her tiny nub of flesh at the top of her cleft.

She gasped. Light spangled behind her eyelids.

And then he sucked.

A tempest rushed through her. Hot. Sweet. Slick.

“Oh, Marcus.” Air huffed hard from her lungs.

He grunted and parted her folds and kept sucking. Craving scorched her everywhere. From under her lashes, she watched his head’s gentle thrusts between her legs. He nursed the one spot. Determined. Almost greedy in his intimate kiss.

Her new husband would have his way with her, and she’d let him.

Both hands slid into his hair, and her legs spread wider. Any control she thought she’d had was slipping. With him, she’d never fall. Never lose her way. Truth and pleasure surged inside her like a thousand sparks of light.

She closed her eyes again and let go.

Tremors started in her thighs, and she moaned. All his attention focused right there. He saw everything, knew everything. No part of her would be hidden after tonight.

A man’s mouth had claimed her once before. But not like this. Not with insatiable need for her.

Between his expert tongue and niggling feelings, Marcus led her down a dangerous path. She craved coming apart at the seams. He sought her, wooed her, made her want to give in. This wasn’t supposed to be. Yes, he pleasured her. But this was more than a simple act of sex.

Emotions whirled between them.

He nudged the tip of one finger inside her, not more than half an inch. The hint of what was to come, of him inside her. It stole her breath. His thumb flattened above her entrance and slid between sex-slicked, smaller folds of skin. But his thumb didn’t slide any higher. Marcus rubbed delicious little circles under the pink nub he sucked, his other finger just inside her.

“Ohh! Marcus!”

Her hips swayed into his face, and wicked male laughter vibrated in her quim. Teeth scraped her nub. If that was punishment, she’d take more.

She circled her hips into his hungry mouth. His suckling noises alone drove her mad.

“Mar-cus.” Her voice was thin and high.

“You’re close.” And he licked exposed flesh where his thumb pressed her.

“I… Yes!” Her grip tightened on his head.

Grabbing her bottom, Lord Bowles feasted, sucking harder. A rush seized her. Muscles tensed. She cried out. Legs shaking, bliss came fast. Bigger. Harder. Wetter. Colors exploded behind her eyelids.

La petite mort.

The desired end? Or a beginning?

Pleasure bumps spread across her inner thighs. Strong hands skimmed her hips, her ribs. Eyes opening, she slumped against the wall.

“Here,” he whispered and pulled her close.

He caressed the small of her back, the skin between her shoulder blades. How could he know she needed this? Him holding her? Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed his neck by the golden curl as his humored voice teased.

“Now that we’ve taken the edge off…”

Expert hands slid lower, kneading her bottom. Marcus coddled her, cupping her bottom cheeks with his perfect, soothing massage. A healing liquid sensation like warm wax stole over her.

“A bed would be nice,” she purred. She was limp and invigorated at the same time.

“My thoughts exactly.” He guided her backward to the bed, spreading her bottom cheeks wide. Chill air kissed her bottom cleft, and her tight bottom hole puckered.

His dimple showed, and he squeezed her bottom cheeks again. “Let me emphasize how much I like this part of you.” He kissed her shoulder. “And this part.” He kissed the top of her breast. “And this part.” He kissed the crook of her elbow. “And this part…”

Head back, she laughed as he delivered soft kisses to all her parts. His kisses marked her with the scent of her sex and brandy. How intoxicating. They bumped into the bed, stopping there. His tender ministrations put her back together again as good as the body-melting petite mort. And he liked toying with her. Of course sex would be playful with him. It was his nature.

In his arms, the lonely ache vanished. Her husband’s smile was sunshine on a dark day; his kisses were just as warm and fulfilling. His mouth swept over her as though he’d cover every inch of skin. Gone was the practiced lover of nights ago. Another man replaced him.

This sensual man was fiercely protective, honest, and tender…qualities that unhinged her.