A Marquess for Christmas (9 page)

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Kit
threw down the peeling and weathered copy of the
Canterbury Tales
. It was the third book he’d tried today. He’d
picked up a volume of Shakespeare’s tragedies and started Hamlet three times,
before giving up. He’d gotten through
Macbeth
,
but only because it was dark, bloody, and foul, like his mood.

It
had been ten days since his fever had broken, yet Mrs. Norris and Mr. Avery
would not let him venture farther than the chamber pot. Yesterday, he’d bribed
Adam, a footman that he played cards and dice with, to sneak him down to the
stables, but Mrs. Norris caught him at the foot of the stairs and shooed him
back to bed.

He
could do nothing without the servants interference. If he was thirsty, they
brought him water. If he was cold, they sent one of the girls in with fleece
covers and woolen blankets. If he wanted ale—or God’s blood, the neat
burn of whiskey—Avery took care of it.

What
he could not have was fresh air. He could not put on his jacket and trousers
and walk downstairs and take breakfast like a man. No, he was confined to this
stupid bed. Twice he’d filled the room with feathers in a fit of thrashing
pillows, which only caused him to feel like his head was being smashed into
pieces.

The
only bright spot in the whole mess was her. His exquisite Violet. One look, one
touch, one velvety word from her and he was a tamed puppy dog. She came to him
most mornings for breakfast and again for tea and dinner.

If
he didn’t see her several times a day, he would have killed someone. Namely,
the insipid doctor who insisted that he stay abed like an invalid.

His
head fucking hurt. Almost every minute of the day. Except when she was here and
he was too distracted by the desire to take her into his arms and make love to
her. Now, he lived to make her smile, to see her laugh, or for those brief
moments of the day when she touched him. He competed against himself for more
of her affection.

Today,
she’d only stopped in briefly for breakfast. Instead of an hour, she only
lingered about a quarter. He hoped she would come back for tea. Kit could send
for her, but then she would assume something was wrong. Well, it
was
bloody wrong, but he was not a child. He was restless, irritable, and needing
something more interesting to do than counting the flowers in the gray
wallpaper.

He
paced the room, his loose tunic hanging over his trousers. Though he could not
go anywhere, he still sometimes wore his trousers. Being stuck in a night shirt
and dressing gown every day reminded him that his only scenery was the large
oak bed, an old table that while oiled and polished, had one leg that had been
chewed down by some kind of dog, an armoire painted with Oriental leaves, a red
and blue Indian rug, and a faded black leather trunk that he could not open.
The one thing that changed was the winter sky peeking through the large window.
It went from white to silver in the daytime to slate and charcoal in the
evening.

Kit
would go mad if he had to spend weeks trapped in here. He’d attempted escape
three times, but he never made it farther than the front entrance. If it
weren’t for Avery’s hawk eyes watching over him and the disappointment he’d
feel at leaving Violet, he would have escaped and crept out in the wee hours
before the servants woke.

But
he had no one except Violet. Flashes of memories were coming back to him, but
not enough to piece his life together. He remembered his sister’s face, but how
would he even go about looking for her? Kit could depart, find a tavern
somewhere, go in search of his name, but each time he imagined leaving,
Violet’s face appeared in his mind.

I can go at anytime,
he decided.
But I do not want to go.

He
stood at the window, watching the clouds sweep across the sky, when he heard
footsteps. He turned to see Violet. She wore a white morning dress made from a
beautiful satin jacquard—too fine for a day gown, but something that had
been repurposed. The yellow leafing on it brought out the green in her hazel
eyes.

 
“You look lovely.”

“And
you are out of bed.”

“If
you will come and sit with me, then I shall happily return to it.”

She
held out her arm and gestured for him to lie down.

He
hopped to the bed and grinned at her. “Satisfied?”

“Any
fever?” She leaned forward and touched his cheek. He turned toward her hand and
kissed it.

“Only
the heat of your skin on mine.”

Her
mouth curved, but she did not give a full smile. “I think you shall recover.”

“You
have checked me every day for the past fortnight. Am I fit enough to leave this
room?”

“Let
us see what Doctor Littleton says.”

“That
quack. He would have me abed for months. I am fine.”

“Your
bruises are subsiding, but the gash on your head is not well enough for you to
travel. There is still the chance of infection. And what if your memory does
not return?”

Then
I will stay here with you
. Even confinement with her was better than being
at home with Isabella. But he didn’t say the words. To mention Isabella was to
admit that his memory was beginning to return.

“It
will.” He leaned toward her. “But in the meantime, let’s go outside. Hell, I
would settle for going downstairs. I need some change of scenery.”

She
did not balk at his cursing. It wasn’t the first time he’d been loose-tongued
with her and he knew it would not be the last.

“Wait
a few days. For now, you should rest as much as possible. Give yourself time to
heal.”

“My
lady,” he said, tracing his finger over her cheek, “It is torture to lie still
for days on end.” He leaned in closer. “Now, if you were lying with me, it
would be a sweet pleasure.”

Unable
to help himself, he leaned in close to her and scented her thick, dark tresses,
wishing he could release the pins and lose himself in the silky strands. A
woman’s hair should be free and untamed like the sea.

Her
breath caught and he threaded his hands through her hair, keeping her close to
him. His lips brushed against her neck and he could feel the pounding of her
heart.

Every
ragged sound she made fueled his desire. This was why he obeyed her orders, why
he stayed longer than he should. It was the promise of the passion he knew they
could find together.

She
was nothing like the artful women who usually shared his bed, but nor was she
the naive coquette attempting to seduce him into a betrothal. Violet Laurens
was something new.

Something
danced at the corner of his mind—some memory, but trying to grasp it was
as futile as grabbing a fistful of sand.

This
alluring woman was far more tempting. At this moment, she was all that mattered
to him. Her voice, her touch, her glance the only world he needed to know.

Loosening
his fingers, he eased apart, but only so far that her nose was finger’s length
from his. “I think you should close the door.”

She
threw a glance at door then watched him with eyes that went from amber to
olive. “Why?”

“Because
I am going to touch you.”

“You
are already touching me.”

He
rested his forehead against hers. “I have barely begun.”

She
shivered in his embrace and he watched in fascination as her tongue swept over
her lips and she rubbed them together.

“We
should not do this.”

“Why
not? You have no husband. I have no wife. No one will know.”

The
corner of her mouth quirked and she shot him a pointed look. “The servants know
everything.”

“True,
but are they discreet?”

“I
trust Avery with my life. And Mrs. Norris would hang the others by their hair
if they so much as looked askance at me.”

“Then
the question is, madam, do you want me to touch you?”

She
tilted her head and stared at him as if she could discern the mysteries of
heaven in his gaze.

Her
fingers played with the cord on the neckline of his linen tunic. “I should say
no.”

Kit
smiled, then slipped a finger under her chin, bringing their mouths close
together. “Then that means yes.”

“We
do not know one another. And you are not fit to exert yourself. You should be
resting.” When her legs shifted as if to stand, he gripped her thighs. The
smooth satin felt soft under his palms, but it could never feel as good as the
skin he longed to caress.

“Who
said anything about exerting myself?” There were many ways to take pleasure
from her body. He intended on learning each and every one.

“It
is improper. I cannot take advantage of you.” She pushed off him and he was
rewarded with a fine glimpse of her décolletage as she stood.

His
mouth watered, but he made himself look her in the eyes.

“I
thought I was the one taking advantage of you, my sweet.”

“You
are in my house, my bed—well, my guest bed. You are injured, possibly
addled in the head—”

He
crossed his arms and gave her a hard stare. “I would have to be addled in the
head to be in your house, in your bed, and not to want you. I may be
temporarily bound, but do I look like a simpleton?”

She
turned and walked to the door. He smiled when he heard the creak as it closed
and clicked into place. Victory was at hand.

“You
look like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,”

“And
you look delicious and delectable. How could I—voracious animal that I
am—resist?”

“We
hardly know one another,” she said again.

“I
have every intention of getting to know you,” he replied, giving her a slow,
thorough once-over. He threw off the blankets and put his feet on the cool wood
floor. Though his leg wobbled a bit as he stood, he ignored it—along with
the splitting pain in his head.

“No!”
she cried, rushing over to him. “You must not move from bed. The doctor was
clear that you should only move when absolutely necessary. I will not have you
taking ill again.”

The
fire in her voice rippled over him and instead of deterring him, it made him
want more.

He
gripped her waist and lifted her to him. They were nose to nose again. “I will
get back into bed—if you will join me in it.”

“I
should slap you for your impertinence.”

He
couldn’t help but grin. “Go ahead and try.”

“Put
me down!”

“Kiss
me and I will release you. For now.”

“You
are the most obstinate, arrogant man I have ever encountered.”

“I
am determined, my lady. I do whatever I have to do to get what I want.” He
nibbled on her bottom lip, but did not give her the kiss he longed for. “Right
now, I want you.”

She
pecked him on the forehead, a light kiss that ended before it ever began. Cool
air pressed over that sweet spot where her lips had been. Damnation, she was
smart.

“I
take it I did not specify where you should kiss me?”

When
she smiled, everything around her faded into a shadowy haze and he knew nothing
but her grace. “No, sir, you did not.”

He
eased her down, letting her body skim down over his until her feet touched the
ground. By some miracle, he managed not to groan.

“Call
me Kit.”

“Get
back into the bed, Kit.”

“And
if I refuse?” His hands still gripped her waist. She was tall, which he loved,
as it made it easier for him to look her in the eyes. Her frame was strong; if
he squeezed, she could take it. And when he bent her over the bed or pulled her
down to the floor, she wouldn’t break under his strength.

She
could fulfill every dark fantasy he’d ever dreamed of—and a few he hadn’t
even contemplated before.

“If
you refuse, you shall not get the kiss you bargained for.”

Was
she merely teasing him to get his compliance or did she finally intend to give
in to his demand? “And if I acquiesce?”

She
leaned into him, her cheek brushing against his, her bosom pressing into his
arm. Warm breath fanned over his neck and his cock jerked to attention. Kit
froze, not wanting to break the spell. What was she about?

There
was a sharp pain at first when her teeth closed over his earlobe, but it was
soon followed by the gentle motions of her tongue. She squeezed the tender
flesh between her teeth again, then sucked firmly.

Kit
had to reach down and press on his shaft. It ached, not as much as his head,
but hot enough that if he wasn’t careful, he would throw caution to the wind
and throw her across the bed and mount her like a raging bull.

He
closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her doing wicked things to him. As she
worked, he stroked her lower back. It took every ounce of his willpower not to
grind into her, to be still and let her have her way with him.

A
breathy whisper tingled across his ear. “Go back to bed.”

This
time, Kit obeyed. He climbed into the sturdy oak bed and waited for Violet.

She
straightened her gown and slowly stepped toward the bed. She bent down and
stroked his face, the caress light as a summer breeze.

“You
are a difficult patient. But I do reward obedience.”

Bending
down, she lowered her face to his, stopping when her mouth would have brushed
his. She held there for ten seconds as he waited—counting in silence to
stop himself from grabbing her neck and pulling her atop of him. This kiss was
a gift, a reward, and he would receive it the way she chose to give it.

At
first, the kiss was soft, feathery, as tender and warm as she was. But then he
heard the little moan she made and he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. He
slid his palm up her plump derrière, pausing briefly near the juncture of her
thighs and then continued upward to her waist. His free hand cupped her jaw,
then swept up to thread his fingers tightly though the hair at the base of her
neck. She would not get away easily.