A Most Sinful Proposal (8 page)

“Marissa,” he groaned, the sound of a man in great pain. It had been so long since he had a woman, any woman, and this woman was exceptional.

Her eyes flew to his, dark and aglow. Her cheeks were flushed. She gave a shaken smile. “Valentine?”

Doubts still flickered at the edges of his senses, but he could no longer mistake what he saw in her face.
Desire.
She wanted him almost as much as he wanted her.

What would it be like to kiss her lips? When he was a younger man he’d had a strong lusty streak. There’d been ladies, lots of them, and he’d taken his fill. And then he’d married Vanessa and all that had changed—he’d changed. He wanted to be that young and lusty man again.

He took a step, caught her in his arms, and drew her clumsily against him. Her skirts caught in the long grass and she fell forward. He caught her, losing his own balance, and sat down hard on the
ground, narrowly missing some scattered pieces of Montfitchet Castle. Marissa sprawled in his lap.

He gave a gasp of laughter. “Not quite with my old finesse,” he said, his heart thumping. But at least she was where he wanted her.

However it seemed she wasn’t where
she
wanted to be. Marissa climbed awkwardly to her knees, tugging her skirts out of the way, straddling his thighs and kneeling above him. She touched his cheek, the gentlest of touches. Her hat was crooked, barely attached to her hair, and he reached up and removed it, bowling it through the long grass. Heavy strands of her hair, dark as midnight, tumbled down.

“Marissa,” he said, “may I kiss you?”

Her dark eyes were serious. “Yes, Valentine. You may.”

He leaned forward. Nothing mattered but the here and now, and any control he’d imagined he still had was shattered to bits as he took the warm soft wonder of her mouth with his.

H
e was kissing her. Marissa was aware of how soft his lips were and yet how firm, as they moved over hers. He seemed to know what he was doing and she wound her arms around his neck. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, her fingers tugged at the wiry curls of hair that grew at his nape. He bent his head and began to press his open mouth to her throat, making her hot and trembly, and when her head fell back helplessly, he kissed the scant bit of bare flesh that showed above her bodice.

Pleasure brought goose bumps to her skin, and when he rested one hand in the hollow of her waist she was certain she could feel his touch burning like a hot coal through her clothing. His other hand was gathering up her tangled locks of hair and when he buried his face in the heavy mass, groaning with pleasure, she felt a tremor of passion ripple through her.

He lifted his head slightly, and she saw that his eyes were closed. She bent to kiss his eyelids, and then his lips, feeling his breath mingling with hers. It was like a dream, except it was too vividly real to be part of a dream. Marissa felt as if she was taking her
first steps in some unexplored Amazonian jungle, a place no one had ever been before, and she was full of trepidation and excitement, but she had no intention of stopping or turning back.

Now he was kissing her more deeply, his arms tightening their grip about her body. She made a sound but it wasn’t a protest, and then she was pressing closer to him, too. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him. Her hands slid over his shoulder blades, down to the moving muscles of his back. Her nails were long enough to scrape gently against his skin, and he gasped, nuzzling against her throat.

He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes so brilliant she felt like blinking.

“I want…” he began, but then couldn’t seem to finish it.

“What do you want?” she said shakily.

He reached up and rested his fingers on the tiny pearl buttons that ran down the front of her bodice, holding it modestly in place. Marissa could feel a tingle in her breasts; they felt almost painful. She nodded her head jerkily, eagerly, and watched, holding her breath, as he began to unfasten the tiny buttons, one by one.

Her tight corset cut in under her bosom and had the effect of pushing her breasts up, while her chemise covered her to the neckline of her riding jacket. Once he had opened her bodice to the waist, he slid his fingers under one of the chemise straps and tugged it down over her shoulder. The swell of her breast was exposed to his gaze, her nipple peaking dark red and swollen. He took his time looking while she waited, hardly able to bear it. And then he
stroked his finger over her, down, down, brushing over her hard nipple, and back again.

Marissa jumped at the contact on such a sensitive point, but she made no move to stop him. He smiled, and swooping forward, took her in his mouth.

She cried out. She couldn’t help it. The hot wetness of his tongue and his mouth against her aching breast was pleasure almost beyond bearing. She cupped his head in her hands, unconsciously holding him to her.

Perhaps you should stop him now,
said a voice in her head. But the voice was faint, and easily ignored.

He was exploring her other breast, and giving it the same treatment. The ache in her breasts was intense, but so was the throbbing between her legs. And it was worse because although she knew a little of what it meant to have connection with a man, she didn’t know the full details. Or perhaps it was just as well she didn’t know, because then she might throw him back on the ground and put her knowledge into practice.

She squirmed on his lap, trying to relieve the need growing inside her, and felt him hard against her stockinged thigh, like a rod of iron. Was this the bulge she’d seen in his breeches earlier? Surprised, curious, she reached down beneath the folds of her skirts and closed her hand about him.

He jerked like a man shot and she felt the rod in her hand twitch. She tightened her grip and he caught his breath, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. He reached down, fumbling his way through her skirts, and covered her hand with his.

“Valentine?” she whispered, confused, afraid
she’d done something wrong.

He seemed to recognize her emotions. “Your hand on me makes me feel good,” he said bluntly. “Too good.”

She wasn’t certain what he meant, but she understood enough. She loosened her grip but did not let go entirely.

“May I touch you there, Valentine?” she said seriously.

He gave a shaken laugh. “Not right now, Marissa. But I am going to touch you, because I think you want me to, don’t you?”

“I—”

“I promise if you don’t like it then I’ll stop.”

She hesitated, but he must have taken that for a yes, because she felt his hand on her thigh, sliding up over her warm bare flesh and finding the lacy edge of her pantaloons.

You are not behaving like a respectable and well-brought-up young lady,
the voice in her head told her.

No, but if I don’t practice my feminine wiles then how will I be able to use them with any accomplishment?

The voice had nothing to say to that.

Or maybe she’d stopped listening, because now his fingers had found the opening between the legs of her pantaloons and slid inside. At the first brush of his fingers over the swollen, damp folds of her flesh she whimpered. Then he touched her again, more firmly, finding a particularly sensitive place and exploring it with a thoroughness that made her tremble and gasp.

“If I had time,” he said, as he stroked her, “I would
use my tongue.”

“Your tongue? How…” she moaned.

He smiled.

After a moment she said, “I feel—I feel…”

He pressed the heel of his hand against her, sliding his fingers inside, and a bolt of such pleasure went through her she arched upward, her body rigid, unable to speak or breathe. A moment later waves of warm release washed over her, and she collapsed against him, breathing hard against his bare shoulder.

He was murmuring endearments, but she hardly heard him. As soon as the intense feeling of pleasure began to fade the voice in her head was back, and it wasn’t saying anything nice.

“What must you think of me?” she said to Valentine, her voice stiff and formal, and out of place after what had just happened.

He lifted her face and smoothed back her hair, gazing into her eyes, no doubt reading the turmoil within them. “I think you are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in years. But you are an innocent, Marissa. This isn’t what your grandmother meant when she told me to take care of you.”

“Valentine, I assure you I do not expect you to take blame for what just happened. I am quite capable—”

But he wouldn’t allow her to finish. She could see the self-disgust in the twist of his mouth. “You are no compliant widow or Covent Garden slut. You are an innocent young lady from a respectable family. You are my brother’s…friend.” His gaze dropped
from hers and he sighed.

George.
She’d forgotten all about George. How could she do that? How could the man she loved and wanted to marry slip her mind so conveniently?

Nevertheless she had been in full possession of her senses when she made the decision to cavort with Valentine, even if those senses had led her seriously astray.

“I liked what we did,” she said. “You asked me and I said yes. There’s no need to apologize. We are equally to blame.”

“Nevertheless…”

She climbed off him and began to button up her bodice, feeling hot and flushed, her fingers trembling. “This was between you and me,” she said gruffly, “and has nothing to do with anyone else. We will not mention it ever again.”

He snorted. “That just shows how innocent you are.”

“Oh rot!” she burst out, her eyes flashing with anger.

“My behavior is more than reprehensible,” he went on, rising to his feet and standing over her. “I deserve to be flogged.”

She stared at him a moment and then she began to laugh. His reaction was such a contrast to a moment ago, from one extreme to the other. Her laughter only seemed to antagonize him and angrily he untangled his coat, before pulling it back on.

“I think when you have considered the matter you will see that the only option left open to us is for me to ask—”

“Don’t you dare!” she burst out. “Don’t you dare
propose to me!”

He stared at her, openmouthed.

“I don’t want to marry you,” she said in a low, shaking voice. “We’d both be miserable, forced into an intolerable situation. We’d end up hating each other. Besides, I would refuse you, so don’t even bother putting the question.”

“Marissa—”

“No.” She was searching around for her hat.

He reached down and picked it up and presented it to her with a formal bow.

“Thank you. I am returning to the inn now. I think you should finish your business with Mr. Jensen, and then we can all ride back to Abbey Thorne Manor.”

“When your grandmother hears what has happened—”

She sighed, and then she smiled. Then she came up to him, stood on her toes, and kissed his lips, gently, without any trace of their earlier passion. “Don’t be so foolish, Valentine.”

And then she walked away.

Marissa could feel his eyes on her, puzzled, angry, probably wishing he could strangle her and hide her body in the long grass. Everything was a mess, but she could hardly blame Valentine for that. She had played a big part in the wild encounter they’d just shared.

She needed time to think, to order her scattered thoughts, and to work out exactly what she was going to do to make things right.

M
oodily, Valentine watched her go. She appeared to be unaffected by what they’d just done. The fact that his body was still agonizingly hard didn’t help. He’d given her a climax she wouldn’t soon forget—he’d wager the first she’d ever had—and now he had to suffer in solitary frustration.

Well, it was his fault. He didn’t blame her for what had happened. He’d let her innocent dimpled smiles and her clear dark gaze, not to mention her luscious figure, confuse and bamboozle him, and before he knew it he was in too deep. And then, despite it being the very last thing he wanted, he’d done the only thing an honorable gentleman could do. He’d gritted his teeth and put his own feelings to one side and had been about to propose to her.

She’d refused him.

He supposed he should be relieved he had been rejected. Instead he was uneasy and not a little depressed. In their world, marriage was really the only option in such circumstances, unless one was a complete bounder, but despite her lack of experience, she’d rejected any thought of marrying him. And
that could only be because the thought of tying herself to him was so appalling she’d rather be ruined than contemplate it.

You are a beast, Valentine.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and mooched through the long grass toward his tethered horse.

One thing he knew for sure, if she asked him if she could touch him again he was definitely going to say no!

By the time Valentine returned to the inn Marissa was settled calmly in the room with Jasper and Lady Bethany. He glanced at her, noting her serene expression, and that her hair was once more neatly fastened up beneath her hat. In every way she was the perfectly innocent young lady. In fact, if he hadn’t seen her with his own eyes, half-naked and gasping with the pleasure he was giving her, he wouldn’t have believed it.

The beautiful minx.

Jasper was explaining how the local constable had visited them for an explanation of the shooting at the church, and Valentine forced himself to concentrate. He found if he turned his back slightly to Marissa and couldn’t see her then it was easier to put her out of his mind. Jasper went on to say he’d had no choice but to tell the truth, the vicar knew anyway, but it seemed as if there was little that could be done unless Von Hautt was found.

“Not much chance of that,” Valentine said. “He’s vanished back into whatever bolt-hole he came out of.”

He then gave them a shortened version of his visit to Mr. Jensen, and what the local historian was able to tell him.

“The Montfitchets died out in the sixteenth century and the castle was sold. Eventually it was abandoned.”

“So no good news,” Jasper muttered, sinking back against his pillows with a dispirited air.

“There was one thing. Jensen knew another of the names on the list. Henry Fortescue. The Fortescues still live in the village of Magna Midcombe…in some form or another.”

“That sounds very mysterious,” Lady Bethany said.

“Well, Mr. Jensen did warn me they are no longer of the same social station as they once were.”

“And Von Hautt?” Jasper demanded. “Has he seen anything of him?”

“No sign of him, yet. But I did warn Jensen to keep this new information to himself. Besides, now the constable is looking for him he’ll be afraid to show his face in Montfitchet again.”

“Baron Von Hautt doesn’t seem to be afraid of much,” Marissa said thoughtfully.

Valentine met her eyes and she stared back, a faint flush in her cheeks. He was glad when there was no return of his wild, reckless lust. Perhaps he had given himself such a fright that he was already cured? He hoped so. He knew one thing for certain, he was going to stick to his roses from now on and leave women to his brother, George.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t unsettle the
lovely Marissa, just a little, in revenge for the pain she’d caused him.

“I expect Miss Rotherhild has told you about the ruins of the castle,” he said, with a glance at Lady Bethany.

“Only that the Crusader’s Rose was not there,” the older lady answered. “Is there anything else to tell?”

He hesitated, then lifted an eyebrow at Marissa. “
Was
there anything else, Miss Rotherhild?”

A spark lit her eyes but she dropped her eyelids to hide it before he could decide whether she was angry or afraid. “No, nothing else. Unless
you
can think of something, my lord?”

Was she daring him to tell? To ruin her reputation in front of her grandmother and Jasper? He would never do it, of course, but the fact that she would risk it said much of her character. Marissa was a gambler, masquerading beneath the façade of a respectable young lady.

Satisfied he had her measure, Valentine turned back to his friend, examining his features closely for signs of pain, but although Jasper appeared a little pale and drawn, his eyes were clear and alert. “Are you able to travel, Jasper?”

“Yes, of course, old boy. As long as you take it slowly, I’ll be more than happy to return to Abbey Thorne Manor and the ministrations of Morris and your excellent Mrs. Beaumaris.”

Valentine went to arrange the carriage. In the end it was necessary to bolster Jasper with rugs and blankets and pillows, to prevent him from being jolted
about too much, and Lady Bethany sat with him to keep a watch over him. Valentine drove the carriage and Marissa rode her horse, while Valentine’s mount was fixed behind the carriage.

But, as usual when it came to Marissa, nothing went as he’d expected. Instead of riding timidly beside him, she rode some way in front, and he found his treacherous gaze fixed on the sway of her hips beneath her skirts, or the bounce of her jaunty hat atop her dark curls. For a time he struggled, and succeeded, in keeping his mind focused on what Jasper and Lady Bethany were saying, but then his thoughts would drift again. All too soon he was remembering the moment in the long grass when Marissa had reached down and closed her hand around his cock. Her warm fingers squeezing, while his face was buried in her lush flesh, in her scent, and she was rising above him like a pagan goddess…

A tremble started in his belly and traveled all the way up to his throat, causing him to catch his breath and tighten his hands involuntarily on the reins. The next thing he knew the carriage came to a violent and jerky stop.

“I say, Kent!” Jasper cried out in complaint.

“Why are we stopping?” Lady Bethany demanded, her hat over one eye as she tried to return the cushions to their proper positions around Jasper.

Marissa had trotted back to join them. “Is there a problem?” she inquired anxiously.

“No, I…It was nothing.” Valentine’s voice was rigid and he couldn’t meet her eyes. “My apologies, Jasper.”

“Well…no harm done, Kent,” Jasper said in a puzzled tone. “Just don’t do it again, eh, old boy?”

“Can we get on?” Lady Bethany said impatiently.

Marissa moved to one side to let him pass and Valentine set the horses in motion again. This time he meant to keep his eyes to the front, but his gaze wasn’t as obedient as he’d hoped. It fastened on her riding boot, and then her trim stocking-covered calf, quickly skimming over the folds of her green riding habit and up, to her gloved hands resting lightly on the reins, and came to a stop on the tiny pearl buttons that enclosed her bodice. Before he could stop himself, he was remembering her breasts under his hands, and his tongue sweeping over her nipples before drawing their succulent sweetness into his mouth.

One of her hands rose and pressed to her throat, and as he met her eyes, Valentine realized she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Because she was thinking it, too.

Marissa Rotherhild was disturbing his peace of mind by simply being here. What madness had made him want to bring her on his quest to find the rose? And how was he going to keep his hands off her delectable person next time they were alone? It was an impossible situation and it couldn’t go on.

Valentine was going to have to find some way to send her back to London, and the sooner the better.

By the time Marissa reached the manor she was more than grateful to climb the stairs to her room and close the door. She needed to think and
it was difficult when Valentine was glaring at her back, as she was certain he’d done all the way from Montfitchet.

Did he blame her for what had happened between them at Montfitchet? She thought it more likely he was cross with himself because he’d lacked the will-power to resist her, and was then forced into a marriage proposal. Just as she was cross with herself for the same reason.

And confused. And guilty.

She’d come here to hunt George, after all, not fall in lust with his brother.

And yet she could not deny those moments with Valentine had been wonderfully exciting, empowering, and special. She wanted more. Like one of those laudanum addicts she’d always despised, she couldn’t stop at one draught.

With a groan she tossed her hat onto her bed and sat down to remove her riding boots, throwing first one and then the other across the room, hoping the violence would release some of her pent-up emotion.

Marissa could honestly say she’d never done anything like she did today at Montfitchet. And she’d never felt such a thrilling, dark pleasure as she had when Valentine kissed her and touched her. Her hand rested lightly on her breast, remembering. She’d never thought of herself as a sensual woman, but Valentine had shown her the truth. Was it awful to admit she wanted more? And there was more, she was certain of it, a great deal more he could teach her about herself and physical pleasure. Wasn’t that what husband hunting was all about?

But he’s the wrong man!

It was all very well her friends from Miss Debenham’s urging her to use her feminine wiles, but what would they think when they discovered she’d used them on the wrong man? And while she was using them she’d not given dear George a single thought.

“It’s all his fault for not being here,” she muttered, and then jumped when there was a rap on her door.

“Marissa?” Her grandmother entered, looking about the chamber suspiciously. “Were you speaking to someone?”

“No, Grandmamma. Only myself.” Marissa was glad to be interrupted.

Lady Bethany had changed from her traveling dress into something less restrictive, wrapping a cashmere shawl around her shoulders. With her hair loosened, softening the lines of her face, she looked younger and strangely vulnerable.

“How is Lord Jasper?” Marissa asked, as her grandmother came to sit beside her on the bed.

“Sleeping, and hopefully no worse for his experience.” She hesitated, fiddling with the rings on her fingers. “What do you think of him, my dear?”

“I think him a very nice man,” Marissa said promptly. “Much nicer than Mr. Garfield.”

Lady Bethany waved her hand impatiently at the mention of her previous beau. “Garfield is gone and forgotten.” Another pause, more fiddling with her rings. “He is a little younger than me, you know.”

“Is he?”

“Ten years,” Lady Bethany said heavily.

“But you are so very youthful in your ways,
Grandmamma,” Marissa assured her. “Everyone says so.”

Her grandmother brightened. “I am, aren’t I?”

“An older man would have trouble keeping up with you.”

“I do believe you’re right.”

Marissa placed her hand on her grandmother’s. “But then again…You don’t think it is a little soon to be considering Lord Jasper in such an…an intimate light, Grandmamma?”

Lady Bethany’s thin eyebrows climbed. “Not at all. I always know the moment I meet someone whether I want them as a lover and a friend. I am a very good judge of character, my dear.”

“Yes, Grandmamma,” Marissa replied, trying not to be shocked, but the vision of her grandmamma welcoming Lord Jasper into her boudoir was almost more than she could manage.

“And at my age there isn’t time to dilly-dally,” her grandmother added. Her eyes narrowed. “What happened between you and Kent, Marissa? He was like a sulky schoolboy when you came back from the castle ruins.”

Marissa avoided that sharp gaze. “Nothing happened, Grandmamma. He was disappointed he didn’t find his rose, that is all.”

“Hmm, well I don’t believe you. I suppose you’ll tell me the truth when you’re ready.” She rose to her feet and made for the door. “Now I am going to take a little nap before dinner.”

Marissa breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed, aware she had got off lightly. If Lady Bethany hadn’t been busy with her own concerns about Lord
Jasper she would never have given up so easily, and her probing was always needle sharp.

Marissa flopped back onto the bed and closed her eyes. She felt as if she was one step away from disaster, and at the same time she knew how simple it would be to take that step. Her body tingled with memories of Valentine’s smile, his touch, the way his breath warmed her skin. It was all wrong, so very wrong, and yet it felt so very right.

Her eyes sprang open.

Could she? Dare she? It would serve him right, of course, and it might also help her to develop those skills she was only just beginning to realize she possessed. He’d proposed to her despite obviously hating the idea of marrying her. It was logical that no gentleman who would propose to her against his will would harm her—such an action would be against his code—therefore she was perfectly safe.

But just in case, her grandmother and Jasper would be there to act as chaperones.

Marissa smiled. As her grandmother said, more or less, life was too short to dilly-dally.