Lady in Red (36 page)

It wasn’t much, but it was all she had. Honoria reached up, twined her arms about his neck and pulled his mouth to hers as the carriage lurched madly to one side.

He was still but a moment as the carriage; swung back the other direction, and then he was kissing her as passionately as he had a week ago. Kissing her and holding her and touching her, his hands roving over the delicate silk, niching it as he pressed closer, closer.

His hands moved fervently now, finding the sensitive skin on the inside of her knee, sliding up, higher and higher, touching her through the softness of her undergarments, rubbing her as she moved restlessly against him, her body on fire, her mind twined around every sensation he produced.

Suddenly, he stopped. “Take off your clothes.”

“Off? But… we’re in a carriage.”

“I don’t care.” His gaze locked with hers. “Do you?”

She didn’t. She didn’t care at all. All she knew was that she wanted him, had wanted this, for far longer than she’d admitted to herself. She reached up for the tie behind her shoulders…

Within seconds all of her carefully pressed skirts were laying on the opposite seat and all she had on was her chemise. She reached for the neck, but his warm hands forestalled her. “Please,” he said, his voice deep and husky. “Allow me.”

Cool air abraded her bare skin as he removed the silky garment and tossed it away. Her breasts peaked and tightened, a sight that seemed to affect him strongly, for he groaned and immediately lowered his mouth to the crest. Sucking gently, his hot mouth sent a volley of lightning through her. Honoria moaned, clutching his broad shoulders, holding him tightly. “Marcus,” she managed to breathe.

One arm wrapped about her shoulders, his mouth moving from one breast to the other, he slid his free hand to her knee, then higher. Up the line of her thigh, where it stopped. She could see his mouth fastened on her breast, feel his breath on her bare skin, and see his hand resting so close… She opened her thighs and pulled his wrist up, so his fingers were against her tight curls.

He lifted his head at that, his eyes almost black with passion. And then he touched her. Deliberately, smoothly, parting her innermost secrets and finding the center of her heat.

She moaned, arching back, aware of his heat, of the mad, crazed passion that was rising inside her, of him, everywhere at the same time. Suddenly, she clamped her thighs closed over his hand. “Wait,” she panted. “Please. You must undress, too.”

“Are you certain? I can-—‘

“No. I want you. Please.” _

That was all it took. He set her to his side and kissed her, his tongue stroking, suggesting. Keeping her mad with lust. She never knew how he did it, but he was soon as naked as she, breaking the kiss only to rip off his cravat and pull his shirt over his head.

The second he was free of his clothing, they tumbled together, the wild throb of the carriage urging them on.

He held her thus, pinned against the thick cushion, the coach rocking madly from side to side, his engorged manhood against her slick flesh. “Honoria—”

It was a question, a last gasp of control. And she answered in the only way she could. She locked her legs about his waist and pulled herself against him, impaling herself on him, filling herself. Her entire body stretched, hot and ready, a flicker of pain causing her to halt.

His breathing was harsh in her hair, his body deliriously warm. “Hold me,” he gasped against her ear, his breath stirring her hair and sending a new wave of heat through her.

She did as he said, wrapping her arms about his shoulders, pressing against him even as the pain increased.

He pressed harder and all of time held still. For the space of a moment there was nothing but the two of them, straining together, their skin damp where it touched, their bodies rocking with the rhythm of the coach. Then there was a sharp pain and he was inside her, deep and pressing. The pain swelled and she cried out, but he captured her cry with a kiss so heated, so passionate, that she found herself kissing him back, clinging to him as she gave herself to movement that was growing between them. Every thrust was exquisite, every stroke agonizingly delectable.

She was awash in feelings she’d never experienced and never thought to feel. He moved faster now, as did the coach. There seemed to be a connection. The faster Marcus moved inside her, the more wildly the coach swayed, every bump and jounce sending waves of pleasure though her.

Honoria’s heated response was exquisite torture for Marcus. One especially wild turn sent them shifting to one side. He moaned as he buried himself ever deeper into her, the warmth of her sheath clenching about him almost too much to handle. He grit his teeth and continued on, determined to make this time—her first—memorable. He didn’t have to wait long, for she was as wildly passionate as she was innocent and burst in wild cries as she came, her juices hot and creamy over him. Marcus was unable to hold on another moment and he came with her, emptying himself into her delectable warmth.

How long they remained thus, locked together, breathing hard, their bodies clasped about one another as the carriage drove ever onward, he would never know. But the slowing of the coach made him raise his head. They must be nearing the smaller road that led to the hunting lodge. They only had a short time longer.

Marcus lifted onto his elbows and looked down at his bride. Her eyes were closed, the thick lashes resting on the crescents of her cheeks, a rich color warming her skin.

She’d been a virgin, as he’d expected. The thought pleased him. Not that he had any right to demand such a thing—after all, he was scarcely in a position to demand anything. Nor had he been a saintly man in his life. But the thought that she was all his and had never had the touch of another man made him wish to shout out his possession from the rooftops.

He ran his thumb over her cheek and she instantly turned her face toward him, as if savoring the warmth. His heart softened a little at the unconscious gesture, as trusting as a child’s.

He’d expected her to be passionate after he’d taught her the arts of lovemaking. But she’d been a natural, moving against him, moaning so richly, her hands automatically clutching, pulling, and urging him on.

Good God, if she was this tempting as a virgin, how would she be once she’d learned a thing or two? The idea sent a shiver of pleasure through his replete body. This was going to be a marriage of fate, indeed. He reached down and touched the talisman ring, where it rested on her finger, surprised at how warm the metal felt, as if it was a living thing…

Honoria sighed, her lips parting sweetly, a smile touching her cheeks.

He’d made that smile happen. A heated tremor raced through him, and he realized with surprise that he was ready for another round. Good God, but she had an effect on him.

Smiling to himself, he kissed her cheek. “Are you well, Madame?”

Her eyes fluttered open, a smile in the hazel depths. “I think so. Is that… is that normal?”

Marcus chuckled. “Indeed it is.”

An amazed expression crossed her features. “And it will be thus
every
time?”

“If I have anything to say about it, yes.”

She sighed, smiling sleepily. “I hope so.”

“As do I.” He sighed and rested his head against her shoulder. “I hate to mention this, but we need to dress. We’re almost there. I wish we could stay longer than one night at the lodge, but we must return to London and be seen. It will stop the gossipmongers faster than anything else.”

She sighed, some of her smile disappearing. “I had forgotten about the scandal. There will be talk, won’t there?”

“Not if we go back and pretend nothing untoward happened. All we have to do is convince everyone that it was a love match and the tongues will have nothing to tattle about.” Marcus caught her glance. She appeared quizzical, almost as if she was about to ask a question. “Yes?” he prompted.

“I’m sorry all of this happened.”

He wasn’t.

The carriage swung around a tight curve, and Honoria glanced at the curtain that covered the window. “I wish—I hate having to go back and face all of that. But it must be done, I suppose.”

He placed his fingers over her lips. “One thing at a time. First, we have at least one night together. Then, we go home and face whatever fate has in store.”

She hesitated, and he could see she was tempted to argue. But after a moment she nodded. “You are right, of course.

There’s nothing we can do about it today. I can worry about all of this tomorrow.“

“Indeed you can,” he said, watching as she collected her clothing and dressed. At least she was no longer the polite stranger she’d been at the wedding. With time… yes, he thought suddenly. With time, he was certain she’d not only become reconciled to their fate, but would see the benefits as well as he.

Feeling immensely better, Marcus dressed, finishing just as Herberts pulled the carriage to the front door of the hunting box.

Chapter 18

It wouldn’t surprise me if the old bat left her entire fortune to that horrid bossy parrot she loved so much. I’d rather have a house full of monkeys than a pet like that.

Sir Harry Brooks to his sister, the rather opulent and bejeweled Lady Thistlewaite, as they sat at the funeral of their wealthy great-aunt, Lady Wilhelmina Frotherston, who did not, it turns out, leave either of them a single pence

Two weeks later the Treymount carriage swayed and bumped through town. Marcus stretched out, relaxing against the squabs. He’d discovered that if he didn’t fight the swaying, he didn’t feel so ill afterward.

It was odd to think about it, but here he was, a married man of two whole weeks. Two whole weeks of passion-filled nights and days of… he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Chaos wasn’t quite the right word. Disorganization was closer.

He and Honoria had enjoyed their brief moment of respite at the hunting lodge, but the efforts to staunch the scandal that had arisen around their marriage meant they had to return and immediately begin a dizzying round of visits, balls, musicales, soirees, and more. It worked like a charm. Now everyone was talking, not about the circumstances surrounding the engagement, but about how lovely the new marchioness was, and how beautiful her sister. Cassandra was guaranteed to be the belle of the season, so widespread were reports of her beauty and fortune.

Marcus smiled to himself. He’d told one person and one person only that he intended to put a solid twenty thousand pounds into Cassandra’s dowry fund, but it had been enough. Lady Carlisle was not known as the ton’s most gossipy gossip for nothing. She’d been so consumed with the need to spread his secret that she’d cut him short in saying good-bye and had practically run across the room to unburden herself. Marcus had been hard pressed not to laugh aloud.

Sometimes, things were amazingly simple. But then other times… he thought of Honoria and all desire to laugh faded. That was the problem, the one rub in his otherwise well-run life. Oh, the difficulties of having her sisters and brother in his household had caused most of the chaos that surrounded his life now; he admitted that. But strangely, he rather enjoyed the constant hum of activity that seemed to pervade Treymount House. Whether it was Portia’s raptures over a play she’d attended on Drury Lane, or Olivia’s recounting one of Ned’s colorful letters, or Juliet’s enthused appreciation for Demon, who was quite falling under her spell; Treymount House was no longer the austere, rather somber place it had become. Even little George, in his nankeen breeches, his pockets stuffed with string and bits of rocks and God knew what else, had made Marcus laugh on more than one occasion.

All in all, it had proven to be a very satisfactory arrangement. Except for one thing. His marriage. Marcus’s smile faded. Honoria was a conundrum of no small order. As passionate as any woman he’d ever been with, she met him willingly between the sheets—and anywhere else he cared to meet her. The truth was, other than when they were intimately involved, Marcus felt that Honoria was holding back in some way.

He stirred restlessly on the seat, absently holding onto the roof strap when the carriage rocked over a large bump of some sort. Had anyone asked him before his marriage what he thought the perfect comportment for a wife should be, he might well have used Honoria’s current demeanor. She was always pleasant, always composed, and always smiled when he came into the room, even if that smile was a trifle perfunctory.

However, with her brothers and sisters, he saw Honoria laughing at their jokes and teasing them mercilessly. He watched as she ruffled George’s hair and impulsively hugged Cassandra. And suddenly the words “composed” and “pleasant” weren’t enough. He didn’t want a pleasant companion. He wanted Honoria, as she really was. The one who argued and made cutting remarks. The one who gave an excited hop every time she outbid him at an auction.

The thought irked him more and more. It wasn’t that he wanted hollow protestations of affection, he thought crossly. He just wanted genuine… what? Emotion? Yes. That was it. He wanted genuine emotion.

He sighed, leaning his head back against the squabs. He’d thought at first that perhaps her demeanor was due to normal nervousness. But now, two weeks from the day of their marriage, she still seemed reserved, except when he had her in the throes of passion.