My Wicked Marquess (34 page)

She stared at him in the reflection. “Why don't I come with you?”

“To an ironworks? And you think you're bored here?”

“I didn't say that I was bored.”

He held his easy smile in place by dint of will. “You will be if you come with me.” He backed away and began unbuttoning his waistcoat.

“I don't think so. I've never seen an iron factory.”

“It is a dangerous place, Daphne, full of roaring fires and noxious fumes. If you are with child, especially, it's best that you not breathe that tainted air.”

She dropped her gaze once more, as though she saw no point in even arguing with him. He was relieved, because of course he had no plans of visiting the ironworks.

“Very well, my lord. If that is your will.”

“Do you know what I think?” he murmured, returning to her after a moment. “I think you have been putting too much pressure on yourself of late. It's over now.” He kissed her head. “You can finally relax. You did splendidly. A man couldn't ask for a better wife. Even if he were to order her
out of a catalogue.”

She succumbed to a reluctant trace of a smile.

It seemed to warm the room—and Max's heart.

“There she is,” he whispered. “I know how to cheer you up. Shall I draw us both a nice hot bath?”

She sighed and looked away. “I don't know.”

“Maybe not a bath, then. I think I know what you need.” He slipped his finger into the back of her gown, sliding it along her shoulder blade. “A good, thorough loving.”

Her blue eyes flicked to his in the mirror as he began to rub her lovely white shoulders, bared for his touch by the sweeping neckline of her gown.

 

The ironworks, eh?
Daphne had her doubts, to say the least. The man had no idea that she despised him at the moment. Yet, it was the strangest thing. For, even so, his touch still aroused her instantly.

Oh, the devil. He had always had a talent for stirring her blood, even when she knew she should not want him. She refused to let the sigh that rose escape her when he bent and kissed her neck, ever so enticingly.

She almost offered up some dreary excuse—that she was too tired or she had a headache—but then she suddenly recalled how deeply her husband always slept after they made love.

What a wicked notion came into her mind just then.
Dared she?
Daphne went very still. As his slow, nibbling kisses moved to her earlobe, she thought abruptly of their battle over the sapphire necklace several weeks ago, and the extreme techniques he had employed to gain—he thought—her compliance.

That day he had shown up at her father's house, he had overwhelmed her in the parlor, refusing to go away until he had conquered her senses in a flood of mindless pleasure.

Well, my darling, two can play that game
. She closed her eyes, enjoying his sensual kisses. So far tonight, she had taken great satisfaction in knowing she had thrown her lord off balance with her music.

She had taken herself off guard, as well, but if he was
going to throw down the gauntlet to her like that in front of their guests, she was not about to answer like a coward.

Seeing him look so surprised and slightly uneasy with her stormy playing had been a marvelous victory, well worth the risk she had taken of making a fool of herself, playing for guests when she was years out of practice. But it had gone well.

Indeed, what an exquisite joy it was to know that, for once, she had rattled his supreme self-control.

Maybe she should continue in that vein, she mused, for his suave kisses traveling down her nape told her in no uncertain terms that her husband was still under the false impression that he was the one in control here, as usual.

We'll see.

It was time to turn the tables on the Demon Marquess, and beat him at his own game.

“I want you,” he whispered, raising goose bumps of thrill on her skin.

She gave him a sultry smile in the mirror and said, “I want you, too.”

 

When Daphne rose and turned to him, the devilish gleam in her blue eyes made Max wonder if she was spending too much time with him. Maybe he was rather a bad influence on her, he mused as Lady Rotherstone laid her hand on his chest and began backing him toward the armchair.

He went willingly; holding his stare, she pushed him down into it.

Max awaited her pleasure, his heart pounding. Her unusual mood added to the excitement, for him. She was unpredictable tonight, as though they were tapping into some new side of Daphne he had not been privy to before.

Maybe it had something to do with her playing the music, but clearly something had unleashed the woman's passion to a degree he had not seen before.

With that, she opened the placket of his trousers and lowered herself to her knees. She took him in hand and stroked him urgently, but Max was breathless when she lowered her head and took him into her mouth. Her moist, rouged lips
cradled his cock; her tongue laved his length and played against his tip.

The restrained modest frill on the cuff of his shirtsleeve trailed over her golden hair as he petted her head, watching avidly. He caressed the beautiful face making love to his member.

After a moment, quite transported, he laid his head back with an anguished groan of pleasure, relishing her ministrations. With each determined squeeze of her hand and silken stroke of her mouth, she drove him ever closer to the edge. His legs tensed. When he was on the brink of climax, she halted, cruelly.

She looked up with wet lips and glittering eyes. “Get in my bed,” she whispered. “Take off your clothes.”

He gave her a hazy-eyed stare, but he liked these orders very much. True, they shocked him a bit coming from his good lady wife. Still, what sane man would question it?

He smiled warily at her and did as he was told.

Maybe she finally felt safe enough to flex her sexual power with him; of course, if Max did not know better, he would have guessed she was as angry as hell about something. But then again, if she was angry, why was she all over him this way? She was not a calculating female.

Women.

He did not want to question it. He liked this hot intensity from her. As much as he loved his darling Daphne, this harder, more intoxicating version of her seemed to answer something deep within his soul. A need he had never shared because he just assumed a man couldn't ask that sort of thing from his wife.

From a mistress, maybe. But Max did not want anyone else ever again.

She sat back and watched him strip off his clothes and walk, buck naked, to her bed. As he lay back, she rose and came toward him, idly taking the ivory combs out of her hair, loosely shaking out her golden tresses. She did not remove her gown, but climbed onto the bed in a delicate rustle of taffeta. The fire's glow slid over the rich fabric with a fluid sheen, like dancing fire.

“Tonight,” she said as she moved toward him on the mattress on all fours, “I'm going to use you for my pleasure, Rotherstone. I just thought you should know.”

“Go right ahead.” As naked as the day he was born, he lay back on his elbows in a pose of invitation, his proud erection standing up tall in full salute at the lady's approach. He was quite ready and willing to be used as she saw fit.

She fluffed her skirts across his waiting body as she moved her thigh across his hips and straddled him.

God, in that red dress, she looked like one of Satan's minions, expert in seduction. Perhaps she had come to enslave him, Max thought. This was one temptation against which he knew he did not stand a chance.

He was trembling with anticipation for her as she leaned down slowly to kiss him. Reaching down between their bodies, she took his cock in hand, and with a frank lust equal to his own, guided him into her body, letting him stroke the source of her craving with the part of him made to satisfy it.

She moaned as his extraordinary size tonight proved just how much he liked this brazen side of her.

Once she had him deep inside her, she sat up and began to ride him. Watching the fierce pleasure on her face, Max wondered how he was going to last, especially after her attentions in the chair.

She rode him faster, baring her teeth, tossing her head and taking him in earnest now, just as she said she would. Max clutched her thighs; she braced her hands on his ribs, arching her back, having her way with him completely.

Overwhelmed with a crazed, sudden desperation for her breasts, he leaned up and fumbled with her bodice, got angry at it two seconds later, and tore the fabric open with a growl. He ripped away her stays, and as her plump young breasts bounced out to greet him, he feasted on her nipples like a starved man. “
Mmm
.”

She went still, reveling in his hands and his mouth all over her creamy bosoms. She clutched his head against her body, her erect nipples straining for his tongue.

Quavering groans escaped her, pure pleasure as he raked
the taut bud gently with his teeth. “Oh, Max.” She pressed him back down onto the bed a moment later with a stare full of wild hunger.

And she then proceeded to drive him completely out of his mind, touching herself as she resumed his helpless ravishment. Max could feel his control coming apart at the seams like a ship rocked on stormy seas. She was kissing, teething his stubbly jaw with a feminine snarl of pleasure.

No longer able to resist her, Max let out a low shout and lost control. The ferocity of her passion swept over him as she joined him in the extreme hinterlands of sweaty, heaving pleasure. Their bodies remained joined as she clasped him between her silken legs, milking him for every last ounce of satisfaction.

For a long moment, Max was incapable of speech.

He could not believe his little bride possessed such power, but she had fucked him into a blissful stupor. Now he was enervated, completely at her mercy, in her thrall.

She separated their bodies gingerly and left the bed. She went, he supposed, to change out of her ruined dress. He pulled the coverlet over his body, feeling almost too lazy to move; he watched her for a moment with a heavy-lidded gaze, a drugged smile on his lips as she let fall her ruined gown and crossed naked to the closet to get her banyan robe.

But his sweet Demon Marchioness had her way with him tonight. Before long, he had fallen into a spent and dreamless sleep.

 

Daphne stared at him for a moment longer while he slept. God, he was beautiful.

The bastard.

She had never seduced anyone before, but she thought it had gone well. She had experienced a wild, savage lust tonight, the likes of which she had never known.

Perhaps she felt a little dirty for what she had done, but she did not regret it. Indeed, she had enjoyed herself immensely, as had he, and after all, one had to fight fire with fire.

He would sleep now, deeply, just as he always did after
they made love. This, in turn, would give her a brief window of opportunity to find out what her man was hiding.

Regrettable, she thought, that she had to resort to this. Maybe it wasn't much of a war if he didn't even realize they were fighting. But when dealing with such a powerful foe as the Marquess of Rotherstone, she had to take whatever advantage she could steal.

Anyway, if he did not like what she had done tonight, he only had himself to thank. He was the one who had given her the idea.

Completely satisfied and a trifle sore between her legs, she waited one more moment until she was sure he was fast asleep, then she left her room silently, still dressed in her blue banyan robe. Carrying a single candle in a pewter holder, she crept down the dark passageway and into Max's chamber.

She sincerely doubted there was any urgent business at the ironworks, so now he had her wondering what else he might have lied about. The cutpurse at their wedding? The true reason for the enmity between him and the Carew brothers? The Inferno Club? His travels?

His love for her?

Tears filled her eyes at this last, new area of doubt, but she shook her head. Whatever lies he had told, she could not believe he did not care for her.

On the other hand, if he returned her feelings as he claimed, then how could he deceive her?

If he really loved her, why wouldn't he tell her the truth? Was it that awful?

She barely dared imagine what she'd find as she closed his chamber door behind her with the smallest sound, and braced herself to face whatever secrets he was hiding.

Maybe she'd regret this once she learned the truth, but she had to find out what was going on.

Her mind raced with dread at what she might discover. Nefarious business dealings? An illegitimate child hidden away somewhere? Some dark personal revenge?

At least she was fairly confident it had nothing to do with any other woman, for why, then, would Virgil be involved? But if she was wrong—if he was keeping a mistress some
where—Daphne vowed there would be hell to pay.

She crossed his dark chamber to the little niche with the vase displayed. She moved the vase away and set it on his bed. Then she held her candle closer and felt around inside the niche. She tried to push the curved back of it upward, the way she had seen it open earlier, but she could not get it to budge.

After a moment, she recalled the spring-loaded mechanism of the equally deceptive jewelry safe built seamlessly into the closet. She gave the alcove a small, sudden shove with her fingertips, and drew in her breath at the sound of a small click inside the wall.

It worked. Now she found she was able to slide the back of the alcove upward, so the whole back rolled up into the hollow part of the wall.
Ingenious
, she thought.

With the back of the alcove out of the way, the small shelf part where the vase had stood could be pulled out like a drawer.

Her heart pounding, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure the small noises she had made had not disturbed him. From the other chamber, all was still.