The Marker (13 page)

Taking a moment to still his own racing heart, he followed Lexie back into the ballroom.

By the time he returned to the room and located her, she was already dancing with someone else. Sighing, he stood by the wall to watch her. Of course it had only taken her a moment to find some eligible bachelor to take his place. He consoled himself with the idea she would be going home with him, and only him, and waited for his turn.

As the dance ended, Lexie extricated herself from her dance partner’s arms, and he caught her eye. She smiled and began moving toward him. Then he heard the hushed female voices, and something in their tones made Nicholas turn and pay attention.

“Do you know who that woman is?”

“No, but you saw who she arrived with.”

“And
what
is she wearing? Dressed like that, it’s no wonder all the men are paying such particular attention to her. Just another gold digger.”

The other woman laughed. “Harlot is more like it. Did you see with whom she spent her time? Our governor, George Wallingford? Nicholas Wetherby? Womanizers, the lot of them.”

Nicholas realized he had lost Lexie in the crowd, and hoped she hadn’t heard the vile women’s comments. Not for the first time tonight, he regretted his reputation, wished others thought him an honorable sort, wished he hadn’t been so consumed with taking his pleasures that he was worthy of a woman like Lexie. And when he caught sight of her, she had stopped short and blanched, her hand coming up and splaying across her chest, a futile attempt to cover her bosom. She’d heard. Damn the vile women. Every woman in this room was but a pale shadow when compared to her. He wanted to tell them so.

Clenching his jaw against the bright flash of anger surging in him, he approached her and took her by the elbow. He would never tell her that, in trying to cover herself, all she did was draw the eye, emphasizing the expanse of her creamy breasts against the bright scarlet of her gloves and her bodice. His breath caught in response to the beauty of her body—the soft, white flesh, the narrow waist, the gentle flare of her hips. He doubted he had ever seen such beauty.

Helen of Troy had nothing on Lexie.

He pulled his eyes up to her face and caught her eying him warily, her obsidian eyes glittering. It took him a moment to realize they were heavy with the weight of unshed tears, and he felt like a cad for paying more attention to her bosom than to her feelings.

Granted, he’d
always
paid more attention to a woman’s bosom than her feelings. That’s how he’d gotten his reputation in the first place.

“Don’t mind them, Lexie. You’re beautiful,” he whispered, studying her small, slightly round nose, the gently arching black brows, the large, round eyes. Everything about her was smooth and round—there was nothing sharp about her. Her softness made her irresistible. He reached out and stroked her cheek in front of everyone, and for a moment they may as well have been the only two people in the room. She surprised him by allowing it.

Lexie looked up at Nicholas. When she had first approached him, he had been staring at the very bosom so offensive to the women. Between the comments of the women and the appearance of her fiancé, Lexie wished she had never come. She didn’t belong here, among these people. These were people of culture, powerful men and the women who stood behind them. She was better suited to being Nicholas’s maid. At least she knew how to dress the part.

Then Nicholas called her lovely, and all her melancholy thoughts evaporated. No matter what the others thought of her, she was lovely to him, and the thought warmed her heart. When he stroked her cheek, his fingers warm against her skin, she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

A moment passed, then another, before she remembered where she was and stepped back. If Buchanan saw this intimacy swimming between them, in his anger, he would do something rash. She had witnessed his temper for the first time tonight. If he had been willing to accost her on the balcony as he had, steps away from powerful men where anyone could interrupt them, she had no idea what he would do in a more private setting. Tell Nicholas of their relationship, certainly; challenge Nicholas or beat her senseless, possibly. And if he told Nicholas of their relationship, Nicholas would see her for what she was. A whore. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t one, given that she had agreed to marry a man she didn’t care for in exchange for money. More than anything, she didn’t want Nicholas to think of her that way.

Nicholas stroked her elbow with a feather-light touch, dotting her arms with gooseflesh. Softly, he said, “Don’t let them get the best of you. You’re better than they are. Dance with me once, show them they aren’t worth your pain, and then we’ll go.”

She frowned at him. She wanted to go home, crawl into her bed and pretend this night had never happened. Then she had to strike that—what she wanted was to go to Nicholas’s home, go up to his magnificent library and hide. Her own home held no draw for her. Glancing away from Nicholas, she found the women who had been so offended by her presence standing behind him. They regarded her with judgment in their eyes and sneers on their faces. She decided Nicholas was right. She might be just a maid, and maybe she didn’t know what to wear to such an occasion, but she didn’t deserve their disdain. They would not reduce her to a weeping coward. To hell with them, to hell with Buchanan. She was nobody’s whore—not his, not Nicholas’s, not anyone’s—and she’d dance with whomever she wanted until the day she married.

She flashed him her most winning smile and accepted his hands. If she ran away, ‘they’ won: Buchanan, the women who called her harlot, her father. No one would get the better of her. Those people might hurt her, but she would be damned if she let them see it.

They said nothing as they danced. In truth, the dance required regular partner changes, so they actually danced together for little more than a moment. But as Nicholas reclaimed her toward the end of the dance, he quirked a smile, and asked, “Feeling better?” And when she smiled up at him, her fingers grazing his arm, he said with a roguish grin, “No need to flirt with me, Lexie. You’ve had my full attention all evening.”

“Ha!” she burst out. She’d watched him flirt with other women. She rather doubted any woman could hold Nicholas’s attention for an entire evening. Then she scratched the thought. He may have flirted with other women, but his attention had always returned to her, measuring her reaction.

Perhaps, she really had had his attention all evening.

He caught his lower lip with his teeth, the action drawing her eyes to his mouth, and he said in his most seductive tone, “What, were you perchance jealous? I never would’ve thought you had cause.” His tongue darted out, and he licked his lips, tempting her to taste him.

“Bah!” she responded, even as the memory of his taste in her mouth flooded her. She tried to push it away, but the alcohol she had consumed emboldened her, made her brash. Practical Lexie had ceased to exist, replaced by a flirtatious, brazen woman who knew exactly what she wanted. And what she wanted, for tonight anyway, was Nicholas and his all-too-familiar attentions.

He escorted her to the front, retrieved her wrapper and placed it on her shoulders. He graced her with such a sweetly boyish look she had to laugh, her laughter ringing out in the empty foyer. He smiled, tweaked her chin, and her eyes rose to his mouth again, her lips parting softly, awaiting his touch. She caught him looking, but he merely tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and walked her to the waiting carriage.

Assisting her into the carriage, he took a seat next to her, his large body brushing up against her thigh, entirely too close. The low lighting of the carriage, the closeness, the enforced proximity to him felt intimate.

She should have moved away. She should have rejected him when he took her hand, threaded his fingers through hers, and rested it on his thigh. She should have kept her gaze lowered, been demure and appropriate. She should have done a lot of things, would have done the right thing if she had been thinking about propriety, her reputation or her future. But she wasn’t.

She was thinking of Nicholas’s mouth and wanting it on hers.

So when she looked up at him, her eyes rose to his full, lush mouth, and those lips curved into a seductively sensual smile. Something fluttered in her stomach, desire uncoiling. Her breathing quickened, her lips parted, and her tongue snaked out to wet her lips, a call as old as time.

Nicholas knew enough of the ways of women to recognize it for what it was.

Even as he saw her subconscious call, he wondered if she would ever be his. Something had happened between her and Buchanan—he only had to take one look at the horrified expression on Lexie’s face to know something unpleasant had occurred—but she had kept her silence. What kind of woman would allow a man like Buchanan to get away with whatever he’d done? How could maintaining her vow of silence mean more to her than speaking the truth? The woman had fortitude. If she wouldn’t talk to him then, not even to punish the man who hurt her, if her pride meant more to her than justice, nothing he could do would bring her back to her voice.

He had to concede defeat and let her go.

Tilting her chin, he pressed his lips to hers. He meant to end it there, but Lexie’s body melted into his, her lips parting as she welcomed him. Unable to resist the desire to taste her, he slid his tongue into her mouth, gliding deep, running his tongue against hers. He could have stopped then, but she began to suck gently, tugging him so deep inside the moist heat of her mouth he nearly came undone.

Nicholas broke the kiss, his lips trailing down her neck, and she tilted her head to give him better access. Clutching him, she slid from the bench and on to the floor with him, kneeling as he was kneeling, pushing her body into his, her body swaying with the movement of the carriage, but she was so damn graceful that what would have been jarring for any other woman became a sinewy, seductive dance.

He laughed, delighted by her aggressiveness, knowing she wanted him in the same way he wanted her. He relinquished the sweetness of her neck to study her. Her eyes were closed, and as he studied her face, his breath caught in his throat. Her mouth was slicked from his kisses, her face flushed from their love-play. Those creamy breasts heaved with every breath she took, drawing his eyes. She was black and rose and cream, and so beautiful she made his heart ache.

She opened dark eyes hooded with lust. Circling her body with his arms, his hands found the buttons of her bodice. Dropping his head, he kissed the tops of her firm, white breasts while his hands worked the buttons at the back. She groaned and held his head there, as if she couldn’t get enough. He loved the sound of her voice, the breathy, sexually charged moan that made his cock, already hard and aching, jerk in response. He would never be able to get enough of her. Even if he were able to bed her tonight, he would want to bed her tomorrow, and the night after that. The woman couldn’t have been more perfect.

A perfect match for him.

He pushed the thought away as he slid his hands down her shoulder, her bodice sliding from her body. She opened her eyes, and for a moment he wondered if she would stop him now that her bodice hung limply from her. He groaned when he saw her corset and the satin chemise beneath. He had wondered what she wore beneath her corset—simple linen or a more delicate satin, pale and soft. Like her. He was pleased by her choice.

As she regarded him with those dark, impenetrable eyes, he was certain she would back down. Although he had been intent on courting her, here he was, undressing her like the womanizer he was. She had every right to stop him. She
should
stop him.

He should stop himself.

So what she did next surprised him.

Her gaze holding his, she shrugged her way out of her bodice, set it aside, and reached for him again.

He could not refuse her. Taking her into his arms, he kissed her lips, his tongue sliding into her mouth to couple with hers. His hands found the straps of her chemise, pushed them off of her shoulders, stroking and teasing her breasts where they were exposed. God, she was lovely.

He should stop himself.

But she didn’t protest when his hands moved to the busque of her corset, undid the top several hooks, and exposed her breasts. He ran his hands over her nipples, which hardened beneath his palms, and circled his thumbs around the taut buds. She moaned and arched into him, fanning the flames of his desire, so beautiful and perfect and exquisite. Though his honor protested he should stop, he was unable to deny her, unable to turn away from the passion in her eyes and the heat of her touch.

In this moment, she was his, and he was hers in a way he had never belonged to woman. He was locked in her thrall and powerless against it.

He leaned back to look at her. Her gown askew, her lips slicked and swollen from his kisses, her rosy breasts exposed, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He cupped her soft flesh in his big hands, kneading softly, but kept his eyes locked on her face and the passion he’d put there. “You’re so beautiful, Lexie,” he groaned.

He bent his head and took a hardened nipple into his mouth.

She gasped in a voice rough with passion, and he knew he had her right where he wanted her. He licked and suckled and kissed the soft flesh, and she threaded her fingers through his hair and held him fast. He ached to touch her soft skin, ached to be inside her. Imagined her stretched out on the bench of his carriage and welcoming him into the haven of her body. Such a gift...such a gift would mean more to him than all the gold in the world.

He’d give his entire fortune to have it.

He should take what she offered.

The carriage gave a rough, unexpected lurch, and she crashed into Nicholas’s body. When they regained their equilibrium, he gave a breath of laughter and helped her right herself. He leaned in to kiss her gently, but that one interruption had given him pause. They had to be nearly at his home. While Nicholas’s footman would never interrupt, for the man knew enough of Nicholas’s habits to understand when it was permissible to open doors—which, when Nicholas had a beautiful woman in his coach, was, precisely,
never—
he also realized he could never do such a thing to Lexie.

If she didn’t immediately descend upon their arrival, his servants would speculate. She was an honorable woman and an innocent. What kind of cad would take her in the back of a carriage on the way home from what was likely her first ball? She’d had quite a lot to drink tonight. He still smelled it on her breath. When he took Lexie to his bed—and he would—he wanted her to be as present as he, to wake in the morning with no regrets. He feared if he bedded Lexie tonight, she would regret it. Again, he imagined her stretched out on the bench of his coach, naked and glistening, her legs gloriously spread as she welcomed him, and his shaft ached. He closed his eyes and pushed the thought away. He would never have Lexie regret her time with him. Selfishly, he admitted it was because one taste of Lexie would never be enough.

He assisted her on to the bench, righted her gown, covered those delicious, perfect breasts with her chemise, and began fastening the hooks and eyes of the busque of her corset. He was surprised his hands shook like a lad’s when he placed her chemise back in place. And when he put her bodice back over her shoulders, he noticed she didn’t move to help him. Rather, she looked up at him with her long-lashed dark eyes glittering with hurt.

As he caressed her bare shoulders with the tips of his fingers, he whispered, “We’re almost home, Lexie. You need to get dressed.”

Her body ached for more of his touch. A strange pressure in the pit of her stomach and at the juncture of her thighs cried out for more of him. She’d never experienced anything like this before. When he touched her, her heart danced in her chest, her skin tingled, and shivers ran down her spine. Yet he turned from her? Had she been so pathetic he didn’t want her? Could it be the notorious womanizer was
refusing
the favors of a woman, freely given? How could that be?
She
didn’t want to stop. Why did he?

His fingers skimmed over her shoulders, righting the bodice, and she shivered at his touch, the sensation of his skin against hers. He turned her body and began fastening the buttons. Bending close to her ear, he whispered, “You are so beautiful.”