The Marriage Lesson (19 page)

“Why have you sent notes to the dullest, stiffest, stodgiest men in London encouraging their pursuit of me?”

“They’re respectable, not dull.”

“Hah! Even you don’t believe that.”

“I do.” He had the nerve to sound indignant.

“Then name one of them who is not one of the most tedious men on earth.”

“Just one?” he said in a haughty manner. “Very well.”

A moment passed. Then another. “I’m waiting.”

“I’m thinking.”

She folded her arms, mimicking his stance. “Well?”

“Give me a moment.”

“I have.”

“The specific name escapes me, but . . . ” He blew a long breath. “All right. I admit it. They are not perhaps the most exciting—”

“Perhaps?” She glared. “They are dull, stiff and stodgy. But you know full well that’s not the worst of it.”

“No, I suppose it’s not,” he muttered.

“You practically hawked me to these men.” She stepped to him and poked her finger at his chest. “You might as well have taken out an advertisement in the papers. Or put me on a little cart and gone door to door.” She jabbed again.

“Ouch.”

“Or set up a stall in the market.” She stabbed him hard.

“Stop that.” He grabbed her hand. “It hurts.”

“Marianne.” He stepped toward her. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Or how humiliating it is to realize that it wasn’t your particular charms that had enticed them but your dowry and family connections?” Angry tears fogged her eyes.

“It was a horrible mistake on my part.”

“Or how painful it is to learn someone you trusted, someone you care for, has so little regard for your own desires he would go to such lengths to get you off his hands?”

“I am truly sorry. It was wrong of me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“No, after that.”

He sighed. “I was wrong.”

“Say it again.”

“I was wrong.”

“How wrong?”

“Completely and totally wrong,” he said sharply. “Is that good enough?”

“For now,” she snapped.

Her gaze met his, and for a long moment they stared in silence.

“I must say, though”—the corners of his lips twitched as if he were holding back a smile— “it was the most amusing thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

“What was?”

“I fail to see the amusement in that,” she said loftily.

“Come, now, Marianne, admit it. You can see the humor in the situation.”

“I most certainly cannot.”

“It was as enjoyable as watching a farce at Covent Garden. Or a comedy by Shakespeare.” He stepped closer and pulled her into his arms, deftly turning her to press her back against his chest. Her stomach tensed at the contact. “Surely you can see it?”

“What are you doing?” She struggled to keep her voice level.

“Shh. The play is about to begin.” He waved his free hand in a wide gesture at the far wall. “There, on the stage, our heroine enters.”

“You’re mad, Thomas. I knew it on that first night,” she muttered, trying to maintain her annoyance. Nearly impossible, as she was all too aware of his body pressed against hers.

He ignored her. “She is lovely but far too stubborn for her own good, with an insane desire for indepen-dence and adventure.”

“It’s not insane.” Her protest was weak.

“And here come the eager suitors.” He waved at the other side of the unseen stage. “Oh, dear.”

“What is it?” she asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

“They will never do.” He heaved a deep sigh.

“Why not?”

“Well, just look at them.” He pointed. “That one is too plump. That one too short. That one has more hair on his knuckles than on his head.”

“Of course not,” he said indignantly. “She is a heroine, after all. However, they all have one flaw she cannot abide.”

She stifled a smile and relaxed against him. “They are boring?”

“Exactly.” She felt him shrug. “There is not an adventurous bone in their collective bodies.”

“So what does our heroine do?”

“This is where the amusement begins. Watch.”

“What?” His breath was warm against her neck and a shiver ran up her spine.

“Why, she picked up that gentleman and threw him off the stage!”

Marianne laughed. “She did not.”

“Indeed she did. And look!”

“What has she done now?”

“She kicked that one. Booted him right on his backside.” A grin sounded in his voice. “Surely you saw him fly into the audience?”

“She would never . . . ” She could barely get the words out for her laughter. “Never . . . ”

“And there, she felled two others with a single blow. Two!” He shook with silent laughter. “Damnation, she’s magnificent. She’s cleared the stage!”

Marianne sagged against him, helpless with laughter.

“The crowd is on its feet, roaring with approval. She bows to the audience, scattering kisses left and right. Flowers are tossed at her feet. The applause is deafening!”

“Now?” He stilled behind her. “Why, the play is over.”

“But what happens to her?” At once she knew they were no longer speaking of an imaginary production.

“I don’t know,” he said softly.

“Perhaps, as any good heroine would, she goes off to find adventure.”

“Perhaps.”

“Although”—she drew a shuddering breath— “it is possible our heroine has realized there may well be a great deal of adventure to be found right here.”

“Here?” His voice was quietly intense.

She twisted in his arms and rested her hands on his chest, his muscles solid beneath the silk of his robe. She reached up and brushed her lips across his. “Kiss me, Thomas.”

He shook his head but didn’t pull away. “I fear, dear heroine, that a single kiss will no longer be enough between us. Not here in my bedchamber. Not now.”

“Good.” She slipped her hands through the opening of his gown and ran her fingers over his chest. He sucked in a ragged breath and caught her hands.

“Marianne,” he said harshly. “I warn you. Do not push me too far.”

She pulled her hands from his and slid her arms around his neck. Trepidation mixed with excitement and she pressed her body closer. “Kiss me.”

His arms wrapped around her, even as indecision warred with desire in his eyes. “This is madness.”

“Is it?” She raised her lips to meet his.

For a moment his kiss was tentative, gentle, as if he were as cognizant as she as to the import of the moment. She trembled at his touch and a curious yearning swelled within her. A need so great as to steal her breath arched between them.

She slid her hands to his shoulders, marveling at the heat of his skin beneath her touch. His hands caressed her back and slipped lower to cup her buttocks and pull her tighter against him. She could feel the evidence of his arousal low against her stomach. Fear mixed with anticipation and pulsed through her blood and she ached with desire.

He gathered her gown in his hands, raising it higher and higher, until his fingers touched the bare flesh of her legs. She gasped at the intimate contact.

He stepped back and in one swift movement yanked her nightgown over her head and threw it aside. For a moment he stared, as if to memorize every line of her naked body.

“Thomas?” Heat rose in her face, but she resisted the impulse to cover herself with her hands.

“You are as lovely as I’d imagined,” he said in a voice low with desire.

He pulled her harder against him, his hands roaming over her back and her buttocks in a trailing path of pleasure. She slid her arms around his neck and twined her hands in his hair, needing him closer yet. He wrenched his mouth free from hers, scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bed.

They tumbled onto the mattress and at once were a tangle of arms and legs, a frenzy of taste and touch. She wanted—no, needed—to know every inch of him. And needed him to know her.

She kissed his mouth, his neck, his shoulders. She ran her hands over his back, his buttocks, his legs. Her hand brushed against his manhood and he gasped. And she explored the hard, velvet length of him.

He feasted on her shoulders and her throat and her breasts. His hand traced circles on her stomach and drifted lower to the curls between her legs. She tensed, for a moment fearful of what she wanted, what she needed. His fingers found her most private places.

She sucked in a hard breath. Sheer pleasure coursed through her. She’d never imagined such a feeling, at once overwhelming and yet not enough. Never enough. His fingers taunted and teased and maddening expectation coiled within her.

Her back arched and she pushed herself harder against his hand, crying out in frustration and desire. His lips fastened on hers and his tongue mimicked the motion of his fingers. She was adrift in a storm of spiraling ecstasy, desperate for more. For something indefinable just out of reach.

Without warning, waves of overwhelming sensation rushed through her in a torrent of exquisite release.

Thomas shifted to position himself above her, his hands braced on either side, his legs between hers. He stared into her eyes. “Marianne, are you quite sure . . .  ?”

He’d stop now if she asked him. She knew it, and her heart swelled. She rested her hand on the back of his neck, drew him downward and sighed his name. “Thomas.”

His manhood prodded at her and he slowly eased himself inside her. With a slow but firm stroke he filled her, an unusual but not unpleasant sensation. He withdrew and again slid deeper, then paused as if he could go no farther. At once, he thrust forward hard and pain shot through her.

She uttered a short scream and he clamped his mouth firmly over hers. Now he could stop! Panic rose within her. It hurt and she’d had quite enough! She tried to escape his grasp, but he wouldn’t release her. Wouldn’t stop. His movements were slow and deliberate and within moments the pain eased. Tentatively, she matched her movements to his. Discomfort vanished, swept away by growing pleasure. She met his thrusts boldly, eagerly. Again tense anticipation filled her.

For a moment or a lifetime they lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms.

And he murmured softly against her ear: “Sweet, sweet madness.”

Oh, certainly her future would be much different than she’d envisioned. But surely her dreams could expand to accommodate two adventurers instead of one. Realistically her adventures could not be quite as extensive as she’d planned—after all, Thomas had responsibilities right here in England—but she was willing to compromise. Still, regardless of anything else she may have believed heretofore, love may well be the grandest adventure of all.

He nuzzled her ear. She sighed with contentment and lifted her face toward his. His lips met hers, and for a long, breathless moment she forgot everything but the joy of being in his arms.

He pulled away and smiled down at her. “You need to return to your room before the servants are about.”

She laughed. “If you are concerned about my reputation—”

“I am indeed,” he said with mock solemnity. He kissed her once more, slid out of bed, plucked his discarded dressing gown from the floor and slipped into it. “It will not do to have my wife as the subject of idle gossip.”

She sat up, pulling the sheets around her. “Your wife?”

He grinned. “I shall make the arrangements today. We can get a special license and be wed before the week is out.”

A lovely wave of warmth washed through her. “You want to marry me?”

“Of course.” He found her nightgown and handed it to her.