His mouth devoured her, taking her in an imitation of the way his body wanted to, and one hand came up between them to cup her breast. Her flesh was supremely sensitive, as if every nerve in her body were on the surface of her skin, reacting to the slightest movement. He slipped his hand down the front of her dress, impatiently shoving past the material that kept him from what he wanted. He caressed her bare skin, his finger teasing at the hard fleshy nub of her nipple, and Mary felt moisture flood between her legs. She trembled, afraid that at any moment her knees might give way and she would simply ooze down to the floor, a melting puddle of desire.
But his other arm was like iron around her, holding her up. He lifted his head and gazed down into Mary’s face. With an inarticulate noise, he bent to kiss her throat. Making his way down the tender column, he kissed and nibbled, using lips, teeth, and tongue, driving her desire ever higher.
He cupped her breast in his palm and bent to take her nipple into his mouth. Gently, firmly, he suckled her, his tongue curling around her nipple, stroking it with velvet heat. Hunger pulsed in Mary. She felt empty, aching to be filled by him, and she remembered the glorious sensation as he had pushed into her, stretching her, making her his. She wanted to feel that again, to know him, to hold him, to wrap her entire being around him, and she shook with the tension and the need.
“Mary … please …” he murmured, kissing the soft flesh of her breast, his hand sliding in between her legs, cupping her. “Let me… .”
His fingers moved insistently, arousing her through the cloth of her dress, and she could feel the need building within her, spiraling toward an explosion of pleasure. Mary could feel her awareness dimming and contracting, focusing solely on throbbing hunger. It was coming; she felt as if her being was reaching for it.
“Sweet.” His voice was low and thick. “My sweet Marigold. My wife.”
Mary stiffened, cold reason returning in a flash. She jerked away. “No!” Her body still pulsed with desire, her skin quivering, but she ignored the sensations.
“Mary!” Dazedly, Royce took a step forward, reaching toward her.
“No.” She jumped back, hastily pulling up her dress to cover her naked breast. “Stop. You cannot win every argument this way. I told you before—I am not going to marry you.” Mary whirled away.
“That’s not why—” He cursed roundly and started after her. “Damn it, Mary, you will marry me.”
She turned, her eyes bright, her color high. “If you believe that, then you don’t know me at all.”
For the next few days, a quiet war raged between Mary and Royce. None of the other inhabitants of the household understood it, but it was inescapable. When Royce entered the room, Mary found an excuse to leave. If being together was unavoidable, such as at dinner, the air between them was frosty, their questions perfunctory, their answers short and clipped. Mary did not ride with the others. Royce, on the other hand, was apt to stride out of the house frequently, a grim look on his face, and set off for a long solitary ride. And if anyone tried to broach the subject of this sudden animosity with either participant, he or she was met with a cool stare and a denial that anything untoward was going on. Only Rose understood the cause of the strife, but she remained as silent as Mary.
The icy tension prevailing at Willowmere was broken when the earl’s carriage came rolling into the yard a few days later. Word spread throughout the house, and everyone came to greet the new arrival. Oliver strode in, his disreputable-looking mutt trotting at his heels, and shrugged out of his many-caped driving coat. As he handed it and his gloves to the footman, the Bascombe sisters appeared in the hall, followed by their chaperone.#p#分页标题#e#
Lily let out a squeal, “You have brought Pirate!”
With a sharp bark, the dog darted over to the girls and proceeded to go through his entire repertoire of leaps and twists, all the while yapping joyously.
“I tried to leave him behind.” Oliver looked at the cavorting animal. “But the household staff begged me to take him, and I couldn’t refuse. He has broken two lamps, three vases, and a fire screen since he arrived at Stewkesbury House. And the shoes he’s chewed through are too numerous to mention. I didn’t mind losing the slippers Aunt Euphronia gave me, but I was damned fond of that pair of boots.”
Mary chuckled. “One wonders you haven’t put him out, then.”
“Oh, I could not do that. It’s far too entertaining watching Hornsby try to hide everything from the animal. So far Pirate has proved slyer than my valet—a not inconsiderable feat.” The earl allowed a small smile as he came forward. With a snap of his fingers to Pirate, the dog fell silent and sat down, the stump of his tail still wagging. Oliver bowed over Mary’s hand. “Cousin.” He repeated the gesture with each of the girls, then turned to his brother and shook his hand. “Fitz.”