Masquerading The Marquess(41)

She brightened perceptibly.

"But don’t ever do it again." His aristocratic mien was back in place and she wanted to smack him. She balled her hands into fists instead.

"You can’t return home tonight," he said.

"I know."

He nodded and closed his eyes.

A wave of pent-up emotion washed through Calliope and she fought a hysterical giggle. She lost. One eye peeked open and he looked at her. He repeated her earlier question. "Are you all right?"

Another shrill giggle bubbled out and this time his other eye snapped open.

Hysteria whipped through her and it must have shown, because he swept her onto his lap, disregarding any pain in his left arm.

"You’re safe. Let it go."

His gentle words were her undoing. She buried her head against his neck and let the tremors sweep through her. The fear uncoiled within and she held on to him tightly, tears running down her cheeks unheeded. The stress that had been building since the beginning of the masquerade burst forth, as if waiting for just this moment to be released.

James ran his fingers down her back and stroked her hair with his left hand, comforting her as if she were a child, and whispering soft, incoherent words against her hair. He was using his injured arm to comfort her and that made her cry even harder.

Calliope couldn’t seem to stop. James was murmuring about stressful campaigns, battle-hardened men reduced to tears, her needing this release.

Calliope finally reached the sniffling stage, feeling infinitely better than she had in a long time. And safe. Nothing harmful could happen as long as he continued to hold her this way. James pulled her head back and smoothed her hair away from her face. She knew her eyes were bloodshot and her face was mottled, but James’s eyes were the same mesmerizing black velvet as the night of the Killroys’ and Pettigrew’s balls. Energy sparked between them and it sent a shiver down her spine.

James twirled a ringlet of her hair around his finger, then curved his hand gently around the back of her head, slowly drawing her toward him, allowing her time to settle back against his shoulder or pull away. The gentle caress and the intensity in his eyes were her undoing. She lifted her left hand and traced a path from his cheek to his silk collar. She heard his sudden intake of breath and her eyes searched and held his for a long moment. This man had somehow lodged himself into her being. His eyes mirrored her own need and a rush of excitement pulsed through her veins.

His lips touched hers like a feather. Then another mere brush. The gentle pressure on her head ceased and he looked into her eyes once more. He was allowing her time to make her decision, and once made, there would be no interruptions. Her heart made the choice. She relinquished her rigid control, shed all guises and gave in to the dream.

"Make me whole, James."

Her words loosened a dam within him, as he stroked the back of her neck and claimed her lips in a searing kiss. Calliope felt a sunburst in her stomach and she kissed him back with a longing she didn’t know she possessed.

It was heavenly, his spicy cologne, the feel of his lips against hers. He leaned into her and laid her against the sofa’s armrest.

He kissed her over and over like a starving man who hadn’t eaten a meal in days. Calliope felt the same way. Her hands delved beneath the edges of his white broadcloth, stroking the heated skin and exploring the hard-muscled planes she had observed earlier. He groaned.

Suddenly her shirt was unbuttoned and his hands slipped inside her chemise. He didn’t stop kissing her as he lightly rubbed his thumb over her left nipple. Everything blurred and little red and gold lights burst in her vision. She leaned her head back as he trailed kisses down her neck, over her breasts to her stomach. Her breeches had somehow come undone. Then they were gone. His hands and mouth were everywhere. Dear lord, his mouth was everywhere.

She gave in to the pleasure and arched on the sofa as her body reveled in the new sensations he stirred. He quickly removed the rest of her clothes and his. She gasped when she looked at him naked before her, all hard muscles and strong taut planes. Gone was the aristocrat, and in his place was her fantasy. And for one night he was hers.

His eyes seared her as he touched her with his hands. The inferno raged as he stroked her again and again, reaching his head down to pull first one nipple and then the other between his lips. Half the staff could have appeared beside the couch and she wouldn’t have cared. The pleasure was so intense she thought she might explode.

His eyes were molten and she wondered how she could have ever thought him cold. He continued the assault on her senses until she was damp and aching. She needed him to fill the missing piece.

"You’re beautiful. Beyond my wildest imaginings." He suddenly changed course and kissed her lips again, deeply, at the same time lifting her hips. She gripped the back of his head and kissed him hard, whispering against his mouth for him to hurry. She couldn’t remember ever needing anything so badly. He eased inside her and discomfort overrode the pleasure as she tried to adjust to the foreign sensation. He looked into her eyes, a question appearing in their depths, but she gave a tentative wiggle and they darkened. He continued to gaze at her, stroking her between their bodies until her wiggles became frenzied and the discomfort was forgotten.

Then he began to move. She lost all rational thought as the room lit on fire. A crescendo was building inside her unlike anything she’d experienced. Her body moved with a will of its own, pulling James closer, and matching him eagerly stroke for stroke. She cried out his name and heard hers echoed before losing all thought to the overwhelming waves of passion.



The grandfather clock in the hall struck three. He had been stabbed and shot, and he was feeling better than he could remember. James almost smiled.

What was it about her that made him feel? Feel everything: anger, passion, tenderness, jealousy. Vulnerability.

She was lying on top of him, long legs akimbo. James lifted a lock of honeyed hair off his chest and rubbed it beneath his nose and over his lips. The silky strands were a pleasant tickle. Lilacs. She always smelled so good. He replaced the lock and smoothed her hair from her face. Calliope sighed and snuggled closer. An overwhelming protectiveness stirred within him. It wasn’t the first time he had felt this way around her, but the enormity of it rocked him.

They had much to discuss. She had a number of questions to answer. But the pleasant lethargy was too nice to spoil, so he lay staring at the ceiling, allowing his mind to connect the pieces of the puzzle. Calliope wiggled into a more comfortable position and settled in for a lengthy doze.

No woman had spent the night in the townhouse since his father’s death. But Calliope looked right. There was no place he would rather have her be.

There would be plenty of time to talk in the morning.




* * *



Calliope woke feeling better than she could remember. She was more than a little tired. James had awakened her twice during the night. Once to carry her up to bed and the other time to… She couldn’t stop the blush staining her cheeks. The heavy red and navy curtains above her were plush and exotic. Like something brought back from the Crusades long ago. Calliope looked around at the mahogany furniture and rich dark colors. They suited their owner. The pillow next to hers carried a deep indentation that indicated it hadn’t been abandoned much earlier. However, James was nowhere to be seen.

She rose and searched for her clothes. Spotting only a deep violet gown lying across an armchair, she picked it up, running her lingers down the silk. A surge of jealousy swept through her. Whose gown was it? It was designed in an older, classic style.

Having no desire to walk unclothed through his household, she reluctantly put it on. Thankfully it was an easy gown to fasten, and she was able to do it without assistance.

On the dresser lay a beautiful silver brush set, which she used to comb her hair into some semblance of order. A matching violet ribbon lay next to the brush.

Negotiating the hallway, she found a staircase leading to the first floor. She headed for the study, made a wrong turn into the drawing room and then backtracked to find Templeton standing in the hall.

"I heard you come down, miss. His lordship is in his study. Please follow me, it’s right this way."

There was a deferential note in Templeton’s voice. And if she didn’t know better, she would say there was a more engaging manner in the way he addressed her.

He led her to the study, bowed and took his leave. She could have sworn there was a lighter hitch to his step.

Calliope entered the firelit room and found James staring at a ledger on his desk, his glasses perched on his nose. He stood when he heard her enter and removed the glasses. The heated look in his eyes warmed her to her toes as he approached.

"I hope you don’t mind wearing my mother’s old gown. Even though it is a bit outdated, I thought it might be a bit more fashionable and comfortable than your breeches."

His mother’s gown? Calliope felt her cheeks heat and cast her eyes downward. "Thank you." She suddenly felt shy.

He led her to the sofa and chairs that were grouped near the blazing fire. The same sofa that…

"Would you care for some tea? Biscuits? Something more substantial?"

Calliope shook her head and sat next to him on the sofa. He waved off Templeton, who shut the door behind him.