He’s a good man. A loyal one. He’d never break his vows.
At the same time, she knew what a hot-blooded man he was, and he hadn’t been to her bed for over a month. During the entire length of their marriage that had never happened before. Even when she had her monthly flux, he slept with her, cuddling and tucking her in close. And the fact that they couldn’t make love in the usual fashion during those times didn’t stop them from pleasuring one another. Her nipples tingled beneath her flannel robe as she recalled the last time she’d awakened Marcus with a kiss, his sleepy growl as she’d taken his morning cockstand deep into her mouth…
God, she missed him. And he was just next door.
True, he’d told her to stay away, to give him space until such time as he was ready… but it’d been two weeks already, and he showed no signs of thawing toward her. Perhaps he needed a nudge, a reminder of the love they shared? If this frosty state of affairs between them was allowed to continue, he might freeze her out completely… and then where would she be?
No, she thought, chewing on her lip, she had to nip things in the bud before they worsened. But how? What was the best approach to take with a husband who was furious and had every right to be?
What she needed was… an excuse. A reason to go to him that wouldn’t seem like a willful infringement of the boundaries he’d set between them. Something that wouldn’t anger him further. Standing before her vanity, she flipped through the possibilities. He’d wanted her to carry on with her roles as mother and marchioness… so some household problem she needed assistance with then. She drummed her fingers against the vanity’s smooth surface, her perfume bottles rattling in their silver tray. A domestic quandary that her poor little female brain couldn’t handle without his help…
The annual winter ball. Perfect.
Why the blooming hell didn’t I think of this earlier?
Hurriedly, she checked her appearance in the looking glass. Her hair was still drying from her bath, tumbling in loose waves down her back—just the way Marcus liked it. Knowing his preference for natural beauty, she pinched her cheeks to add color rather than applying paint. Her eyes were already bright with nervous anticipation, so there was no need to do anything there. She spent another ten minutes going through her wardrobe before changing into a peignoir and slip made of ivory satin. Although demure in color, the matching set had a sophisticated cut and was edged with sensual lace, providing a dramatic foil to her dark coloring.
She paused at the door between their adjoining bedchambers. Given the state of their relationship, it seemed too bold to enter that way, and if he’d locked that private door against her, she didn’t want to discover that painful knowledge. Blowing out a breath, she headed out toward the proper entrance to Marcus’ room.
She found his door slightly ajar. She rapped quietly, and when there was no response, she exhaled, pushed through, and entered. The chamber was empty.
“Marcus?” she called.
No reply. Had he come home—only to go out again? Had she missed him because she’d taken too long choosing her blasted outfit?
Swallowing her disappointment, she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Not just yet. The familiarity of his bedchamber wrapped around her like a blanket. She loved this room because she’d spent considerable effort decorating it, searching for and finding the exact right pieces to create a refuge both masculine and comfortable for her husband. She’d chosen a subtle pale grey-on-grey damask for the walls, a rich navy Aubusson rug to grace the floor. The handsome mahogany furnishings suited Marcus’ preference for clean, classical lines.
She trailed her fingertips down a poster of the heavy tester bed and over the crisp linen sheets. She leaned over to smell his pillow, the scent of musk and sandalwood pressing on her bruised heart… and that was when she heard the noise. A faint splash.
From the bathing room.
You should go. Leave him to his privacy.
Her feet showed no intention of following her head’s advice, instead taking her toward the dressing room. She passed orderly rows of jackets and waistcoats, shelves of shirts and cravats that Gibson, Marcus’ valet, kept in meticulous order. She neared the door of the bathing chamber, which was partially closed, wisps of citrus-scented steam drifting out. The gentle lap of water drew her closer. She peered through the crack.
Marcus.
Blooming hell, he was gorgeous.
He was lying in the large copper tub at the center of the room, which was tiled in black and white. A fire crackled in the hearth behind him. From her vantage point, she could see his side profile, his dark, wet hair pushed back from his chiseled face. His eyes were closed, his head resting against the back lip of the tub, one sinewy arm draped along its edge. His splayed knees were visible, and the muscles of his other arm were bunching, flexing as…
Oh my goodness.
Her heart shot into her throat. At the same time, molten heat flooded her sex, her nipples prickling against her satin negligee. Because she’d caught her proper husband in the act of doing something unexpected.
Unexpectedly naughty, that was.
Was he thinking of her… or someone else? At the latter thought, fire leapt inside her, possessiveness feeding into her arousal. Because Marcus was hers—and if he didn’t know that, then she would have to prove it to him.
Chapter Nine
“Ride me, love,” he growled.
With his back against the headboard and his hands clamped on his wife’s sweet arse, he urged her on—not that she needed much encouragement. Goddamn, he’d married a hot little vixen. She wriggled her hips, grounding down, and the feel of her tight sheath taking his cock to the root nearly drew his fire. But he held on, wanting to prolong the pleasure, the joy of introducing his beloved to her first good fucking.
For the first three months of their marriage, he’d made gentle love to his new bride, not wanting to scare her or offend her delicate sensibilities. He’d planned to introduce her slowly to the more adventurous delights of the marital bed. But his marchioness turned out to be an eager pupil, and each time he bedded her, the passion between them flared ever hotter. Tonight he’d judged her ready to try a new position… one that would become as necessary as it was pleasurable as the months went on.
One of his hands moved forward to rest possessively on the slight swell of her belly. She was hardly showing, yet the idea of her ripening with his child filled him with a potent combination of tenderness and lust. He didn’t know why, but the sight of his pregnant wife made him randier than hell.
As luck would have it, being with child seemed to affect Penny in the same way.
“Marcus.” His name had never sounded better than at this moment, her voice breathless as she bounced on his erection, her hair a wild and glorious tangle over her shoulders. “Oh, I’m so close…”
Hell, he should have had her astride him weeks ago.
“Lean over, there’s a love.” He slid his palms up her smooth shoulder blades, pulling her closer to his chest. “Take me like this.”
He saw and felt the moment that the new angle hit her: flames leapt in her gorgeous eyes, her cheeks flushing as she sank down on his shaft, her lips forming a soundless O as her pussy gripped his rod like a velvet fist. Lungs straining, he guided her hips, grinding her against him, rubbing her little love knot against his cock with each plunging stroke.
“Marcus... I can’t… it’s too… oh my God.”
She came, her sex milking him, bringing him to the edge.
Marcus’ eyes snapped open.
He became aware of several things at once. His lungs were pulling harshly, his burgeoned cock throbbing in the wet fist of his own hand. He was a hairsbreadth from shooting his seed… but something had jolted him from his fantasy.
A sound, a furtive movement.
He hastily released himself, water sloshing as he sat up. He’d told Gibson, his valet, to give him privacy. The man had been with him through the wars and usually followed orders as well as any soldier.
“That you, Gibson?” he called out. “I’m not finished yet. Come back in a half hour.”
No reply. Had he imagined the noise?
After another minute, Marcus relaxed and sank back into the hot, sudsy water. Absently, he stroked his still rigid shaft… but the mood had been broken. Anger now simmered along with arousal, a frustrating and potent mix.
Why in the devil was he fantasizing about Pandora? After her betrayal—the lies that had destroyed everything he held dear—he should want nothing to do with her. She’d manipulated him for the entire length of their marriage, and he probably didn’t even know the full extent of it. Hell, he didn’t want to know. What man wanted to discover just how much of a lovesick dupe he’d been?
At the same time, he couldn’t shake the image of her on her knees, begging for his forgiveness. What she’d shared of her past made his chest clench. If she could be believed—the operative word being if—then the suffering she’d known… He rubbed his hands over his steam-slicked face, swamped by a feeling of protectiveness that he couldn’t control.
He wanted to kill that bastard Octavian for coercing Penny, a bleeding ten-year-old orphan for Christ’s sake, into the dirty business of espionage. She might not have called it coercion, but to Marcus it was. She’d had no other choice—besides stealing or starving, that was, and he didn’t count those as real choices. Octavian had taken advantage of her, trained her to do his filthy bidding. Marcus wanted to tear out the man’s bloody throat for treating his Penny that way.