The Lady Who Came in from the Cold(25)

“I’m not done.” She drew a breath, squared her shoulders. “I… I have to tell you about… Pierre Chenet, Jean-Philippe Martin.” She had to force out the last. “Vincent Barone.”

“I don’t give a damn about them,” he stated. “They don’t matter.”

“They… don’t?” She stared at him, confused.

“I realized that after the Winter Ball. After I acted like a bloody fool, nearly bungling our marriage beyond repair, I realized that nothing matters but us being together.”

“But I thought… you… you said that things could never be the same between us. That you couldn’t forgive me,” she stammered.

“Can you forgive me for being an imbecile where Cora Ashley is concerned?” he returned.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then I can forgive you for the past. For things that were done before we were even together.” The flames in his blue eyes mesmerized her. “Now get your pretty arse over here.”

Her nipples tingled, but she held onto her remaining ounce of self-preservation. “Why?”

“Come here, and you’ll find out.”

It was a risk, she knew, but she couldn’t resist the command in his voice, the smolder in his gaze. She rose, closing the distance between them, taking those last ten inches into uncertain territory. She was a woman who’d stared death in the face more than once and run away laughing, and yet now she trembled as she stood before her husband.

He curled a big finger under her chin, tipping it up, and the tenderness that softened his hawkish features made her eyes sting.

“Pompeia, Pandora Smith or Hudson, whatever you choose to call yourself—I have loved you from the moment we met. Or, I should say, from the first time you revealed yourself to me. I have loved you every moment since, and I will love you,” he said solemnly, “until my dying breath and beyond. Because you are my lucky Penny, my wife, the other half of my soul.”

A sob worked its way up her throat; overwhelming joy and relief prevented her from speaking.

As it turned out, she didn’t have to. In the next moment, his mouth claimed hers in a kiss more eloquent than any words.





Chapter Twenty



Marcus swung his wife up into his arms and carried her to the bed.

With one knee on the mattress, he gazed down at her like the treasure that she was. Humbled by her beauty and strength and the fact that she’d pledged both so steadfastly to him, he cupped her soft cheek and whispered, “I always knew you were an angel. I just had no idea you were my own Guardian Angel.”

She flushed. “That’s doing it a bit brown. I just… lent a hand. When I could.”

“Darling, lending a hand is helping with my cufflinks. Adjusting my cravat. What you did at Toulouse and before Quatre Bras…” He shook his head, unable to express the feeling burgeoning in his chest. It was too much, too large to put into words.

“It doesn’t disgust you?” she whispered. “To know that I’m… capable of killing?”

There it was. That complexity of hers that had captivated him from the start. Mystery combined with candor, sultry confidence mingling with the sweetest vulnerability.

“Did you kill indiscriminately?” he said.

She shook her head.

“Murder innocents, babes in their beds?”

Again, her head rocked against the mattress.

“Then to know that you’ve killed turncoats and enemies of our nation? That you would kill to save my life?” Bending down, he brushed his lips against hers. “No, my love, it doesn’t disgust me.”

“I would do anything for you,” she said.

There was no hesitation, no shame in her words or the lush depths of her eyes. He couldn’t help but marvel at the woman he now knew her to be. She’d survived such darkness in her life, yet her love… it had always been clean and pure. The truest thing he’d known.

“God, I adore you,” he said roughly and possessed her mouth once more.

He’d intended to take things slowly, to make up for his stupidity and the weeks they’d lost because of it by making sweet and gentle love to his lady. But when her lips parted, her tongue luring him inside, he knew this would be no sedate reunion  . The kiss caught fire, heat searing his insides, and before he knew it they were tearing at each other’s clothes, fighting to get rid of anything between them.

“The chain,” she gasped. “The key’s in... the other room…”

“Damn the chain. There’s no escape for me or for you, my love. Not from the start. Not ever.” He tossed her robe over the side of the bed. “And now I have you exactly where I want you.”

Hunger reared in him at the bountiful feast that was his wife. Kneeling at her side, he dove right in, manners be damned, latching onto her sweet tits. Jasmine and neroli ignited his senses, his blood running hot and fast as he suckled her nipples, wetting them in turn, rubbing and playing with those decadent rosebuds while she panted his name.

His gluttony led him farther down, his tongue tracing the grooves of her ribs, the sultry indentation of her belly. His mouth watering, he clamped his hands on her white thighs, spreading them wide, and paused to gaze at her pussy. To admire the delicate ebony thatch and the peekaboo view of dewy pink flesh beneath.

Lust pounded in his head, his heart, his cock.

“Damn, I’ve missed you,” he muttered.

Too impatient to maneuver himself between her thighs, he simply swooped down and buried his head where he wanted it. The view was topsy-turvy, but being well acquainted with his wife’s lovely quim, he figured he knew his way around from any angle. He parted her folds, swiping his tongue into her honeypot, desire roaring through him as he lapped at her sweetness. Behind him, he heard her panted moans, and he doubled his efforts, exposing her peak, flicking the center of her pleasure in rhythm to his own thundering heartbeat.

Just when he thought things couldn’t get better, her hand circled his throbbing cock. She fisted him, tugging with just the right pressure to drive him mad. As he sought to return the favor of exquisite torture, she suddenly shifted, her head nudging beneath him and between his legs. He bit off a curse when her lips closed around his throbbing cockhead.

“Christ, Penny,” he groaned.

She’d pleasured him with her mouth in the past­­—and he’d always loved it, considered it a decadent treat. But this position was new for them. New and unquestionably erotic.

“Damn, I’ve missed you.”

Her throaty voice, throwing his own words back at him, sent a hot quiver up his spine. And that was before she got busy trying to cram as much of his cock as she could into her mouth. His hips moved, unable to resist the sweet and generous lure. He plunged deeply, groaning as he simultaneously buried his erection in her throat and his mouth in her cunny. The sound of her muffled moan, the feel of it vibrating against his turgid shaft, brought him right to the edge.

But he wouldn’t go over, not without her. He tongued her proud bud, working two fingers into her sheath at the same time. Her slick muscles clutched at his pumping touch, and when he felt her panting against his cock, unable to focus on what she was doing, he judged that she was there. Lost in the raw pleasure. He suckled her pearl, and she bucked against his mouth.

Gorgeous and wild. His Penny. All his.

In the next breath, he shifted direction. He was on top of her, face to face, front to front, the tip of his cock lodging against her soft, wet entrance. Looking into his beloved’s heavy-lidded eyes, her flushed face, he thrust himself home. Heat—lush and wet. Fire raced up his spine, incinerating his self-control. He drove into her, deep and deeper, and she responded by circling his hips with her legs, giving him more access. Giving him everything.

“God, that’s good,” he growled.

“Yes, my love. Yes.”

Her lips parted, and he took her mouth the way he was taking her pussy: hot and hard, nothing held back. Nothing but the joy of being how they were meant to be. Together, loving.

Her body heaved against his in perfect counterpoint. Soft against hard, sweat glazing their skin and heightening their closeness. Pressure burgeoned in his stones as they slapped rhythmically against her giving flesh. He was barreling toward his climax, and this time there was no stopping it. But he knew his wife and knew how he wanted to go over.

“Come again, Penny,” he grated out. “Take me with you.”

“Oh, Marcus, yes—”

The first spasm of her pussy made his neck arch. Groaning, he pounded into her, her passage wringing his length and demanding his bliss. Heat exploded from his balls, his seed boiling up his shaft and jetting from him in luxurious torrents. Even after the shudders faded, he couldn’t stop pumping into her, continuing to claim her with gentle strokes.

Looking into his wife’s sated eyes, he murmured, “How was that for making up?”

“Not bad.” Her lips curved in a saucy smile. “For a start.”

“You’re going to kill me, you know.”

He said this with a grin—because he couldn’t wait.



Penny woke slowly from a deep and luscious dream.

Only it wasn’t a dream.

Looking into Marcus’ warm blue eyes, his fingers sifting through her hair as she lay on her side facing him, she felt joy pervade every cell of her being. She had her husband back. After they’d made love last night, she’d fetched the key to free him, and he’d made love to her again, slowly and tenderly, before they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms.