Drawn to the Marquess Read online

  He eyed her for several moments. “It must have been tiring having no one to lean on these past six years.”

  She huffed. “No more tiring than you carrying your secret.”

  “But women need someone to—”

  “Depends on the someone. I find I’m more than capable of looking after myself. And that is how I prefer it.”

  “Now you have me.” And just like that his purr was back. He smiled seductively and she could see the lion in him stretching. “I have been dying to ask if you slept well last night.”

  Blast the man. He knew very well that she hadn’t. “As well as could be expected”—she paused—“in a tavern bed.”

  He laughed and moved to sit beside her, taking her hand in his. The simple gesture made her feel warm and safe, and yet nervous all at once.

  “A few hours of privacy with you will test my honor. You don’t know how close I came last night to ravishing you.”

  He didn’t know how close she came to letting him. She looked into his eyes. Or maybe he did.

  His thumb was rubbing the soft skin between her glove and sleeve. Without taking his eyes from hers he leaned in and kissed her and she let him. She was not sure if it was because she wanted him to or because she wanted to take his mind off the task she’d set him. Coming to Seaford was making her plan very real.

  She let his kiss chase the shadows from her mind, and soon the heat and need overtook her. His lips were soft but strong, coaxing as well as demanding, and she wanted to do anything to capture the warmth his touch ignited in her blood. She barely noted when his hand skimmed down her gown and began to burrow under her skirts. She should object, but for some reason she did not want to. For once she gave in to her forbidden side and just let herself feel.

  His fingers stroked the flesh of her thigh above her garter and it was as if he was settling a spirited filly. His fingers created shapes on her skin and when his tongue melded with hers, she didn’t care that his hand swept higher up her thigh toward the place where no man except Carmichael had ever touched her.

  Her thighs parted as if they had a mind of their own. She tried to concentrate on the magic his lips were creating, but her body stirred, wanting something she did not think she’d ever want again.

  She struggled to keep her breathing even as she felt the heat of his hand press between her legs. She shifted on the squab and his lips left hers.

  Stephen looked down to where his hand was buried under her skirts. He then looked back to watch her face as one long, elegant finger slipped through the slit in her drawers and stroked through her slick folds. She wanted to close her eyes, lay her head on the squab and give over to his experienced ministrations, but something deep in his eyes held her spellbound. She could not look away.

  He watched her face as he flicked her skirts up over her knees to her waist, baring her drawers, and when he looked down she did too. She saw his hand, his whole hand was in her drawers, stroking her slowly, expertly, and the sight, feelings, and emotions almost overwhelmed her. She should stop him. She should not let herself feel. Control. She never lost control.

  “Beautiful. Your skin is like silk and you are so wet for me. Beautiful.”

  His voice stroked her body as much as his fingers. She moved her hips; she could not help it. She also could not stop watching what his hand was doing to her.

  A second hand was at her waist, and the tie to her drawers was being pulled undone. Her eyes flashed to lock with his, but she said nothing because she loved what his fingers were doing to her. With one hard tug he ripped her drawers, exposing her womanhood and his clever fingers to their gaze. She gasped for air and could not look away from the erotic sight.

  “So responsive. So much passion if you would only set it free,” he whispered in her ear before his lips traced butterfly-kisses down her neck.

  She could not look away from the sight and she inwardly admitted watching was—arousing. She swallowed back a moan of pleasure. She felt as if her body was on fire. She barely noticed that her hips were moving in time to his strokes.

  His long, elegant finger entered her and made his knuckles brush her hardened nub. It was both agony and pleasure.

  “Imagine how my tongue would feel instead of my hand.”

  An image of the statue in the garden flashed behind her eyelids and oh, my God she wanted that so much. A moan escaped her lips.

  “The idea arouses you. Good. Anticipation is an aphrodisiac. We shall leave that for next time.”

  Next time! She wondered if she’d live through this time.

  Never had her body responded to a man’s touch like it was now. She’d never experienced these sensations before. Every nerve in her body strained for a pinnacle she’d never reached before. She wanted to climb the erotic peak so badly.

  A second finger entered her, stretching her, and her body eagerly accepted it.

  “Keep watching. Look how your body coats me with your arousal. I can’t wait to taste you.”

  It wasn’t just the words he was speaking; it was the velvet purr to his voice. Deep and low, it emboldened her dormant senses.

  “No. Don’t close your eyes. Keep watching.”

  “I can…I can’t…I’m…Oh, God, I want…I want…I have to…”

  His fingers were moving faster and her hips moved frantically. She watched herself riding his fingers. She could barely breathe. Her heart pounded in her chest. He pressed his thumb against her hardened nub and said, “Just let go.”

  At the word “go,” her whole body convulsed. She was flying so high she thought she could see heaven and she watched as her body’s juices covered his hand. His fingers stilled deep within her, but his thumb kept up its circular movement until she had to close her legs to stop him, the sensations were too much.

  She slumped back against the squab, breathing heavily, and closed her eyes. She’d never experienced pleasure like this and tears slipped beneath her closed eyelids to run down her cheeks.

  She felt his tongue lick her tears away. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Did I hurt you?” he asked, horror in his voice.

  She shook her head, too choked up to speak.

  “Have you never experienced an orgasm before?” he gently prodded.

  Again, she shook her head.

  “Not even by your own hand?”

  She felt her face heat. How silly to be embarrassed by such a question after what he had just done to her—with her. She turned her head away from him. She’d never allowed herself to indulge in self-play because she was too scared. Too scared that she would let passion—sex—consume her again and make her do something stupid.

  She hated how she felt when she lost control.

  Yet she’d allowed herself to lose control with Stephen.

  Chapter 8

  Stephen gently gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed. Six years is a long time to go without sexual release.”

  She sighed and knocked his hand away. “Not when you’ve never known what an orgasm is. You don’t miss what you’ve never had.”

  He pulled her tight into his embrace. “If Carmichael wasn’t already dead I’d kill him.”

  He loved how she felt in his arms. His heart pounded in a different rhythm. He wanted to show her how wonderful pleasure could be. All of it.

  “Once I learned who my husband really was, there was no way I’d ever experience pleasure in his arms.”

  He helped her push her skirts down to cover herself.

  “Surely, you must have been tempted to share yourself with a man these past six years. Was there not someone special, ever? I cannot believe that no other man pursued you.”

  He held his breath. He’d almost thought Helmstone had been one of her lovers and the thought made him want to hurt his new brother-in-law, but after this moment he was sure she had never dis
honored her marriage vows.

  “I was a married woman. So no. I have never had sexual relations with anyone but Carmichael.”

  He might be losing his sight, but she had been without one of the most wonderful aspects of being human for the past six years. The ability to share oneself with another. The joy of sharing pleasure, of experiencing desire.

  “I might be going blind but you’ve been blindfolded and left in the dark for all of your marriage. I’m going to help you come into the light, so to speak.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “Then what happens when you leave? I will know what I am missing.” She shuddered. “I do not wish to marry again.”

  He watched her and understood she meant the words, but the idea of this woman being alone for the rest of her life ate at him. She deserved to be happy. To have the life she wanted and the children he knew she craved. “Surely, there is a man out there who would treat you the way you should be treated. You could even get a contract drawn up that precludes the estate and your assets.”

  “Perhaps. But your sister took the only man I had considered.”

  His body tensed. “Helmstone?”

  “He once told me that if I left Carmichael and petitioned for a divorce, that he’d marry me to protect me.” She shrugged. “I like Jonathan. He’s a wonderful man.”

  “No wonder you were upset at his marriage.”

  She shook her head. “No. I was happy. I could never have married him because I don’t love him and he deserved love. I wanted love, so how could I deny him the same? How could I deny him his chance to find the love of his life just to help me?”

  “Surely your brother or even I could help you find a good man.”

  Her wan smile said it all. Until she could trust again she would never allow herself to fall for any man. “I shall teach you how to pleasure yourself, then. Or better yet, take lovers. You do not have to marry to experience pleasure.”

  As he said the words his stomach recoiled. The idea of another man doing and seeing what he just did set his teeth on edge. He drew back to put some space between them.

  She patted her skirts back into place. “Maybe you are right. But I do not wish to become the scandalous widowed daughter of a duke. It is different for men. Being a rake is almost applauded.”

  “A gentleman rake, perhaps,” he said, smiling.

  “You are a nice man—for a rake,” she said with a smile on her face. A proper smile. One that reached her lovely green eyes.

  He loved her smile. It made him want to make her smile all the time. That thought made his smile dim.

  “Is the problem with your eyes the reason you are not married?”

  His smile disappeared altogether. “Why would you think that?”

  She shrugged. “If your father went blind, and you are going blind, then it would seem it is passed from father to son. I think I’m beginning to understand you. You don’t want to marry because you might father a child.”

  His lips tightened.

  She waggled her finger at him. “What I can’t understand is you take lovers. Isn’t that a risk? You could get one of them pregnant, or is any bastard child not relevant when it comes to blindness, only the future Marquess?”

  The words sent pain lancing through his body. “You are right. I’m very careful but there is no certainty when I have sex that I will not create a child. But if I marry, a wife would want children—demand a child. It would be expected for me to sire an heir. That is the difference.”

  Her eyes filled with pity and he had to look away. He glanced at the countryside as the carriage rolled by. “I think you would make a wonderful father and you would love them no matter their fate.”

  “But what happens when I am gone, or when I go blind? How could I protect them? That is the fear I live with when thinking of fathering a child.”

  “Well, aren’t we a pair. You don’t want children because you don’t wish to inflict blindness on your child, whereas I want children terribly, but not out of wedlock, and I won’t risk marrying again.” She gave a very feminine curse. “Life is not fair.” The soft words filled his heart with sorrow.

  He briefly closed his eyes.

  Her words sliced deeper. “I assume it’s also the reason you haven’t told your mother. I suspect she will be devastated.”

  “I think she will worry that my sisters might get it too.” Or that he would do what his father did. His mother would instinctively know what he would likely do, and he did not wish to put her through that again. “So far, none of them have symptoms and I had problems by the age of twenty. I think it must be only passed from father to son.”

  “Was your grandfather blind?”

  His head swung to face her. “Actually, no.”

  “So not every son goes blind. It isn’t every father and son. There is a chance your child won’t.”

  His fists clenched on his thighs as he fought with the hope. “It is not a risk I’d like to take. Just as you do not wish to risk losing control over your life and assets by marrying again.”

  She studied him for a moment. “I think it’s more than that.” She gave a sad sigh. “I think it’s that you could not bear to become a burden. Men are filled with pride. You think that is why your father killed himself—he could not face anyone’s pity.”

  Anger burned deep in his gut. “I don’t want to become dependent on anyone. I won’t be able to walk unaided, ride unaided, eat, read, et cetera. It would be like a prison. I could not bear to lose my independence.”

  “Now you know why I do not wish to remarry.”

  He swung around to face her, his fists clenched. “It’s not the same.”

  “Perhaps not, but my husband told me what I could wear, where I could go, what I could read, when I could go to bed, when he would share my bed, who I could speak to…And if I defied him…I understand what a prison feels like. Not all prisons have four walls and a locked door.”

  Sometimes he hated the world and this was one of those times. People could be very cruel. Life could be cruel.

  Her hand slipped into his. “I survived because I refused to let Carmichael win. I suspect that a man as strong as you can battle anything. Sight is a joy I cannot imagine being without, but you would still be able to hear your friends and family, touch and feel the beauty of the world. Surely, a man who has embraced all of life can still find joy in being alive.”

  He could not answer. He sometimes wondered if her words were true. Then he would think of all the things he loved doing and realize he’d be in a blind-induced prison. How could he gallop across the countryside blind? How could he play cards with his friends? How could he read the books that showed him the world he traveled? How could he protect those he loved? How could he—he swallowed back the fear—why would any woman want to have sex with him? Would he still be able to become aroused? He loved watching women in the throes of passion. He loved seducing and watching the magic that flared between two people. He inwardly laughed. At least he would not be able to see the pity in anyone’s eyes.

  Spending the rest of his life sitting in a chair, waiting for his valet to dress him, his servants to watch over his every move. No wonder his father ended it all.

  A shiver ran through Penelope. “Besides, aren’t you scared of what happens when you die? Perhaps this life is as good as it gets.”

  He’d never given much thought to the life ever after. The idea that he might be blind in the afterlife scared him about as much as going blind now.

  “I’m hoping God would not be cruel in his kingdom.”

  Penelope scoffed. “You believe in God? I for one am not convinced, and if there is a God I’m mad as hell at him.”

  And just like that he could smile again. She had a way of making the tense and morbid conversations lighter.

  “Seriously,” she added. “Life can be good even if you ca
nnot see. You can hear the birds, hear your family talk, the sound of the sea crashing against the cliffs. You can smell the freshly cut grass, the salt from the waves—”

  “The scent of a woman.”

  “Exactly. Life won’t be the same but it will still be life, just different. I think you’re the type of man who won’t let anything beat him.”

  Was he? Or was he a coward, scared to death of the encroaching darkness. He was his father’s son, after all, and his father had—he frowned—taken the easy way out.

  He looked out the window and noted they were coming up a long drive. “Hopefully, I have a few years of being able to see what’s in front of me at least. So now that we are at Helmstone let’s see if I can do one last task like saving you from the gallows.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” she said with a chuckle. Eyes still on his, she quietly said, “Don’t put me up on a pedestal. You’ll be sorely disappointed. I warn you now. Carmichael changed me into a bitter woman who looks out for only herself.”

  His face didn’t alter, but his eyes grew softer. His voice still held that magic purr. “Says the woman who is protecting someone. I don’t know who but it’s not you.”

  “What makes you say that? Why would I need to protect anyone?”

  “After my father shot himself I made a pledge. It caused my mother immeasurable pain. Not just his death, but the scandal that erupted because no one believed that he had been killed by accident. My mother stuck to that story. There was no way she was tarnishing his memory by letting the world know he had killed himself.”

  “Are you sure he did? You were very young…”

  “Because she hid the truth, rumors abounded.” His eyes locked with hers. “Many thought he’d been caught cheating in cards. Some said he’d gotten some local lass with child and she’d killed herself and he could not live with the shame. The stories grew in fancies. I had to go back to school with all the gossip hanging over my head. My mother made me swear I’d tell no one about my father’s eyes. Or his death. She loved him so much she wanted to protect him in death too.”