An Undomesticated Wife (20 page)

She smoothed it along her. It fit perfectly. A row of lace followed the plunging neckline that was more revealing than anything she had ever worn. Its gossamer material was as thin as the veil of the Dey's favorite concubine.

Marcus was standing beside the tent of silk when she walked back down the stairs. He came toward her, holding out his hands in silence.

“Is something wrong?” she teased, knowing life would be perfect in his arms. She offered him her hand, and he grasped it, pulling her roughly to him.

She gasped as the rough material of his waistcoat brushed her skin above the deep neckline of her gown. He paused as he stared along her. Each caress of his eyes was like a fiery spark until all of her burned.

Lifting her into his arms, he brazenly placed his mouth in the crevice between her breasts. She gave a sharp cry at the delight flowing through her with the heat of a desert wind as his tongue probed in search of hidden pleasure. Eagerly her fingers slipped past the open neck of his shirt to explore the muscles beneath the surprisingly soft hair twisting across his chest.

He carried her into the tent and leaned her back onto the blankets. Shrugging aside his coat, he pulled off his boots. He sat next to her and reached for the buttons on his shirt.

“No, let me,” she whispered as she pushed her fingers in front of his.

“My pleasure.”

“No, mine.” She loosened his shirt which was stuck to his body with the heat. When her fingers brushed his naked skin, she fought the temptation to rip the rest of the buttons off. Her body ached for the unity they had refused themselves far too long.

As his shirt dropped to the blankets, he pressed her into the silk. A soft moan escaped, unstoppable, when his chest caressed her skin. Gazing down into her eyes, he did not watch his fingertip slipping beneath the loose shoulders of her wrapper. He slid them along her arms, baring more of her breasts to his eager eyes.

She sat and whispered, “It's easier this way.” She untied the sash at her waist, letting the front fall away to leave her dressed only in her fine lace shift. Exulting in his admiration, she leaned forward until her skin found his.

“Since when do you do things the easy way?” he returned in a ragged voice.

“Since I have wanted something as much as I want you.”

With a moan, he pushed her back. His mouth seized hers, exacting every ounce of pleasure. Far more gently, his tongue teased her quivering lips open. As her hands moved along his bare back, she discovered the strength hidden beneath his clothes.

When his mouth trailed along the curve of her neck, she arched toward him, wanting every inch of him against her. His arm swept beneath her as he pulled aside her shift. She whispered his name as his tongue touched the curve of her breast. His ragged breath cooled the moist fires of his kisses as she tasted his ear. He moaned against the very tip of her breast, and she quivered, wondering how she could stand this pleasure.

Easily he drew off her shift. He drew her hand along him until her fingers settled on the waistband of his breeches. She undid the buttons and pushed them along his sturdy legs as she stared at the very masculine angles of his body. She never had guessed a man could be beautiful.

As he stroked her with his fingers and mouth, exciting the craving to a frenzy, she dared to explore him as intimately. She delighted in the hardness of his chest and the smoother skin below. When she murmured a breathy word, he paused in his avid kisses to ask her what she had said.

“It means ‘beloved,'” she whispered. “In Arabic.” Her words faded into a gasp as his fingers climbed the silken length of her leg to seek the heat searing every inch of her.

He delved deep within her mouth, and she writhed with the increasing need. His fingers continued to stroke her, sending out throbbing fervor to the very core of her being as he found her most feminine pleasures. He smiled as she moaned with the yearning no words could express. She pulled his mouth over hers, wanting to share the indescribable enchantment. Nothing existed but his caress as he taught her of the passions within her.

With her breath, harsh and rapid in her ears, she whispered, “With me, please, my love. Be with me.”

Her hands held his shoulders, willing him to satisfy this need which stripped her of every thought. A moan of exquisite pleasure fled from her when he brought them together to end the emptiness within her. Each movement, every subtle motion accelerated the ecstasy ripping through her.

He bent to taste her lips again. Rapture became intolerable anguish. She wanted more; she could not tolerate a second longer.

He gave a sharp gasp as she was captured by an ecstasy that shattered her into a million shards. Fire swept through her, melting her to the man who would hold her heart forever.

Something tickled Regina's nose. She smiled as she opened her eyes to discover she was caught in a web of silk. When she tried to shift away, an arm gathered her back against a length of naked skin.

“Do not leave, sweetheart,” Marcus whispered against her hair.

She batted at the silk. “I was just trying to get this away from my face.”

Stretching out his arm, he held the material higher. “Is that better?”

“Thank you.”

He released the silk. As she was about to retort, he rolled her beneath him. “This is a much better way to protect you, sweetheart.”

“But who will protect me from you?”

“Do you need protecting?” he murmured as he pressed his mouth against her neck.

The craving, which had been so sweetly satisfied, came to life anew. She sifted her fingers up through his hair as she whispered, “Only my heart.”

“And whom do I need to protect that from?”

“You.” She trembled when his hand grazed her breast and the truth spilled from her lips. “Because I love you, Marcus.”

“Then love me now, sweetheart.”

A pang sliced into her heart. “But do you love—?”

“No talking now, sweetheart,” he commanded.

She knew she should insist he answer her, but the pang became pleasure as he drew her into the enchantment once again.

Fifteen

Rain splattered against the roof as Regina woke. Although it had been raining fitfully for the past four days, she smiled. She could not miss the warmth of the sun when she had Marcus's kisses to warm her very soul. When they had been sent to the dowager cottage nearly a month ago, she could not have guessed they would find such contentment.

Looking across the bed, she realized she was alone. Over the crackling of the flames on the hearth below, she could hear Marcus walking about as he prepared breakfast. Her smile widened. Thank goodness he had not been averse to cooking for them. Otherwise, she feared, they would have starved.

This experience had convinced her she was right to have no more inclination to learn housewifely skills than before. Her single attempt at sweeping had been a near disaster. She did not like doing things she could not do well. Once they returned to London, the staff of the duke's household would assume the tasks that were necessary to keep the house running smoothly. She had more of an appreciation for their work and diligence than ever before, but had no interest in sharing those chores.

Slipping her white wrapper over her shoulders, she settled her arms in the sleeves as she came down the stairs. The scent of fresh eggs frying greeted her, but it was Marcus's arms that welcomed her.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, brushing her tangled hair back from her face.

She locked her hands behind his neck and smiled as he grazed her mouth with a kiss that recalled last night's passion and offered the promise of more. “Good morning,” she answered, a lilt in her voice.

“You look as if you slept well.”

“Really?” She tickled the skin behind his ear until he pushed her fingers aside. With a laugh, she said, “I did not sleep very much.”

“Then”—he kissed her again—“the lack of sleep looks lovely on you.”

The crackling of grease sent him back to his cooking. She followed as far as the table. Sitting, she asked, “Where did you get eggs?”

“I stole them.”

“You
stole
them?”

He laughed as he spooned some of the eggs onto a plate and put it in front of her. “Are you surprised because you didn't think the son of a duke would stoop to larceny?”

“I honestly did not think you could sneak in and out without alerting someone.” Taking a bite, she smiled. “I hope you intend to repay the farmer whose henhouse is a few eggs leaner.”

“This farmer can afford to give us these eggs.” He served himself and sat across from her.

“How do you know?”

“Because I stole these from one of the coops at Attleby Court.”

When he laughed, she shook her head and chuckled. “You are a greater widgeon than I had thought, Marcus. What if you had been seen?”

“I have been skulking about Attleby Court all my life. I know ways about the gardens which I suspect even the gardeners do not know.” Scooping up a forkful of eggs, he smiled. “I shall take you there if you wish.”

“Today?”

He glanced at the windows where rain was carving streams along the uneven glass. “On a drier day. Out in that storm once is enough.”

Regina's reply was halted by a knock at the door.

Her fork dropped to the floor with an ear-wrenching clatter. “Who—?”

She jumped up and went to the shelf where the pistols were stored. Taking them down, she checked to be sure they were loaded.

“Wait!” Marcus commanded in a hoarse whisper.

“If one of the Dey's agents—”

He snapped, “Don't you think they would have rushed in here by now? I cannot imagine them knocking.”

“Then whom could it be? We are not holding an at-home today.”

“No.” His lips twitched.

The rapping came again more anxiously, followed by a shout. “My lord?”

Botheration flashed across Marcus's face. Racing to the door, he threw it open. “Andrews? What are you doing here?”

Regina drew her wrapper more closely around her as Marcus opened the door wider to reveal his valet. The lanky man brushed rain from his soaked shoulders. Clamping her lips closed, Regina stood straighter as she set the pistol on the table. There could be only one reason Marcus's valet was here—to bring news. She hoped it was good news, but must be prepared if it was not.

“My lord, how good it is to see you!” cried Andrews. “I cannot tell you how odd it seems to be in Town without you. My hands are idle half the day, and each day is like a century.”

“Andrews, you are babbling like a prattle-box,” grumbled Marcus as he peeked around the door before shutting it. He glanced at Regina and winked.

She relaxed slightly. Although she wished to commend him for his good sense in checking to see if Andrews had been followed, she doubted if he had scanned every shadow. The men who sought her would not be standing openly in the cottage's ruined garden.

“Are you hungry, Andrews?” she asked. “There are more eggs in the pan.”

“You have cooked breakfast, my lady?” asked the valet, his eyes bulging.

“Lord Daniston is our cook.” She motioned for Andrews to fold his thin form and sit. “He is surprisingly competent, especially with stolen eggs.”

“Compared with Lady Daniston,” Marcus added.

“Stolen eggs?” choked Andrews.

“Eat up, man,” Marcus said, scraping the last of the eggs onto a plate and setting it in front of his valet.

Andrews's eyes protruded even more as he stared at the food.

“Eat up,” Marcus repeated. “After all, the hens will not take them back now.”

“But, my lord—”

“Andrews,” Regina said, taking pity on the poor valet, “Lord Daniston took them from the coops at Attleby Court.”

“Attleby Court?” His skinny shoulders sagged. “This is good to hear, my lady, right good to hear!”

Marcus sat and asked, “Why are you here, Andrews? Is something wrong with Fisher? I …” A guilty look crossed his face as he avoided Regina's eyes.

She wondered why she had not guessed that Mr. Fisher had been Marcus's courier. It made complete sense. Mr. Fisher was a trusted friend, but few people in London knew of his tenuous affiliation with the Whyte family.

Andrews held out a sealed letter. “From Her Grace, my lord.”

Opening the page, Marcus leaned forward to read the tiny scrawling of his grandmother's handwriting. Regina unabashedly read over his shoulder.

Dear Marcus and Regina
,

How we have missed you! The house seems so empty without you. Thank goodness I have Elayne Morrissey to keep me company. Your father, Marcus, has barely put his toe in this house since you left. I have never known him to spend so much time at Brooks's, but I suspect it might have something to do with making Mr. Fisher a member. The two are completely in each other's pockets
.

I have had a difficult time contriving stories to convince our neighbors that you are only out of Town for a visit with friends in grassville. Lady Longmont has been most disagreeable. I …

Marcus dropped the page before Regina could finish reading the last few lines. Not that she cared. If the dowager duchess wrote as she spoke, it would take several pages before she reached the gist of her message.

Sure enough on the last page of the long letter, the dowager duchess had penned:

So I think you shall find it safe to come back to Town at this time. Mayhap you will have to leave right after the wedding ceremony, but we should delay that ceremony no longer. I am sending Andrews to you. He will come with a carriage, but I shall instruct him to leave the coachman and carriage some distance from you
.

Do hurry home, children. I have missed having you here to fill my ears with your sweet words
.

Regina laughed. “Sweet words? I doubt if we said many, Marcus.”