When It's Perfect (25 page)

She shuddered as he pushed three fingers down between her slightly opened legs. He moaned from the magic enticing him as he discovered just how much she desire him.

God, she was wet. So wet and ready for him.

She pushed her hips into him again, begging for more, whimpering now as he deepened his kiss and began to stroke her. She held him close, kneading his back and neck, darting her tongue into his mouth.

He moaned, his breathing erratic at once, his swollen member pressed against the top of her thigh. He was ready—so ready—to make them one, and she was just as ready to feel him there. He knew that instinctively.

Marcus dropped his lips to her chin, her jaw and neck, placing soft pecks along every ridge of her he could feel but could not see. She softly sighed as his fingers grew more demanding, as he inserted one of them just marginally inside, relishing in the hot cushion enveloping it.

“Mary…” he murmured, his face in her neck, feeling her hair on his face as it splayed across his pillow.

“Please, Marcus,” she gasped in a whisper as he continued to torment her with pleasure between her legs.

She wanted him, needed him now, and he readied her with each

stroke, with each flick of his finger across the tiny nub that would bring her that exquisite ultimate satisfaction.

At last, as her restless breaths and quiet moans drew her close to the edge, Marcus lifted his body and carefully centered himself between her legs.

He kissed her neck and chest, her jaw and perfect lips as his erection pressed against her thigh. With each gentle thrust of her hips, her restless legs rubbed the outside of his, bringing a sharp sensation to his already sensitive skin. He drew in a shaky breath, his hands on both sides of her head, his fingers intertwined in her hair, his forehead on hers.

“Tell me if it’s uncomfortable,” he maintained huskily.

For seconds she did nothing. Then, in answer, she grasped his hips and pulled him harder against her, laying tiny kisses on his cheek and jaw, her warm breath on his neck.

Grasping her tightly, Marcus marveled in the pure, natural ecstasy that overtook him the second the tip of his engorged penis met the wet, hot entrance of the most beautiful part of her female form. The blend of delight and exquisite pleasure made his heart race, his skin tingle, his breath falter.

She stiffened just slightly beneath him, and he paused the best he could to give her time. And then with slow deliberation, he pushed his way inside, clinging to her, his lips on hers again should she feel the pain and cry out.

Nothing in Marcus’s life had ever felt so perfect. Never had he wanted to share as he did now. This was no romp for physical enjoyment; this was paradise, beauty at its finest. Never had he wanted to please a woman more than he did this one.

Adjusting himself to the feel of her enveloping him, he began to move, testing her, noting how tight she was with each deepening stroke.

She sucked in a breath and tilted her head back, though she never let go of her grasp of his back. She clung to him, yearning for all of him as she found his rhythm with each gentle thrust.

Marcus lost his reasoning. She felt so damn good. She kissed his face, his jaw and neck, whispered his name as he finally pushed himself into her as deeply as he could. He wanted to make it last for her, take his time so that her orgasm came first, but he was so hard, so sensitive—

“Feel me, Marcus…”

He groaned and closed his eyes, allowing her to stroke him with each lift of her hips, each rotation, each pressing of her lips to his skin.

“Mary—”

“Yes,” she urged through a tight moan. “Yes…”

Her breath came in rasps but he was beyond noticing. She sucked him in, clung to him in every way, made him crazy with need so long denied. She was close, so close, and yet so was he.

He circled his hips on hers, wanting to feel her come at the same moment he did. It would be so marvelous, so intense—

“Mary, I can’t hold it.”

“Don’t…”

He heard her voice as a far-off whisper at the second he reached the point of no return.

Suddenly he lifted himself and groaned deeply; then as he took her mouth with his in one final thrust, he tried, tried to pull out of her, to save her a future disgrace.

The wondrous gratification seized him; he couldn’t breathe as she clung to him tightly, rocking her body into his to make the moment last for him. Marcus pulled back as wave after wave shot through him, as his muscles tightened and his jaw clenched, as he felt himself spilling warm fluid at the entrance to her, at the crease in her thigh with each pulse of pleasure.

The power of the moment captured him, entranced him. And then he eased back to reality as the seconds ticked by, as his body surrendered to the release and the aftermath of utter fulfillment settled in.

She still lay beneath him, clutching him, breathing hard, kissing his face. He felt her response, her heat, but it took several moments for him to realize she was no longer near orgasm and that she hadn’t experienced one when he did.

He didn’t know exactly how to take that, or what to do. He eased off of her a bit, though he continued to hold her close with one leg crossed over hers.

Her hair stuck to his perspiring neck and body, her chest heaved with a deep inhalation as he allowed himself to shift just slightly to her side. He couldn’t tell, but he sensed her eyes were closed, and she’d relaxed beside him.

Marcus kissed the side of her mouth, boldly drew his palm up to one of her nipples to feel it still tight and aroused. She responded by sighing, and with the returning desire to please, he lowered it once more to the hot spot between her legs, intent on stroking her to climax.

“Marcus… don’t.”

He ceased all movement as she covered his knuckles with her palm.

“Mary—”

“Shh… Lie beside me. Hold me.”

For moments he didn’t move as confusion abounded; then, with her gentle urging, he raised his hand from her and did as she wished, pulling her tightly against him, listening to the sound of her breathing, feeling the warmth emanating from her skin, her long blond hair tickling his neck and arms.

For a long time he stared at nothing in the blackness of his room, his mind raw with feelings he couldn’t put into words should he try. Mary hadn’t had an orgasm, didn’t seem to want one, and most confusing of all, perhaps most troubling, she hadn’t come to his bed a virgin. Never in his life had Marcus felt so helpless as a lover, and so befuddled as a man.

His last thought as he drifted off to sleep was how insane he had to be to notice at a moment like this that the wind had died and the banging of the shutter had stopped. When he awoke hours later, his room still dark before the dawn, she no longer slept beside him.

« ^ »

Baybridge House

18 March 1855

…Miss Marsh has finally asked me questions about you, dear
brother. She’s fascinated by you and your work in Egypt. I
showed her the papyrus scroll you sent me for Christmas two
years ago and of course she found it unique and lovely.

Sometimes I wish I found my betrothed as fascinating as she
finds you, a gentleman she knows only through my description.

But then life is seldom so uncomplicated…

A
s with every other morning since Mary’s arrival at Baybridge House, the breakfast table had been set for the family and guests at precisely

nine o’clock. Of course George, and sometimes even Gwyneth, seldom arrived in the dining room on time, or at all, though that hardly mattered. The most important element proved to be the placement of Renn china—the beauty of the breakfast area could not be complete without the year’s best on display for all to see. Food, however delicious or necessary, seemed secondary.

But this morning, as Mary made her way toward the dining room at half past eight, wearing her most conservative blue morning gown, her hair wrapped in a tight chignon at her nape, her mind remained centered on the night before, on the luscious kissing, on the untamed and often risqué reflection of her seduction of the extraordinary Earl of Renn. He’d made her lose all sensibility by his very existence, and only hours ago, he had turned her to honey with every touch, every whispered word. She still felt the wave of unanswered passion within her, but as in all things, reality restrained her from acting on it.

Her stomach fluttered as she neared the dining room, but she heard no voices, only the clinking of dishes and silver as servants set the table and prepared for the arrival of the food. She hoped she’d be the first downstairs, perhaps the only one at breakfast, so she wouldn’t have to face him, or anyone, until she had a good idea of how to handle what had happened.

But it was not to be. As soon as she entered, she discovered both Marcus and George standing side by side in some form of dramatic, whispered conversation near the opposite window, George’s arms flailing as he tried to convince his brother of something, Marcus nodding, his arms crossed over his chest, chin resting on one fist.

Mary stopped short after stepping only a few feet inside, all nerves pulsating at the surface with the sight of him. He looked magnificent, his shiny hair combed back from his face, his large body she remembered so well dressed immaculately in a charcoal gray morning suit. He looked upon first appearance as if he’d had a bath this morning and she wondered if he’d requested one purposely to wipe away any trace of her.

She never should have left him, and yet she’d had no choice.

Suddenly he noticed her as his eyes darted in her direction.

Mary went rigidly still, unsure but standing with as much dignity as she could muster under these very odd circumstances.

His gaze drifted down her body and then up again, slowly, so that she fairly shivered from the look. But his blank expression never changed.

She tensed. Abruptly, George noticed where his brother’s attention had gone and he turned, eyeing her with a grin to his handsome mouth.

“Mary, good morning,” he said, pleasant as always. He rubbed his palms down his sleeves and walked toward her. “Join us for a cup, won’t you? Mother will be down shortly.”

She feigned a smile and nodded once. “Thank you.”

“Rather tired this morning, Miss Marsh?”

That from Marcus, the devil. She broadened her smile purposely to counter, “Not at all, Lord Renn. I slept quite peacefully, but thank you ever so for asking.”

She could have sworn he almost laughed.

“My dears, I’m so sorry I’m late.”

The three of them turned toward the doorway once more as Gwyneth entered. She wasn’t late at all, of course, but as always, needed everyone’s undivided attention at her entrance.

“It’s not even nine, Mother,” George replied in a rather exasperated tone, closing in on her to take her arm.

“Naturally you’re right. It’s just so difficult to keep track of time these days.” She straightened her black bombazine skirt over heavy hoops.

“My dear, help me with the buffet, will you?”

Mary forced herself not to roll her eyes. Gwyneth was the only woman she’d ever known who stood so strongly against the common workers, and yet acted so ridiculously frail with her sons. No wonder the earl had chosen to leave.

Mary now stood in the middle of the room while George escorted his mother to the opposite wall, where footmen in freshly pressed uniforms arranged eggs, sausages, tomatoes, and toast for the morning fare.

Before she realized it, Marcus had strolled up beside her.

“May I have a word, Miss Marsh?”

She cringed at hearing his formal use of her name after such an incredible giving of himself last night—and she feared a quiet listing of his regrets in the minutes to follow. But she remained resolute, forcing the calm within her, noting that George and Gwyneth didn’t seem to acknowledge what they did, and knowing full well the earl, a gentleman by birth, would never mention their intimate encounter in any environment where he could be overheard.

She tipped her head toward him. “You may, Lord Renn.”

He gently grasped her elbow and pulled her toward the window where he’d stood with his brother only moments earlier.

“My lord?” She tried to smile but flushed with embarrassment as her voice cracked.

He didn’t appear to observe her discomfiture. Instead of gazing at her for a discussion about which she couldn’t possibly guess, he drew in a long breath and leaned his palms on the brick sill to stare purposely out across the bay

Mary fidgeted, rubbed her nose with her fingers, but remained silent, waiting.

“I learned something last night, Mary.”

Oh, God. Her heart sank. He was going to mention it.

He didn’t wait for her to reply, which was a good thing, she supposed, since she couldn’t think of a word worth saying.

He pressed his lips together, then carried on, his thick brows furrowed as he appeared deep in thought, his voice low enough so that only the two of them could hear. At least, she hoped.

“I learned that in all of my thirty-four years, I’ve never once been given paradise. Oh, I thought I’d had paradise before, several times in fact, but I learned last night that I was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Nothing in my experience has been like the paradise you gave me, Mary.”

She nearly fainted.

“Lord Renn,” she whispered, her mouth dry, body numb, uncertain what to add to the simple mention of his name.

He ignored her. “This afternoon,” he continued, fixing his gaze on a lone fishing schooner to the north, “when the countess is resting and George is otherwise preoccupied with the mines or the ladies of the village, or with whatever happens to be his latest fancy, I’m going to walk with you to my cottage on the cliff. Inside the closed walls, as we’re alone and forgotten, I’m going to undress you gently and slowly, then allow you to undress me, if that is your choice. I’m going to take your hair down and feel each strand between my fingers. I’m going to guide you to my bed and lay you down beside me while I feel the softness of your skin with my hands.”