When It's Perfect (33 page)

The fact that she compared their relationship to that of the one she’d had with the man who stole her innocence made him incredibly angry.

He stood staring at her, hands on his hips, watching a fine trail of water slide down her chest and into her cleavage. How odd that he even noticed that.

“Do not stand there and deny that you love me, too, Mary,” he murmured in warning.

She remained rigid in form, refusing to back down. “Love is irrelevant.”

“Your
past
is irrelevant.”

“You can’t love me,” she insisted, dropping her arms and fisting her hands at her sides.

“And yet I do.”

“That’s impossible.”

The rain fell in sheets now, a roaring, freezing barrier between them that neither one seemed to notice at all.

“I know what love is, my darling,” he maintained, teeth clenched, taking a step closer so that he towered over her, “because I have never said those words to another woman in my life.”

That revelation staggered her. Her mouth dropped open and she stumbled back. “You’re an earl.”

That put his fury over the top. “What does
that
mean? That I can’t know love? I’m a
man
, Mary who’s lonely for someone to talk to in the middle of the night, for someone to hold him after a hard day’s labor, for someone to understand him and love him, too.”

“Yes, a man,” she agreed in an attempt to be practical. “A man who must marry reasonably, choose a woman of his class. A virgin—”

“You were always a virgin to me!”

She faltered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “How can you say

that? You knew you weren’t my first. How can that not matter to you?”

Marcus tensed, driven by the cold, the wind, the understanding of just exactly where her worries lay. He grabbed her face, steadying her cheeks in his palms, staring into her eyes with absolute conviction as he whispered, “Because I am the
one
.”

For moments it seemed she didn’t hear him—or didn’t want to. Then she whimpered, closing her eyes to his, shivering as she reached up to pull his hands from her face.

After seconds of clutching his fingers in her palms, she gently kissed the tips of them, her lips smooth and soft and wet from rain as they lingered against his warm skin. And then she let him go without even another glance into his eyes.

Lifting her drenched skirts, she moved away from him toward the path to Baybridge House, hesitating only briefly to glance out across the sea a final time.

Marcus stared after her until she was well out of sight, confused, dejected, and numbed by her startling account of her past, and that of his innocent sister.

Then, with emotions locked beneath the surface, he began to walk in the other direction, toward his cottage, where he could think, plan, organize, and hope. He never expected his revelation of love to be so totally unacceptable to her that she would deny the love he knew she felt for him. But the words his sister had written him not so long ago would forever ring true: what did he have if not hope?

« ^ »

I
t was well after dark when he met her at the foot of the great staircase of Baybridge House. The sight of her, on her final night in Cornwall, made his chest tighten with a mixture of complex emotions that ruffled him inside—from anger at her determination to see him as a nobleman out of reach, beyond her class, to frustration at knowing she needed to

return to London to face her family and her guilt, to a sense of inner peace when he looked at her face and saw her strength of will and character.

He’d suggested she dress simply, and she had, in a gown of brown muslin that she’d covered with a black woolen pelisse, her hair pulled back into one long braid behind her.

“Right on time, I see,” he said in greeting, offering her his arm.

She grinned. “You said after dark. It’s dark.”

“Ah, but I then said perhaps a little after ten. It’s”—he glanced at the grandfather clock in the center of the foyer—” twelve minutes past.”

Looking back into her eyes, he added, “Are you ready, Miss Marsh?”

“For a walk to the cliffs?” She leaned toward him so only he could hear her. “I would be delighted. I’d walk anywhere with you.”

His smile faded. “But would you stay?”

It was a direct question, and she fumbled with the buttons on her pelisse before replying, “I’ll stay by your side all night. That I can promise.”

The sweet softness in her voice nearly undid him, nearly brought him to his knees on the marble foyer floor of his very own home. In all his life, Marcus had never felt this way about a woman.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, linking her arm through his.

She smiled hesitantly again and followed him out the tall front doors.

“Where are we going, my lord?” she asked as they meandered along the path toward the cliffs.

He skirted the brush, angling her along behind him. “It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?” She laughed faintly. “Everything about you is a surprise to me, Marcus. Every day there is something new for me to enjoy.”

He didn’t comment on that, just continued to move farther away from the main house, north this time, the opposite direction of the cottage. He didn’t know if she’d ever ventured out this way, but getting to the coastline was a bit more difficult from here, which was why it had always remained a rather secluded area.

Bright starlight shone down from a moonless sky, bathing them in varying degrees of darkness as the lighted windows from the house grew obscure behind them. She followed him easily enough, pulling her skirts along without much difficulty, not offering a word, trusting him with every step.

Finally, Marcus cleared the last of the thick brush, leading her out into a grassy patch of wild flowers that dropped off the cliff to the sea below. He immediately smelled lavender wafting out on a gentle, warm

breeze, saw flickering lights from the fishing villages on St. Austell Bay, all enveloped by a cascade of sparkling stars on every horizon.

“It’s breathtaking,” she whispered into the stillness, standing beside him.

He glanced down at her, her expression cast in shadow.

“Especially at night,” he replied in a deep whisper. “I wanted to give you something special to remember when you leave.”

She tilted her head up and gazed into his eyes. For a long, intense moment neither of them spoke or moved. Then he placed his hands on her shoulders and very gently lifted her pelisse from her body.

The night was far from chilly, and she didn’t offer an argument when he placed it on the soft grass at their feet, spreading it out wide, then reaching for her hand.

She sat beside him for a long while, content with only each other, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close as she snuggled into his chest, listening to the ocean breeze and the gentle crashing of the waves on the rocky shore below.

“I’ll never forget this night, Marcus,” she whispered into the sweetly scented air.

“All that’s missing is the fireworks,” he returned, nuzzling his nose and mouth in her hair.

She chuckled softly and smacked her palm on his chest. “I thought you were an earl. Can’t you do everything?”

He grinned and reached for her chin, lifting it so that he gazed into her eyes. “When the night is as perfect as this one, we make our own.”

That perplexed her for a moment; her brows creased with uncertainty. Then he lowered his lips to hers. The warmth and softness of them took his breath away.

“Mary…”

If only. If only. If only…

She leaned into him, accepting him as he was without question, without doubts, pressing her lips into his as his kiss grew bolder.

He pulled her against him fully, tugging at the ribbon at the bottom of her braid until it loosened. He dropped it to the ground behind her, then reached up and unraveled each layer until he could draw his fingers through her hair.

She moaned softly, holding him tighter, opening her mouth to the faint prodding of his tongue.

He kissed her deeper, harder, concentrating on his skill, her

pleasure, giving everything of himself.

At last she leaned back, swept away by the power of his persuasion, his palm to her spine as he guided her. She spread out fully on the pelisse, and he crossed one lower leg over hers, never breaking contact.

His breathing came faster, as did hers, her moan of encouragement slightly more insistent. She stretched her hands across his chest, kneading his flexed muscles through the thin linen of his shirt.

He grasped her tongue and sucked the tip of it, causing her to tilt her head back in surprise, in stark satisfaction.

Her fingers tightened as she clung to him, begging for more with her audible sighs, her short, quick breaths, her body that pulsed beneath his.

Marcus rubbed his erection against her hip to encourage her, to give him a moment of extreme gratification, knowing she could feel how hard she made him even through her gown.

He dropped one palm to her breast, grazing his knuckles across the tip, aching to feel her nipple harden to his touch. She pushed into him again, with her whole body, lifting one of her legs to grasp his.

“Marcus…” she whispered against his mouth.

The sound of her need only strengthened his resolve to show her everything he felt inside. He pulled away a fraction and dropped his lips to her chin, her jaw and neck, running the tip of his tongue down to her exposed collarbone, picking up the pace.

She lifted her hands to his head, running her fingers through his hair, pulling him to her breasts that remained inconveniently covered with a barrier of thin muslin.

He took both of them in his palms, rotating his hands over them in rhythm, caressing them as he ran his thumbs along her nipples.

She arched against him when he placed his face between them, when he groaned at the feel of her. Tugging gently, he pulled at the material until he lowered it as far as possible, just to the tips of each perfect mound of flesh, enabling him to skim the dewy softness with his tongue.

She inhaled a sharp, uneven breath when he took one nipple in his mouth, sucked, tugged with precise and focused tenderness.

“Are you wet?” he asked gruffly against her. “Wet and aching for me, Mary?”

“Oh, yes,” she gasped in whisper. “Oh, God, Marcus. Touch me—”

He moved lower, his hands drifting from her breasts to her ribs, marvelously satisfied to note she didn’t wear a corset. Not tonight. She had known they would have one last time together.

She lifted her hips to him, urging him on. And he followed her lead, drawing her skirts up with an expertise he hadn’t exercised in far too long, kissing her exposed thighs as he moved to the center of her at last.

The sweet scent of her startled him. All too quickly it pervaded his mind, his instincts as a man, striking him with a desire as primeval as time.

She whimpered and pushed against him. He traced her hot skin with his tongue until he reached the point of all his dreams, the point of his Paradise, settling himself between her legs, inhaling the beauty and essence of only her.

She jumped in surprise when he coaxed open her cleft to find the nub of her desire, tasting her, loving her. She grabbed his head and whispered something inaudible to him, to the night sky, as she leaned her head back to savor the passion.

Marcus had never been so careful, so focused, so intent on her pleasure as he was right now. Raising her knees minutely, he pushed his arms beneath her and lifted her hips to satisfy her better.

She quickly neared the edge. He knew her now, how she sounded, felt in his arms, when she climaxed, and he readied himself for her release. He turned his tongue upward so that the smooth bottom stroked her continually, back and forth, to a tempo of his making, never shifting his concentration, never pulling back.

Her hips began to dig into him as she found his rhythm and matched it. She whimpered now, lost in her world within, allowing him to help her find the magic.

“Marcus…”

He pressed harder, faster.

She clutched his cheeks with her thighs, her fingers digging in to his scalp.

“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God—
Marcus
!”

She came in a sudden rush of ecstasy, crying out once, grinding into him, her wetness only pushing him nearer to the brink of his own orgasm.

It took everything in him to hold back until she calmed, until her taste, her scent, the power of her climax drove him to the point of no return.

Seconds later he eased back and yielded to his own desire, reaching down quickly to unfasten his pants. He pulled himself free and leaned over the top of her so he could look into her eyes when he entered her.

She kept them closed, face hidden in shadow, but the dampness of

her tears on her lashes as they streamed down her temples reflected the light from the distant bay. Or maybe it was from the stars.

It tore at his heart.

Hot and ready, he placed the tip of him at her slick center of warmth.

A Paradise of comfort and contentment that would never be his because she refused to give to him completely.

“I love you, Mary,” he whispered, the ache within riding on his breath.

She took his head in her palms and pulled his forehead down to touch hers. “We will always have this moment,” she murmured. “Give me all of you tonight…”

He knew what she meant. And recognizing that the honesty she revealed, the ache to be one with him, meant more to her than the risks, completely and utterly shattered him. His throat closed with emotion he couldn’t begin to put into words. But he would give as he felt, would love her always.

Slowly, he pushed his way inside of her, feeling the intensity of their closeness as she cushioned him deeply.

He remained there for moments, holding her, closing his eyes and concentrating to temper the urge of his release so that he could savor the sublimity of being a part of her as long as he could.

She kissed his brow and lashes, caressed his cheeks with her thumbs.

But with one tiny thrust of her hips, she forced him onward. He could no longer hold back.