When a Marquess Loves a Woman Page 13

  So he took her hands, and even in this ordinary act of intimacy, he relished the sensation of her fingers twining with his. He always knew it would be like this with her. Only she shared this connection—this level of unspoken communication—with him. No other woman had ever affected him like this.

  “I locked it away, I suppose, though not intentionally. I was the hollow goddess. I’d come to accept it,” she said, returning to his embrace and slipping her slender arms around his neck. As she continued, she pressed her lips to his jaw in slow, tantalizing kisses until she reached his earlobe and tugged on it with her teeth. “Honestly, I don’t know what came over me that night. I’ve blamed you for years, comparing your kiss to others, only to be left without having been stirred in the slightest. That night was the first time I’d ever felt anything that powerful, so potent that I was only aware of us and that kiss. It frightened me to know that there was a stranger living beneath my skin.”

  “You ran because I saw more in you? That I wanted you?” Max felt irritated, angered, and yet also elated. It was a puzzling mixture of emotions. “And then you tried to take a lover, but I ruined that for you as well.”

  He drew in a satisfied breath, feeling his chest expand as he lowered her to the bed and moved over her. He loved seeing her like this, so open and free with him, her golden hair fanned out on the pillow, her eyes heavy-lidded and drowsy from passion, and her lips swollen from his kisses. Not to mention the one he was going to give her right this instant.

  She licked her lips when he finished and then grinned. “I wouldn’t smile too smugly. I despised you for that, you know. That kiss of yours was a cataclysmic event in my life.”

  He’d felt that way too. In fact, he still did. Suddenly, it became all too clear that those years apart had only delayed the inevitable. When she returned to London, Max had sworn to himself that he would never fall in love with Juliet again. Never be vulnerable.

  But damn, it looked as if the bells were tolling never right now.

  Even though his scarred heart warned him to hold back, to proceed with caution, it was too late. He never stood a chance.

  “And I’m certain part of me felt the daggers you were throwing all the way from Somerset. In fact, the cloud of hatred you hurled at me might have been the reason I never married. Perhaps I should start despising you.”

  She laughed, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “Oh yes, as soon as you’ve finished despising me for one thing, you must hoist the banner of a new cause.”

  He kissed his way down her body, caressing her, stroking her, paying close attention to those moments when she would hold her breath and her hands would still. Then he would linger, edging out her response, waiting for the shuddered exhale that told him all he needed to know. “Your skin is incredibly hot and turning a becoming shade of pink.”

  “This flush is also your fault—a recent affliction that I first thought was the result of too much sun at the Minchons’ garden party. Then I thought it was because you incited my temper.”

  “And then?” He nipped at the velvet underside of her breast, where her flesh was even hotter.

  “Let’s just say that I can never look at cake without feeling a little flushed. Alas, there seems to be no cure, other than sinking into an ice-water bath.”

  “Is that right?” He grinned, taking pride in causing such a reaction in her, but suddenly wondering if there was another cure she had not considered. He moved lower, intent on discovering the answer. “And in all these years, you’ve never felt carnal desire, not even with yourself?”

  When the last word left his lips, he skimmed his fingertips between her thighs, her downy curls as soft as kitten fur.

  A shuddered breath escaped her. “I am a woman of seven and twenty. Of course I have explored my more intimate places.”

  He groaned, his mouth pressed to her hip. Fully, achingly aroused once more, he was eager to take her. It didn’t escape his notice that she hadn’t once stopped him from touching her or shied away. In fact, she was practically purring. “I don’t believe you. I think a demonstration is in order.”

  “Absolutely not,” she said with a scandalized laugh. “And I don’t want you to imagine it either. So remove that look from your face.”

  “It’s too late. I have already imagined it several times—you in the bath, you in the morning with the bedclothes rumpled, you in the carriage . . . ”

  She gasped. “The carriage? I would never.”

  “You could take a relaxing tour through the park, shades up, enjoying the scenery, and all the while your busy little fingers take a tour of their own. No one would ever know.” And as he spoke, he began a tour of his own, nibbling his way down the curve of her hip.

  “Max!” While her intention may have been to sound outraged, the bright excitement in her eyes and her throaty laugh banished it. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

  He continued on his course, sampling and examining every inch of her. “Your declaration of being an objet d’art has sent me on the task of unearthing a secret flaw to disprove you.”

  “I hope you are successful,” she said, her head tilting, her fingers twirling locks of his hair.

  “I think I shall be, for here is a very suspicious mark.” He nudged her thighs wider and rubbed the tip of his finger over a spot. “It appears to be a freckle.”

  He did not mention, however, that it was the most flawless freckle in existence, perfectly round, and the dark, lustrous brown of a coffee ground.

  She lifted up on her elbows, a beatific smile on her lips. “Truly?”

  “Let me press my lips against it to be sure it is not a mark that will rub off.” And as he did that, nestled near her sex, her lids lowered drowsily, and she let out a breath. He inspected the mark once more, quite intently, breathing in her sweet musk. “It is still there, proving you are a woman of flesh and blood.”

  “And not a flawless, hollow goddess.”

  “No. Instead you are my goddess,” he said in earnest, brushing his lips against the curls that guarded her sex. “And now you must allow me to pay homage.”

  Juliet’s gasp filled the room as he closed his mouth over her. Boldly, she kept her gaze on him, watching him with an avid carnal interest, her skin glowing pink now. Sliding his tongue over the swollen folds, he laved her tenderly, telling her in low murmurs how decadent she tasted and how much he wanted to stay right here, worshiping her for hours.

  She whispered her agreement on several shuddered breaths. Yet when he delved deeper into the slick, molten center of her, it did not take long. He tried to draw out her pleasure, take her to the precipice and back with slow, purposeful strokes against and around the tight bud of hidden flesh. But as the first tremors began, there was no turning back. He drew her into his mouth, flicking his tongue until he felt her convulse. Feeling her body quake, he held her hips steady and continued until, at last, her scream pierced the air.

  It was the most cathartic orgasm of his life, and it wasn’t even his own.

  When he settled over her and moved inside her, he witnessed the pure wonder on her face. And he knew she was his now. In fact, from what she’d confessed, she always had been.

  But he knew her well. When it came to romantic overtures, she became skittish and uncertain. He feared that her marriage had only intensified this inclination. Therefore, in that moment, he decided to take things slow.

  No sudden movements. He just needed to bide his time.

  At last, Juliet knew how to release that scream that had been trapped inside her. Though it was less scream and more keening moan. And Max had made certain that she never stopped.

  He kept her in that bed all morning, tangled in each other, until they were both too weak to do anything other than doze off for a few minutes.

  When she awoke, she went about making her wrinkled clothes as presentable as possible and dressed in quick order. With Max there to fasten her buttons, it took far longer than it should have because he kept trying to
remove her dress all over again.

  She was thankful that he never once mentioned marriage. That would have put an awkward end to their lovemaking. But then it occurred to her that he might have thought there was another reason for her to have been so accepting—nay, willing—to share his bed.

  As he set her cloak around her shoulders, she turned, concerned. “I want you to know that this did not happen because I expect you to give me the house or that I planned to use sexual congress as a means of bartering.”

  He gave her a crooked smile that began as something adoring but then turned into something altogether naughty. “It never occurred to me, but now that you give me the idea . . . ”

  She laughed when he reached for her, no doubt ready to pull her back to bed. And she was tempted but also quite sore. “It’s important—now more than ever—that we continue our wager. I do not want you to have any doubt.”

  That new smile returned, and he inclined his head in agreement. Taking a step toward her, he kissed the corner of her mouth. “I will summon a carriage and drive you home.”

  “No, you will not. Can you imagine the scandal? I will walk as if I have just returned from the park.”

  “You will not walk.” Those three vertical lines between his brows returned but were accompanied by a rather arrogant smirk. “I am pleased to say that you are far too exhausted.”

  Exasperated but somehow still grinning, she laid her hand over his heart. “Are you going to argue with me, even now?”

  This time, he pressed a kiss to the center of her mouth and lingered. “With you, always.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Season Standard—the Daily Chronicle of Consequence

  Lady F—th’s concerto this evening is sure to impress. Rumor has it that our resident goddess ordered a length of crimson silk from the drapers. One must wonder what stunning creation Lady G— will display this evening.

  In other news, our favorite Viscount E— was spotted in the park this morning . . .

  Each time Juliet read the current issue of the Standard, she breathed a sigh of relief. There was only that brief remark but nothing more. Not even the barest whisper about her scandalous visit to Max’s townhouse yesterday morning.

  Of course, Max had been quite clever in his plan to make certain no one saw her. So clever, in fact, that Juliet had wondered aloud how often he hailed hacks and then asked them to drive around to the garden gate.

  Finding her question amusing, Max had grinned, spouting some nonsense about believing her to be jealous, just before he’d kissed her. Soundly.

  Even a full day and a half later, Juliet could still feel the warm, tingly aftershocks of it.

  “Do you think Lord Thayne will attend Lady Falksworth’s concert this evening, madame?” Marguerite asked with a saucy waggle of her brows as she put the finishing touches on Juliet’s coiffure.

  Even though Juliet had confessed nothing about the events of yesterday morning, her maid had known instantly. Of course, it was impossible to hide the remnants he’d left on Juliet’s flesh, tender and pink from his ardent attentions. Even the way she’d walked had been slightly altered, hinting at a new awareness of muscles she never knew she had. Most of all, Marguerite had claimed that Juliet was glowing, her skin and her eyes emitting an ethereal shimmer.

  Glancing in the vanity mirror, she wondered if it was still showing. Then again, perhaps her current iridescent state was the gleam of candlelight glancing off the deep blue silk. “As I told you before, I do not know Max’s plans from one day to the next.”

  However, that did not stop her from hoping she would see him tonight.

  “But you are his lover now, no?”

  Juliet didn’t know that either. The way things had been left between them, she was unsure of where they stood. She’d half expected him to propose to her. When he hadn’t, she told herself to be grateful. Gone was the impulsive man from five years ago who’d turned her world upside down. Since she was just settling into her life, she didn’t need any sudden alterations, which included changing the peculiarly tense sort of friendship that she shared with Max.

  When he did not call upon her at all today, however, she began to worry that he regretted what happened. No matter what their history was, she counted on his being in her life. And she prayed that her act of impulsiveness had not ruined everything she cared about the most.

  Rivalry or not, she didn’t want to lose him.

  “What I know is that I shall be late to the concert if I do not make haste,” Juliet said, choosing an ivory comb from the collection on a tray. Although, given her destination this evening, she would almost rather miss the concert entirely. She truly loathed Lady Falksworth.

  Marguerite made a sound of disgust. “That woman does not deserve your attendance with the way she spoke incessantly about your scandal when you returned, not letting anyone forget the reason you married Lord Granworth.”

  “Ah, but in doing so, she made me quite the celebrity, didn’t she? I daresay, my name has not been absent from the Standard for a single day since,” Juliet said in jest, pretending to enjoy being beneath the ton’s quizzing glass. Yet not even this was the true reason Juliet despised Lady Falksworth. The hatred Juliet felt had begun years ago, when Lady Falksworth was a guest of Lord Granworth’s in Bath.

  They were distant cousins but very much alike in nature. Even down to their exacting tastes in—what they considered—beauty. In the beginning, Lady Falksworth had suggested that Juliet not be allowed to drink more than one cup of tea each day in order to prevent her teeth from staining. Dark berries had been added to that list as well, and in a matter of days, Lord Granworth and his cousin had decided upon Juliet’s entire daily rations.

  From there, Juliet’s life had been managed into quarter-hour increments, subject to change only on Lord Granworth’s whim and Lady Falksworth’s suggestions.

  During all of it, Lord Granworth made sure to remind Juliet that she was nothing without her beauty, nothing without his money or his connections, and that without all of it, not even her parents would love her. And Juliet hated that she’d believed him for so long.

  It wasn’t until Zinnia and Lilah had written to her over a year ago, expressing condolences and asking after her well-being, that Juliet began to find her strength again. Out of all the people who had fervently followed Lord Granworth and professed to being her dearest friends, none had ever proven it. Only Zinnia and Lilah had inquired after her.

  She still remembered the utter shock she felt. That initial gesture of kindness had filled her with such joy that it had snapped her out of her doldrums. She had spent far too many years living as an empty shell. But that was over and done.

  The woman that Max had seen inside her, the same one he’d kissed in the library all those years ago, deserved better.

  Since her return, and even in the months before, she had found her inner strength and also a sense of self-empowerment that had helped her learn all she could about art trading. By doing so, she had amassed a small fortune, far more wealth than Lord Granworth likely ever expected her to possess from his life’s collection of beautiful objects. But above all, Juliet loved being a strong, independent woman.

  Wasn’t that the reason she’d entered into her wager with Max in the first place? Yet things had just become more complicated. She wasn’t certain how to proceed with Max but knew that she needed to keep her plan firmly in motion.

  Marguerite scoffed as she anchored the comb in place. “I still do not believe Lady Falksworth deserves your attendance.”

  “That may be true,” Juliet agreed, pulling on a pair of long white kid gloves adorned with pearl buttons at the cuff. “However, I have a wager to win, and now is not the time to rest on my laurels.”

  “Lord Thayne would surely give you the house if you asked for it.”

  Undoubtedly. Juliet knew enough of Max’s nature to believe him capable of sudden tender gestures. “Which is precisely the reason I must win on my own. I cannot have him
thinking that I was intimate with him in order to win the house.”

  “And you told him that, non?”

  “Of course.”

  Marguerite dusted her hands together. “Then the matter is settled.”

  Juliet shook her head, adamant. “A person proves her or his character through action and deed. If our situations were reversed, I would be offended if Max stopped trying to win, and a measure of regret or doubt might creep in as well. He has every right to be assured that what happened between us had nothing to do with the wager.”

  “Only passion,” Marguerite said with another eyebrow waggle before reaching into the narrow, velvet-lined armoire for Juliet’s sapphire necklace.

  Juliet chose to ignore her maid. “With any luck, I’ll encounter Ellery this evening and continue with my plan to showcase him in the best possible light.” Since the rescue of her fan had been such a triumph, she concluded that the rescue of her person would be even more so. Therefore, she intended to feign a turned ankle, which would serve two purposes—the first being the obvious favor he would gain, and the second being an early departure for both of them from tonight’s concert.

  Marguerite clucked her tongue as she fastened the clasp, the blue stone winking in the silver taper light. “I do not like this plan of yours any longer.”

  “Whyever not?” Not that it would stop Juliet, but she was curious.

  “What would Lord Thayne think to see you leave the concert on the arm of another man? Surely he would be jealous.”

  After yesterday morning, Juliet believed that Max knew better than that. Clearly, she was not one to take a lover on a mere whim. And at the reminder of what it was like to be in Max’s embrace, her reflection smiled back at her. “I thought you once said that a jealous man made a wonderful lover.”

  “C’est vrai.” Marguerite offered a thoughtful nod, pursing her lips. “But passion born from jealousy is a poison, madame. A little can cause hot tingles all over the skin, but too much will murder your love affair.”