Marcus’s brows rose. “Oh, I believe you’ll see Monsieur Antoine change his mind about both the child and the frog before the day is up.” He looked around the room. If everyone was in here, then there was a possibility he might be able to get Honoria alone in another part of the house. And if he got her alone… well, there was no telling what might occur.
He walked to her side and drew her hand through his arm. “Since I’m home and there’s a whole hour before dinner, perhaps you can assist me in the library?”
Portia jumped up. “I’ll go with you. There’s a book I’ve been dying to get, but it’s on the second floor and I do not trust that ladder. It seems so unstable putting a ladder on wheels. Do you think—”
“Portia,” Cassandra said hurriedly. “I do believe I need your help in examining the ballroom. Jeffries had it cleaned, but I want to make certain it’s as it should be.”
“But I—”
Marcus made good his escape, pulling Honoria out into the hallway, where the footmen were once again reassembling. He ignored them all, pulling her into the library and shutting the door firmly behind them. Marcus kept her hand in his. “Since I didn’t get to say it before, good evening.”
She smiled. “Good evening. Thank you for assisting with George. He’s really a good boy.”
There was a bit more warmth in her smile than her usual perfunctory manner. Leaning against the door, he reached up and stole a pin from her hair. “George is fine.” He threw the pin on the floor and freed another.
A fat curl dropped to her shoulder.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, taking out yet another pin and watching another strand of hair fall. ,
Honoria’s cheeks heated. “Marcus, what are you doing?”
“Seducing you.”
A flash of passion crossed her face, melting some of the reserve. He released her hand and took a step forward. To his surprise, she stepped back. But then she continued to back away, although more slowly now. He followed, matching her step for step. It was a seductive dance, he moving forward, she moving backward, their gazes locked, both knowing what was going to happen the second he caught her.
Finally, she bumped into the desk and could move no more.
“There!” Marcus said, stretching his arms to either side. “I have you now.” He said it in his best comedic villain voice, rather like the farces that played at Drury Lane before the main play.
She gurgled with laughter, even more of her reserve dropping. Ah, Marcus thought. She cannot stay removed if she’s laughing. Passion and laughter would be his weapons, then. And with them both, he would woo his wife. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to do it—perhaps it was the thrill of the chase. Whatever it was, it was heady stuff indeed.
Before the laughter could die from her eyes, Marcus swept her into his arms and kissed her, bending her back, his hands never still, his mouth hot and possessive. He pressed her against the desk, placing his hands about her waist and lifting her slightly so she could slide onto the smooth surface. He was careful not to break the kiss, but he needn’t have worried; Honoria not only allowed him to lift her to the desk, but she helped, sliding back until a loud thump caused her to break the kiss and look around. “Something fell off your desk—”
With a sweep of his arm, he cleaned the surface, sending papers and pens flying. Not that he cared. All he wanted, all he could think about, was the delectable, passionate woman who was even now moaning softly against his mouth, her hands clutching his lapels. Marcus broke the kiss long enough to trace the line of her jaw. She writhed beneath him, sending a demanding ache straight to his manhood. God, but she was a hot piece. And passionate. He loved the stubborn sweep of her chin, and placed a kiss on the end of it before trailing his mouth down her neck to nuzzle the sensitive point behind her ear.
Honoria moaned and tilted up her chin, letting the heat of his mouth capture the sensitive skin of her throat more completely. Shivers raged through her, her breasts tightening, her nipples rigid against her chemise. The firm surface of the desk pressed against her bottom, and the pressure of Marcus’s body as he leaned forward to torment her with his hot mouth made her legs spread slightly of their own accord. His rigid manhood pressed against her, sending a deep ripple of longing that began between her thighs and traveled outward. Ye gods, but she was in heaven. Or close enough to taste it— she wasn’t sure which. All she knew was that her body ached and yearned with a passion that drowned all thought. She was held prisoner in a maelstrom of red passion.
It was swiftly becoming evident that the man knew what he was about. His mouth teased and tormented until her skin heated as if burned. His hands never ceased moving, caressing, holding. He reached down and cupped her bottom, lifting her hips from the desk and parting her thighs as he rubbed against her suggestively.
Honoria gasped. Her thighs quivered and grew damp at his onslaught, at the wants of her own body, at the thought of going further… doing more.
She loved this man and wanted him passionately. It was the only complete, coherent thought she could hold in her mind; all others fled before the raging rush of feelings and wants. Somehow, someway, her arms twined about him and she held him closer, opening her mouth beneath his, her knees weakening when he gently thrust his tongue inside.
The raw sensuality of the act made Honoria clutch more feverishly at Marcus’s lapels. Her skirts were niched up about her hips, and her legs now clamped about his hips. It was the most natural thing in the world, the most right feeling thing she had ever done.
He moaned now, his breathing as harsh as her own. A part of her reveled in her mastery, in the knowledge that she— Honoria Baker-Sneed St. John—was able to win a deep, heartfelt moan from the throat of such an incredibly virile and seductive man.
Marcus stilled. Honoria’s eyes slid back open. When had she closed them? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that Marcus was strangely still… too still. A horrid thought arose. “Marcus? What—”
Then she heard it… a soft knock at the door, followed by a discreet cough.
“Bloody hell,” Marcus growled, turning his head to glare at the door. “It is Jeffries.” He sighed and looked down at her, the smile returning to his face when his gaze met hers. “I will kill him. There are other butlers.”
She had to laugh, some of the passion leaving her. “Yes, but you’d have to train another.”
Marcus refused to move, remaining between her legs, resting on his elbows so she could breathe easily. He trailed a kiss over her forehead. “I’d train a thousand Jeffries for one moment with you.”
Her breath tightened painfully. What was she supposed to do when he said such things to her? She knew he was fond of her, she could sense it in his gaze, in his touch. But… did he feel anything more? She’d waited for the past two weeks for a sign. Though he seemed to enjoy being with her, she had yet to hear him admit to anything more than lust and like.
Her chest tightened miserably. “I—I think perhaps you should let me up.”
He sighed, but didn’t move. “I suppose I should.”
The knock sounded again. “My lord—”
“Just a bloody moment! ”
Marcus said to the door.
A muffled “Yes, my lord!” was the answer.
Marcus’s dark blue gaze flickered to her, his brows raised in a silent question.
“I—I’m glad he didn’t walk in on us.”
Marcus raised a brow.
Honoria flushed. “You think he came in?”
“And then saw us and decided to take a different approach to entering the room.”
“Oh no! Ye gods, how embarrassing! I hope he didn’t see us.”
“Seeing as how he has exceptionally good eyesight and how we were sprawled across my desk, which is the center of the room… yes, I think he saw us.” A faint smile touched Marcus’s mouth. “I daresay he is as red as you are now.”
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “How embarrassing to be caught—”
“I believe the term is ‘in flagrante delicto’.”
“I beg your pardon, but we hadn’t gone that far!” At his amused glance, she said, “I really should get up and straighten my gown.”
He rested his forehead upon hers, his dark blue eyes gazing into hers. “I suppose you should.”
It should have been awkward, lying on her back, her legs wrapped about his hips, but it wasn’t. The room was quiet as they stayed where they were, looking solemnly into each other’s eyes. She tried to see what he was feeling, what he was thinking, but she simply could not tell.
After a long moment he said, “Honoria?”
She wet her dry lips. “Yes?”
“Why do you hold back from me? Sometimes I feel as if you’re hiding a part of yourself away.”
The clock seemed to tick very loudly in the silence. Honoria’s heart ached, it was beating so hard. Should she tell him? Could she? “Marcus, I don’t think I should say—”
“I want to know what is wrong.”
“I love you.” She gasped when she heard the words. Good God, but she hadn’t meant to say them aloud! Not like that.
She waited, her heart in her throat. Marcus didn’t move, didn’t react. He merely looked at her, stunned realization in his own eyes.
Then, suddenly, he stood. “I see. I had no idea—”
Another knock sounded on the door. “My lord, I’m so sorry to bother you, but your brother is here and he—”
“
Marcus
!” Anthony’s voice rose in greeting.
“Damnation,” Marcus growled, raking a hand through his hair. “Honoria, I don’t know what—”
Honoria slid off the desk, automatically righting her clothing and checking her hair for pins. The moment had taken on an unreal quality, like a very bad dream. She heard herself saying in a calm, unemotional voice, “Marcus, don’t worry—it’s nothing. Really. I just—” She stopped, a surge of hurt flooding her throat. “I must go. Anthony is here because he escorted Anna. She is to take me shopping for the ball.”
Marcus tried to settle his mind, but he couldn’t. She loved him. The words had taken him so completely by surprise that he couldn’t seem to settle on a single coherent thought. All he could do was nod briskly and then move to open the door, wondering as he did so what he was going to do. His own wife loved him, while he… what did he feel? Good God, he wasn’t ready for this, for any of this.
She must have read his expression, for her face hardened back into that distant expression he’d grown to hate. He reached for her, but she stepped away.
“Don’t.”
“Honoria, I can’t just—”
“Not another word,” she responded, her voice clipped. “I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable. Rest assured, my lord, that I will not allow my excess feelings to get in the way of our relationship. As you said, until I’ve produced an heir, our way is set. But after that—” Her gaze narrowed, her chin lifting. “After that you will be free of me and my family. Now, if you will excuse me, your brother awaits.”
Without meeting his gaze, she opened the door and walked out. Marcus was left alone, his tongue still frozen in place, his mind reeling. He could not answer her, not until he knew for certain. They had passion, certainly. And he respected her as well, more than any woman he knew. “But… love?
Bloody hell, what was he to do now?
There are three things all men should practice: how to make money, how to make love, and how to grovel. The last is especially important.
Lady Thistlewaite to the Duke of Devonshire, while attending the launching of a balloon decorated in the Whig colors of blue and gold
Honoria pressed her forehead against the cool glass, her gaze fixed unseeingly out the window. Had she been focusing on the view before her, she might have admired the perfectly laid out gardens, the bubbling fountain, or the charming terrace steps that cut a white ribbon through the green expanse. Today, she didn’t really see anything. All she could do was feel.
She’d ruined everything. She closed her eyes and sighed. Why oh why hadn’t she kept her mouth closed? He wasn’t ready for a declaration. Ye gods, he might never be; love was the furthest thing from his mind. That much was obvious from his reaction. She could still see his stern face, still feel the sinking in the pit of her stomach as he tried to find something— anything—to say in answer to her declaration.
She wished with all her might she could unsay the words, take them back and bury them deeply, but she couldn’t.
“Honoria?”
She started and turned to find Cassandra not two feet away, a concerned look in her violet eyes. “Goodness,” Honoria said, dredging up a smile. “You startled me.”
“I’m sorry. I said your name twice, but you didn’t hear me, so I said it a bit louder.” Cassandra came to sit on the window seat beside her. “Honoria, is there anything I can do? Since last week, there seems to be some sort of tension between you and Treymount.”
That was an understatement. Since that horrid day in the library, the air between her and Marcus had thickened into icy walls and he’d taken to spending more and more time away from the house. She wasn’t comfortable around him, and he seemed awkward around her, except when they exploded in passion. Somehow at those moments, they seemed able to put aside their differences, although afterward, in the silence that followed, her declaration seemed to linger over them, unspoken now, but there nonetheless. It was horrid, and many times she’d found herself turning away from him after their lovemaking so he would not see her tears. Why oh why had she told him?