Mastering the Marquess (21 page)

With an almost painful sense of anticipation, she watched him study her. Meredith was ashamed to admit it, but she loved the covetous look on his face as he gazed at her body. His hand finally moved back to her breast, his fingers stroking upward from the plumpness beneath her nipple. She panted as he teased her, embarrassed that she couldn't control her uneven breathing. His lips parted again in a mesmerizing smile as his fingers circled her nipple, making her wriggle her bottom against his muscular thighs.

She suddenly became aware of his erection nudging against her as he slightly parted his legs so that she rested more heavily against his lower body. Meredith felt the moist heat grow between her legs, and she was afraid he would sense the dampness through the thin fabric of her gown.

But in the next instant he lowered his head to her breast, taking the hard peak of her nipple and sucking it into his mouth. She jerked in his arms, choking back a cry of astonishment at the streak of sensation she felt all the way to the center of her womb.

Silverton raised his head at her smothered shriek, his eyes filled with laughter, an expression of mock alarm on his face.

“Hush, my darling,” he exclaimed softly. “You must not cry out so loudly.”

“I'm sorry,” Meredith gasped, mortified by her lack of control. “I just can't seem to help it.”

“I'm depending on that,” he murmured before lowering his head back to her breast.

She was about to ask him what he meant when his teeth closed around her nipple. He tugged on her flesh so sweetly that she could swear it plumped more fully into his mouth. Meredith tried to swallow the moans forced out against her will as he licked and nipped the tight bud, stopping occasionally to blow air on it before sucking it back into his mouth. Just when she thought she would lose her mind, he switched to the other breast, swirling his tongue in luxurious strokes that built up the tension in the pit of her belly to almost unbearable levels.

“Please!” she gasped, not understanding quite what she wanted but certain he would know exactly what she needed. “Please!”

Meredith arched her back, deliberately pushing her breast against his rasping tongue. He made a low purring sound, like a giant cat, feasting on as much of her softness as he could pull into his mouth. She writhed in his lap, pressing against an erection that felt rock hard and startlingly large against her bottom.

He lifted his head with a gasp, his face branded with a flush of desire that made her heart pound even harder. Silverton looked into her eyes; his expression was both rampantly possessive and achingly tender at the same time.

Meredith suddenly realized with a bone-deep conviction that he would do everything in his power to protect her. She lay across him, completely vulnerable and open to his touch, completely at his mercy, but feeling safer than she had at any other time in her memory.

“God, Meredith.” His deep voice reverberated through her body. “You are so beautiful I can hardly bear it.”

The words were almost as good as his touch. Her eyelids fluttered shut when his mouth returned to her lips.

As he slipped his tongue inside, his hand moved under her dress and up her thigh. His touch was not so gentle now, his fingers firm against her leg as if he could barely restrain himself. He moved past her garter to exposed skin, sliding upward until he reached the damp curls between her legs.

She could hardly breathe as she inhaled in ragged sobs, her emotions a dizzying combination of eager impatience and a stunned bashfulness that made her want to shrink from his commanding touch. But Meredith knew he would not stop, nor would she ask him to.

Silverton stroked through her curls and probed carefully, pressing a long finger into tender folds that seemed to melt as he pushed farther inside her. She was no longer a woman of reason and control, but a creature of sensation, and only he could satisfy her spiraling need.

He stroked her sheath, a knowing hand fondling her drenched softness. Meredith trembled under the onslaught, her body straining to understand what his hands were teaching her.

Silverton suddenly withdraw his finger from inside her. At the loss of his touch, she opened heavy lids to look at him. His eyes swept across her, and she felt incredibly wanton as she lay against his thighs and chest. The curls between her legs glistened with moisture, her breasts, tipped with hard pink nipples, still wet from his mouth. A soft growl rumbled in his throat as his eyes lifted to meet hers.

He held her gaze as he deliberately, relentlessly pushed her thighs wider with the hand that still played between her legs. Stroking once more into her curls, he found the most secret part of her, an aching sensitivity hidden in the folds of plump flesh. Parting her once again, his fingers caressed and gently rubbed the swollen bud. She began to shiver deep inside, the sensation both unbearable and glorious.

She couldn't stand it, couldn't take any more. As if he knew, he pushed a long finger back inside her as he simultaneously exerted a steady pressure on the little bud. She arched her back, completely unraveled by the intensity of the pleasure radiating from her very core, rippling out in shuddering tremors through her body.

Meredith parted her lips to cry out just as Silverton brought his mouth down on hers—hard, dominating, taking into himself the sweet, sweet blessing of the astonishing release.

 

 

Silverton fell back against the cushions as Meredith collapsed in a trembling heap on his lap. It was a miracle he hadn't come himself, what with her delightful bottom wriggling so sensuously against his cock. He continued to gently stroke her butter-soft flesh, and he kept the bounty of her full breast captured possessively in his hand. Silverton had no idea how he would ever let her go, when all he wanted to do was pull her down on the floor and bury himself in all that satiny heat.

But he wouldn't take her in his uncle's library, especially not the first time. Part of him couldn't believe he had pushed her as far as he did, but his accumulated frustration had collided with her sweetly offered desire, and his control had melted like ice in a spring thaw. He knew that the next time he held her like this, there would be no holding back for either of them. Still, he reminded himself, it wouldn't help Meredith to be discovered in so compromising a position.

With one more lingering look at her glorious body, Silverton smoothed her dress and pulled her chemise and bodice over her breasts. Meredith, who seemed to be in some kind of floating daze, began to move as she felt him rearrange her clothing. Her eyelids fluttered open and he saw consciousness returning, along with a dawning expression of incipient panic.

She began to struggle against him as she attempted to sit up. He bit back an oath as he clamped her firmly in place.

“Stop struggling, sweetheart.” Silverton fought to speak in a soothing voice. “Just rest in my lap for a minute to recover yourself.”

She continued to squirm, forcing a groan from him as she pressed down on his aching cock.

“Meredith,” he growled, “sit still.”

She froze at the sharp command in his voice, a look of consternation spreading across her face. He sighed and sat up higher, easing her into a more comfortable position on his lap.

“I didn't mean to alarm you, my sweet, but if you keep moving like that I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”

Meredith frowned, not comprehending the pain she caused him. But then she glanced at his face. Blushing, she dropped her gaze as she clumsily began to tie up her bodice.

“Let me help you, sweetheart,” he said, brushing aside her shaking hands. “You need to be still for a minute, give yourself a chance to regain your, ah, poise. After all,” he smiled at her, “you just had your—”

“No, no, don't say it,” she cried in a flustered voice. “I don't want to know what it's called! Please, my lord, you must let me up.” She wiggled against his groin as she attempted to rise.

Silverton involuntarily tightened his arms around her in response. “Meredith,” he ground out between clenched teeth, “please stop calling me my lord.”

“Well, I don't really know what else to call you, except Lord Silverton,” she protested as she pushed ineffectually against his chest.

Hoping to quiet her, he nuzzled his mouth against her neck. For a moment, she did stop squirming. Silverton lifted his head, pleased to see her lips parting as her eyes turned the color of velvet mist.

“You could try calling me Stephen,” he murmured. “At least when we're alone.”

Her body stiffened as she resumed her struggle to get up. “My lord, we cannot possibly be alone like this again. I shudder to imagine what you must think of me, but I assure you I have never done anything like this before in my life. You must let me up—now!”

He muttered another oath, releasing his grip around her waist and shoulders. Meredith pushed herself from his lap in a tangle of flailing limbs and skirts. She stumbled as she came to her feet, and he reached out quickly to steady her.

Rising, Silverton scowled as she bent to rummage around on the floor for the slippers that had fallen off her feet.

“Meredith, we need to discuss what happened here tonight.”

She shook her head vigorously as she yanked on her soft shoes. “No, my lord, we have no such need. This was a mistake. I don't blame you for dallying with me. . . .”

“I am not dallying with you! What in God's name are you talking about?” Try as he might, Silverton could not hold back his resentment that she would think so poorly of him.

Meredith edged away from him.

“I know you meant no harm, my lord.” She avoided his eye, hastily tying up the tapes of her gown. “And I know that you do have some feelings for me. . . .”

“Feelings for you!” he thundered. “Is that what you call it?”

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, looking over her shoulder at the door.

Silverton stalked across the room and grabbed her chin in his hand. He tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Explain yourself,” he demanded.

She stared back at him, her face a study of conflicting emotions. “I know you meant no harm. I know that you even care for me. But it's wrong to indulge ourselves in this way, and . . .” Her eyes slid away from him.

“And what?”

“You must not toy with me,” she whispered. “I couldn't bear it.”

Silverton felt his mouth gape open in shock. How in God's name had she come to such a wrongheaded conclusion?

Snapping his mouth shut, he released her chin and grasped her by the shoulders. “Meredith, I'm not toying with you. What kind of man do you take me for?”

Her eyes flew up to his face, her gaze wide and startled.

“I want to marry you, foolish child.” He could hear the growl in his voice. “I never would have touched you if that were not my firm intention.”

She stared at him for a moment. Her lips, still swollen from his lovemaking, parted in what looked like dismay. Before he could stop her, she wrenched herself from his arms and backed quickly to the door.

“No, no, Lord Silverton, you must not—it's impossible. Think of what you are saying! Please, I must go.”

He stood frozen to the spot as he listened to her flustered rejection of his admittedly clumsy offer. She fumbled briefly with the key before wrenching the door open in her hurry to escape.

Meredith spun back to face him. As he watched in disbelief, she dropped him a lopsided curtsy.

“Please excuse me, my lord,” she exclaimed in a breathless voice. “I will bid you good-night.”

She turned and fled the room, leaving him in a state of near befuddlement. In spite of what had just happened between them, in spite of Meredith's obvious mortification and panic, she had still felt obliged to observe the forms of propriety. Although he was beyond frustration, his groin throbbing with an unremitting ache, Silverton couldn't help but laugh. He would cherish her ridiculous curtsy for the rest of his life.

Now he simply had to ascertain what troubled her about their proposed marriage. After tonight he was convinced she loved him, so he suspected her refusal stemmed from the unfamiliar emotions and sensations she had just experienced. The whole situation had obviously overwhelmed her.

Not to mention the fact, he thought ruefully, that his proposal had been as inelegant as it could possibly be. He would have to make amends for that bit of stupidity.

Fetching his coat, Silverton slipped it on and strolled from the library. He let himself out through the massive front doors of Stanton House, knowing that Tolliver would lock up behind him. As he strode down the deserted streets of Mayfair, he began to formulate a plan to pursue Meredith and to assuage any doubts she might have about their union. He looked up at the dusky night sky and laughed softly. First he would get her to Belfield Abbey, and then he would woo her, wed her, and bed her.

But not, Silverton promised himself, necessarily in that order.

Feminine laughter mingled with the dainty clink of Sèvres teacups on saucers, drifting across the cavernous space of the drawing room to the large French doors that opened to the terrace. Silverton stood in the doorway, gazing out over the deer park cloaked in the lengthening shadows of the early summer evening.

He caught the occasional snatch of conversation but couldn't make out the thread of any particular discussion at this distance from the main group. The Elizabethan salon was large enough to billet an entire regiment, and he had never been fond of the gilded and intensely overwrought style of its grandiose décor. Why his mother chose the enormous room for such a small party was beyond him.

He supposed that she wished to impress the guests—a few of the local gentry, Sophia and Robert, Trask, and the Earl and Countess of Wrackley and their two children. The latter family was a surprising addition to the group, since his mother rarely went to the trouble of socializing with their closest neighbors.

The Wrackleys' estate ran parallel to Belfield Abbey along the North Downs. The earl held an ancient and distinguished title but was a spendthrift and a poor manager, and his lands had suffered from years of neglect. Everyone knew the family was in the hunt for a lucrative alliance for their daughter, Isabel, still considered a diamond of the first water even after three years on the marriage mart.

As Silverton observed the company from his post by the door, he acknowledged a sneaking suspicion that he was the Wrackleys' chosen prey. His mother's newfound liking for the countess, a woman she normally despised, confirmed this assumption. He also suspected that the source of his mother's odd behavior lay in her disapproval of his discreet attempts to court Meredith. She clearly hoped to distract him from that objective by dangling the beauteous Isabel right under his nose.

He sighed, convinced that his mother's all-too-obvious dislike of Meredith was one of the reasons his sweet girl had proven so elusive. Although they had been living in the same house for almost a fortnight, Meredith had managed to evade any attempt on his part to be alone with her. She had spent most of her time with Lady Stanton, attending to his aunt's needs as she recovered from her illness.

Against every single one of his natural inclinations, Silverton had not pressed her. But he hated that she shied away whenever he approached, likely mortified by her loss of control in his arms that night at Stanton House.

He glanced covertly across the room at her, where she sat on an ebony and purple silk settee conversing with the Earl of Wrackley's young son, Viscount Tuddler.

The memory of Meredith's erotic surrender still had the power to arouse him. It had taken enormous discipline on his part these last few weeks not to pounce on her and drag her off to the nearest bed. Instead, he had waited patiently. Now the excuse Meredith had used so effectively to avoid him was gone—literally. General and Lady Stanton had departed for Brighton this morning. His aunt loved the sea, and the general had determined that a trip to the seaside resort would help restore his wife to health.

Meredith had wanted to go with them, but, much to Silverton's delight, Lady Stanton had insisted she and Annabel remain at the Abbey.

“No, my dear,” his aunt had replied firmly when Meredith tried to protest the decision. “You've been waiting on me hand and foot for three weeks. It's time for you to enjoy yourself a little, and the Abbey is delightful at this time of year. There are many lovely prospects and opportunities for both you and Annabel to paint and sketch. I absolutely insist that you remain.”

Meredith had seemed to submit with good grace, but she had not been able to stop herself from sliding a nervous glance at Silverton. That shy look had strengthened his resolve to get her alone as soon as possible.

He snapped out of his pleasant musings when he saw Tuddler lean close to Meredith and murmur something in her ear. The youthful viscount had been flirting with her all evening, just skimming the boundaries of acceptable behavior. Silverton wanted nothing more than to grab the pimply faced boy by his absurdly high collar, drag him out to the terrace, and pitch him over the balustrade into the prickly rosebushes below.

Fortunately, Meredith's cool response to the young man's advances managed to allay Silverton's primitive impulses. Right now, she inspected Tuddler as if he were a species of exotic toad that had somehow hopped its way into the drawing room.

“Silverton, do stop making an ass of yourself,” Trask brusquely interrupted his murderous fantasy. “The girl is clearly impervious to anyone else's advances but yours.”

Silverton grinned ruefully at the earl. “That obvious, am I?”

His friend snorted in derision. They both watched Meredith, who, at that moment, pointedly turned her back on Tuddler to speak to Annabel. The two men looked at each other and broke into laughter.

“For God's sake, man,” exclaimed Trask after his amusement had subsided, “when are you going to put us out of our misery and ask Miss Burnley to marry you?”

“I've been trying,” grumbled Silverton, “but she won't let me get near her.” He frowned as he studied the object of his thwarted affections. “She has gotten the notion into her head that I'm toying with her.”

“And what have you done to dispel that notion?”

“Well . . .” Silverton hesitated, fearing he would sound ridiculous. “I'm wooing her.”

“Wooing her! What in blazes are you talking about? Any idiot can see you are both well beyond that point. Just tell Miss Burnley how you feel and be done with it.”

Silverton shook his head. “I don't think that would suffice. The scandal at Lady Framingham's ball, and its aftermath, deeply affected her. She hates the life of the ton, and I suspect she is having some difficulty imagining herself as the Marchioness of Silverton.” He hated to even acknowledge that thought, but his instincts—and Meredith's behavior—told him that he was probably right.

“Well, Tuddler's mother doesn't seem to have any difficulty imagining it,” retorted Trask.

Silverton narrowed his eyes as he studied his mother and Lady Wrackley seated together on the other side of the room. They were engaged in a quiet but intense conversation, the countess occasionally glancing with smug satisfaction at her son's efforts to engage Meredith's attention.

“Indeed,” murmured Silverton. “That is odd.”

“I believe your mother is responsible for that. Lady Silverton has obviously encouraged the countess to see her son's pathetic attempts to flirt with Miss Burnley as a diversionary tactic. If Tuddler can woo her away from you, then the beautiful Isabel will have a clear field to reach her objective. And”—Trask grinned wickedly—“in case you haven't noticed, that objective is you.”

“I noticed,” Silverton responded dryly.

“I take it that Lady Silverton would object to Miss Burnley as a daughter-in-law?”

“What do you think?”

Trask's lips curled with a subtly expressed contempt. “Permit me to say with all due respect, Silverton, that your mother is a fool.”

“Trask, you are stating the obvious. You are aware, however, that as devoted as I am to her, I rarely listen to my mother.”

“I'm glad to hear it, particularly in this case. Miss Burnley is a rare prize.” Trask's eyes returned to his appreciative study of Meredith. “In fact, if you are not successful in your attempts to pursue her, then perhaps I might be inclined to take up the chase.”

“Don't even think about it,” growled Silverton, not bothering to hide his reaction to his friend's jest.

Trask rolled his eyes, but Silverton no longer cared that he acted the part of a wild animal protecting his mate. When it came to Meredith, he was long past the point of hiding his possessive instincts.

“Well, in that case,” the earl mused, “you clearly need another plan.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Why don't you just bed her, and then she'll have to marry you.”

“You don't know Meredith,” Silverton replied, refusing to meet his friend's eyes.

Trask stared at him for a moment, and then gave a low hoot of laughter. “Come now, Silverton, don't tell me that your vaunted skills have failed to have the desired effect?”

“Can we please change the subject?” Silverton ground out between clenched teeth. “Although you may not believe it, I invited you down here not for the dubious pleasure of your company, but because I need your advice on a matter of some import.”

Trask grinned but refrained from any more lewd comments. “I am yours to command.”

Casting a quick glance around to ensure their privacy, Silverton launched into a brief recitation of the events that had occurred the night Jacob Burnley forced himself on Meredith. The smile faded from Trask's face as Silverton also related Isaac Burnley's attempt to control the sisters, and his threat to incarcerate Annabel in an asylum.

“What possible reason could he have for wanting to do that?”

“That's what I need to find out,” answered Silverton. “The Burnleys are prosperous wool merchants and tradesmen. I believe the uncle is sole owner of a large factory in Bristol. Given that you have investments in the trade, I hoped you could use your contacts to determine the state of the family fortune. The uncle and son, apparently, had no interest in either Meredith or Annabel until a few months ago. Something must have changed to precipitate their rash behavior.”

Understanding dawned on Trask's face. “Annabel is a considerable heiress from her mother's side, is she not?”

Silverton nodded. “Ten thousand a year. And although Meredith's income is much less, it would still provide a tidy sum for a business that may be encountering difficulties.”

“Leave it with me. I'll be going back to London in a few days; there are one or two people in the city that might be able to provide some answers. In the meantime, I'll write to my contacts in Bath and Bristol. If there is anything to know, I will find it.”

Silverton was about to reply when his mother drifted over in a cloud of peach and gold silk. The two men turned politely to greet her.

“You are both very naughty boys,” she purred as she wrapped her hand around Silverton's forearm. “My son, you are sadly neglecting your guests. Lady Isabel has most graciously consented to play the pianoforte for us. You must know how accomplished she is, and her singing voice—simply divine!”

Trask pointedly raised his eyebrows. Silverton gave him a sardonic smile in return.

“In that case, my lady, I'll rejoin the others.” The earl escaped across the room to take a seat next to Sophia.

“Stephen,” Lady Silverton asked with an imperious look on her delicate features, “would you be so kind as to open the instrument for Lady Isabel? You have been ignoring her all evening, and I assure you, the poor girl is most conscious of the slight.”

Silverton studied his mother's haughty expression.

“Well, we certainly can't have that.” He arranged his features into their habitual social mask and allowed his mother to lead him over to the young lady waiting eagerly by the pianoforte.

 

 

Meredith had spent the last two weeks trying to forget the life-altering encounter that had occurred in the library at Stanton House. That, of course, was impossible. Every time she looked at Silverton the memories came flooding back, along with a liquid heat that threatened to melt her from the inside out.

She had done everything she could to avoid him—no mean feat given they were living in the same house—but her bulwark and shield had departed this morning in a traveling coach to Brighton.

Meredith dragged her attention back to the absurdly dressed young man who had spent the evening flirting with her. Viscount Tuddler had been a nuisance ever since the men had joined the ladies in the drawing room after dinner. The murderous glares Silverton directed at the viscount were the only consolation she had for the purgatory of his company.

She cast a surreptitious glance at her host as he stood deep in conversation with the Earl of Trask. Meredith tried mightily to suppress the wistful longing she felt in his company, a longing that had only grown more intense during these last few weeks at his estate.

Imposing and beautiful, Belfield Abbey had appealed immediately to her artistic sensibilities. Meredith would never forget her first glimpse of the manor house. Both she and Annabel had gazed impatiently out the windows of the chaise as it bowled up the long drive through the enormous, lushly wooded deer park. Suddenly, the trees had parted and the Abbey had revealed itself in all the venerable splendor of its Tudor glory.

She spent many secret hours wandering the house and grounds, the majesty and ancient history of the estate exerting a powerful influence on her imagination. Meredith couldn't help yearning for a life here with Silverton, raising children and weaving herself into the fabric of generations that had come before and would continue unbroken for years to come.

But her wistful fantasies must remain just that—fantasies. Whenever she thought about what life would really be like as the Marchioness of Silverton, she was swamped with anxiety and a bitter sense of her own inadequacy. And even though Silverton might not realize how ill equipped she was for the position, his mother certainly did.

Lady Silverton had been icily polite for the past two weeks. The woman's obvious dislike of her too clearly reminded Meredith of the reception she would receive from the ton if she were foolish enough to marry Silverton. She didn't even want to imagine how poorly her ladyship would react if she knew that her son had already proposed marriage.