No Place for a Lady (37 page)

"Marcus." His name was more whisper than word, and beside her temple, she felt his lips curve into a smile.

"You are so beautiful," he said, and for the first time in her life, she believed it. She was beautiful. He made her so. "I cannot believe you are finally mine."

She smiled and made to kiss him, twisting in his hold, but he would not allow her to.

"No," he whispered. "Stay this way for me a moment longer."

He continued to stroke her body, brushing the cloth in random patterns, moving across her body where and how he willed. He pulled her arms up over her head, draping them over his shoulders, and with her stretched against him, he stroked the underside of her breasts.

She moved against him, wanting to turn to kiss him, and yet wanting more of this exquisite torture. It did not matter. He would not release her as his other hand joined the cloth, first pulling her hips hard against him, then roaming on its own.

Soon he discarded the cloth altogether, and his two hands cupped her breasts while she rocked her buttocks against him. As he held her, his fingers ever moving, he bent his head to kiss her along the side of her neck. His tongue made slow circles that were echoed by his fingers, and her legs began to tremble.

Marcus lowered his hands to her belly, then her hips as she rocked against him. He responded in kind, thrusting upward.

It was too much and too little. Turning in his hold, she lifted her face for his kiss. He claimed her mouth with a swift possession, and all too soon they were both gasping for breath.

Her fingers fumbled with his shirt, tearing at the buttons and peeling off the wet fabric from his slick body. He helped her as best he could, all the while raining kisses across her face, her neck, whatever part of her he could reach.

Then when she had at last stripped away his shirt, he leaned over and lifted her. In two strides, he was beside the bed, laying her down on the mattress with amazing gentleness.

Abruptly he stood back. His body was a powerful silhouette, broad and strong, but his eyes were dark, his face shadowed.

"Marcus?" she asked softly.

"I swore to leave you. To let you be a lady."

"But I am a lady," she answered easily. "And nothing you ever do or say can change that. I understand that now. I choose my life. And I choose you." She stretched up, catching his lips with her own. Then she pulled him down with her onto the bed. He went reluctantly, as if still doubting her, but soon she overpowered his restraint. His hands touched her, his tongue stroked her, and his weight began to shift on top of her.

She reached for his trousers, but he brushed her fingers away, breaking off their kiss. He disrobed quickly, with an efficiency she could not have managed. When he returned to her, he went not for her lips, but lower, to her breasts, tasting her as no one but him had ever done before.

She gasped, feeling the erotic swirl of his tongue, the slight nip of his teeth, even the heated brush of his breath.

She cried out, feeling the tension coil almost unbearably within her, but still he went on, tormenting her while she writhed.

"Marcus," she cried, "please." She didn't know what she asked for, only knew that she needed him more than ever. She felt him shift on the mattress, settling his weight over her as she opened up to him. She stroked his back, letting her hands slide down his lean form until they settled on his hips.

She felt the brush of his legs—corded muscles, taut on the inside of her thighs. Then she pulled him toward her.

His thrust was swift and powerful, and she cried out at the swift pierce of pain. He stopped, holding himself still, his eyes wide with astonishment.

"My God, Fantine, I never thought—"

"It is nothing," she whispered, except that it was everything, and yet she did not mind in the least. It felt right that he should be the one to take her virginity.

Marcus shook his head. "You should have told me."

"I chose this. I chose you." Then to emphasize her words, she began to move. Her body stretched for him, her hips pressed against him.

With a groan, he lowered his head and kissed her, taking her mouth while below he drove into her again.

And again.

The tension within her built and she gasped with each powerful stroke. She felt his hands, firm and hard on her body, pulling her against him.

Again.

And again.

Until with a final thrust, her world splintered into a thousand glittering diamonds. She heard voices crying out and knew one was hers. She felt Marcus, joined with her in joy, his own ecstasy as triumphant as her own.

Chapter 20

Marcus was grinning.

He knew he was grinning because his cheek muscles ached. In fact, his whole body ached, but he was so happy, he did not care. He could not believe what had happened. After thinking he had lost Fantine forever, she had come to him. She had offered herself to him in a seduction that still had the power to arouse him. If he closed his eyes, he could see her once again, outlined by the firelight, slowly extending one long, sleek leg to be washed.

Looking at her now, curled on her side in sleep, no one would guess at the passion she contained inside. How many times had they come together last night? How many times had she cried out his name in her joy?

She was his, and he could hardly believe his luck.

He reached out and stroked her cheek. Her skin was a soft rose, innocent and pure. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the pink blush of her mouth.

Did they have time? Could he lose himself in her again?

From a long way away, he heard the downstairs clock strike eleven. There was no more time. Yet as she stirred, a smile of welcome curving across her lush mouth, how could he resist her?

* * *

"I must go." Marcus was feeling languid and sleepy and altogether too happy to stir. But he had to. "The servants will bring you anything you need."

"What if I need you?" Her words were soft and seductive as she stretched her arms across his shoulders and drew him down for a tantalizing kiss.

He nearly succumbed, but he could not. "Lord, Fantine, you do not know how much you tempt me." His words were nearly a groan, but he pushed away from her.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" She sat up, letting the sheet pool about her waist. Her glorious breasts were revealed in the sunlight, and he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from touching her.

"I must talk with someone." He took a deep breath, then tore his gaze away from her. "And I must send Jacob to Wilberforce to make sure the man does not go to White's this afternoon."

Fantine frowned, remembering last night's events. "I swear I have heard Teggie's voice before. Why did you stop me from following him? I could have ended this."

"You know full well why," he said as he extricated himself from the bedsheets. "You would have drawn a great deal of attention. I shudder to think what Hurdy would do if he discovered you betrayed him."

Fantine shrugged, though he heard a slight tremor of nervousness in her voice. "I can handle Hurdy."

"No doubt you can. But I will not risk you. Not when I can handle the situation just as well today."

She had been shifting her position on the bed, but at his words she stilled, her gaze cooling even as she questioned him. "What do you mean? How can you resolve things?"

He knew he should have waited to tell her. He should have held his tongue until the entire affair was completed to his satisfaction. But he hated keeping things from her, hated that he had lied to her.

Their relationship had changed last night, and he did not want to begin the morning less than honest. So he settled back onto the bed and took her hands, trying to soften the blow as much as possible.

"I lied to you. I did recognize Teggie's voice. I know who he is."

She did not react immediately. In fact, she was completely still. Then he saw the fury blaze in her eyes as she jerked her hands out of his and leaped out of bed. She whirled around to confront him.

"You know who he is?"

"Yes."

"And you did not tell me! How could you?" She was shaking in her rage.

"Fantine, you must let me handle this—"

"I will not!"

He pushed to his feet, using his superior height to advantage as he gripped her shoulders. "Listen to me. I know you are loathe to relinquish any part of this investigation, but in this you must!"

"Bloody hell, do you think me too incompetent to—"

"Of course not!" His explosion was enough to temporarily silence her. "He is a lord and an influential one at that."

"That means nothing—"

"It means something to me. Fantine, aside from the risk from Hurdy, remember that we are dealing with the peerage, not some dockside criminal. There are rules. We must be discreet."

She shoved him away from her, her movement so sudden his hands slipped off her shoulders as if they had never been there. "He is a murderer. You would not be this merciful if we discovered Ballast or Hurdy at the bottom of this."

Marcus shook his head, wishing she would understand. "We cannot allow the British people to think our leaders are corrupt. We would have mass unrest. Good Lord, we might plunge the entire country into a revolution like France. Do you want that?"

She stared at him, her fists clenched. "You still think us idiots."

"I beg your pardon?"

She threw up her hands. "If the lower class is angry, perhaps we have a reason."

"Of course, but—"

"No, it is my turn." She stepped forward, pulling on a wrap as she moved. "We do not want to revolt like the mad French. We do not want a leader like Napoleon. We wish to be dealt with honesty. We wish a chance at a decent life."

Marcus nodded, his thoughts and emotions tangled together in an indecipherable knot. "Of course you do," he said slowly. "But what has that to do with Lord—with Teggie?"

"Can you not see it, Marcus? How are we to trust you if you hide your frailties?"

"How are you to trust us if we expose ourselves as less than perfect?" Marcus shot back. "The nation must be run smoothly or we shall be attacked from within as well as without. Napoleon is waiting for just such an event. Show him that our government is unstable, and he shall attack within days! I cannot allow that to happen."

"What will you do? Lock me up rather than let me finish what I was hired to do?"

Marcus looked at her clenched fists, wondering how events had slipped out of his control. "Be reasonable, Fantine. He will be more cooperative if it is handled quietly, between peers."

She threw up her hands. "Quietly! Between peers! My God, Marcus, he has tried to have a man killed. Expose him and be done with it."

"That is not how things are done!"

There was a long, taut silence as they stared at each other. They were barely two paces apart, and yet he felt as if they stood on opposite sides of a wide gulf.

"Fantine, it is the way things are done. We have discussed this before. You cannot change the world merely by wishing."

"So you will lock me inside and handle Teggie between peers. What does that mean? Does he go free?"

"Yes. To the Colonies."

She began to laugh, the sound not at all pleasant. "So you send the problem away, push him off onto other people."

"He will not be nearly so dangerous there."

"A murderer will remain a murderer, Marcus. He will not change just because you have sent him away from your exalted presence."

He sighed. "He will be leaving everything he has—his family, his title, his income, everything. Is that not punishment enough?"

She shook her head. "I do not know. And neither do you. Expose him, Marcus. Let a judge decide."

He was tempted. He nearly gave in. But in the end, he could not. "This is the way things are done. Gentleman to gentleman. I am sorry you do not understand that."

"Oh, I do understand." Her voice was filled with contempt. "All too well, Lord Chadwick." His title came out as a sneer.