A Breach of Promise (The Rules of Engagement #1)(18)

“Timid. Complacent. Lacking imagination or any sense of adventure. One who would never seek anything beyond the comforts of home. I see now that I passed judgment too soon.”

Seized by a sudden want that terrified her, Lydia tore her gaze from his mouth and her hand from his grasp to clutch frantically at her disintegrating resolve.

“You were sadly mistaken in me,” she said. “I do indeed desire a husband, a home of my own, and several children, Marcus…just not yours.”



Marcus blanched. Her vehemence was not feigned. “Do you truly despise me so, Lydia?”

She met him stare for stare as if she could find her own answer in his eyes. For the first time, the pain of six years of neglect reflected back at him.

“Do you genuinely care if I do?” she asked, her eyes searching, probing. “Do you honestly care about me at all?”

The answer came upon him as a sudden blow to the head. “Yes,” he said, sending his world off-kilter. Until this moment, the wooing of Lydia Trent had been little more than a game to him, but God help him he wanted her now. He was thunderstruck to realize he yearned for her good opinion and craved her respect as much as he desired her body. Bloody hell! When had this happened? He supposed it was somewhere between the first taste of her at the lily fountain and discovering her Latin scholarship.

“I beg your pardon?” Lydia asked, as if seeking confirmation for her disbelieving ears.

“Yes, Lydia, I care for you,” Marcus repeated with greater conviction than before, as if he’d gained confidence in the repetition. “I want you. Exceedingly. Desperately. And for the record, my sweet, they would be cherubic.”

Lydia regarded him with stark incomprehension.

“Our children.” He expounded in his most seductive tone. “The fruit of our loins that would be nothing less than heaven in the making.”

Lydia regarded him as if stunned. He watched in fascination as the color slowly infused her pale skin to a rosy, telling pink. She was so incredibly responsive to her thoughts, knowledge that only further incited him to fill her head with nothing but lurid imaginings.

Marcus had always taken pride in his ability to recognize and master the perfect moment and this was it. He moved in with confidence, cupping her nape and capturing her mouth, thinking to possess her while most vulnerable. Here and now. Do or die. If he had to truly play the scoundrel and exploit her own sexuality to make her his—so be it.



Marcus’ new and sweet assault tore Lydia in twain. Part of her, the sensible part, cried out to retreat to the furthest corner of the chaise; but when he took possession of her mouth, the other part, the overwhelmingly devilish part, screamed for surrender. The devil won out. Scarcely aware of her own actions, she leaned into him with softly parted lips.

The kiss, beginning as little more than a taste, sent fingers of warmth tingling through her entire body. When she yielded further, he slanted his head over hers, nipping and teasing the plump flesh of her lower lip. He stroked over it lightly with his tongue, tracing the seam of her mouth, lightly prodding and rousing her to flick out her own in a tentative exploration. The brief, wet, rasping contact sent a flare of heat straight to her core.

Lydia gasped and he stole her breath only to return it mixed with his own when his tongue slid into her mouth, overwhelming her senses with the faintly cinnamon taste of him. The dance of their tongues was headier than any champagne and infinitely more addictive. Capturing and releasing, tongues tangling, breaths mingling, stoking the flame higher with every fervent stroke. The tone of the kiss intensified.

Her arms entwined tightly about his neck and Marcus crushed her against his firm, hard chest. He cupped her face and his tongue dove deeper, his groan sending a delicious frisson straight to the damp throbbing region betwixt her thighs. She whimpered when he broke the kiss, and shuddered when his mouth found the hollow behind her ear. He sucked lightly on her neck. It was too much. She cried out but his teasing mouth continued playing erotic games on her skin while his hands found and cupped her throbbing breasts. His thumbs circled the tight buds of nipples pressing painfully against her gown, screaming to be freed.

His mouth skirted over her collarbone, licking, kissing, finding the mounds of her breasts in fevered kisses that engulfed her mind. Her hands searched him out, shoving aside his coat, fumbling with buttons, roaming the hard plane of his chest, seeking the heat beneath. At her frantic urging, Marcus made a strangled sound and yanked her onto his lap.

She arched her back in a silent plea. He answered by jerking at her bodice and freeing her breasts. She moaned, clutching at his hair, pulling his head to her, desperate for him to slake her growing need. Marcus buried his face in the valley, kissing and biting the soft mounds, rolling her ruched peaks between his fingers. Every kiss and caress pulled her further into some dark and sensuous place.

Lydia was deaf to all but the thunderous pulse in her ears until he released her breast, amplifying the excruciating emptiness deep in her belly. She protested with a convulsive sob. He took a tight peak hungrily into the moist heat of his mouth, she threw her head back with a cry, lost in sensation, drunk with desire, blind and oblivious to all but the sensation of his mouth pulling and suckling. With each tantalizing touch, and every stolen breath, she succumbed a bit further, yielding to him, drawing his body to her own.

“Please, Marcus,” she begged for she knew not what. By answer, he cupped her mons, sending her bucking against him with a soft wail.