A Breach of Promise (The Rules of Engagement #1)(20)

Spurred on by her eager response, Marcus increased the intensity of his efforts, locating the hidden treasure of her clitoris. Plying lips, teeth, and tongue, he worshipped at the altar of her womanhood—circling, swirling and sucking her clitoris while his fingers worked the slick folds around her passage. Damn but she was hot and dripping with desire. His engorged cock throbbed to be inside her. Marcus slid his hand beneath the globes of her buttocks, lifting her up to bury his face in her delicious mound. His fingers found her passage, tracing, teasing, and gently probing.

Keen to watch her orgasm unfurl, he stole a look at her face. Her skin gleamed with a light sheen of perspiration. Her head was thrown back. Her hands pulled at his hair, clutching him as her breathing accelerated to sharp ragged gasps. She was so close, so bloody close. He’d never seen a woman so ready.

“Just let go, Lydia. Let it take you away.”

Bent on pushing her over the brink into the abyss, Marcus slipped a finger into her tight, slick passage and took her exposed clitoris between his lips. He suckled her in a ruthless rhythm, as his skillful fingers worked her, faster, harder, urging her descent into oblivion. In euphoric self-satisfaction Marcus watched Lydia come apart.

Brows taut, skin flushed, lush pink lips parted, her legs convulsed and then her body racked with the first orgasmic spasms that sent her screaming over the precipice as if fractured into a thousand pieces of ecstasy.



For a timeless period Lydia lay dazed and spent, trembling with blissful aftershocks, but fast upon the receding glow of her climax came uncertainty, doubt…remorse.

She feared opening her eyes, knowing how she looked, sprawled against the seat, her laces undone, her skirts pulled to her waist—no better than some Covent Garden doxy. In truth, she was mortified to look Marcus in the face after he’d rendered her senseless, breathless, and worst of all, reduced her to a shameless wanton.

She reasoned that if she never opened her eyes, she could remain indefinitely in this hazy, dreamlike state where she would never have to face him—or herself. But then she sensed the heat of Marcus’ body hovering over her, and his mouth playing upon on her lips. This kiss was nothing like before. It was tender and salty sweet, and she realized, to her shock, redolent of her.

“I want to take you now, Lydia,” he whispered against her mouth. “I want to possess you with every ounce of my being, but I won’t.” He drew back from her, his face drawn taut, his expression grim.

“What does it matter now?” she asked. “For I’m already ruined.”

His self-control touched, maddened and confounded her. Knowing she would have capitulated, Marcus had refrained from completing the act and doing the irrevocable. What was his game? She had thought his intent was to force her hand into marriage, yet she’d just given him the perfect opportunity, an invitation even, to totally debauch her, and he’d demurred? Moreover, why did she now taste rejection and dismay? The truth of her feelings struck her with an anguishing jolt.

He took her hand and kissed it, a smug smile pulling at his face. “Ruined for any other man, perhaps. But not truly ruined.”

Damn the conceit of the man! Lydia drew herself up with a scathing look and threw her rumpled skirts back over her legs, wishing he was wrong, but the thought of ever sharing such intimacies with another man was an aberrant notion. All of her erotic dreams were of Marcus, always had been. Even when she had briefly considered wedding the vicar, a piece of her heart had still vainly waited and hoped for Marcus. Now her eyes were opened and her body awakened to what could be between them.

Ruined her—he had indeed.





Chapter Seven


Lydia’s hair was tousled beyond any possibility of redemption, her lips kiss-swollen, and her eyes held that sultry luster produced only by the languor of a good romp. In sum, she looked thoroughly and charmingly tumbled. Marcus watched her set to work repairing the visible damage of their love play.

“The damage is still done, Marcus. My reputation can never survive this. I can never survive you!” Her trembling hands grappled impotently with her laces. Her face mirrored a riot of emotion. Her eyes shone. She looked about to crumple.

Anticipating her tears, Marcus pulled her against his chest, enfolding her in his arms, resting his chin upon her hair. He soothed her, rubbing her back and massaging her temples as her body shook with sobs muffled against his shirt. “There you are wrong, my dearest. While my motives were not the most honorable when you entered this carriage, I did leave you a choice.”

Lydia’s head jerked upward knocking painfully into his chin. “What choice?”

Damn! Marcus rubbed his jaw. “I mean I had every intention of taking your maidenhead, but contrary to my notoriously selfish inclinations, I left the decision to you. Now I ask you to make it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I want you, Lydia,” he groaned. “Bad enough that I’m about to say something I never thought would pass my lips. I’m asking if you will have me as your husband and your lover. I’m asking you to marry me, but if you wish me to humble myself by kneeling at your feet again, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

He watched her face as myriad emotions battled for supremacy, uncertainty and distrust foremost among them. He grazed a warm finger over her cheek. “I can’t believe you feel nothing for me. Despite your recent protests, I was under the belief that you once desired our union.”