A Breach of Promise (The Rules of Engagement #1)(27)

Lydia looked to Marcus who interceded. “My wife will retire with me.”

“Your wife?” Nick and Mariah exclaimed in unison.

“Aye,” Marcus laughed. “For that’s the true cause of our delay and the crime for which I must plead clemency in the morning.”

“You mean to say you really—”

Marcus gave Nick a quelling look and turned back to the maid. “Sally, please see that Lady Russell is properly settled.” He took Lydia’s hand. “I’ll repair to the library with Nick for a short while and give you time to…refresh yourself.”

“Of course,” she breathed. “You won’t be long?”

“I assure you, I won’t be long.” He brushed his lips across her fingers and Lydia’s heart fluttered at the dark and decadent promise in his eyes.

*



Sally helped Lydia to undress and took down her hair, all the while nursing a smug smile that Lydia did her best to ignore. Dismissing the maid, Lydia examined her reflection with dissatisfaction. In the cotton night rail and lace-trimmed wrapper, with her long braid falling over one shoulder, she appeared modest, demure, and far closer to the young girl of their betrothal night than the siren she wished to be when her new husband entered the bedchamber.

Letting loose her hair, she discarded the night rail for the wrapper alone and then cast her anxious gaze about the room, wondering where she should await him. Would he expect her in the bed? She was still deliberating when his soft knock sounded upon the door. As promised, he hadn’t kept her waiting long. With hammering heart, she opened the door. He entered silently, closing it behind him with a soft click. He stood back for a long moment, drinking her into the indigo depths of his eyes.

“My Lord Marcus,” she greeted him. “Husband,” she added in a whisper.

“Lady Russell,” he spoke her new name, the sound warm and melodic to her ears. “My wife. My love.”

Still, he stood back as if awaiting her next move. “Are you going to make love to me, Marcus?”

The blue flame came to life in his gaze. “Are you not overly wearied from the long journey?”

“I had a long nap, do you not remember? But perhaps you are too fatigued to perform your conjugal duty?” Her eyes gleamed with challenge and Marcus was upon her in three strides, pulling her into his arms, his voice a low growl in her ear. “My mind was filled with nothing but this moment the entire drive from Mayfair, Lydia. Nothing but your reticence would stop me from claiming you now.” His kiss was ravenous, toe curling.

Her fingers were already working at buttons and yanking at his cravat. “Then by all means, husband, take me to bed.”

Marcus pulled her hands away to shrug out of the coat and waistcoat he flung to the floor. One more clean tug removed the choking cravat. Lydia yanked his shirttails from his breeches. Too impatient to wait for its removal, she sought the warmth of his chest. Backing her toward the silk-covered tester bed, he worked the knot of her wrapper. She shrugged. The loose folds slithered to puddle on the floor.

His mouth caressed that newly bared skin. “You are a goddess, Lydia, my own Venus rising straight out of my dreams.”

She clutched his hair, urging his head, that heavenly mouth to her breasts. He readily complied, kissing, suckling, caressing. She reached for his breeches. Her thighs were already moist, her insides throbbing with desire. “I want you, Marcus. I want you now,” she murmured.

He groaned, his hands joining hers, clumsy and fumbling to free his jutting erection. Stepping back only long enough to shed his remaining clothes, he rejoined her, pressing her back against the bed. Lydia jolted with pleasure at the velvety heat of his shaft against her mons.

He gripped her waist and lifted her onto the bed. “Open for me, my love.” His voice soothed her nerves, quieted her qualms. He pressed her quivering knees farther apart, wedging himself between her thighs. One hand stroked her belly, gliding along her hip, sliding down to the apex of her thighs. The air between them was redolent of desire, thick with the essence of arousal.

“Are you ready for me, love?” He slipped his fingers into her hot, wet folds, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Have the hours of agonizing anticipation prepared your body for mine?”

“Yes, Marcus,” she breathed. “I am ready. I want to feel you, all of you. I want you to fill me up and spend your seed deep inside me.”

By answer, he kissed her long and deep and laid her back on the bed. Guiding the head of his staff, he circled her clitoris and wet it in her slick folds. She arched and whimpered, grinding up against him.

“Shh…” he soothed. “Patience just a bit longer. I don’t wish to hurt you.” Hands under her knees, he raised them up while lavishing sweet kisses before placing her feet on the edge of the mattress. One big, warm hand fondled her breast as he guided the head of his cock to her entrance, tracing, gently probing.

“Please, Marcus. I am ready,” she moaned.

“Are you certain?” She could hear his struggle for self-control.

“Yes, my love. I am certain.”

“Then your wish is my command.” Rearing back, he plunged into her. The pain that made her cry out was sharp, searing, but blessedly brief. She gazed up into tortured eyes. “Are you all right?”

She returned an encouraging smile of love and desire and reached for him. “Kiss me, Marcus, and all will be forgotten.” Relief washed over his face, he leaned over her, meeting her in a lover’s kiss as he filled and pulsed within her.