A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement #2)(42)

“So the deed is done at last.” He broke the tense silence. “Our families are surely congratulating themselves on the success of their mutual machinations.”

Lydia’s throat went dry at his edge of resentment. “Y-you did not wish this engagement?”

“Did you?” he asked, but then failed to await her response. Marcus’ unsteady steps slowed. “It’s not like they ever gave us a choice, is it, my pet?” He chucked her under the chin. “Here you are, barely out of the schoolroom, with no experience of life. As for me, they wish to clip my bloody wings before I ever take flight. What a damnable life to have it all mapped out at another’s whim,” he added as if to himself.

No. She hadn’t imagined the bitterness. The knot in her stomach tightened. “You don’t have to, you know—marry me.” She closed her eyes and choked out the words.

Marcus’ laugh was a low, mirthless sound. “But there you are wrong, my sweet. As a younger son without a pot to piss in, I must do precisely as my family demands of me.” They had reached the huge oak where an old wooden swing was suspended. Without asking her leave, Marcus seized her by the waist and hoisted her onto the seat. He stepped back with another laugh. “There. You are dressed in virginal white and look upon me with wide, plaintive eyes. Proof positive that our scheming parents would plan weddings when you are naught but a mere child.”

He threw himself to the ground by her dangling feet and turned his attention to the pilfered champagne. He popped the cork and covered the bottle with his eager mouth to catch the effervescent explosion.

Her eyes burned at his scorn. “I’m not, you know,” Lydia said.

“Not what?” He took several long gulps from the bottle.

“A child.”

“No?” He offered her the bottle. “I noticed you had none earlier.”

“Papa says I am too young to drink.”

Marcus smirked. “As I said, a child.”

Lydia’s ire rose to inflame her cheeks. Her gaze darted from Marcus to the bottle.

“What Papa doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” When he taunted her once more with the bottle, Lydia hesitated only a moment before snatching it from his grasp.

Her first sip was tentative. The peculiar combination of sweet and acidic effervescence tickled her nose and throat. Marcus regarded her with surprise when she broke into a throaty giggle. “The bubbles, they tickle my nose!”

“It’ll tickle elsewhere too if you give it half a chance,” he encouraged with a grin.

She took several more draughts. A longer moment of silence stretched between them. She took another fortifying drink. “Do you wish to break it off?” she asked and reached a toe to the ground, idly pushing off to set the swing gliding and slanted a look at him, internally bracing herself for his answer.

Propped back on his elbow, Marcus looked up at her and drawled, “A gentleman wouldn’t do such a thing.”

It was not what she’d expected him to answer. His gaze followed the gentle ebb and flow of the swing. Sprawled as he was on the ground at her feet, she was aware that his position afforded a clear view of her ankles, and with the forward motion, an occasional glimpse of her calves. The attentiveness of his stare told her he had realized the same thing.

The swing by now had ceased its motion. Lydia took another long drink. She no longer felt the chill in the air and her limbs tingled. Suddenly and uncharacteristically emboldened, she raised her skirts a few inches, as if to get them off the ground. Locking eyes with Marcus, she extended her pink-slippered foot to push off again, but he stole the breath from her body when he seized her ankle.

“What are you doing?” Her breathless giggle was inspired more by nerves than champagne.

Marcus held her, his eyes darkening with an unfamiliar stare that made her breath come back in a rush. If he anticipated her protest, it never came.

“Perhaps you are not quite the infant I thought.” His voice was strangely husky. He inched his hand farther up her leg, creeping over her silk-encased calf. “No, indeed,” he drawled. “Definitely not the leg of a child.”

His hand slid higher. His fingers skimmed her garter where he toyed with the ribbon and traced her bare flesh above it. She closed her eyes and shivered, knowing a proper young lady would never allow such liberties, but his attention and his warm hand on her cool skin excited her beyond description.

With a smile, Marcus retrieved the now-empty bottle she clutched to her chest and tossed it to the ground. He guided her hands to the ropes suspending the swing and flipped her skirts above her knees to position his body snugly between her thighs. Lydia gasped at the boldness of the move. She tried to pull her legs back together but his body prevented her. Though she trembled, his heat warmed her to the core, pooling low in her belly and sending a flood of moisture to her secret place.

“Shall I stop, Lydia?” he asked as if reading her mind.

She responded with an unsteady shake of her head and a soft hiccup.

With a low guttural sound, he slid his hands completely under her skirt, gliding over her skin to blaze a hot trail toward the apex of her thighs. She gasped again when his fingers found and grazed her soft, downy mass.

Her breath seized but she failed to push him away. “Do you ever touch yourself here, Lydia?” he asked in a low, hoarse whisper.

The question made her insides convulse. “N-no,” she lied.