Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(27)

Did a woman ever look more delightful than when tangled in sheets, her hair a tumble and her breasts marked with kisses? He stood and let his gaze linger over her. This was one picture he wanted to never leave him. If it had been possible he would have requested just this as a portrait. Instead he would have to trust in memory.

“Are you coming back?”

“Yes, just let me snuff the candles.” He quickly accomplished the task before returning to the bed. Once he’d climbed in he reached out and extinguished the final one.

Darkness descended, the few coals on the hearth not enough to cast more than the faintest of glows.

“Would you like me to remove your blindfold?” he asked.

“No.” Her answer was quick.

“I’ve put out all the lights. I can no more see than you. If I take it off I still will not see you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. And I would like to kiss you without it on. I would like us to be together in the same dark.”

“But what about later?”

“I will tie it to your wrist and you can replace it whenever you wish, perhaps before we sleep.”

She rolled toward him in the bed and with great care he reached out, going by feeling up her arm and then through her hair, until he felt the knot. With practiced touch he untied it. “Give me your hand.”

She did.

Perhaps he should have asked her for both; the idea of bondage still held appeal, although if he could not see, it defeated much of the purpose. Those images would remain only in his imagination.

Without further thought he quickly wrapped it about her wrist, tying it tight.

“You are good with knots,” she whispered, her breath brushing against him.

If only she knew. “I was taught by a sailor.”

“Tell me something else about yourself.”

This was dangerous. “I can fly a kite.”

“I can too. Or, at least, I could. I daresay it’s been at least a dozen years since I tried.”

“I beat you there. I was out a week ago with my nephew.”

“So you have a nephew.”

And two nieces, but that he did not say. “Yes. Now it is your turn to tell me something.” The risk might be worth it to learn about her.

“I fell in love with my husband when I was four, but you probably do not want to hear about that.” He could feel her withdraw.

He should not want to know, and yet he did. “No, tell me.”

“I had gotten a kitten for my birthday. My mother did not approve of pets, but I had begged for one for months. I do not remember that part, but she never did cease telling me about how much she sacrificed for me. She claimed it made her sneeze, although I never saw her so much as sniffle.”

“Go on.”

“Well, my kitten—I called her Mittens—had gotten up a tree. I sat at the bottom in tears. I was frightened to tell my mother because she would have taken it as an excuse to get rid of Mittens. And my father … well, I never bothered my father. I was so scared I’d never get Mittens down. I can still remember that feeling of absolute terror as I huddled at the bottom of the tree. I was too scared to even cry. And then John appeared. He must only have been about eight, but he seemed so large and capable to me, a real knight in shining armor. He was up the tree in about a minute.”

“And so you loved him for rescuing your kitten.” He could have done the same if he’d been there.

“Yes, but it was more than that.” She rolled nearer on the bed, the mattress sinking beneath her. “You see, Mittens was not at all sure she wanted to come down, and she did have some very sharp claws—and teeth. Poor John looked like he’d been rolling in the briar patch by the time he got her down. And to make it worse, while Mother might have pretended to sneeze, John’s nose began to run, his eyes puffed up, tears streaming down, and by the time he got to the base of the tree he could hardly breathe. And he never once complained. He never said anything against Mittens. He just did what was needed. When he was down he handed me my kitten, kissed my tearstained cheek, and left. I am not sure he even said a word.”

Now that was hard to compete with, although he’d certainly never been known as a complainer.

Grace’s small hand came to rest upon his chest as if feeling for the beat of his heart. “It’s your turn again. Tell me about your first love.”

Had he even had one? It would certainly not add to her fantasies if he said that he hadn’t. “My true first love stood sixteen hands and had deep bay hair. He could run like the wind and jump any obstacle set before him. He broke my arm once, but never my heart.”

“Your first love was a horse?”

“I imagine many boys are the same. Girls were silly, but Foxtail was magnificent. He was my father’s favorite hunter. I would sneak down to the stables with my pockets full of carrots and sit in his stall until dinner. I don’t think anybody cared that I was there or worried what I was doing, but I always acted with utmost secrecy. Some of my best moments were spent in the stables.”

“I have a secret about the stables, too.” Her fingers beat a light tattoo upon his chest. “I cannot sing. And I mean I really cannot sing. Even the footmen cringed when I tried, and it took a lot to make my mother’s footmen show any sign of emotion. The problem is that I love music and love to try my hand at a tune. When I was a child it was the only thing that ever made my mother scream; usually she just spoke in a tone that let me or my brother know we had done something very, very wrong.”