Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(82)

“No.” She shifted on the bench, feeling the ache in unpracticed muscles. “I am perhaps sore, and may grow sorer, but I am quite content. Happy even, I believe.”

“Still, I should have—”

She raised a hand and laid it upon his lips. “It is my turn to shush you. I did not complain, did not stop you. I wanted this too.”

“I do not deserve you.”

She could not resist. “You probably do not.”

His chuckle reverberated against her. “Are you hungry?”

“Don’t tell me you have a lobster patty in your pocket? Oh, that did not come out as I meant it.”

He chuckled again, and then held out her pomegranate.

How had he gotten that—from the ground, where she must have dropped it?

He pulled a small dagger from its sheath and pierced the fruit deeply, slicing it open. With the tip of the knife he pulled out a number of seeds. They glistened in the starlight. Looking deep into her eyes, he held the knife out to her, inviting her to taste.

She hesitated, sensing there was more to this simple moment than was immediately apparent.

His deep voice rumbled. “You do know that if you taste the food of the underworld you will be mine forever, my Persephone, my Grace.”

He knew. There was no mistaking the heavy emphasis he placed upon the name. Holding his gaze, she slowly parted her lips, and remained still as he slid the tip of the dagger between her teeth; then she bit down and let the tart, juicy seeds run into her from the cold steel. She chewed, feeling the pop of flavor within her mouth, swallowing his promise.

Reaching out, she took the blade from him, slid it back into the firm flesh of the pomegranate, scooped the glistening flesh. “I do believe it was only six months, not forever, my dark lord.” She held the knife out to him, watched as his mouth opened and his teeth closed about it. “I do believe, however, that if you partake also we may both be prisoner, bound together each year, all year. Bound together forever, my Charles.”

His teeth bit down on the blade, and he pulled back, taking the seeds. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, the glisten of crimson juice upon his lips. “Yes: forever.”





Part Three



Unmasked





Chapter Twenty-four





There was so much still unresolved. Swanston slipped from his bed, careful not to wake his slumbering wife. A small snore escaped from between her parted lips, and he grinned. He’d carried her from the party last night, his cloak wrapped tight about her to hide the damage to her gown. In the future, he would remember to be more careful.

More careful in so many ways. He could have hurt her last night. He’d been out of his mind with desire—and frustration. For so long he’d used sex as the release of all his emotions. Now it was so much more than that. And yet …

He didn’t like this feeling of not knowing, of not being sure what to do. His life was about knowing exactly what to do and then doing it, perfectly.

He’d hoped for talk—and perhaps more—after they arrived home, but Louisa had crawled into the bed exhausted and not woken since.

Brushing a hand in Louisa’s silky curls, he wondered how he could ever deserve her. He’d never had a woman give herself over as completely as Louisa had last night. Even the most obedient submissive always held something back.

Louisa had not.

She’d given him her all, given him herself.

But questions still hung between them.

In the middle of the night, in the middle of passion, it had all seemed so simple, they seemed so simple—but morning and daylight brought questions.

Questions from her.

Questions from him.

How much did she know about Ruby’s? He still could not believe that Louisa had ever found herself in such a place. He could barely believe that Brookingston had frequented the house. It was unbelievable that a woman as innocent as his wife had known of such a place.

Yes, he had questions.

Why had she been so passive on their wedding night? What had happened to his Grace to turn her into a woman who did not move? And when had she known who he was? Is that why she’d agreed to marry him?

He’d always wondered. Almost any woman in the kingdom would have been delighted to marry the heir to the Duke of Mirth, and yet he’d never sensed that about Louisa. She’d agreed to marry him, not Mirth’s heir.

Blast. There was so much he needed to know.

But where did a man begin? He could not even imagine the conversation.

With another quiet curse, he pulled on his pants and shirt and, grabbing his boots and stockings, went to find his valet. It was not the moment yet for this conversation and so he’d let Louisa sleep.



Could life be as wonderful as a dream? For ten seconds, twenty seconds, two minutes, it was—and then thoughts of her daytime life intruded. What happened now?

Finding out that Geoffrey was Charles should have been the end of the story, should have been the happy ending. It would have been in any of the Minerva Press novels Louisa had read. So why wasn’t life so simple?

Sitting up in the large bed, she looked about. It was the first chance she’d really had to observe the space Geoffrey chose to live in. The furniture was large and masculine, heavy wood pieces without a flake of gilding in sight. The two chairs by the window were well cushioned and comfortable. They were not worn, yet looked well used. The fabrics were thick and plush, but plain; Geoffrey evidently did not care for brocades and fancy embroideries. A large landscape hung above the mantel, a brilliant sunset over golden fields. Louisa was confident that it depicted a piece of his estate. There were two small portraits above his dresser. His parents? He did not seem the type to have his mother watch over his bed, even if he slept alone. And the style of hair and dress was a good decade or two past what Louisa would have imagined his parents wearing. Plus, she knew his feelings about the duke. It seemed impossible that he would hang his father’s likeness in this chamber. Then who? She would have to ask.