Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(84)

“But what if the wife liked it, wanted it?” Her gaze dropped from his and she stared down at her hands; her fingers trembled and her hands curled into fists.

His desk was covered in papers, important detailed matters that he could decide when he was ready. “Then I do not know. This is beyond the realm of my experience.”

“I did not know anything was beyond the realm of your experience.” The smile fought to return again.

“Wives are.”

“And am I not what you wanted in a wife?” Her voice quavered slightly, all trace of the smile gone. “I am trying to be what you want.”

He closed his eyes. “I know. And you are. You are more than I ever dreamed, Louisa.”

“Then what is the difficulty?”

How did he answer that? How to say, The problem is I want even more. I want you to give me everything and then some. I want to tie you to my bed. I want your willing obedience. I want you to do what I want when I want. I want you to suck my cock when I ask. I want you to bend over the dining table if that is my desire. I wish to spank your sweet ass until it reddens beneath my hand and the slightest breeze sends you floating on clouds of sensation.

Louisa kept her eyes focused on him, her expression serious as she awaited his answer, the steadiness of her gaze searching for his response.

And he had no words. There was no way to say all the things that he needed to and yet—how could he not?

As if sensing his difficulty, and clearly not sure what to say herself, Louisa rose from the chair, the soft yellow folds of her dress falling about her, and came around the desk. Her gaze moved from his face to his lap. What did she want? He felt himself thicken further as possibilities flooded his mind. The thought of her on her knees before him almost caused him to groan.

A light chuckle escaped her lips. “Forgive me. My moods seem to be bouncing all over the place. I was only looking for a place to sit, some way that we could be closer for this difficult conversation. I can see, however, that your lap might not be the best place for me.”

“I don’t see why not.” He could almost feel her settling upon him, his prick resting in the cleft of her buttocks.

“That is exactly why not. We need to talk.” She perched on the edge of his desk, her legs interlacing with his. It was not the position that he would have chosen, but it did give him a rather fine view of her bosom. If only she were in a low-cut evening gown—or if she’d just bend toward him. How would she react if he just reached forward and pushed her breasts up so that they overhung the top of her gown, the nipples inviting his lips like ripe cherries?

And then she did lean forward—but it was her eyes that held him, not her breasts. “Geoffrey, I know this is not easy. It is not easy for me, either. I do not know exactly how we came to be in this position—I mean I do know, but it does not all make sense. The one thing that I am sure of is that we have something special between us. At least I hope we do.”

He hesitated a moment and then answered, “We do.” She was right. That was the one thing of which he was certain.

“Then I have questions and I am sure you do too.”

“Yes.”

Her slippered foot caressed his booted calf as she swung her legs restlessly. She did not speak.

He did not either.

Why was this so difficult? Perhaps if she looked less the lady he could ask her those questions to which he needed answers. However, even sitting on a desk, legs swinging, she looked like a duchess. It was hard to imagine her at this moment as the woman he’d had against a wall last night. And why did that fact excite him even more?

As she chewed upon her lower lip, he could see her considering. The small white teeth worked at the ripe red flesh, causing him to again picture her slipping down before him, opening that mouth, and …

“I think we must start slow.” Her words interrupted his thoughts.

He did not mind slow; slow was just fine. The lightest touch of tongue to … Only that was not what she meant. “Explain,” he said.

“You ask me one question—a simple one—and I will answer. Then I will ask you an easy one also. We can progress to the more difficult ones.”

That sounded doable. “Why do I go first?”

“I will if you wish, but you always seem to like the lead.”

“You do know me well.” And it seemed that she actually did. He drew in a deep breath. “Tell me about your husband, about Brookingston. I believe I have thought some things that were not correct.”

“About John?”

“Yes, although about Grace’s husband also. It is only when I put the two together that I find myself confused. I had some theories on your untouched state, and they do not fit the man I knew.”

“Theories?”

“That your husband was either ancient or preferred men’s company.”

“John did like men. He had plenty of friends. Oh, that’s not what you mean.” A deep flush rose upon her cheeks. “No, John did not fancy men. At least, I have no reason to think that he did and several to think that he did not.”

He leaned forward. “And yet, your untouched state?”

Her gaze dropped from his and settled on her small hands, which opened and closed tight repeatedly. “I am not sure that counts as an easy question, but I will answer. I would have thought it obvious. His war wounds prevented—that is, they—well, we never—Oh, I don’t know quite how to explain. I don’t understand fully myself, but evidently John could not …”