A Breach of Promise (11 page)

“I’m sorry, Lydia. I can’t deny that, but can we not forget the past? Our engagement was too soon. We were neither of us ready, but I won’t hurt you again. Please believe that while I greatly enjoy bed sport, I am not a promiscuous man. I have kept few mistresses and never more than one at a time, which I hope begins to speak to my capacity for fidelity. I believe I could be well content with just one woman—if she were the
right
woman.”

Apprehension filled her eyes. “Do you really think that is me?”

“Aye.” He nodded.

“Then you still want me, Marcus?”

“As much as my next breath. And I’d wager my life that I will continue to do so until the
last
breath leaves my body.” Words that stole
her
breath away.

“Do you think you can you trust me now, Lydia? Have I begun to restore your faith in my integrity?” His blue gaze riveted to hers. “Please consider your answer carefully.”

She gave a convulsive swallow, knowing what she
needed
to say, what he
needed
to hear. “Yes, Marcus. I believe in you. I trust you.”

His eyes lit up. His lips curved slowly into a roguish smile. “Then it appears only one barrier yet remains between us, my love.”

She gave him a puzzled frown. “And what is that?”

“Your maidenhead,” he chuckled. “A matter I will delight in attending to anon.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “What are you saying, Marcus?”

He answered by dropping to one knee and placing her hand on his chest, over his heart and covering it with his own. “I ask again, Lydia. Would you do me the inestimable honor of becoming my partner, my lover, my wife?”

Her heart contracted with mixed apprehension, hope and love. She answered on a gush of breath. “Yes, Marcus. Yes, I will marry you.”

“A very wise choice.” He grinned and kissed her palm before he pulled her onto his knee to kiss her long and full on the mouth. Upon releasing her, he retrieved their cast-off clothing and handed her her shift and stays. He advanced to the window and threw open the shutters to shout instructions to the postillion in the courtyard.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Redirecting the vehicle to Mayfair, of course.”

Her jaw dropped. “To Mayfair?”

“Aye. At St. George’s Chapel in Mayfair there is a certain Dr. Keith who, for the paltry sum of one guinea, would be quite willing to perform our nuptials.”

“
Now?
It is so sudden!”

“
Carpe diem
, my love. Or would you rather wait another six years?”

“But what about Woburn Abbey?” she asked in disbelief. “You can’t sacrifice your future like this!”

He took her in his arms. “You led me a merry chase, my dearest heart. I’m not about to let you get away.”

She smiled impishly. “But we have three hours ahead of us, ample time for me to come to my senses.”

He spoke into the hollow of her neck, taking her earlobe gently between his teeth. “Then I’ll apply all within my power to induce you otherwise.”

“
Induce
me?” she repeated breathlessly. “Are you sure that’s quite the word you had in mind?”

Chapter Eight

Lydia was fast asleep, curled against Marcus’ chest when the chaise finally rolled into the U-shaped courtyard of Woburn Abbey, the Duke of Bedford’s country seat. It was well past midnight with the few lights that still blazed emanating from the second-story bedchambers.

At the jarring halt of the chaise, her lids fluttered open. “Are we arrived, Marcus?”

“Indeed we are, my love.”

The carriage door opened as he spoke, the steps lowered by a bleary-eyed, liveried footman. Marcus preceded her and handed Lydia out of the vehicle where she stood gaping in the courtyard. Marcus tilted his head. “Welcome to Woburn Abbey, Lydia.”

“Good heavens,” she caught her breath on a gasp. Even in darkness, its splendor in the flickering light of torches was daunting beyond description.

“Good heavens indeed,” Marcus laughed. “It was once a Cistercian monastery, you know, until confiscated by our good King Henry and awarded to my ancestor Sir John Russell for services to the crown. The original structure dates back to the twelfth century, though I don’t know how much remains, as my uncle has largely rebuilt it in the neo-Palladian style.”

“I had no idea,” she murmured.

“That you are now so well-connected?” he asked with a grin. “My uncle is one of the most powerful men in the country, Lydia.” His smiled dimmed. “And the thought of facing His Grace in the morning nigh strikes terror in my heart.”

“Is he that bad, the Duke of Bedford?”

Marcus replied with a great sigh. “I fear I don’t exaggerate in saying my uncle is known for two things apart from his love of this monstrosity.”

“What are the other two?” She was almost afraid to ask.

“His hot temper and his cold heart.”

Lydia cringed. “I can hardly imagine a more unpleasant combination.”

“Indeed. He has been a formidable patron, as nearly all bow to his will for fear of incurring disfavor.”

She was struck with a keen awareness of what Marcus’ actions may truly have cost him. “Yet you chose to return to Westminster when he expected you? Oh, Marcus, how foolish you are!” The thought weighed heavily on her heart.

“If I am a fool, it is all for love.” He smiled and kissed her. “I could have done no differently, you know. One more day and I would have died in my want of you.”

As the chaise set off to the carriage house, two more footmen appeared to flank their progress to the massive double doors.

His eyes grew dark with desire. “I’ll instruct Sally to have your things moved to my bedchamber.”

“Is that done, Marcus?” she asked. “Would it not be scandalous for us to share a bedchamber here?”

“I don’t care. I’ll be hanged before I sneak through the halls like a thief to claim my own bride.” His words made her shiver in anticipation.

The doors opened into a marbled foyer with soaring ceiling and silk-covered walls adorned with old masters. It was a struggle not to gape at such opulence.

Marcus followed her gaze and shrugged. “The Dukes of Bedford are renowned for their art collection.”

They had only been divested of hats and cloaks before Nicholas and Mariah descended the stairs, looking sleepily disheveled. Lydia noted curiously how they avoided each other’s gaze.

“Where the devil have you been?” Nick cried. “I don’t envy your position at the moment. Bedford is in a thunderous temper over your absence and your mother has spent the night in a near swoon, certain you’d been set upon by brigands. She only retired after taking a sleeping tonic.”

“She did not receive my missive? I dispatched a messenger from the coaching inn before we turned back for London.”

“Why the devil would you have done that? Turned back to London?”

“Let us say I discovered an urgent need, a matter I was certain would allow me no rest until satisfied.”

“Given the circumstances, you could not trust your errand to me?”

“No, dear boy. This was a business requiring my own delicate touch.”

Marcus struggled to maintain a straight face and Lydia’s burned white-hot from his blatant innuendo.

“Shall we continue this discussion in the morning, Nick? It has been a long day and will assuredly be an even longer night.” His meaningful look sent a bolt of heat to Lydia’s belly as well as her cheeks.

“You must be exhausted, Lyddie,” Mariah said. “I’ll show you to your chamber. It’s adjacent to mine.”

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.