Her Reluctant Groom (38 page)

He groaned. “You little minx, you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“
Perhaps I do.” She tipped one shoulder up in a way that made one of the lacy straps of her chemise fall from the edge of her shoulder, her hand still firmly grasping his rigid flesh.

His eyes turned nearly as dark as coal. “Now who's the one trying to seduce the other?”

She lowered her lashes. “And did you think I was really in there practicing my cast?”

He laughed. “No. I know better than that. Besides, no matter how much you practice, you'd still need my help.”

“
Ah, so that's how you planned to seduce me,” she mused, trying to distract him while the fingers of her free hand came up to try and pry his fingers from her wrist.

Instead of letting go like she hoped, his tight fingers kept their grip. “I'm warning you, Emma, you may not like the end result if you insist I let go and you continue.”

She glanced down at their hands then let go. He may not be quite as close to losing control now as he was a few minutes ago, but he was still on the edge, and there were other ways she could push him beyond his control. She stepped back and pulled her wrist from his loosened grasp. Licking her lips slowly she took another step back and used her fingertips to seductively play with the straps of her chemise.

Marcus’ hand reached forward, and she swayed her body away just in time. “Not yet.”

“
Not yet?”

“
No, not yet,” she confirmed.

“
And just what must I do for you to drop that chemise?”

“
Beg.”

“
No.”

She lifted the shoulder that still had the strap on it just enough to let it slip to the end of her shoulder, then turned around so he could have full view of the back of her neck and shoulders. Holding her chemise in place by the lacy edge that rested just above her breasts, she rolled her shoulder back just enough to let that second strap fall completely.

Marcus’ breathing grew hard and labored as Emma used deliberate slowness. She eased her chemise down a few inches to expose another patch of skin to his gaze.

“
Do you have anything you wish to say?” she asked when the top of her chemise had just passed the bottom ridges of her shoulder blades.

“
Take that confounded chemise off now before I take it off for you.”

She shivered at his words. “That's not what I was hoping you'd say.”

Before her last word was out, Marcus’ warm body was pressed to the back of her, his big hands grabbing the delicate fabric and pulling it from her grasp, then letting it fall to the ground, forgotten. His hands roamed the front of her body, searing her with every touch.

“
Was that what you were hoping I'd do?” he asked gruffly, his breath hot against her ear.

“
No, I—”

“
Wanted me to beg,” he finished for her. “I won't beg, Emma. I may be a man, a foolish one at that, but I won't beg. Nor do I think you want me to.” He kissed a line from her ear down her neck and to her shoulder, then back up again, making her go weak in the knees and fall back against him. “What do you really want?”

“
To be yours.” She couldn't believe she'd spoken the words aloud, but she had. And she meant them. That was what she wanted more than anything. More than to hear him beg her for forgiveness. More than hearing him admit once more how wrong he’d been. More than anything, she just wanted to be fully his.

His arms tightened around her and his hands caressed her swollen breasts. “You already are.” He pressed a kiss behind her ear. “You've always been mine. Always. I may have been fool enough to let you go for a brief time, but even then you were still mine.” His hands slipped under her breasts and tested their weight while his mouth placed hot, searing kisses along the top of her shoulder. “I'll never willingly part from you again. I promise. You're mine.”

At his honest declaration, Emma's heart squeezed and thoughts of seduction and torture fled to be replaced with thoughts of love and longing. All she'd ever wanted was to be loved by him. And right then, she knew she was loved and always would be. All the pain and hurt she'd endured at his hands in the previous weeks vanished, never to return again.

She covered his hands with hers and pulled them from her before spinning around to face him. “Show me.”

“
Come,” he commanded huskily, gently tugging her hand in the direction of some trees.

Wordlessly, the pair walked naked through the copse of trees like Adam and Eve until they came upon a little patch of grass where a big blanket had been spread. “You planned this,” she accused laughingly.

“
I'd hoped for it,” Marcus corrected, awkwardly sinking down to the blanket and pulling Emma with him.

She dropped to her knees and looped her arms around his neck, bringing her lips to his for a scorching, soul searing kiss.

“
I want to kiss you everywhere,” he panted, pulling away.

“
Then kiss me everywhere.”

Marcus’ lips brushed hers once more then feathered kisses across her cheek and down to her jaw. Kissing the edge of her jaw, his hands came up to shape her breasts. Her nipples hardening against his palms, she arched her back and pushed her breasts more firmly against his hands.

Bringing his hands up to her shoulders, he gave her a slight push backward. “Lie down.”

She did as he instructed and sighed with pleasure when his hands found her swollen breasts again, his tongue tracing the ridge of her clavicle until he reached the valley between her breasts. Pressing a line of warm, openmouthed kisses down the length of her sternum, Marcus' body moved lower and his large hands continued caressing her breasts.

Marcus’ lips kissed a line to her waist, and his fingers found her hardened nipples and gave them a slight squeeze. Emma's body bucked and twisted of its own accord as a quick shot of pleasure coursed through her.

Marcus’ mouth covered the point of her left hip and gently nipped it. Then he used his lips and tongue to draw a line to connect to the point of her right hip. Sliding his hands from her breasts and up to rest on her shoulders, he kissed his way back up her body and pressed soft kisses along the underneath curve of her right breast before closing his lips around the rigid peak.

Emma sighed at the sensation caused by his mouth and tongue. Lost in the pleasure he was creating, she closed her eyes and rolled her head off to the side. Very lightly, Marcus sucked, then nipped the peak of her breast, and Emma's hands flew to the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to her. He circled her nipple with his tongue and she arched her back to offer him more.

A whimper passed her lips as Marcus’ lips left her right breast and kissed a path to her left before lavishing that breast with the same attention he'd shown the first. His left hand abandoned her shoulder and made a slow, lingering descent down the side of her body to her hip. Bringing his mouth from her breast, he repositioned himself atop her and whispered something near her ear she couldn't quite make sense of over the excitement coursing through her and the blood thundering in her ears.

Marcus’ hand shifted to her thigh and gently pushed her leg to the side just enough for him to settle between her parted legs.

Emma's eyes locked with Marcus’. This was it. They were about to become joined for life in a way she would never be with another. Staring up at the man she loved, she tried to heed his urging for her to relax as he slid himself into her then paused. “Just a bit more,” he murmured.

She swallowed, not knowing what fully to expect. Lady Bird had only described sensations she was not feeling at present. Bracing himself on his right elbow and holding tightly to Emma's hip with his left hand, Marcus gave one more push forward and froze. “Are you all right?” His words were broken and his breathing ragged.

She stared at him in shock. Those stories said nothing about pain. She blinked and gave a weak nod, not trusting her voice.

“
It'll get better,” Marcus promised. He repositioned himself to take as much weight off his leg as he could. “It's supposed to hurt the first time...” He trailed off and scattered kisses across her forehead. “Just relax and you'll get accustomed.”

She raised her brows at him. “Mighty knowledgeable for a virgin,” she quipped, shifting her hips to get more comfortable.

He groaned. “I may be a recluse who thought he'd never need the knowledge, but I do remember being told that bit of information.”

Emma smiled at him and brought her hand up to push back a lock of hair which had fallen in his face and was partially covering her view of his grey eyes. “It doesn't hurt anymore.”

Grunting his understanding, Marcus eased his hips forward, then back again, taking time to find a slow, gentle pattern. Placing her hands on his shoulders, Emma closed her eyes and rolled her head back, enjoying the pleasant feeling of Marcus inside her as his steady strokes stoked an inner fire she hadn't imagined would be possible only a few minutes earlier. He bent his head down close to her ear and whispered sweet words of love and admiration. His words were so soft and low, nobody else could have heard them if they were standing right there. And that made them all sweeter. They were meant just for her.

Wanting to feel him deeper inside her, she brought her legs up around his waist and crossed her ankles. He groaned and pushed himself as far in as she could take him. She sighed at the intense spark that shot through her that time, then the next, then again, each time building up to something bigger, stronger, more intense. Then finally, she peaked. She reached the culmination she'd been building up to with each of his strokes and a delicious tension washed over her, one that caused her whole body to stiffen followed by a wave of relief, flooding her with waves of ecstasy.

Just as the final rounds of pleasure started to fade, Emma opened her eyes and met Marcus’. The look in his eyes was one she didn't recognize, but she knew right then she loved seeing that look and always would. A guttural grunt suddenly rent the air, followed by Marcus’ body turning hard as stone as he reached his climax.

Collapsing on top of her, he whispered the three words she'd never tire of hearing before rolling off onto his side, taking her with him.

She rested her head on his chest and let her fingers wander aimlessly across his skin until her eyelids grew heavy and she started to drift to sleep.

“
Thank you,” Marcus whispered, startling her.

She snuggled closer to him. “For what?”

“
For loving me in spite of my many flaws.”

She stiffened. “Marcus, don't you dare do this. I've told you a thousand times I don't give a hang about your sc—”

“
Not that,” he cut in. “I know you don't care about those. I was talking about the flaws of my personality. Such as the one that wouldn't allow me to believe your love was real and lasting, or the one that made me send you away.”

“
Oh,
those
flaws.” She walked her fingers down his midsection. “Well, Lord Sinclair, I do believe you have a lot to make up for.”

“
I do?”

“
Yes. Did you think you were forgiven?”

He blinked down at her. “Yes. I mean, we—”

“
Oh, you're not forgiven. Far from it.”

“
And what must I do to be forgiven?”

“
I don't know.” She twisted in his hold so she could look up and see his face.

Brushing his knuckles across her cheek, he smiled at her. “Just when do you think you'll have an idea of what I can do to be granted your forgiveness.”

She shrugged and kissed his cheek. “I don't know that, either. Sometime in the next fifty years, I expect.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled and he pulled her back down to him. “I guess I'll just have to wait until then, and in the meantime, I'll just do whatever I can to stay in your good graces.”

“
That sounds like a perfect plan.”

He gave her shoulders one last affectionate squeeze, and together the two drifted off to sleep, all troubles, worries, problems long forgotten. Just the two of them lying in the arms of the one they loved and always would.

Epilogue

Dorset

May 1865

Emma’s lips curved ever-so-slightly as she read the scratched out words on the little slip of paper in her hands.

Meet me by the water
.

She shook her head. Even as an octogenarian, her husband still had a love for fishing that outmatched even a young boy’s. She put the paper down and tried not to dwell too much on the memory from last week when she’d watched his not-so-steady hands push the fishing line through the guides on her pole as he ever-faithfully rigged it up for her. Even after all these years together, she still found it a sweet satisfaction that he enjoyed her company on his fishing excursions, and went so far as to get her equipment ready.

She pulled on her leather half-boots and re-pinned her silver hair, then walked outside to find her husband and see what he had waiting for her. Every year for the past fifty years, on the thirteenth day of May, Marcus would somehow surprise her with yet another letter he’d written to her during those miserable weeks they were apart. She was sure he’d have run out years ago. Truly, what man enjoyed writing letters?