How I Married a Marquess (8 page)

There was no mistaking his meaning, and an unexpected wave of longing rippled through her so intensely that it gathered into a burning flame in her belly and ached to be extinguished. “I'm just—” She shivered as his hands slid up her sides, his thumbs pressing over each rib as he moved higher. “A normal woman.”

“Oh no, you're not.” He lowered his head to kiss teasingly at the corner of her mouth, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste her. “Not with the way you've intrigued me since the moment I first saw you.” He gently took her bottom lip between his and sucked, eliciting a soft whimper of pleasure from her. “There's something about you, Josephine,” he murmured hotly against her mouth. “Something only you do to me. And I need to figure out why.”

She turned her head away before she begged him to kiss her breathless the way he'd done before, when he flamed that delicious throbbing that heated wickedly between her legs. But she managed only to bring his mouth against her ear, where he devilishly traced the outer curl with his tongue. She trembled.

“No, I
am
normal. I like dances and gowns, playing the pianoforte…I like to buy lace and try on gloves and bonnets.” She swallowed nervously as his fingers played at the buttons of her collar, as if he were contemplating undressing her right there in the stable. “I—I like dances…”

“You already said that,” he breathed hotly against her ear, making her shudder.

“Well, you are making it difficult to think straight!” She groaned in frustration and somehow found the will to slap her hand against his shoulder to capture his attention and make him stop kissing her ear like that. He was so scandalously delicious, too dangerously close.

He shifted back far enough to look down at her, and the burning heat in his eyes stole her breath away. “Good,” he purred.

Velvet. Dear God, his voice was
velvet
…

Her stomach knotted. Could he feel the hammering of her heart, the humming of her blood through her veins? All of her shook now, worked up to the point of bursting from a combination of nervousness at not knowing what to do and fear that he would uncover her secrets just as he claimed he would. And from a craving she didn't know how to satisfy, one that left her aching and frustrated because she was certain that he did.

Oh, how dangerous he was for her! Did he have any idea what wanton sensations he swirled through her with just a kiss and a caress of his hands? Or, God help her, how much she enjoyed it?

She looked into his eyes, and the heated desire she saw there…Oh, he certainly knew, all right.

“You
are
a mystery to me, Josephine.” He slowly unfastened the top two buttons of her jacket. “You're beautiful, with a sharp mind that keeps me wondering what you'll do or say next.” Another button slipped free. “Although if that's all it was, I'd be able to stay away. But you're so much more than just that.”

His fingers gently pulled open her collar, and her breath hitched in her throat. No man before had ever come this close to discovering—

His fingertips fluttered over her throat, and a soft gasp tore from her. She closed her eyes against the temptation of him. Futile resistance, because instead of shoving him away her traitorous body leaned toward his heat. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, and her heart, certain to be broken, pounded a fierce tattoo.

“Which means you've compelled me to discover why you of all women, Josephine, are the one to invade my thoughts and capture my attention so completely. So I'm going to peel back the layers of you, one at a time.” He lowered his head to place his lips against the bare flesh of her exposed neck. Goose bumps raced down her arms, and she shivered. “Until I figure out exactly what spell you've cast over me.”

She stifled a whimper with a bite to her bottom lip. “Lord Chesney, please! You—”

“Thomas,” he insisted as he brushed his lips tantalizingly against her throat. “My name is Thomas. Say it.”

She sucked in a ragged breath, somehow praying she could find the strength to make him stop before he did exactly as he'd warned and discovered who she truly was. “You have to leave.”

“Say my name, Josephine.” He lifted his head to stare into her eyes, and she immediately missed the heat of his very capable mouth on her body. And wantonly wanted it on her again.

In helpless capitulation she breathed, “Thomas.”

“Thank you.”

In reward his mouth lowered to touch hers, the tip of his tongue slowly tracing along her bottom lip, as if savoring her. Then he pulled away and gazed at her in wonder, as if he couldn't quite believe…

“My God,” he murmured. “You taste like peaches.”

She blinked, lost in the fog of arousal. “I…
what
?”

A barrage of gunfire erupted from the gardens. Flinching violently, he shoved her away, and his hand flew to his side.

She staggered backward from the unexpected force of the shove and stared at him.
What on earth…
?
Stunned, she pressed the back of her hand against her lips and caught the unexpected wildness in his eyes, the sudden panic that seized him.

Her throat tightened with panic of her own. “Thomas?”

Forcing deep breaths of air into his lungs, he squeezed his eyes shut as if physically pained. His pale face darkened, and he muttered a sharp curse as he raked a trembling hand through his hair, the other one still pressed against his side. His entire body shook. Violently.

“That was just my brothers,” she explained quietly, feeling the need to say something—
anything
—to fill the awkward space between them. “The shooting match, remember? You said you'd been there.”

“I know,” he bit out, then cursed again.

She stared, unable to slow the frightened pounding of her heart. His reaction was so unexpected, so
odd
. He'd seen the shooting match himself and knew they'd be firing off pistols all day. But he'd reacted like a man terrified. And trapped.

“Are you all right?” Her gaze lowered to his side and the hand still pressed there. With a concerned frown, she reached for his arm—

“Don't!” He jerked away with a scowl, then savagely rubbed at his wrists even as he continued to take deep, harsh breaths. “I'm fine,” he snapped.

Rawness edged his voice, and the icy blue eyes, which just moments before had looked on her with heated desire, now flashed a warning to leave him alone and keep her distance.

Even as her own heart raced, she forced herself to breathe slowly and stand there calmly. For his sake. But if she'd had any sense, she would have fled. Just hitched up her skirts and run toward the house, not giving him any lingering thoughts except to wonder how much distance she could put between them. He was dangerous, far too keen for her safety, and oh so magnetic—
everything
about him screamed frantically at her that she should leave him be.

Except that she knew he needed her.

She slowly reached for him again.

This time he didn't stop her. With her eyes steadily holding his gaze, she closed her fingers over his, careful to avoid his wrists. She moved toward him, one deliberate step at a time, and closed the distance he'd created when he shoved her away. Her hand slid down into his palm, their fingers interlocking in a caress that was somehow even more intimate than the press of his mouth on her bare throat had been just moments before. The fierce beat of his pulse coursed through him and pounded into her. After a few minutes, his shaking ebbed.

She lifted her free hand to brush a lock of black hair from his forehead. Slowly she rose up on tiptoe to touch her lips reassuringly to his, the entire time holding his hand, his fingers laced tightly through hers.

“Thomas,” she whispered, attempting to chase away the wildness in him and pull him back to the moment. “It's all right. We're safe.”

“I'm fine,” he insisted again, but this time much less harshly and much more like the confident man she'd met last night. The same man who'd pulled her into the tack room this morning and kissed her so ferociously before the gunfire shook him. “Your brothers startled me, that's all.”

“They do that quite often to people,” she acknowledged quietly, and somehow kept her disbelief of his words from registering on her face. Oh, his reaction had been so much more than simply being startled! He had panicked. Even now she sensed the hesitation in him, an anxious unease as if he didn't trust himself not to fall into another fit. But she respected his unspoken desire that she not press
and stepped back.

“Whose idea was it to give loaded weapons to those three?” he grumbled.

She relaxed, knowing then that he would be all right. “Well, it was either guns or swords,” she informed him, finally feeling certain he was calm enough that she could release his hand and button up her coat. “At least with pistols they have to stop to reload occasionally.”

When she looked up at him, he seemed perfectly normal again, perfectly at ease. Yet she was stunned by how quickly he'd recovered, how his breathing was now once again steady, his blue eyes clear, and the wild fear she'd seen in him gone. Almost as if he were used to hiding the panic. As if these terrible fits happened so often that he'd grown used to them. But she suspected that beneath his calm façade he was just as uneasy as before, that she'd find his heart still pounding fiercely if she touched his chest.

She frowned. He'd said she was a mystery, but clearly so was he. “If there's something you—”

“We should go,” he interrupted, and grabbed for the door handle behind him. “I've kept you here too long already.”

With a glance over his shoulder at her to check that her riding habit was properly straightened, he opened the door and peered cautiously into the stable. Then, certain they were alone, he held the door open and motioned for her to follow him from the room.

“Wait here ten minutes,” he advised, once again in control of both himself and the situation as he put a respectable distance between them in case anyone happened to discover them together. “Then do whatever you'd planned before I found you.”

Whatever she'd planned before he found her? She blinked, bewildered. Was that all? Was this how the morning's encounter would end? He'd kissed her so heatedly that her toes curled, told her that she was beautiful and that he had an attraction for her unlike any other—then he'd startled, nearly terrified until she soothed him. Now he expected them to simply say pleasant good-byes and leave as if nothing had happened?

Her throat tightened with humiliation. Obviously he hadn't been nearly as affected by the embrace as she had. She'd melted moaning in his arms, for goodness' sake, while he had been more bothered by her brothers' silly shooting match.

Her eyes stung. Oh, she felt so utterly foolish! He'd proven to be no better than the other gentlemen who'd visited Blackwood Hall in the past, those men who'd thought she'd make for a pleasant flirtation and distraction. Some had dared to presume even more.

But she'd so desperately wanted Thomas to be different, even though she knew she had to push him away before he discovered too much about her, no matter how wonderful his kisses and how strong his arms. Her foolish heart still dared to dream, while her head knew the harsh realities of her life.

“Well, then.” She forced a tight smile despite the embarrassment pinching inside her chest. “I'm very glad that you found me this morning.”

His eyes flickered warily. “Are you?”

“Yes.” She forced her smile to widen, although she certainly didn't feel at all like smiling. “And now that you've satisfied your curiosity about me—” She paused, not letting the words choke around the knot in her throat. “You needn't bother with me again.”

Instead of heeding her warning, he smiled at her, his sapphire eyes gleaming as if she'd thrown down a challenge rather than an insult. “You're mistaken,” he corrected in a husky voice that slithered dangerously like a serpent around her spine. “I very much want to bother you again, Josephine.”

Her lips parted in a soft gasp at the blatant innuendo. During that moment's shocked reaction, he took a half step toward her before catching himself and stopping suddenly. Sharp annoyance flashed across his face that he couldn't reach for her again for fear of someone seeing now that they were back outside in the aisle. But the corners of his mouth curled into a slow, predatory smile.

“And trust me,” he assured her rakishly in a low, amused voice, “you'll know when I'm satisfied.”

“Oh,” she whispered breathlessly, her cheeks burning and her foolish brain too stunned to form the put-down he deserved.

“Tomorrow afternoon, two o'clock,” he announced, folding his arms across his chest, as if he were afraid he might just toss all propriety aside and reach for her anyway. “We're going driving so you can show me the village and countryside.” His voice lowered clandestinely. “And we can bother each other all we want.”

Oh no
.
That was a bad idea. A
very
bad idea. But her silly heart leapt at the suggestion, even though her sensible mind knew he was nothing but a rake. And pure trouble.

“I'm sorry,” she refused, unwilling to acknowledge to herself how her stomach sank with disappointment. And to think that just last night when she first saw him at the dance she'd have been thrilled beyond words to be offered such an invitation by him. But already he'd gotten too close. She couldn't risk another encounter. “I'm afraid I've already made plans.”

He crooked a disbelieving brow.

“I've…” Her mind whirled to find an excuse. “I've promised to visit the orphanage.”

“Then I'd be happy to accompany you there. Two o'clock,” he repeated firmly. “Don't keep me waiting.”

Trailing his fingers against her skirt as he stepped past her, he strode off, while Josie stood there in the middle of the stable, gaping after him.