Loving Lady Marcia (25 page)

“You will?”

“Let me get some more pillows.” He opened the cabinet again and pulled out four big pillows and stacked them behind her spine. Now she was almost sitting straight up, like a queen on a feathery throne.

He bent down and she extended her neck upward, and they managed a kiss, a kiss that didn’t seem to stop. He licked the seam of her lips with his own, and she opened up to him, their tongues exploring, playing.

His hand found her breast through her gown, and she inhaled a sharp breath at the flash of pure pleasure that ricocheted down to her belly and her feminine core. She scooted forward, wanting to be close to him. He got on his knees, and she loved the feeling of his broad chest pressed up against her breasts. He bent to kiss her neck, and her head fell back.

What pure pleasure this was!

It only increased when she felt cool, fresh air on her breasts. It was a glorious feeling made even more exquisite when his hot tongue circled her nipple and then sucked upon it.

“Duncan,”
she moaned.

Out of pure instinct, she put out a hand, hoping to caress the hard length of him through his breeches. But she couldn’t reach.

He laughed against her mouth.

“It’s not fair,” she said, frustrated beyond belief.

“I don’t care.” He pushed her back against the pillows and lifted one of her legs, running his hand along the back of her calf—and then her thigh—as he kissed her.

She wanted so much to open up to him. And then he was gently pushing her to do so, physically maneuvering himself so her legs were spread.

It was daring. And exciting.

She could hardly believe she was in the midst of such a sensual experience, especially when Duncan caressed her thigh and moved his hand, like a whisper, to her most secret place, the tender feminine flesh which had been aching for his touch. When his finger came into contact with the nub at her center, she moaned aloud, needing him.

Wanting him even closer.

“Come, beautiful girl,” he murmured into her mouth. “Come to pleasure for me, Marcia.”

The chair rocked her gently.

The silken ropes that held the chair aloft swayed and danced as he rhythmically adored her with the palm of his hand and his thumb. She dangled one leg over the side, helpless to take control, enjoying giving it up.

And then the pleasure peaked in wave after wave of sensation. She cried aloud and felt she was floating in that chair, suspended in a haze of pure bliss.

She sighed, listening to the songs of the birds and the sounds of London waking up, and opened her eyes. Duncan pulled her up—her arms were limp as noodles—and cradled her against his chest. “I told you you shouldn’t visit gentlemen in their homes,” he chided her.

They kissed. And kissed.

This,
Marcia thought,
this is what I’ve been missing.

But in her heart, she mourned that it was exactly what she couldn’t have.

Chapter Twenty-one

Duncan was mad for Lady Marcia Sherwood, all right. Seeing her come to the ultimate pleasure under his ministrations didn’t help matters. He wanted to do it to her again.

And again.

“We should marry,” he said, pulling her to her feet and helping set her clothes aright.

“You’ve already said that once before, and you’re being ridiculous.”

“A gentleman doesn’t compromise a lady unless he has serious intentions.”

She looked half curious, half guarded. “Do you?”

“Very much so.” He kissed her, and desire flared in him even higher. But he wouldn’t dare explore it fully with her. Not yet. “I’d talk to your father this very afternoon if I knew you’d have me willingly.”

“But—”

“I know I’d have to carry you kicking and screaming to the altar.” He paused and arched a brow. “I’d rather wait, thank you very much.”

“Until—”

“Until you’re begging. A man prefers to marry a woman who can’t live without him.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you’ll have to wait an eternity for me to beg to marry you.”

“I’m not sure,” he said, “particularly if you want me to put you on the swing again. I refuse, actually. Next time it will be when we’re married. Or not at all.”

Her face fell. “That’s a shame.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

The teasing helped him forget his own need for her. Only for a moment, though. In the guest bedchamber, he was right back at wishing he could take her to his bed when she fixed her hair, her slender arms arched over her head, the line of her neck tempting him to kiss her.

“Look at the time,” she said. “Kerry will be here soon.”

The hands on the clock on the mantel were moving much too fast for him. “We’d best get you to the kitchens. Somehow, we’ll get you and Joe together another time.”

“You will?” She sounded genuinely hopeful, which endeared her to him like nothing else could.

“I promise.” He felt better, much better, since she’d arrived. He and Joe would muck through their new circumstances together.

She put a hand on his arm. “I want you to know … I enjoyed being with you. Very much. But I wasn’t jesting about your waiting an eternity for me to beg you to marry me. I belong at Oak Hall and have every intention to return there.”

He felt his lips thin.

“And if you’re wondering why I—I
allowed
what happened between us to happen,” she said gently, “it’s because you’re quite irresistible. It’s no excuse, but—”

He kissed her before she could go on.

It was a long, rapturous kiss, and when they came up for air, he said, “No explanations needed. Just don’t expect me to roll over like an obedient dog. It won’t happen. And I won’t pretend that I’m happy with your choices or that I won’t try to influence you to change them. So be ready.”

“I understand,” she said, looking up at him with a blend of amusement and wariness.

He kissed her one more time, wondering when he’d get to do so again.

“I’ll see you soon when we visit the Duke of Beauchamp,” she said when they pulled apart. “And not long after that, dinner at my parents’. But do me a great favor.”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t call on me,” she said softly. “And if we see each other out and about, I’d rather not do anything more than”—she wrung her hands—“than say hello.”

“If that’s your wish, my lady.” The rejection stung, but he wouldn’t show it.

“I’m sorry if I’ve wounded you.” Her tone was uneasy.

“My feelings are my concern.” He knew he sounded cool and brisk. He was well able to behave as the earl when the moment called for it. “I suggest you monitor your own.”

“Suggestion taken.” Her smile was tentative.

“It’s time to go,” he said.

They tiptoed past Joe’s room and were halfway down the stairs when a boy’s voice cried out: “Papa!”

They froze.

“Yes, Joe?” he called loud and clear.

“Come back here, please, and bring that beautiful lady with you.”

Lady Marcia’s eyes widened.

“All right,” Duncan called, keeping his eyes on hers. “We’re on our way.”

He wanted to take Marcia’s cool, soft hand, but they returned to Joe’s bedchamber door without touching. “He might be rude,” Duncan warned her.

She shrugged and smiled. “I’ve encountered rude children before. Don’t worry. I’ll manage.”

He almost gave her a small kiss—for luck, he thought; whether for him or her, he wasn’t sure—and remembered in time not to do so.

Her brow furrowed. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” He shook off his frustration. “I’ll go first this time.”

“Of course.” She followed behind him into Joe’s cozy bedchamber.

A rocking horse stood in the corner next to a cupboard that was filled with Joe’s favorite toys. Between the two windows, a small table, brightly painted with all sorts of circus animals, was stacked with picture books. Two little matching chairs—one sporting an elephant on the back; the other, a tiger—were tucked neatly underneath. Duncan had brought the cherished set to London from his and Finn’s old nursery at the estate in Kent.

Joe was still upside down on his bed.

“How are you?” Duncan asked his son in upbeat tones.

Marcia stood next to him. Her smile felt sincere to him, unlike those of so many grown-ups he’d encountered who were forced to be around children and honestly didn’t like them.

“I’m sad,” Joe said. He twisted his body over and sat up on his elbows. “When will Aislinn come back?”

His eyes were wide and red, his skin white with blotches of pink, particularly around his nose.

Duncan sat on his bed and put his arm around his bony, little shoulders. “She’s not coming back,” he said softly.

Joe rolled away, and his eyes filled with tears. “She
has
to come home.” His voice cracked on the last word.

Duncan glanced over and saw Marcia now sitting on the rug, her legs tucked under her, her face full of concern.

“She wishes she could, but she can’t,” he said. “Remember she told you that she had to leave to take care of her sister and her children?”

“She’s supposed to take care of
me
.” Joe looked at both of them, his lip stuck out and trembling.

Marcia sat up on her haunches. “Hello, Joe. I’m Lady Marcia. I’m a friend of your father’s.”

Joe looked away from her.

“When someone leaves and doesn’t return, it’s hard,” she said. “You’re sad. But you’ll feel better. It happens faster when you let other people love you. Your papa loves you very much.”

Joe looked over at her, his eyes registering some curiosity. “Do you live here now?”

“No,” Marcia said. “I live nearby. But I want to be your friend.”

Joe’s brow puckered. “You can’t. I don’t have any friends.” Duncan’s heart twisted. “Not in this big city. In the other house, I do, the one in the country.”

“Well, now you
do
have a friend in the big city of London,” Marcia said easily. “Friends can be grown-ups, too.”

“You have many friends in this house,” Duncan reminded Joe, and tousled his hair. “Have you forgotten about Ruby? And Warren? How about Margaret and Rupert?”

Joe thought about it. “But what if they go away, like Aislinn?”

There was a momentary silence.

“Not all friends have to go away.” Duncan lifted him and placed him in his lap, hugging him close. “Many of them stay. We try to enjoy every day we have with them.”

“And if you want to think about Aislinn or talk about her, you can still do that,” Marcia told him. “Even if she’s not here. And you can send her letters. And drawings.”

“I can?” Joe perked up.

“Of course,” said Duncan.

“I live nearby with my family,” Marcia said. “But since we’re going to be friends, we can visit each other. I’d like you to come to my house.”

Duncan sent her a steely look. She couldn’t
do
that.

She looked steadily back at him, but then returned her gaze to Joe. “My mother would like to meet you. And I’d like to show you our garden.”

“Really?” Joe sat up on his knees, just as she was.

“Yes.” She smiled broadly at him. “Now why don’t you come down with me to the kitchen? I’d like to see if there’s anything there that’s good to eat. Have you had anything to eat this morning?”

“No,” he said, hopping off the bed. “I’m hungry.”

“I believe your papa is, too,” she said.

“I am,” Duncan admitted. Although he was more hungry for
her
than any food.

She held out her hand, and Joe took it, without hesitation.

“Let’s go,” she said, looking back over her shoulder at Duncan. She was practically beaming.

He allowed himself the merest glimmer of a smile back. It was good to have her here.

“I have to leave in not too many minutes,” she said to Joe as they were going downstairs. “I’ll be thinking about you until we meet again, which we will. Soon.”

“All right,” said Joe.

The boy’s whole demeanor was … peaceful. Accepting.

Duncan felt himself relax, for the first time in a very long time. Someone else had intervened. Someone else had shared his trials. And it appeared—from the smiles exchanged between Marcia and Joe—his joys.

Who knew how long that would last?

Chapter Twenty-two

Anxiety about Finn was Duncan’s constant companion, but he rarely acknowledged it. What was the point, especially when he had joys in his life, too?

Joe, of course.

But there were other bright spots, as well: good friends who dropped by to say hello, his music (his song, “The Kissing Flower,” was coming along splendidly), the servants and their obsession with
Gulliver’s Travels
and their passion for their lessons on the pianoforte—all except Warren, of course, who was beginning to excel at chess.

And then there was Marcia. He hadn’t seen her in four days.

But she hadn’t forgotten Joe. Every day, she sent over a book. Or a toy. Or a sweet. And she wrote him a little note to go with it, usually about the family’s aged sheepdog, Tiger, who stayed at their Irish estate and liked nothing more than lounging before a fire. She said Tiger enjoyed dreaming of his younger days, and her notes were filled with his canine escapades of yore.

Duncan had begun to quite look forward to those notes. And Joe had been begging him for a dog as a result.

He wasn’t sure whether to bless Marcia or curse her for that. A city dog required walking, which meant outings to the park twice a day. Not that Duncan minded those, but a dog could get loose and run to the wrong side of the park—and then a small boy would want to follow him.

A dog would enmesh them a little further into the fabric of city life, while Duncan was doing his best to stay on the fringe of it. So he’d put Joe off every day, diverting his attention from the subject of their getting their own dog as best he could.

Today they were off to see the Duke of Beauchamp, a fine distraction, not only for Joe but Duncan. He couldn’t wait to see Lady Marcia.

She arrived at his house flushed and excited, her maid Kerry in tow, and did her very best to keep her conversation with him light.

He did the same.