Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (19 page)

“Beautiful,” Marcus murmured, then set his lips to the underside of her breast. His hands gently glided down the downy skin of her bad leg, drawing it out, caressing it with a worshipful touch. “All of you is beautiful,” he murmured, his breath caressing the sensitive skin of her breast.

All thought of discomfiture vanished.

Those magical lips licked and kissed and nibbled their way around to the raised bud, drawing it in so deeply into his mouth she gasped with pleasure. Her back arched, her hips jerked and she clutched his shoulders for support.

He was relentless in his attention to each nipple, going from one to the other. Fingers caressed her skin, trailing down to her belly, her hip and soon to the source of her agitation.

She closed her eyes. Long fingers stroked the tight curls between her thighs, urging her legs wider. Agile fingers slipped between the wet folds of her flesh. She cried out, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst through her chest.

“So wet,” he murmured, his face agonizingly near her hip. Moist kisses trailed down her belly and she clenched up, suddenly nervous at his intimate proximity to her core.

“Shh,” he whispered, gently rubbing the hard nub between her thighs. Her muscles convulsed and relaxed, wallowing in heated moisture.

Suddenly his mouth pressed against the hard nub of her womanhood. A silent cry caught in her throat. She clenched the coverlet in her fists.

His tongue played over her. She saw stars. She inhaled sharply, desperate for air. His mouth and fingers tormented her with devastating pleasure. She was whimpering, clutching the coverlet for her life. Her legs were locked tense, her body arched like a bow.

He took her higher and higher toward that amazing…

Heat swamped her. Her muscles convulsed, again, and again, battering her with shattering release. She was lost.

Catherine’s mind slowly rejoined her body. Her heart still pounded, her lungs almost ached, as she lay limply in his arms. At some point Marcus had lain beside her and
wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Gently, he kissed her neck, just below her ear.

She felt so good with Marcus, so safe. As if no one could hurt her when he was near. Ridiculous, actually, but comforting, just the same.

Slowly, she reached down, intent on giving him a share of the pleasure she’d just enjoyed.

“Shh,” he murmured in her ear, sending a delicious ripple of air over her neck. “Relax, there’s no rush.”

Sighing, she smiled. This had not been a mistake. She was never going to regret this moment for the rest of her life. Her only hope was to make it last as long as possible.

He lay beside her fully clothed, gently twining her hair in his fingers. Despite the hard manhood pressing against her naked thigh, he toyed with her hair indolently, as if, indeed, he were in no hurry.

“Marcus?” she asked, her voice still weak.

“Hmmm,” he murmured, splaying soft kisses near her ear.

“Are we going to get to dessert?”

His lips froze. “Dessert?”

“Yes. You said that what we did before was like the first or second course in a meal—”

“What you’re going to get,” Marcus replied, slipping his arms beneath her and tossing her over, “is a sound thrashing.” With his palm, lightly he swatted her naked bottom.

“Stop that!” she squealed, rolling over and scooting back on the bed.

On his knees, he stalked closer to her. “Don’t ever tell a man who’s just given you the ‘lover’s kiss’ that you want more.”

Lover’s kiss.
Just the sound of it heated her womanly
core. “What if I want to give you a ‘lover’s kiss’?” she asked.

His breath hitched. His eyes smoldered with naked desire and she couldn’t miss the large bulge straining against his breeches.

Elation and a sense of power surged through her. She smiled, feeling wicked. “What if I want to be the one flying you to the stars?”

“To the stars?” his voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Flying.” She reached for him. “Let me show you.”

“A
h, here you are, Cat,” Prescott cried, stepping over the threshold to the porch. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Catherine looked up, trying to hide her disappointment that it was not a different handsome man come to visit. She hadn’t seen Marcus all day and every moment that passed seemed like torture until she saw him again. It had gotten that bad, she realized, and in only four days. Her entire existence was centered on when she would see him and how she would be able to slip away to be with him. It kept her sane while going through Headmaster Dunn’s funeral, through the agonizing conferences with the committees of the board of trustees, through the endless staff meetings.

Leaning over, Prescott bussed her on the cheek, his musk perfume wafting around her like a bouquet. She liked the aroma, but found herself comparing it to a refreshing woody scent she’d come to savor.

“I would have come sooner, but I was at a friend’s
house near Bath and had not heard the news,” Prescott explained.

Dropping onto the chaise beside her, he adjusted his bottle green coat and stretched his long legs before him. His snowy white breeches were so tight, Catherine could see the outline of his muscled thighs and quickly looked down at the embroidery in her lap.

She was unused to noticing such things in men and somehow felt unfaithful even to do so in all innocence. She wondered if men, Marcus in particular, felt any similar disloyalty when around other females. She could not think of Marcus and other women! She had to remember that she had no claim on him and that their time together was fleeting.

“I can’t quite believe Dunn’s gone,” Prescott avowed, tossing his hat, cane and gloves aside. He ran his hand through his wavy ginger hair, brushing it out of his green eyes.

“I was wondering why I did not see you at the funeral,” she murmured, watching the sky darken. The air smelled damp and an agitated wind shook in the trees. A storm was brewing.

“Hell, I’m gone hardly a week and the world tips on its end. Dear Dunn and Lady Langham both murdered in the same week. It’s wont to make one wonder if there’s not an epidemic afoot.”

“Lady Langham?” she asked, diverted.

“Don’t you read the broadsheets?”

“No, actually, I can hardly keep up with the goings-on here, it’s too much to follow the rest of the world’s. So what happened to Lady Langham?”

“Lord Beaumont killed her. A lovers’ tiff supposedly.”

“How horrible!”

“Yes. Well, the man will surely swing, if the papers are
to be believed.” He sighed. “And how are you holding up, Cat?” His voice was threaded with concern.

“Fine.” She shrugged, focusing on a missed stitch. “Busy.” Tossing aside the embroidery, she gave up. She hardly had the concentration to tie her shoes these days.

“Poor Cat, running around trying to take care of everyone.” Wrapping an arm across her shoulder, he patted her arm. “Have you had a good cry yet, darling?”

“Leave me alone, Pres,” she chided, but she did not push him away. For all of his tough talk, he loved Dunn well and must be sorely grieving.

“No, you were never one for a good bawl. Stiff upper lip and such, our Cat.” He sniffed. “Enormously good eulogiums for the old bugger, I heard.”

She smiled sadly. “Dunn would have enjoyed them. Especially when Vicar Kranz spoke. The man was up and down in under ten minutes. A record.”

“Perhaps the old dog was enjoying it from up there.” Prescott motioned to the leaden sky. Looking down, he toyed with one of the shiny brass buttons on his coat. “Did Marcus Dunn, perchance, speak at the funeral?”

Word certainly traveled fast. She tried not to blush but her traitorous cheeks betrayed her. “Yes.”

“What did the dastard have to say?”

“He’s not a dastard.”

“Leopards don’t change their spots.”

“You did.”

He huffed. “I grew up.”

“They why couldn’t he?”

“You actually believe the drivel about him being a war hero?”

“He is a hero.”

Removing his arm, he straightened. “Oh, dear Lord in heaven, you’ve fallen for him!”

“Don’t be ludicrous.” She turned away, hoping not to give anything more away. Just because she enjoyed Marcus’s company did not mean that she’d fallen for him. Simply because she melted in his arms and quivered at his touch didn’t warrant a full-scale affair of the heart. It couldn’t, because she couldn’t afford it to.

“He’s playing you for a fool, Cat. Can’t you see it?” His hand clenched and unclenched on his thigh. “The man hardly knew you existed growing up. I can understand why now he’s all of a sudden discovered you. But the man has the staying power of a pail of milk. He’ll sour soon enough. Until then he’ll lie to you to get whatever he wants. He’s lying—”

“What makes you think that he’s lying?”

“Because
all
men do!”

She stared at him, shocked. “Would you lie to bed me?”

Silence engulfed the porch. Lightning flashed, a moment later followed by a rumble of thunder.

“Would you lie to me, Pres?” she insisted, leaning forward.

“The thought never occurred to me,” he muttered, looking away.

“But if you wanted to bed me, would you lie?”

“Who says I don’t want to bed you?” His emerald gaze fixed on her and he raised a brow.

Catherine scowled at him. “I’m being serious.”

“So is he,” Marcus declared from the threshold, leaning forward on his crutch so that it looked more like a weapon than a support.

Prescott jumped from his seat so quickly, his cane clattered to the wooden floor.

Catherine stood, her heart doing that special dance whenever Marcus was near. Her heart beat a little faster yet seemed slower, as an intoxicating lightness flushed
through her body. She swallowed as the familiar sense of being flustered overcame her.

Inhaling a deep breath, she watched the men, experiencing an inexplicable sense of guilt. But that was ridiculous.

Gripping her hands in her skirts, she felt the need to explain. “Prescott wants me about as much as he wants Mrs. Nagel. This is a purely theoretical discussion.”

“She’s a mighty attractive old biddy,” Prescott murmured, under his breath.

“Be nice,” Catherine ordered to her old friend. “Marcus, you remember Prescott Devane? Prescott, you remember Marcus Dunn.”

The men eyed each other and Catherine almost imagined them to be like stallions gnashing their teeth at a challenger. Marcus was the taller, brawnier of the two. He looked devastatingly handsome in his chocolate brown coat with ivory buttons, ivory breeches and tall brown leather boots. His shiny raven hair was pulled back in a leather thong and the scent of sandalwood pomade teased her senses.

Prescott, although shorter, still looked as if he would give Marcus his due in a contest. Slender, muscular and lithe, there was a toughness to Prescott derived from lessons learned young and not forgotten. Even wearing the trappings of Society, underneath it all he was still the rough-and-tumble orphan, ready to pick a fight with the biggest lad around. His green eyes blazed with a ferocity that would cow lesser men. Marcus, it seemed, was not one of them.

“I believe that the lady asked you a question,
Pres
,” Marcus drawled seemingly nonchalant, but tension showed on his darkly handsome features. “Would you lie?”

Prescott shrugged. “To bed Cat? Of course I would.” He glared. “Any man would.”

“Not I.” Marcus smiled, looking like the cat who’d licked the cream. “I wouldn’t and I needn’t.”

Catherine decided to ignore the implication that she was easy quarry. “Now—”

“You will,” Prescott declared. “At some point or another you’ll deceive her, disappoint her. And what then? You’ll be off to the next battle. What about Cat? What about her then?”

Marcus’s smile drifted to a frown.

Catherine shifted from one foot to the other. Prescott’s assessment was a little too close for comfort.

Catherine decided that this conversation had gone too far into unsettling territory. “Pres was just telling me about the murder of a noblewoman…”

“Murder seems rampant these days,” Prescott drawled, his green eyes flashing with meaning.

“So is hanging.” Scrutinizing Prescott, Marcus suddenly murmured, almost to himself, “You look different.”

“What in the blazes does that mean?” Prescott demanded, his fists clenching.

“You’ve changed.”

“I’m no longer a runt to be kicked around by the bigger boys, if that’s what you mean—”

“Now wait a minute. I never—”

“You, Jimmy D., Kenny Lane, you’re all one and the same.”

“That’s not fair, Prescott,” Catherine chided. “You know as well as any of us that one person’s misdeeds do not carry over to others.”

“They do by association.”

Marcus adjusted the sleeves of the chocolate brown
coat. It was an elegant cut that emphasized his muscular frame. “It was an innocent comment, Prescott. Never mind it.” Facing her, Marcus asked, “Cat, if I could steal you away for a moment…?”

“A moment?” Prescott asked, sarcasm lacing his tone.

“Certainly,” Catherine replied. Feeling guilty about leaving Prescott when he had been searching her out, she turned to him, adding, “I will be back shortly. Will you wait on me?”

“For a lifetime, darling.”

Marcus’s frown deepened to a scowl.

“Catherine,” a familiar voice called.

Catherine turned. Jared stood in the threshold, his face pale as putty, his features bleak.

“Jared!” She rushed to her brother, encircling him in her embrace. He was a few inches taller than she, but soon he would likely tower over her. For the moment, the fourteen-year-old clung to her, his lanky arms wrapped tight, quaking in her arms.

“So you know,” she muttered, referring to Headmaster Dunn.

She could sense Marcus’s and Prescott’s departure as they discreetly left down the stairs to the garden. Considerate men.

Jared sobbed, hugging her close. He smelled as if he hadn’t taken a bath in days. Peering down, she could see that his clothes were filthy. Anxiety coiled through her.

“I didn’t find out…until I got back…” His voice was hoarse with grief.

She pulled away to peer into his eyes. That familiar Coleridge gray gaze was filled with misery. Her anxiety escalated to fear, but she moderated her tone, knowing that Jared was already distraught.

“Sit down, Jared.” She gently pulled him to sit on the sofa. “Let us talk.”

They sat side by side, clutching hands.

Jared’s handsome face was a mess; snot ran down his nose, dirt smeared his cheek. His sandy-colored hair, a few shades darker than her own, was matted with filth. Catherine took out a linen and handed it to him. “Take a deep breath. Collect yourself, Jared. Do you want something to eat?”

Mutely, he shook his head.

After a few moments, he looked up, his gaze resigned. “They’re going to arrest me, Catherine. I’ll probably hang.”