The Lady Who Came in from the Cold (7 page)

“I told you before,” she retorted. “I am not having supper with your mama again.”

“You are. We can’t avoid her forever, darling,” he said.

“
You
don’t have to avoid her. You can go.” She crossed her arms. “And you can make excuses for me—tell her I have a megrim or that I’ve come down with the Plague.”

Marcus’ lips tipped up slightly, but he didn’t relent. “I’m not going to lie for you.”

“Fine. Then tell her the truth.” Penny rose, her primrose satin dressing robe swirling around her. “Tell her I don’t
want
to go to her supper party because she is condescending and rude. She makes no bones about disliking me, Marcus, and how much she wishes you’d wed someone else. If I have to hear one more word about the Perfect Miss Pilkington, I swear to God I shall scream.”

“You’re overreacting,” he said—the absolutely
wrong
thing to say as far as she was concerned. “Mama is merely surprised at our marriage, as she has every right to be. It did take place with some haste.”

“Marry in haste, repent in leisure?” she said bitterly. “I’m sure your mother wishes you were repenting. I hear Cora Pilkington is still free.”

“There’s no need to be flippant. Mama will come to accept our marriage in time. As for Miss Pilkington, she has nothing to do with this.”

“She has plenty to do with it,” Penny said hotly. “She’s leading a dashed campaign against me.”

“A campaign? How do you mean?”

The fact that Marcus looked puzzled elevated her temperature another dangerous notch. “I mean she’s using her influence against me. She’s making it difficult for me to enter certain circles.”

“Has she been rude to you?” he said, frowning.

“Not directly.” She waved a frustrated hand. “That’s not the way her sort does it.”

Society, Penny was learning, carried on its own version of espionage. Debutantes wielded words like stilettos, used gossip and innuendo to poison, and hid behind shining shields of virtue and politesse. To Penny, the world of the
ton
was every bit as treacherous as the world she’d inhabited before, and Cora Pilkington, the coy blond bitch, was the worst of the lot.

“How, precisely, does her
sort
do it?” her husband inquired.

It frustrated Penny to no end that she had to explain such obvious facts to his lordship. “Cora Pilkington whispers behind her fan to her cronies when I’m around. Her compliments are more false than her eyelashes. And she… she looks
smug
.”

“If looking smug were a crime, the entire
ton
would be behind bars. Have you any real evidence of Miss Pilkington’s plot against you?”

Fuming at his reasonable tone, Penny said, “You want an example? Fine. At Lady Ippleby’s luncheon last week, I was standing with Miss Pilkington and her friends when a spider crawled past, and Miss Pilkington screeched. Since she looked ready to faint, I stomped on the blasted thing.”

“And?”

“She thanked me,” Penny said darkly.

“Ah. Clearly, she has it in for you.”

“Do
not
mock me. It was
how
she thanked me that showed her true character.” Anger heated Penny’s chest at the memory of Cora’s snide, breathy tones, which she now mimicked. “
You’re so hardy, Lady Blackwood,
compared to the rest of us fragile blooms. I declare, I’d faint dead away if the remnants of that dreadful creature were clinging to the bottom of
my
slipper.
”

Following Cora’s lead, the other hens had shivered and taken a step back from Penny as if she’d caught some miserable disease.

“That’s it?” Looking exasperated, Marcus said, “Perhaps being afraid of spiders, Miss Pilkington merely admires your lack of squeamishness. Whatever the case, I’m sure she didn’t mean to offend. In fact, when I saw her last, she had nothing but kind words to say about you.”

God’s teeth, how could he be so obtuse? How could the brilliant Lieutenant-Colonel Harrington, hero of the battlefield, be so bloody
stupid
when it came to females? Of course, that had worked to her advantage in the past… but
still
.

“It’s no surprise that she’d say that to
you
. She wants you to believe that she’s virtuous. All the while, she’s a snake in the grass, waiting to slither into your bed,” Penny said indignantly.

“That is both ridiculous and offensive.” Marcus’ features tightened with distaste. “Moreover, you are veering wildly off topic. We were discussing your requested presence at my mama’s supper party, which has naught to do with Miss Pilkington. This is about you doing your duty as my wife—as the Marchioness of Blackwood.”

“Do
not
lecture me about duty.”

“Don’t act like a spoiled child, and I won’t have to.”

At his calm superiority, her irritation boiled over. “If I’m acting like a
child
, then it’s because you’ve assigned me to that role!”

“What the devil does that mean?”

“It means, Marcus, that when you go gallivanting off to your meetings or your club, you leave me here, alone in the house, with nothing to do,” she said acidly.

“First of all, I’m not gallivanting—I’m attending to business interests.” His jaw clenched. “Secondly, there’s plenty for you to do.”

“Such as?”

His brows lowered, his impatience now palpable. “Run the household. Receive callers. Go to the bloody dressmaker, I don’t know. Whatever it is ladies do.”

“For your information, it takes one hour of my day to meet with the housekeeper and the butler to ensure that the house is running smoothly. And I’ve
been
shopping.” Her temper taking over, she stormed over to her three enormous wardrobes, flinging their doors open one by one, exposing guts of satin, silk, and chiffon. “I can’t fit anything more in there.”

“So buy another wardrobe,” he growled.

“Excellent. So deduct an additional hour spent on Bond Street, which leaves,”—she tapped a finger against her chin—“
ten hours
a day to contend with. I repeat, what am I to do with myself?”

“Devil and damn, woman, what has gotten into you?” Marcus planted his hands on his lean hips, finally looking angry. “You’d think you didn’t have the first inkling of how to be a lady.”

She didn’t—but she couldn’t tell him that. The knot of frustration in her chest tightened.

“I’m doing my
best
.”
For you, you ungrateful nodcock.

“If you’d care to do better,” he said in icy tones, “I’m sure Mama would be perfectly happy to introduce you to new acquaintances and—”

“I don’t want your mother’s help, I want
you
, you bacon-brained lummox!” she exploded. Provoked beyond words, she paced before the gaping cabinets, in her agitation barely holding onto her polished accent. “I don’t want to make acquaintances who gossip behind my back. Who say you married beneath you and wait for me to make a mistake—any mistake—so they can pounce on it and tear me to shreds over tea and sandwiches. Who all secretly agree that I stole you from Perfect Miss Pilkington, who would have made you a much better marchioness and who still casts blooming calf eyes at you—”

Strong arms caught her at the waist, cutting off her tirade. She struggled furiously, but it was of no use. He held her against his unyielding frame.

“Penny. Look at me.”

Chest heaving, she glared up at him… and despite her tumult, the warmth in his steel blue eyes sent a quiver through her belly. A melting sensation that went all the way down her spine. All at once, she was acutely aware of his hard muscle surrounding her, his scent and heat.

“I don’t want Miss Pilkington. I want you,” he said.

Suddenly, Penny realized how she sounded—like a jealous harpy. She felt small, stupid.

“I know that,” she muttered to his chest.

“The reason I’ve been out so much is because I wanted to give you space to settle into your new life. To make our home how you wish without tripping over your husband at every step. In leaving you to your own devices, my intention was to be considerate.”

Her gaze shot up.

His smile was rueful. “By the by, you’re not the only one who thinks I’ve got bacon for brains. My man of business has grown quite exasperated with me.”

“Why?”

“Because, my love, I can’t concentrate on a word he says. All I seem to think about is you.”

“Truly?” she breathed.

“Truly.” His gaze went from warm to positively heated. His large hands roamed possessively over her back before cupping her bottom and pulling her flush against him.

Desire poured over her like sun-warmed honey as she felt the turgid proof of his words. His erection was huge, prodding unabashedly against the softness of her belly. Her sex fluttered and dampened. In a blink, anger morphed into wanting.

She looped her arms around his neck, gave him a saucy flutter of her eyelashes. “And what exactly do you think about when you think about me, Lord Blackwood?”

“I’ll show you,” he said.

Blooming hell, she loved it when his voice deepened like that. Loved it even more when he snatched her into his arms as if she weighed no more than thistledown and carried her into the bedchamber, tossing her onto the bed. With one knee on the mattress, he made quick work of her robe and his own, and though she’d had over a month to get used to his bold masculinity, her breath still caught at the glorious sight of him.

Strength and raw beauty infused his every aspect. His shoulders were wide and heavy, and her gaze caught for an instant on the scar on his upper left arm. The work of a sniper’s bullet. It was a reminder that Marcus was all-too human, that she might have lost him before they’d even begun, a notion that spurred her pulse.

Not wanting to linger in fear, her eyes followed the chiseled planes of his chest, which were sprinkled with wiry bronze hair that she loved to rub her cheek against. The truth was she liked to touch him everywhere: loved the rippling of his muscled back beneath her palms, the hard drag of his ridged torso against her soft curves as he made love to her. In fact, it was becoming more and more difficult to maintain a ladylike composure when they were in bed. Last week, he’d driven her into such a frenzy that, of their own accord, her legs had wrapped around his lean hips, but he hadn’t seemed to mind. His eyes had glazed over, his thrusts getting harder, deeper, filling her so utterly…

Desire sang in her blood. She couldn’t help but stretch up her arms, whispering, “Come to me.”

He took her outstretched arms… and she blinked to find them pinned above her head, his large hand securing her by the wrists.

“In good time,” he said. “Stay like that for me, love.”

Goose pimples prickled over her skin at his calm command, the passionate flare in his eyes. In the past, she would have balked at being under any man’s control. She’d willingly participated in the sexual act twice before Marcus; both times, she’d taken the top position, driving the seduction along and deriving no pleasure from it. Her throat constricted as her one other experience pushed into her consciousness. Her first time and no participation on her part at all. Nothing but force, pain, and degradation…

She pushed the memory aside. With Marcus, things were different. Sex was about love and trust and goodness, dazzling discoveries that seemed to patch up her soul, healing all the broken places, leaving her whole and burning with want.

Her husband bent his head, his lips brushing hers, but when she leaned upward to deepen the kiss, his mouth left to course instead along her jaw, her neck, and collarbones. Her lungs strained as he licked a trail between her heaving breasts; when his lips closed around one throbbing nipple, a moan scraped from her throat. He’d recently introduced her to this heady pleasure. Her spine arched at the hot, drugging pull of his lips, which elicited a twin pulsing between her legs.

“I love your breasts, Penny.” He licked the other taut peak, blowing softly. “They’re so sweet.”

“Have more then,” she purred.

His husky laugh warmed her nipple. “If you insist.”

He continued to playfully explore, pressing kisses over her ribcage, her belly. She squirmed, giggling when his tongue dipped into her navel. But when his mouth continued its journey downward, she stilled. Surely, he didn’t mean to kiss her…
there?
Being no well-bred miss, she accounted herself well-informed when it came to the variety of sexual acts and thus had heard about oral stimulation but, to her knowledge, that was a thing done by women to men. It hadn’t occurred to her that a man—never mind a gentleman like Marcus—would wish to put his mouth on a woman’s…

The first, hot swipe of his tongue startled a whimper from her. The second made her back bow off the bed. “Oh, God. Oh,
Marcus—
”

He lifted his head. “All right, Penny?”

“Yes, yes,” she gasped.

“So sweet. Here like everywhere else,” he muttered. “God, I can’t get enough of you…”

Dazed, she let her head fall back as pleasure—as
Marcus
—consumed her. He knew no shame, his big hands holding her thighs spread as his tongue delved deeply, searching out her innermost secrets. Feral sounds broke from her as he ate her sex with passionate hunger, driving her wild with his praise. How delicious he found her. How luscious and wet. Pleasure built inside her, a storm that pushed the very boundaries of her soul. He licked upwards, to the top of her cleft, latching onto her pearl and suckling hard. Stars flashed the instant before she flew apart.

Glittering pieces. Brilliant and ecstatic. Reborn.

Caught up in the rippling waves of her climax, she nonetheless felt another jolt when he came inside her. A hard, thick filling that shoved out her tattered breath and replaced it with pure joy. More rolling tides of pleasure.

His face was dark with passion above her. “Christ, you feel good. So wet and tight, so beautiful.” He ground his hips, grazing her sensitive peak with the steely root of his cock. “I’d die happy right where I am.”

“You feel even better,” she moaned. “So big and hard. I can’t get enough of you.”

The moment the words slipped out, she realized her mistake. No lady would say such things. It was one thing to flirt with one’s husband and quite another to express such direct and lusty feelings.