Page 108 of Lessons for Marquesses
“Nick.” She loved a Nicholas. A Nick. The knowledge filled her with joy.
She was in love with him, and he was so beautiful, so strong, at times so sad, so hollow, but when he looked at her now, he was whole. And what was done was done, with only the moments before her in which to find happiness or misery. Only if she let the moments guide her would she know.
His hand threaded her hair, and she could feel each finger upon her and each shiver it made, the path each etched down herneck and where they ended. He traced down her throat, across her shoulder, dwarfing what she had seen as huge, manly, ugly.
The heat of his body coursed over her, locking her harder to his hips, swaying them in an urgent dance. His mouth followed his gaze. Kisses seared her neck, down to her stock where he tore the offending garment away and, pleased to have it gone, left it for her shoulder.
He ripped her linen shirt aside with his teeth, bit into her flesh. She gasped at the savage, sweet sensation. He teased her with the lightest touch, lower, slipping into the torn linen at her middle and lighting a fire at her bound breast, cupping it, drawing it out to a cresting, heated point.
"I tried,” he said. "I tried to stay away.”
She was desperate and on fire as he stroked her breasts and drew out her gasps. Her hands struck up his back, searching for a hold, reveling in him, his maleness, his scent of amber and spice and desire and the taste of salt on his cheek, his jaw, the cords of his neck.
“Georgiana!” Kitty called from a distance.
Mr. Wolf froze, his hand still cupping her breast. Georgiana gulped down a scream of sheer vexation. Their breaths came hard at their chests.
“Georgiana!” Not so distant. Maybe on the other side of the wall. “Your cousin, Caroline, joined the picnic, and she was asking for you.” Kitty lowered her voice to a piercing whisper. “She’s coming. On a horse.”
Mr. Wolf held her tightly with one arm, the other plied a finger to her lips. “Shhh…”
While she was a puddle of quivering sensations being supported by his arm, he had seized control of his body. “How are you standing?”
“Not easily.” Eyes ablaze, he whispered, “Take the stairs to the top, keeping to the right. On the east wall is a foothold. Putyour foot in it, grasp the bottom of the parapet, and pull yourself up. And stay there.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Not well at all,Nicholas thought.
He glared down at his breeches, sure that Kitty Babbington would run screaming through the barley fields if she saw his erection.If?It felt like a landmark, like the dome on St. Paul’s. He gathered up Georgiana’s ravished stock, stuffed it in his coat, stripped that off, folded it over his arm, and walked out to the old inner bailey.
What a peach Georgiana’s little friend was. Kitty stood next to Teague with Georgiana’s coat squeezed in her hand. By his horse’s blowing nostrils, she had put him to a gallop to reach the ruins before Caroline.
The diminutive woman jumped in her shoes. “Oh, Mr. Wolf! I didn’t realize you would be here. I was searching for Georgiana. Please forgive me. I’ll be on my way.”
She turned north toward the fields, Teague in hand, as Caroline cantered toward them like a hunter onto his fox. “My lady,” she called cheerfully, her hand shading her brow. "I searched the castle. Georgiana’s not here, but I did find Mr. Wolf.”
What acoollittle friend she was.
Caroline halted, her hard eyes trailing past Kitty. “That is Mr. Wolf’s horse.”
“Oh, silly me.” Returning to Nicholas, she handed over Teague’s reins and curtsied. A birdcheer-cheerednearby and she followed the sound, smiling blissfully.
“You may leave now,” Caroline said.
“Oh yes, I should.” Kitty’s brow knitted in charming consternation, though she moved not an inch.
Drawing her mount closer, Caroline studied Nicholas from head to boot heel, pausing at his coat draped at his fall, and circled him. Lucky for him, the sight of her storming the castle ruin had the effect of jumping into an icy river.
He tossed his coat over Teague’s withers. “Miss Babbington would you like a ride back to Farendon?”
“Yes please. I would be most appreciative. I don’t weigh more than six and half stone soaking wet. If I could just sit on the back of your mighty steed, I’m sure he’ll hardly notice.”
Caroline sniffed. “Walk back to the picnic.”
“Miss Babbington,” Nicholas said with finality, “it would be my pleasure to take you back to Farendon.”
“And where is Georgiana?” asked Caroline, scanning the ruins.
