Page 25 of Daring the Forbidden Earl
“They called me a drunkard, and I thoughtIwas going to be the next prizefighter when they tried to drag me out of there.” He gave a nervy chuckle. “But I had barely imbibed. I just could not tell them the reason I was searching everywhere, as you asked me not to. So, if Nora tells you that I have taken leave of my senses, you know why.”
Johanna’s smile widened. “I did not realize you cared so very much.”
“Did I not already explain why I kept that other… instruction manual?” His chin sagged onto his chest. “I was trying to keep you out of the scandal papers, and now I have gone and given them plump fodder, ripe for juicing through the gossip mill.”
Johanna gave his hand a squeeze. “Do not panic, Mark. No one can prove the letter was written by me, and I am not the only Johanna in London.” She laughed cheerfully, dispersing any latent nerves. “Youare far more likely to find yourself in the scandal sheets, though I imagine it is far less outrageous than some of the other stories that have been written about you.”
“Why are you not completely livid with me?” Mark turned to face her, his lips so close she could have kissed him with a mere tilt of her head.
Johanna shrugged. “There is nothing to fear until there issomethingto fear,” she explained. “Either the words in my letter will end up in the scandal sheets or they will not, but there is no use scaring myself with the possibility.”
“I wish I had known that last night.” His eyes twinkled with irreverence. “I might have slept and spared myself several indignities.” He pulled aside the collar of his dirtied shirt to reveal what appeared to be a boot print. “I was stomped on more times than I care to remember! I swear, I shall never chase a stray cat away again, for I have gained intimate knowledge of how they must feel.”
Johanna could not tear her gaze away from the hardened lines of his chest. Before she knew what she was doing, her fingertips were tracing the bruised outline of the boot print. The sensation of her touch against his skin sent tiny, euphoric shivers up her arm and into her chest, where it spread through her like warmed honey.
“Does it hurt?” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.
Mark smiled. “Not anymore.”
“You ought to refresh yourself,” she said, drawing her fingertips away. “I have clothes that you may borrow, until you return home. They will not fit you, but at least you will not look so disheveled.”
Mark’s smile disappeared. “Are they my uncle’s clothes?”
“Yes.” Johanna longed for that smile to come back.
He shook his head defiantly. “Then I would rather walk home naked. I will not put anything that belonged to him near my skin, lest it infect me with his evil.”
“Evil?” She frowned. “Why do you think that?”
She had her own reasons to think of her deceased husband without much fondness, but she had never thought him to be evil. Perhaps she was finally going to get a direct answer, as to why Mark abhorred his uncle so much. During their marriage, Johanna had never spoken to her husband much about the past, so it was entirely likely that something was missing in her knowledge.
Mark held his head in his hands. “May we speak of this another time? I feel as though there are bees trapped inside my skull, buzzing to be free.” Slowly, he unbuttoned the top few holes of his shirt. “Though I would gladly take a basin of water to rid myself of some of this grime.”
Johanna’s throat constricted as she looked upon his smooth, sun-darkened skin, eager to touch him again.
Instead, she took herself away from his side and went to fetch the basin of fresh, cool water that rested in the stand opposite. Bringing it back, she knelt on the ground in front of him, and soaked a cloth in the refreshing water.
He looked at her in surprise. “I would advise you not to wash my feet.”
“Then I will leave that part up to you,” she replied coyly.
Draping the cloth over the edge of the basin, she reached up to slowly undo the rest of the buttons of his shirt. His waistcoat was already open, and he had his tailcoat slung over his shoulder. All she had to do was push everything off him in one insistent movement, her hands sliding his shirt down his strong arms until he sat, bare-chested, in front of her.
His breaths quickened as their eyes met. “I did not read this in your instruction manual.”
“I am improvising,” she said, her voice thick with desire.
Sitting back on her haunches, she let her eyes take in every carved line of his muscular chest, and the faint, taut squares of his abdomen. She admired his corded neck, and the way his shoulders reached toned peaks, that led to firm, sculpted arms. His forearms were veined and smooth, the fine hairs turned golden by the French sun, and his hands were large and capable, with fingertips that she longed to feel upon her.
“Goodness,” she whispered, more to herself than to him, as she picked up the damp cloth. Aware that her hands were shaking, she swept the fabric across the contours that her eyes had taken in a moment ago.
Mark bit his lower lip as she wiped away the dirt and the sweat, until his bare torso glistened wetly in the morning sunlight. In many ways, though Johanna could not explain it, this felt more intimate than the kiss they had shared in his drawing room.
Returning the cloth to the basin, to saturate it again, Johanna gasped in surprise as Mark sank down to his knees before her. She barely had time to catch her breath before he lifted his hands to her face and dipped his head to kiss her fiercely upon the mouth.
She responded instinctively, matching his fervent pace as they settled into a charged rhythm. This was not a slow waltz, but something else entirely. A frenzied jig that no one in polite society would have dared to enjoy.
Her arms looped about his neck, wanting to be close to his bare skin. Reacting in kind, Mark pulled her up into his lap, urging her legs to wrap around his waist. All the while, their lips grazed in frantic desperation, their tongues dancing together, as his hands stroked down the length of her arched spine. Just that slight touch sent tingles through her, making her gasp and moan against his lips in a way she had never experienced before.
