Page 50 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
“Lizzie.” An odd, strangled laugh fought its way up his throat, amused despite himself. “I don’t want to argue all the way back to London. Iwant,” he stressed, “youto come sit beside me.”
A little furrow of confusion appeared between her brows. “Whatever for?”
“Because I have got a brand new wife whom I wish to debauch in a carriage.” He hadn’t intended to admit it, of course, but somehow it had popped out anyway.
Which was not to imply that she hadbelievedit, more fool her. A light laugh fell from her lips as a scarlet flush burned her cheeks. “I don’t think that is possible,” she said.
“It’s possible,” he returned. “You are mywife, Lizzie. It is a wife’s duty to please her husband in all things. Right now, it would please me for you to sit beside me.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits, that mulish expression with which he had become so well acquainted pursing her lips. “Is it not also a husband’s duty to please his wife?”
So she had no intention of playing the meek, biddable wife, then. Good. Luke rather liked that. He muffled a chuckle in his palm as he swiped his hand over his mouth. “Oh, I’ll please you,” he said. “That was never in question.”
“Theconceit,” she sniffed, tilting her nose in the air, as if she had, in the last hour, somehow acquired all the haughtiness of her new station.
“It’s not conceit if it’s true.” The carriage rocked into a turn, and Luke let the motion carry him out of his seat to kneel upon the floor between them, where he bracketed his hands on either side of her hips. “Do you remember that evening in the library?” he asked idly, his fingers creeping closer to the spill of her skirts across the seat. By the vivid burn of the flush in her cheeks, he could see she did.
A swallow slipped down her throat, disappearing beneath the modest neckline of her gown. “What of it?” she inquired, her voice imbued with a breathy quality that had been missing only moments ago.
“I thought you should know I found it perfectly enjoyable,” he said, watching a cascade of strange, unfamiliar emotions flitter across her face. There wasinterestthere, he thought—and a whole host of other things that he was certain would have shocked her if she were aware of them.
“Did you?” she squeaked, likely only because she thought she was meant to saysomething.
“Enjoyable,” he repeated, and let a long moment draw out in thick silence. “Even…repeatable.”
Chapter Twenty
He couldn’t possibly be serious. “In acarriage?” The words popped out of her mouth as if it had had a mind of its own—mortified; titillated.
“God, yes.” That knowing grin lifted his lips, and the tiny dimple in the surface of his cheek seemed to contain every secret to which she had never been privy. “What? Don’t tell me you thought this sort of thing could only be done in at night, in the dark?”
Ofcourseshe had! “I’m certain that’s how it’smeantto be done.”
He wheezed with laughter, and pressed his cheek against the tight clench of her knees. She fancied she could feel the scrape of his jaw even through her skirts and several layers of petticoats. “Hmm,” he said, but the warmth of his amusement lingered in the tenor of his voice. “My house in London has somewhere around thirty rooms,” he said. “Perhaps I shall debauch you in each of them. We could make a list of their merits and shortcomings and compare notes.”
A bloom of heat settled itself in her stomach, radiating outward. “You’re making sport of me,” she accused.
“Only a little. It’s just that you’re so much fun to tease.” One hand lifted from its position at her side, and then his fingers glided along the skin revealed above the high neckline of her gown. “When I see this blush spread across your skin, I want to follow it with my fingers—my lips—and find where it will lead me.”
Her flesh sizzled beneath the light pressure of his fingertips as he trailed them up, curved his palm around the nape of her neck, and pulled her toward him, until his breath coasted over her lips, warm and faintly coffee-scented. “This is wicked,” she murmured, even as her flesh tingled with an odd awareness, as her thoughts grew fuzzy and disjointed.
A warm hand spread over her thigh. “Of course, you aresowell-versed in wickedness,” he chided gently against her lips. “I’ve sacrificed a great deal to secure a few hours alone in a carriage with you, and I mean to make the most of them.” His cheek scraped hers, the texture of the stubble shading his jaw singing along her nerves. “Wearemarried,” he said. “It’s really only a bit wicked. Hardly worth mentioning.”
Hardly worth mentioning, indeed, but only because nobody would everdare. And yet her hands had lifted to his shoulders, fingertips kneading the firm muscle there, and he buried a groan in her mouth as he teased her lips apart to admit the slow thrust of his tongue.
He liked to be touched like this, she gleaned as a tremor slipped down his spine. It was rather like one would pet a large cat—long, slow strokes, the occasional scratch of her nails through his hair. But he seemed to revel in it, eventually breaking from her lips with a wordless growl, his mouth searing her skin as the tip of his tongue touched the shell of her ear, eliciting a gasp.
His hands burned her through her gown and stays, and then— “Christ.” The carriage jolted as the wheels found a rut in the road, and the pressure of his hands popped a button free of her gown entirely.
Despite herself, Lizzie felt a tremulous laugh emerge from her mouth. “You’ve ruined my best gown!”
“Don’t be a scold.” His hands worked frantically to relieve her of the rest of her buttons, tangling in the laces of her stays beneath. He muffled a rough sound of frustration against the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “You’re trussed up to the teeth,” he said. “I thought women were all wearing short stays nowadays.”
“Do forgive me for not anticipating being undressed in acarriage.”
“Forgiven,” he said promptly. “Just this once. Don’t let it happen again. In the future, you shouldalwaysanticipate being undressed in a carriage.” And then he abandoned her laces and toppled her backward, catching his good arm beneath her neck to settle her into the plush seat. “Lord,” he groaned. “You’ve got far too many petticoats on.”
“It gets chilly in the mornings!” Lizzie puffed a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Have you ever had to collect eggs on a frosty winter morning with no more than a single layer of petticoats?”
