Page 60 of Desperate Proposals
Once, he added to himself.
“Oh,” she responded.
Silence fell upon them again as he continued. He’d slipped back into his calm, reverent state when he accidentally caught her gaze once more. The faint flush on her cheeks remained, and she wet her lips as he watched.
His wife desired him. Controlled, steady, aloof Evelyn, who’d never wanted for anything but a husband. His body heated.Hewas her husband. Why was the thought so intoxicating?
Without breaking eye contact, he held her half-done hair to one side, while with his other hand he slid her nightdress to the side, exposing her neck and shoulder. A delicious expanse of supple skin. With a smirk, Marcus lowered his head and began dragging light kisses along her.
“Oh,” she sighed, her eyes closing in pleasure.
Marcus chuckled against her. He kissed her harder, more insistently.
Evelyn gasped.
With one last nip, he pulled away and set the brush down as he started to plait. It was quite nice, this business of having a wife.
Chapter Fifteen
A pleasant warmth settledover Marcus. He liked this, liked doting upon her. Perhaps he might even make a routine of it, assisting with her hair only to muss it all up when he later had his way with her upon the bed. It was an enjoyable thought.
And then, drawing him out of his reverie, Evelyn cleared her throat and said, “And how fares Mr. Reed?”
The words hit Marcus like a bucket of cold water, and he fumbled, the sections of hair he’d separated falling back together.
“Mr. Reed?” He scoffed, irritated, and reached for the brush again.
“Yes,” she managed, sitting up straighter as she composed herself. “He called today, remember,” she said.
“I am aware, as I was present for the entire miserable visit. To my regret.”
Damn it.Marcus did not want Evelyn composed. He wanted her undone. He wanted her now, bent over the dressing table, her skirts rucked up over her ample bottom.
What he definitely did not want was to speak of Mr. Reed and his regurgitated Tory reasoning.
“I had meant to ask after the wedding breakfast, but, well.” She sighed, a pretty little sound if not for the words that followed. “And then today, Mr. Reed must have spied us. His gaze was quite judgmental, if you will recall.”
Marcus frowned, looking about her dressing table for a ribbon or something.
“There,” Evelyn said, pointing to a small drawer with a dainty cut glass knob.
It slid open without so much as a squeak. Inside he expected to find a jumbled nest of fripperies quite like a viper pit. Instead, the drawer was cleverly divided, containing little glass jars with decorative pewter lids holding various bits and bobs. Pulling it out further he discovered at the back a section containing ribbons, all of them laid out as neat as a pin. As if someone had ironed them.
Of course. He smiled, selected the topmost ribbon, and shut the drawer.
“What had you meant to ask?” Marcus tied off the plait, wondering if he ought to fasten it more securely somehow. He decided to leave it. Perhaps it would fall off as she slept, allowing the plait to unravel. “After the wedding breakfast?” He fiddled with the tail, smiling at the idea of her hair hanging loose.
“You are not fond of Mr. Reed,” she stated.
“Well, that’s quite underselling it,” he said, letting the plait fall.Especially now, he added to himself.
Evelyn turned around, away from her dressing mirror, facing him from her low perch on the stool.
“He is respected,” she said, her voice flat.
Marcus snorted in derision. “By whom? He scorns the common man and their institutions. He fancies himself a sage philosopher, but in truth he’s nothing but a ditheringmuttonhead. Oh, he dreams a rosy dream, he does—of a country and people that never existed.”
Evelyn glanced away, considering his words. Damn it, Marcus had come here hoping to escape from thoughts of the dull and odious Mr. Reed, not to discuss him at length. He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair.
