Page 61 of Desperate Proposals
“I have a tendency to agree. Why, he’s never been interested in anything the Preservation Society puts forth.” Evelyn tilted her head as she studied him. “But you have.”
“Ah yes, our venerable goat willow.” Marcus smiled even as shame pricked at him; he had not been interested himself until today.
Until she’d expressed her desire for his physical attentions.
It was appalling. How quickly he’d adapted to this game, thisquid pro quo, the leveraging of one service against another. He hated it.
All his life, Marcus had set out to be an upstanding man. Someone who wrought justice. Someone his father would be proud of. But here he was, paying for a tree’s four-hundredth birthday party because he wanted to fuck his noble-born wife.
“I was unable to express my gratitude earlier. I’m afraid I was caught off guard.” Evelyn said shyly, looking down as if she were engrossed with the pattern on the carpet. “But the other ladies will be thrilled when I tell them.”
Now she looked up at him from under her eyelashes.
“Thank you.”
“No need,” Marcus swallowed hard, trying to will his anger and humiliation away. He added in a raspy voice, “It’s long overdue, I assure you.”
Also long overdue, and now competing for attention in his mind, were swaths of constituents whose needs he’d not heard, several unvisited farms, and numerous other untended issues, all scolding him for his absence. Even as he’d meant to set theworld right, it seems that world had been limited to London as of late.
Evelyn stood.
“What do you mean?”
“Pah, nothing. Pay it no mind.” He shook his head.
If only he could shake away the self-doubt and worry that had plagued him over the years, ever since his father had died.
He closed the distance between them, and gently took her hand in his. She did not react.
“Tomorrow,” he began, forcing a much livelier tone, “we shall be off to Birmingham. You’ve had your maid pack, yes?”
“Of course.”
“Good,” Marcus said. He still felt cold.
He stared at her hand, caressing it with a thumb. And then his gaze rose, to the lace of her nightgown’s neckline. He dropped her hand and reached up to fiddle with the pretty trim, rubbing it between his fingers. Perhaps he imagined it, but it seemed her chest was rising and falling quicker with each breath.
His fingers followed the frilly adornment, tracing a line down the nightgown’s front, pausing to finger the mother-of-pearl buttons lying against her breast. When he looked up and saw her eyes, wide and excited, his body tightened.
“Are you still sore?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
She flushed and shook her head.
“Good.”
Before she could speak again, Marcus yanked her against him.
Evelyn’s gasp was cut off as he took her mouth with a punishing kiss. He was desperate, needing her response as much as his own. At first she went rigid in surprise, but after a moment she melted into him, her lips moving against his.
Christ, she felt so warm. His arms were full of her, but it was not enough. His hands groped, squeezing her soft flesh. His cock hardened; he needed more. He needed everything she deignedto give him. Needed the approval, the supplication implicit in every whimper, every gasp, every jerk of her body against his.
Grasping her gown by the neck, he pushed her away just as quickly as he’d pulled her to him moments before.
“Get this… thing off,” he growled, his hands gathering up handfuls of the nightgown, lifting it to her waist.
“What?” Evelyn gasped, eyes wide.
Standing there with her hair already half undone, her lips wet and swollen, Marcus wanted nothing more than to ravish her on the spot, up against her dressing table. His erection throbbed. He didn’t recognize this fervor, this wildness within him.
