Page 30 of Madcap with a Marquess
“Yes, yes. Disregarding my orders,” he said, attempting to sound bored and uncaring. “Go retrieve her, please.”
“She…appears to be disrobing.”
“Disrobing…”Bloody fucking hell.
His mother’s words rushed forward, and he flinched:A true gentleman does not rely on vulgarity. Coarse words are the mark of ill-breeding.
He sped up his pace, his feet eating up the ground as he strode toward the pond, unsure if he was running from his mother’s words or after his shameless wife.
Sure enough, Franny stood before the pond, shrugging out of her green day dress, leaving her in nothing but her chemise. God, where were her stockings? No corset and no stockings—had she never learned how to dress herself? He would be having a word with her lady’s maid.
“Franny, stop this instant!”
She whirled around, green eyes flashing fire at him. Lifting her chin, she brushed her chemise straps off her shoulders. And let it fall.
The air left his lungs with awhoosh. Legs. For. Days. A thatch of black curls to match the waves cascading over her breasts. Sunlight shimmered over the ebony strands. And bloody fucking hell—fuck minding his language—because those were her pink nipples peeking through her inky black tresses.
A strangled yell tore from his throat. He was going to kill her. Punish her. Fuck her. No!Control, Rupert.
She pivoted on her heel and marched into the pond, apple-bottomed arse sashaying in defiance. The water splashed violently as she strode in, arcing out of her way, frantically evading the selkie plunging into its depths.
“What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing? Get back out here and put your bloody clothes on!”
She spun, planting her hands on her hips, breasts swaying. He latched onto them. Like his mouth wanted to. Why was he cross again?Disobedient wife, Rupert. Restrain your wife.He clenched his fists. Oh God, how he’d love to restrain her.
“I cannot possibly go swimming with my clothes on, Pretentious Perty. They’ll get all wet.”
Wet. From her lips. His gaze shot to her shell-pink lips, pouting at him in her tirade.Gather your wits.His weakness floored the fury fighting its way through him, determined to break out. Like his hammering heart threatened to break out of his chest.
“You can’t take off your clothes in…in…public!” His yell came out high-pitched and strained, like she had gripped him by the ballocks. This woman was going to be the death of him.
She rolled her eyes and sunk backwards into the water, drifting deeper into the pond. Thank God. If he had to stare at her naked form any longer, he would have thrown any vestiges of control over his shoulder and fucked his wife right then and there.
“We aren’t in public,” she called out to him. “We are atour home. We can do whatever we please.”
“No, we can’t! There are rules. There are…are expectations. God, peoplevisitthis estate. It is open to the public! I demand you get out of the pond at once.”
Dear God. He could only imagine the scandal if this got out. If someone saw. He could say farewell to his political ambitions. Both because his marchioness had been caughtnakedon her estate, and the marquess in question had murdered the people who’d seen. Because if anyone laid eyes on his wife’s nude form, they’d find themselveseyelessshortly thereafter. And he’d use something dull and rusty.
Bloody hell, he was a madman.
Her disbelieving snort carried across the pond’s surface, ripples cascading from where she glided in the water. “Like you’ll stop me? I’d wager you cannot even swim.”
“I do too know how to swim!”
Dear Lord. Why was this always how it went with them? Her taunting that he didn’t know how, and then he foolishly trying to prove he very much did know how. It was like they were children all over again. He crossed his arms. It wouldn’t work this time.
He was a man, damn it. Disciplined.
Franny’s laughter floated over to him, mocking him, and he scowled.
He couldn’t be provoked.
She twirled in the water, lifting her arms into the air and dropping her head back.
Taunt. Taunt. Taunt.
Fuck it.
