Page 66 of Madcap with a Marquess
He shook his head jerkily. “You cannot even begin to understand what it would do to me if something happened to you, Franny.”
Something warm and thrumming sprouted in her chest. It was small, easily fizzled out, but building. It felt like hope. And it felt petrifying.
“I know I have done very little to convince you of that fact,” he said, leaning into her, his cheek grazing against hers as he buried his nose in her hair. “But you have always been important to me. I have always been drawn to you. As a matter of fact, it has always been quite exasperating, the pull you have on me.”
She let out a small huff. She could imagine it would be—Perfect Perty being drawn to Fault-filled Franny.
His voice dropped, barely a whisper against her ear. “You’ve haunted my dreams for the longest time, Franny. Only you, always you. I fear the secret obsession I harbor for you. The way I want you…it terrifies me. Makes me feel like a madman.”
Whatever was growing in her chest sprouted leaves, blooms, basking in the warmth of his words.
He pulled back, his brows pinched in earnest. “So, please, avoid putting yourself in harm’s way. And I will try to avoid being such a dreadful bloody cad.”
Her lips curved, this time without protest, and a soft chuckle burst from her lips. “You are not so very dreadful…allthe time.”
“Am I not?” He attempted a smile, but it was a truly pitiful effort.
He dropped his stare to his lap, and his hand fell away. Her heart constricted at the hesitancy in his tone, the despondency in the sag of his shoulders. She caught his hand and brought it back to cup her face, closing her eyes at the feel of his strength, warmth, solidity against her skin.
She opened her eyes and interjected as much teasing as she could muster in her voice. “I’ll admit, Perfect Perty is not nearly as perfect as he thinks he is.” She glanced down at his lips and back at his eyes. “But he is not without redeemable qualities.”
“We are quite the mess, aren’t we?” he murmured, staring straight into her eyes, taking a hold of her.
They were. But if she loved him now, if he possibly did in return, while they were at their worst—she could only imagine what they could become at their best.
His lips brushed over hers, and with that light touch, her thoughts melted away. His thumb slid gently over her cheekbone, caressing, and then she found herself gathered up and placed in his lap. His kisses continued leisurely, each of them sipping from the other. His hands mimicking his lips, coasting up her ribs notch by notch.
Franny reveled in it. She loved the wild side of Rupert, but this tender side of him… Dear Lord, if a heart could swell to exploding, hers was on the verge.
She clung to him, running her hands over the thin linen of his shirt, her hands uncovering every hidden part of him. Firm chest. Strong, thick collarbone. Rounded, solid shoulders. A confused, passionate heart. She had never had the chance to take her time and explore her husband. To discover.
Farther up she drifted, tracing the corded muscles of his neck, then finally delving into that soft chocolate brown hair. She tangled her fingers in those curls. Wouldn’t it be lovely to be so tangled up in him, she could never be freed?
Rupert broke away from her, rubbing the tip of his nose over hers, then placed a soft kiss there. The feeling in her chest grew. Whatever they had here was fragile—brimming with possibility—but fragile.
He leaned back until their gazes held and her hands fell away. He stared at her, everything from the set of his brow to the firmness of his jaw declaring the seriousness of what he was about to say.
“I always want you to be unapologetically you, Franny. Your uniqueness is what makes you brilliant, captivating…irresistible.” A sheepish grin spread over his face, bunching one cheek, and he looked so boyishly handsome. “I’ve always secretly been quite jealous of you.” His grin faded, and her heart reached out, grasping for it back. “Sometimes I fear I lash out at you out of jealousy. That is a mark of a weak man. Just know you don’t need to fit into someone else’s mold. No matter what the world says. No matter whatIsay. If I eversay anything otherwise, you know I’m being a priggish toad.”
A soft snort escaped her, and though her lips curled up in a smile, a burn built behind her eyes, a sharp sting in her nose. Serious, reflective, yet he poked fun. And she was proud of him for that small piece of levity. Something he would never have lowered himself to before they married. Priggish Perty was changing.
“I’m going to be better for you, Franny. I swear it.”
“And I you, Rupert. It’s awfully selfish of me to say damn the consequences of my actions, not give a thought to scandal and how that affects you. My husband. We are supposed to be a team. I should have considered the impact on you. And I do. Care about that. Even if I made it seem otherwise…”
The right side of his mouth curved up. “We are not very good at this marriage business, are we?”
She brushed a forelock of curls off his forehead. “No. Truly, we’re horrible at it. But we’ll figure it out.” Her gaze flitted to his.Won’t we?
He nodded, and her heart twirled in her chest. She fidgeted with his hair longer than necessary, but she couldn’t stop touching him, needing any part of her to be touching any part of him, always.
“The blasted curls,” he grumbled. “I have always hated them. I can never seem to get them to behave.”
Her lips split into a grin. “I believe that is why I love them so. The one part of you that you could never tame.”
His face softened, the corners of his eyes crinkling lightly. He picked up her hand and pressed it against his heart. “I suppose that makes two untamable parts of me now,” he said softly.
“Two parts…?”
