Page 106 of Ordered Home for the Holidays
Titchfield dipped his head toward Madelina. “Introduce me to your lady.”
Garrick did so reluctantly, loathe to bring her to another man’s attention. “Miss Madelina Moisenay, daughter of the Vicomte Vallon. Mad, the Marquess of Titchfield.”
“And our MP for Buckinghamshire.” She held out her hand, frank as any man. “I heard your speech in support of the Roman Catholic Relief Act. I would have voted for it too, were I allowed.”
“A lady who interests herself in politics?” Titchfield flattered her with a grin. “Like the Duchess of Devonshire.”
“I wish you would not have supported the Slave Trade Act,” Madelina said sternly. “That, I cannot approve.”
Titchfield snapped his mouth shut, and Garrick rejoiced to see his friend so snubbed. Mad would not be falling for the marquess, then. He steered her away and had a devil of time extricating her from all the men who clamored for her attention. Before, it had always been him trying to shake his smoky-haired shadow. Now, he wanted Mad all to himself.
As the party became a crush he pulled Mad aside, luring her up the staircase and into one of the bedrooms which stoodempty and uninhabited. He set a candle in its holder on a side table and pressed the door shut. Need bit hard and deep.
She cast a curious look about them, then turned to him. “Why are we—”
She gasped when he linked his fingers around her wrist and yanked her to him. She tumbled against his body, her legs pressed to his, her breasts against his coat. It wasn’t close enough.
“You’ve been cheating on our wager.”
Her eyes flared, the blue shining like sapphires. “I would never—”
“I am supposed to make you fall in love with me,” he growled. “And you won’t let me near you.”
Her breath fluttered against his cheek as he bent his head closer, grazing kisses along her jaw. He felt her trembling. She wanted him.
Him. Just as he was. For Mad, he was enough.
“I—”
He dropped his mouth over hers, sliding his tongue into her mouth to plunder, and her protest turned to a moan. She sagged in his arms. Delicious Mad. She tasted like cinnamon.
“I have something for you,” he said against her lips.
She melted ever so slightly, draping her body against him, her belly soft against his cock. He was so hard for her, he’d burst a seam in his breeches if he wasn’t careful.
“I see that,” she murmured.
He dangled a berry of mistletoe before her nose. “I stole this from the kissing bough. It means I might claim a kiss from you.”
She blinked, hazy. “You just did.”
“A kiss wherever I please.”
“I don’t think—oh.”
He scooped one of her perfect breasts from the drawstring bodice of her gown and pulled the nipple into his mouth. Her breath stuttered and she pressed against him as he sucked. Her body was hot and pliant. Desire spread over her like wildfire; he could see it in her flushed skin, smell it in the warm scent that rose from her. Mad’s arousal was delicious and maddening. He needed her now.Now.
She was an innocent. He couldn’t just throw her down and take her, though he wanted to. The bed was a Chippendale, the four posters elegantly carved, the hanging canopy embroidered with some exquisite leafy design. It was a sumptuous bed chamber, made for luxury, for seduction, for pleasure.
He pulled up the hem of her gown and slid his hand within the warm recesses. Her skin was an unending field, the silk of flower petals, smooth and rounded and supple. He squeezed and sucked hard on her other breast. She writhed against him, letting her legs part, and he slid a finger to the wet, warm place he sought. She was eager and ready.
“I have something else in my pocket.” His voice grated, rough in his chest.
“It appears you do.”
She pressed against him. She couldn’t help it. Hers was the seeking of an innocent. He wanted to give her what she craved. He wanted to be the one to teach her how mindless, how consuming passion could be.
“Another berry.” He nipped and licked at her nipple. “So I get another kiss.”
