Page 8 of Her Wicked Marquess

He needed a distraction, any distraction, or he’d ravish her here in her father’s office for anyone to happen on them. He eyed the sheaf of papers on the desk and took it up. “New play?” he asked.

A moment passed until she looked at his hands and identified what he talked about. “Yes, the next we’ll present.”

He read the title and the author. “Will you be in it?”

She filled her lungs with air. “My father wants me to take the role of Sarah Borne.”

“Hm.” He grunted. “You’ll be the rage of the season, no doubt.”

A small smile graced that tempting mouth, “Perhaps.”

For a fraction of a minute, it felt as though they were back in the life they led, conversing about plays, music, or science. In those days, they had decided on the soirees they became famous for. A gust of longing inveigled its way into his insides. They'd been, if not happy, content in this past year.

From the printed play, his focus shifted to her, and she responded by peering at him. “All right,” he said. “You can take the play home to study.” He didn’t mark the word ‘home’ until it was out of him.

In the past year, they'd travelled to many places. They'd stayed in his seat in Hampshire where he fo

rbade his mother to go lest she threw another house-party—he'd banned her to the dower house in another estate. Hester and Drake often stayed in his townhouse as he'd bought one for his mother far from it. But when Drake visited Hester in the house he bought for her, he felt at home. She transformed the bare walls in a cosy place for books, painting, and a warm meal. Often, they sat in the drawing-room in the evenings, reading while she sipped on tea or sherry and he with brandy or port. Until he could stand no longer only watching her as she sat across from him, and took her upstairs to their bedchamber for the night. They wouldn't fall asleep until much later.

As he fairly commanded her, a hard glint came to her fierce expression. “I’m going to my house and you to yours.”

The abode she stayed in for last year was hers, but he didn’t think she referred to it. He directed a quizzical look at her.

“My mother left me somewhere to live when she died.” She offered.

Of course, he predicted she'd have somewhere to go as she left him, but didn't imagine she'd have a property. "Your place is with me." He stated hotly.

That defiant chin tilted up. “My place is where I decide to go.”

Expelling impatient air through flaring nostrils, he raked his hair. “Is this your final word?”

“Yes,” she said resolutely.

That single affirmative fell in his guts like a huge iceberg, hollowing everything in its way. Why couldn’t the diminutive woman simply abide by him? She seemed pliable enough to do it in the past.

“Fine,” he yielded. “I’ll drive you in my carriage.”

“Thank you, but my brother will accompany me.” She wouldn’t give him even this slight joy. “Good night, my lord.” And curtsied, bare feet and all.

Her irreverence might blow him to pieces. And he’d go happily up in the air if only he could look at her one last time. Before he gave in to the impulse of throwing her over his shoulder and taking her to the nearest secluded corner, he gave a curt nod, pivoted, and left.

It would be another long, long night.

Next afternoon, Hester entered her father’s office, still reeling from the encounter with her former keeper the previous evening. The veritable tornado of emotions the blasted man erupted in her was beyond enduring.

“Did you want to talk to me, papa?” she asked her father as she sat.

After the play ended yesterday, she’d taken refuge in this very room, reluctant to return to her empty house and stew on the image of Drake and Lady Millicent, or how they matched in looks and rank. She’d taken her boots off as they’d seemed to be squeezing her own heart. But everything became even more muddled when he found her. The remembrance of their time together and the steamy reactions he still arose in her made it nearly impossible to say no to his biddings. The temptation to go with him shredded her to pieces. For a moment there, her body was an inch away from convincing her mind to throw caution to Hades and follow wherever he took her. She faltered when he came too close with talks of sleep and nights.

She had to fight this irrational pull. The meek mistress needed to go. Hester would strive to retrieve her life, her work, herself. It hadn’t been healthy to give it all up, allow Drake to take up all the space in her thoughts, her body, her very will-power. Rumour or not, his alleged betrothal had fairly worked as an alarm bell to her. And she’d make sure she woke up to the reality that mixed ranks invariably ended in disaster to the weaker side.

“I did,” Oliver answered. And rose his head to the door behind her. “Oh, right on time.”

She turned to see who the newcomer was and collided with brandy-eyes fast on her. “What is he doing here?” She demanded, standing abruptly.

From the top of his six-four down to his feet, he dressed a dark blue suit cut to show off his broad shoulders, massive chest and long legs. Those perfectly tailored breeches hugged the tapered waist and lean hips. In the night, he used his hips to probe her legs open to the most wicked caresses she’d ever experienced. She wondered if she might ask an apothecary for a potion that’d dull her memory and her traitorous body.

“Miss Green.” He greeted, and something in those magnificent eyes told her she was in the proverbial hot water.

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