The Marriage Lesson Page 16

  “So what does our heroine do?”

  “This is where the amusement begins. Watch.”

  “What?” His breath was warm against her neck and a shiver ran up her spine.

  “Why, she picked up that gentleman and threw him off the stage!”

  Marianne laughed. “She did not.”

  “Indeed she did. And look!”

  “What has she done now?”

  “She kicked that one. Booted him right on his backside.” A grin sounded in his voice. “Surely you saw him fly into the audience?”

  “She would never . . . ” She could barely get the words out for her laughter. “Never . . . ”

  “And there, she felled two others with a single blow. Two!” He shook with silent laughter. “Damnation, she’s magnificent. She’s cleared the stage!”

  Marianne sagged against him, helpless with laughter.

  “The crowd is on its feet, roaring with approval. She bows to the audience, scattering kisses left and right. Flowers are tossed at her feet. The applause is deafening!”

  “And what does our heroine do now?” She sniffed back tears of laughter.

  “Now?” He stilled behind her. “Why, the play is over.”

  “But what happens to her?” At once she knew they were no longer speaking of an imaginary production.

  “I don’t know,” he said softly.

  “Perhaps, as any good heroine would, she goes off to find adventure.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Although”—she drew a shuddering breath— “it is possible our heroine has realized there may well be a great deal of adventure to be found right here.”

  “Here?” His voice was quietly intense.

  She twisted in his arms and rested her hands on his chest, his muscles solid beneath the silk of his robe. She reached up and brushed her lips across his. “Kiss me, Thomas.”

  He shook his head but didn’t pull away. “I fear, dear heroine, that a single kiss will no longer be enough between us. Not here in my bedchamber. Not now.”

  “Good.” She slipped her hands through the opening of his gown and ran her fingers over his chest. He sucked in a ragged breath and caught her hands.

  “Marianne,” he said harshly. “I warn you. Do not push me too far.”

  She pulled her hands from his and slid her arms around his neck. Trepidation mixed with excitement and she pressed her body closer. “Kiss me.”

  His arms wrapped around her, even as indecision warred with desire in his eyes. “This is madness.”

  “Is it?” She raised her lips to meet his.

  “Yes,” he murmured against her mouth. “Sweet, sweet madness.”

  For a moment his kiss was tentative, gentle, as if he were as cognizant as she as to the import of the moment. She trembled at his touch and a curious yearning swelled within her. A need so great as to steal her breath arched between them.

  She slid her hands to his shoulders, marveling at the heat of his skin beneath her touch. His hands caressed her back and slipped lower to cup her buttocks and pull her tighter against him. She could feel the evidence of his arousal low against her stomach. Fear mixed with anticipation and pulsed through her blood and she ached with desire.

  He gathered her gown in his hands, raising it higher and higher, until his fingers touched the bare flesh of her legs. She gasped at the intimate contact.

  He stepped back and in one swift movement yanked her nightgown over her head and threw it aside. For a moment he stared, as if to memorize every line of her naked body.

  “Thomas?” Heat rose in her face, but she resisted the impulse to cover herself with her hands.

  “You are as lovely as I’d imagined,” he said in a voice low with desire.

  Without thinking, she reached out and tugged at the tie of his dressing gown. It came free in her hand, the garment falling open. He shrugged out of it and moved to her, drawing her back into his arms, greeting her lips with his. Her breasts pressed against his chest, his hair rough against her skin, which was at once more sensitive than she’d ever known. Her mouth opened beneath his. His tongue met hers, and all gentleness between them vanished.

  He pulled her harder against him, his hands roaming over her back and her buttocks in a trailing path of pleasure. She slid her arms around his neck and twined her hands in his hair, needing him closer yet. He wrenched his mouth free from hers, scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bed.

  They tumbled onto the mattress and at once were a tangle of arms and legs, a frenzy of taste and touch. She wanted—no, needed—to know every inch of him. And needed him to know her.

  She kissed his mouth, his neck, his shoulders. She ran her hands over his back, his buttocks, his legs. Her hand brushed against his manhood and he gasped. And she explored the hard, velvet length of him.

  He feasted on her shoulders and her throat and her breasts. His hand traced circles on her stomach and drifted lower to the curls between her legs. She tensed, for a moment fearful of what she wanted, what she needed. His fingers found her most private places.

  She sucked in a hard breath. Sheer pleasure coursed through her. She’d never imagined such a feeling, at once overwhelming and yet not enough. Never enough. His fingers taunted and teased and maddening expectation coiled within her.

  She writhed on the bed and moaned his name. She wanted more. Needed more. He slipped a finger inside her, then out and back in again. Her breath caught. All her senses centered on his hand and the amazing enjoyment radiating from his touch. He slid two fingers inside her, his thumb toying with her as his fingers slid in and out in an increasing rhythm.

  Her back arched and she pushed herself harder against his hand, crying out in frustration and desire. His lips fastened on hers and his tongue mimicked the motion of his fingers. She was adrift in a storm of spiraling ecstasy, desperate for more. For something indefinable just out of reach.

  Without warning, waves of overwhelming sensation rushed through her in a torrent of exquisite release.

  Thomas shifted to position himself above her, his hands braced on either side, his legs between hers. He stared into her eyes. “Marianne, are you quite sure . . . ?”

  He’d stop now if she asked him. She knew it, and her heart swelled. She rested her hand on the back of his neck, drew him downward and sighed his name. “Thomas.”

  His manhood prodded at her and he slowly eased himself inside her. With a slow but firm stroke he filled her, an unusual but not unpleasant sensation. He withdrew and again slid deeper, then paused as if he could go no farther. At once, he thrust forward hard and pain shot through her.

  She uttered a short scream and he clamped his mouth firmly over hers. Now he could stop! Panic rose within her. It hurt and she’d had quite enough! She tried to escape his grasp, but he wouldn’t release her. Wouldn’t stop. His movements were slow and deliberate and within moments the pain eased. Tentatively, she matched her movements to his. Discomfort vanished, swept away by growing pleasure. She met his thrusts boldly, eagerly. Again tense anticipation filled her.

  They moved together as one. Faster and higher and harder. In a rhythm like no excitement she could ever imagine. No adventure she could ever dream. And when at last she thought she’d surely die from the joy of it all, his body shuddered against hers and she exploded around him and the world itself seemed to pause for one glorious instant of rapture.

  For a moment or a lifetime they lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  And he murmured softly against her ear: “Sweet, sweet madness.”

  Chapter 12

  . . . and he said it was madness. Sheer madness. And, dear cousin, how soon I realized the truth.

  It was indeed madness.

  Sweet, sweet madness . . .

  The Absolutely True Adventures of a Country Miss in London

  Marianne had never imagined such peace, such contentment, such joy.

  Such love.

  She’d suspected it in recent weeks. Suspected love was
to blame for her eagerness to be with him, for the newfound, tentative feelings he aroused. Suspected there was more to what they shared than mere friendship, but the very idea was absurd and more than a little frightening. Until now she’d preferred to ignore it altogether.

  She snuggled closer to Thomas and his arms tightened around her. How ironic, that she had found love when all she was looking for was life. And adventure. Ironic as well that she didn’t seem to mind.

  Oh, certainly her future would be much different than she’d envisioned. But surely her dreams could expand to accommodate two adventurers instead of one. Realistically her adventures could not be quite as extensive as she’d planned—after all, Thomas had responsibilities right here in England—but she was willing to compromise. Still, regardless of anything else she may have believed heretofore, love may well be the grandest adventure of all.

  He nuzzled her ear. She sighed with contentment and lifted her face toward his. His lips met hers, and for a long, breathless moment she forgot everything but the joy of being in his arms.

  He pulled away and smiled down at her. “You need to return to your room before the servants are about.”

  She laughed. “If you are concerned about my reputation—”

  “I am indeed,” he said with mock solemnity. He kissed her once more, slid out of bed, plucked his discarded dressing gown from the floor and slipped into it. “It will not do to have my wife as the subject of idle gossip.”

  She sat up, pulling the sheets around her. “Your wife?”

  He grinned. “I shall make the arrangements today. We can get a special license and be wed before the week is out.”

  A lovely wave of warmth washed through her. “You want to marry me?”

  “Of course.” He found her nightgown and handed it to her.

  Of course. She should have realized it at once. She wanted nothing more than to spend every moment of every day for the rest of her life with him. Obviously he felt the same. Still, it would be wonderful to hear him say it. “Why?”

  “Didn’t you have some sort of robe as well?”

  She ignored him. “Why do you want to marry me?”

  He snorted. “There’s little choice now.”

  Her heart stilled. “Little choice?”

  “Certainly.” He knelt down to peer under the bed. “Your brother would probably shoot me should he ever learn of our, well, lessons. As for my mother”—he shuddered—“I hazard to think what she would do. It’s a question of honor at this point. Mine as well as yours.”

  “That’s why you said there was little choice.” She chose her words with care.

  He got to his feet, obviously more concerned with finding her robe than with what he was saying. “There is also the distinct possibility you could even now be with child. If we wed at once there will be no idle counting on fingers.”

  “We wouldn’t want that,” she murmured. A cold weight settled around her heart. She pulled her gown on over her head.

  He spoke absently, as if he was discussing nothing of any significance, and continued to cast around his room for her wrapper. “Beyond that, to be blunt, it will be quite difficult for you to marry anyone else now.”

  “I don’t plan to marry.” The moment she said the words, she knew they’d never been truer. Oh, perhaps for a moment she had thought, had considered, had wanted . . .

  “Well, not anyone else, of course.” He shot her a satisfied smile.

  “Not anyone at all.” She was rather surprised at how calm and pleasant she sounded. She slipped out of bed.

  “What do you mean?” For the first time he gave her his full attention.

  She picked up her robe, hidden in the shadow of the clothes press. “I have told you over and over again that I have no intention of marrying.”

  “But everything has changed.”

  “What, precisely, has changed?” She pulled on the wrapper, her action as deliberate as her words.

  “Well, we . . . that is . . . you and I . . . ”

  “You’re sputtering again, Thomas,” she said as if she were chastising a young child. “You really should do something about that.”

  “I should really do something about you,” he snapped.

  She headed toward the door. “Nothing has changed at all. I still have no desire to wed. I am not especially concerned about virtue or reputation. Beyond that I have no wish to tie myself to a man for whom I am nothing more than an obligation of honor. And I’m certain you have objections as well.”

  “What objections could I have?” He started toward her. “It was my idea.”

  She sniffed. “For one thing, I am not the kind of woman you wish to wed.”

  “You can change.”

  She whirled back toward him, disbelief widened her eyes. “I can what?”

  He cringed. “What I meant to say is that I can change, I can adjust.”

  “I’m certainly not going to risk my future on the possibility of reforming your nature.”

  “But we do suit well together.” Frustration rang in his voice. “You must admit that much.”

  “For the moment perhaps.” She shrugged. “However, you have made it clear that you wish for a wife much more sedate and biddable than I can ever be. Or that I should ever wish to be. You cannot expect me to become what you want in a wife just as I cannot expect you to be what I want in a husband.”

  His brows pulled together in anger. “And what exactly do you want?”

  “Do you listen to me at all?” Her ire matched his. “I have told you. Were I interested in marriage—and nothing that has happened here has changed my opinion on that subject—I should want a man of adventure. An explorer of jungles or a hunter of treasure or—”

  “Or some idiot who has nothing better to do than float down the bloody Amazon! The kind of man you find only in your blasted books.” He gritted his teeth. “I thought so the first time you said it and I haven’t changed my opinion: That is one of the stupidest things I have ever heard.”

  “Do you think so?” She fairly spit the words. “Stupider than considering, even for a moment, marrying you?”

  “Yes, much stupider! I’ll have you know I’m considered quite a catch.”

  “No doubt you’ll do nicely if one is looking for an arrogant, pompous ass. However, I am not.” Once again she started to leave.

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. His voice was a study in barely suppressed outrage. “I thought we rather liked each other.”

  “I thought we did, too.” For a long moment they stared and she could see anger in his eyes. She refused to let anything show in hers.

  “Oh, come now, Thomas, do be rational about all this.” She softened her tone and stepped into his arms. “I know full well you haven’t offered to wed every woman you’ve bedded, and therefore I am appropriately flattered.” She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. “I’m not going to marry you, but I don’t see why our—”

  “I’ve had quite enough of this lesson nonsense,” he snapped.

  “I wasn’t going to say lesson. I prefer to think of them now as adventures. Just the beginning of all manner of adventures.” She kissed him firmly then pushed away and again headed for the door. “I see no reason why our adventures should not continue.”

  “I don’t want adventures, I want to be married!” Thomas’s voice rose.

  “And I am certain you will be someday.” She opened the door and looked down the corridor. Empty. “To the kind of woman you’ve always wanted.” She stepped into the hall and glanced back at him over her shoulder. “But it shall not be me.” She nodded and closed the door firmly behind her.

  The half-light of those moments before dawn filtered in the tall windows, painting the hall with a grayish glow. How fitting. She made her way back to her room with a steady step, unconcerned about what ghosts might follow. A peculiar calm enveloped her as if she were in a dream.

  Quietly she opened her door and slipped inside. She tossed off her wrapper, lay down
on her bed and stared up at the high ceiling.

  She would not marry a man who wanted her to satisfy some masculine idea of honor. What true heroine would?

  And she would never marry a man who did not love her.

  Despair washed through her, pain so intense she wondered that she could bear it. The back of her throat ached and tears fogged her eyes.

  How could she have been so foolish? Oh, not to have given her virginity to Thomas. Her attitude about virtue hadn’t changed. And hadn’t she—in the back of her mind, at least—planned this all along?

  But to have believed he shared her feelings and not just her desire . . . how could she have been so stupid?

  She’d been wrong about love as well. Indeed it did exist outside of books and stories and was apparently not all that difficult to find after all. No, love crept up behind you when you least expected it, unwanted and overwhelming.

  What was exceedingly rare was being loved in return.

  Thomas stared at his closed door in shock.

  How could Marianne refuse to marry him? It made no sense whatsoever. Regardless of her totally unrealistic view of the world and her position in it, even she had to understand the necessity of marrying at once. She was, to put it bluntly, ruined. And as he had done the ruining, it was up to him to set things right. And that meant marriage. Nothing less would serve.

  He combed his hand through his hair and thought back over the last few minutes. She had really seemed rather amenable to the idea until . . .

  He groaned. Of course. It was when he had started talking about the need to wed, rather than any desire on his part, that she had become so coolly pleasant. Well, what did she want from him, anyway?

  There had never been any thought of love between them. Friendship, yes, but love? He snorted. He’d been in love, and this was not it. Love made one feel light-headed and quite giddy.

  Marianne questioned every word he said, every action he took. She matched her wits against his unrelentingly and, he had to confess, often bested him. Admittedly, their sparring was as stimulating as anything he’d experienced with his friends. But this was not love.