Page 47 of How to Best a Marquess

“This is wrong in many ways.” She tried to recall the incident in Lady Emberly’s garden party to firm her resolve but failed. He was with her here and now, and she wanted to seize the moment no matter how wrong. There was too much tempting heat in his touch.

“It doesn’t feel wrong to me.” The undisguised heat in his gaze made her breath quicken and her nipples harden beneath her gown.

“Hugh?”

“Ellie.”

He met her halfway. The kiss was hot and urgent. She felt like steam rose between the two of them. The rain pounding the bridge matched the rhythm of her own heart. Lightning sounded above and flashed in the periphery of her vision. She felt like she had been struck, in a daze of wondrous feelings, her body coming alive beneath his skilled hands and mouth.

He pulled back. “I can stop,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Just say the word and I can stop.”

Her heart thumped hard in her chest. She knew she should. Whatever was going on between them was wrong. He hadn’t changed in five years. Only she had.

She was smarter now. Indifferent.

Or was she?

Her gaze lowered to his lips, and something inside her shifted and gave. She wanted this. Why couldn’t she have it?

“Don’t stop.”

A primitive satisfaction flashed in his gaze. He swooped down to cover her mouth with his. He kissed her thoroughly, roughly, then moved to her ear. “You taste like summer rain and strawberries. I can’t get enough.”

His words increased her own arousal. Her hands moved to his shoulders to hold him close. She was vaguely aware of him lifting her leg to his waist, his callused hand slipping beneath the hem of her gown. “I’ve thought of little else since our last kiss. I’ve tried to stay away from you, dammit, but I cannot.”

She’d tried, too. She wanted to tell him so, but then his hand slid up her stocking, up her calf to her thigh.

Oh God.

His fingers teased her garters. He was inches away from the skin of her inner thigh. Liquid warmth pooled between her legs.

“I’ve dreamed of kissing your naked breasts, the soft skin of your hip.” His fingers slid past her garter, touched her thigh. She wanted them higher, closer to where she ached.

His lips traveled to the swell of flesh above her bodice as his fingers slid upward. She gasped and drew in a ragged breath. Her laced corset suddenly felt too tight.

“You have a freckle here.” He licked the mark above her bodice. “A pretty treasure mark. Where else may I find them?”

She’d hated her freckles, but he looked at her like she were a treasure, his treasure. Her lips parted to speak, but all thought fled when his finger touched her most sensitive woman’s flesh between her legs.

Yes.Quivering, she arched against him. Her knees felt weak, but he clutched her to him. Then he slipped a finger inside her and his thumb traced another spot that made her quiver.

She didn’t bother to fight back her moan. It escaped her on a sigh of pure bliss and echoed from beneath the bridge. Never had she believed a man could make a woman feel this way. Her eyes slid closed. She built higher and higher until she was on a precipice of some unknown pleasure, then with a last stroke of his finger, she hurtled into pure bliss.

Her eyes cracked open. Hugh was staring at her with startling intensity. She knew there was more to intimacy between a man and woman, and that he hadn’t reached fulfillment.

“Have you ever thought about us over the years?”

The question pierced her fog of desire. Had she ever thought of it? A hundred times. A thousand. All her pent-up emotions after he’d left her standing in the gardens, devastated and hurt. And still she’d thought of him. Of them together.

“Have you?” she asked.

“How could I not? You were lovely then, but now…now you are stunning.” He reached for a curl that had escaped her bun and wound it around his finger. “Red will always be my favorite color.”

He kissed her again. Passion flared inside her and she kissed him back. He picked her up and pressed her against the brick wall of the bridge, then leaned into her. She felt his arousal against her belly, hard and unyielding.

They had crossed a threshold, but she would worry about that later. He kept kissing her, and she allowed it, encouraged it. Her fingers dug into his hair, and she clutched him tighter. She wanted to confess that she had thought of him.

But before she could speak, his body stiffened, and it wasn’t his voice that echoed ominously beneath the bridge.

“Well, well. Look what we have ’ere. A blighter and his doxy.”

Ellie and Hugh whirled to see two men with dirty faces, patched corduroy jackets, and scuffed boots. One pointed a pistol at Hugh’s heart. “Hand over your coin or I’ll shoot.”