Page 49 of Maid for the Marquess

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have used such a coarse word with you, nor to have been so blunt.” He kissed me again, as if he couldn’t resist, and I kissed him back, my lips chasing his, opening for his tongue.

I would have told him I liked his coarse word, this part of himself he had revealed to me—the part of the elegant, icy lord who lost control. But he was kissing me as if I were the very air he required for his lungs. And I clung to him, kissing him the same way.

When his lips left mine again, I caressed his cheek, a rush of tenderness for him bursting open inside me.

“Don’t apologize,” I rasped. “Just make me your wife in truth. It’s time.”

He stared down at me in unguarded wonder. “There’s no rush, Maddie mine. I want to wait until you’re ready.”

His endless concern for me touched places in my heart that I had locked away years ago. I didn’t need another moment to think about what I wanted, what I needed. It was this wonderful man.

I cupped his cheek. “I am more than ready for you, Alexander. Please.”

With a shuddering breath, he took my lips again. We kissed hungrily, and I surrendered myself to these new feelings, to the sensations stealing over me. Not languid as it had been on the past occasions when he had kissed me, not slow and steady and burgeoning, like a new bud slowly unfurling its petals. But raw and aching and desperate. I was a flower in full bloom.

His mouth moved over mine, lingering and slow, as if he were as overwhelmed as I was. My confidence grew as I touched him, tentatively at first, and then with greater purpose. The strong breadth of his shoulders, the wall of his chest. He was warm, so warm, the heat from his body searing me through the fabric of his banyan. I was suddenly curious to know what his bare skin might feel like.

Would it be rough or soft? Would he like my touch, welcome it? Was I even permitted such boldness? I was a novice, a virgin. I knew little of the passion between a man and a woman. Whereas Alexander was older than I was, more experienced. What if I didn’t please him?

As if he sensed my swirling thoughts, he lifted his head, tracing my cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” I hastened to reassure him. “Not that.”

Never that. I was firm in my decision, the rightness of it falling over me like the comfort of a blanket.

“I felt you tense.” He swept his thumb back and forth. “We have the rest of our lives.”

“I don’t want to wait. I just want…” I hesitated, feeling my cheeks burn. “I just want to touch you, but I don’t want to be too familiar.”

He groaned, dipping his head as he buried his face in my throat.

“I am yours,” he murmured against my pounding pulse. “Touch me all you like.”

The invitation was exactly what I needed. I slid my hand over his collarbone, feeling the prominent ridge and tracing it to the collar of his banyan. There, my fingertips felt him. His skin was soft and yet sprinkled with hair in a delicious contrast to mine. I stopped over his heart, my palm flattened against the fast, steady beats.

He made a low sound of approval and kissed my throat.

With my other hand, I explored more of him, finding buttons and pulling them free of their moorings. Alexander kissed my ear, my temple. As he moved, I absorbed the flexing of his muscles. Such strength, his body no doubt honed from all his endeavors on his estate.

He cupped my breast through the fine cotton of my night rail, gently kneading, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive peak. I arched my back, seeking more. His lips returned to mine, and I opened for his tongue. We remained that way, wrapped together in the shadows and the silvery moonlight, kissing and touching until we were both breathless. Until a restless ache grew deep within me. My nipples were aching and hard, met by an answering pulse between my thighs.

I broke the kiss, my fingers returning to the remaining buttons on his banyan and opening them, one by one. He rubbed his cheek against mine, the rasp of his whiskers sending a jolt of awareness through me.

“I want to touch more of you,” I told him, curious about his body.

This was a benefit to marriage I had never imagined. I hadn’t begun to imagine how lovely it would be to be so close to him, to freely explore him. Now that I could, it seemed that my need for him was as insatiable as it was relentless.

“Maddie,” he protested, his voice ragged, “I’m trying to go slowly, but you’re making it difficult.”

He was still cupping my breast with one hand, and now he caught the peak in his thumb and forefinger, shaping and tugging. I moved against him, wanting more.

“Please.”

It was as if I had come to life, everything new. My boldness grew, and this time, I kissed him. He answered readily, his mouth moving tenderly over mine. He grasped a fistful of my night rail and dragged the hems higher. I felt suddenly desperate to remove the gown, twisted up in too much cumbersome fabric. He seemed to understand what I needed without words. My night rail glided up to my thighs and paused, along with the kisses.

“Do you want your night rail off?” he asked softly.

I instantly knew the answer, but I was keenly aware that I didn’t know precisely what was expected of me. More than anything, I wanted to please my husband.