Page 99 of This Marquess of Mine

“You wouldn’t,” she said, stepping toward him, her heart in her throat. “You won’t.”

His brow creased. “I might.”

“But not intentionally. You would never hurt me on purpose, Griffin.” She reached up and cupped his face in her palm. “Foolish man. Don’t you see? I would rather have you for only a little while than never at all.”

Griffin’s heart was beating so fast he thought it would burst from his chest. He bent his head and pressed his lips to hers, rejoicing when she kissed him back.

“I love you,” he said against her lips, then he pulled back and repeated the words. “I love you.”

Her beautiful eyes searched his, roving over his face, lingering on his mouth. “Is that why you went to my father?” she asked softly. “Because you loved me?”

He nodded. “Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was I couldn’t bear the thought of you unhappy. I couldn’t let you marry Paxton, not if it wasn’t your choice. Not unless it was what you really wanted.”

Olivia smiled. “It was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for me.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t kind. It was selfish. I wanted you for myself, only I didn’t realize it then. I told myself I was helping you.”

“You did help me,” she said simply, and the way she was looking at him, the acceptance, the love shining in her beautiful blue eyes nearly undid him.

“All I want is for you to be happy,” he said. “And I want to spend the rest of my days ensuring it. I want you to marry me, petal.” He smiled. “But first, I want to court you. You deserve a good courting.”

“Do I?” Olivia asked, smiling back at him.

“Oh, yes.” His nose bumped hers. “I intend to treat you like a queen. Kneel before you and kiss your feet in deference.” His lips brushed hers. “Until I convince you to make me your king.”

He kissed her again, lingering over the task this time, and her arms looped around his neck as she returned his kiss eagerly. God, she was delicious. Deliciously his.

He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the desk, setting her gently on the edge. Then he pressed his palms on the desk at either side of her and leaned into her warmth, his lips meeting hers in slow, worshipful kisses.

She pulled him closer, and he went, stepping between her thighs and closing his arms around her until he could feel her everywhere.

With a stilted moan, she pulled back and gazed up at him with hazy, honeyed eyes. “Yes,” she said huskily, her lips gorgeously plump. “Yes, I will marry you.”

Cupping his face in her hands, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “I love you, Griffin. I’ve always loved you. I—”

He swooped in with a low growl and stole another kiss, cutting into her words, relief and joy sweeping over him in waves. She had said yes. She would be his.

She was his. And he was hers.

“Of course, I will only marry you after you’ve properly courted me,” she said a moment later through wet lips and ragged breaths. “I shall expect regular trips to Gunter’s and at least three picnics in the park. And don’t think for a moment I will allow you to renege on that promise you made to kneel before me and kiss my feet.” She arched an adorably imperious brow. “I think that ought to be a daily occurrence, don’t you?”

Griffin grinned. “I’ll kneel before you as often as you like, petal,” he said, nudging a slipper off her foot with his thumb. It tumbled to the floor with a satisfying thud. “I’ll begin here, at your toes then work my way up your ankles to your calves, pausing to rest for a time at your delectable thighs, of course, and then...”

His hands skated up her legs in time with his words, squeezing and shaping through the fine silk of her skirts.

“And then?” she prodded, her eyes dark as midnight.

He drew slow, sweeping circles at the tops of her thighs with his thumbs, teasing her without mercy. “And then,” he murmured, “if you ask very nicely, I might consider doing it all over again. Under your skirts.”

His lips found her earlobe, drawing a gasp from her lips.

“Define nicely,” she said, her voice a near moan.

“Begging. Pleading. Panting with need.”

“I might plead on occasion, but”—she gasped as he shoved her skirts to her knees—“I will never pant.”

A wicked smile turned his lips. “Never?”

“Never.”

“Hm.” He clucked his tongue. “That is a sobering thought. Still, no one has ever accused me of being a quitter...” He slid his palms up her thighs until he reached her stays, and then he gave her delectably creamy flesh a squeeze, his thumbs brushing the tender skin at her inner thighs.

“Touch me, Griffin,” Olivia pleaded, her eyes begging. “Please.”

And then she panted it.