AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her breath was ragged as his fingers moved upward, stroking her, teasing her, playing her as if he knew exactly what she liked. “I might.” Her voice had grown husky. “And you?”
Her own searching fingers had found the hard length of him pushing against his trousers. She began to rub herself against him, eyes half closed, concentrating on the pleasure she was giving herself.
“Definitely,” he groaned, and reached down to free himself.
She was already gasping and shuddering as he entered her, and he let her enjoy it. Then, when she was done, her head bowed, breasts rising and falling swiftly, her skin flushed, he began again. Slowly, exquisitely, taking her on the journey with him to Elysium and back.
When at last she collapsed, replete in his arms, he found himself watching her peaceful face with possessive eyes. She was his. No one else could make her feel like he did, not even the so-called Nation’s Hero. His thoughts surprised and dismayed him.
What, was he jealous of a dead man now?
He was beginning to behave in a manner very unlike his usual carefree self. Was he the same man who had shared his lover—one of the ballet dancers at a supper house in the Strand—with several of his Hussar companions and thought nothing of it? He could not imagine sharing Portia. At the very thought of it, rage flared up inside him and he clenched his hands into fists.
I would kill the first man who touched her, be he friend or foe!
Abruptly, Marcus stood up and began to strip off his clothing.
Sleepily blinking, Portia lifted her head, her hair tangled about her and her mouth swollen from his kisses. “What are you doing?”
“Swimming.” He hopped on one foot, tugging off his trousers. He needed to dive into the sea and clear his head of these unfamiliar thoughts and feelings. He needed to be himself again.
“But Marcus—”
“Don’t worry, I always swim when I’m down here.” Naked now, he managed to grin in something like his old carefree manner, to reassure her, before he turned and took off down the beach, splashing into the water until it was too deep to walk, then throwing himself into the sea. The relief was instantaneous. In a moment he was powering through the sparkling water, leaving his troubles behind him, and with nothing in front of him but the broad horizon.
At first Portia didn’t worry. She lay back down and tried to sleep. But something was niggling at her, preventing her from slipping away, and eventually she sat up, holding her hair out of her eyes so she could stare out to sea.
The sun was dancing on the waves, creating a blinding glare and making it difficult to pick out anyone who might be floating or swimming. Or in trouble.
She sat up straighter, shading her eyes with her hand.
How long had he been gone? For what seemed like endless moments she waited and watched, but Marcus didn’t return.
She could bear it no longer.
She removed her shoes and stockings and stood up. The sand was hot against the soles of her feet, and squished up between her toes as she began to walk down the narrow little strip of beach—did it seem even narrower than when they’d first arrived?—to the edge of the sea. Lifting her skirts high with one hand, to avoid the wash of the waves back and forth, she shaded her eyes with the other and once more peered out over the water.
She couldn’t see him.
This was ridiculous! Marcus was a grown man who could look after himself. Obviously he knew how to swim, or he wouldn’t have dived in. But he was also impulsive and daring, and might do something on the spur of the moment that was unsafe.
She took a few steps one way along the sand, and then turned and took a few steps the other. She glanced behind her, desperately searching for Hettie and Zac. Nothing. There was no one to help. No one but her.
Portia began to undo the fastenings on her bodice, tearing a shoulder seam as she hurriedly eased herself out of the tight garment. Then there were her skirts, and her petticoats. Somehow she climbed out of them, leaving them in a heap on the sand where they fell. Her stays followed, but she left her white silk chemise on, as a belated offering to modesty.
She waded into the sea.
It was colder than she’d expected, and the wash of the tide tugged strongly at her feet, but she kept going. “Marcus? Marcus!” Her voice seemed as faint as a sea gull’s cry. Now the water was up to her waist, tangling her chemise about her legs and dampening the ends of her hair where it hung down to her hips.
Just for a moment she thought she saw something several yards away. A dark shape against the sunlight. A heartbeat later it was gone, and the smooth water stretched on, unmarked, to infinity.
“Marcus!” she cried, and took another step forward. Into nothingness. The sea bottom had fallen away, and she plunged down into deep, cold water.
There was a moment when she allowed herself to sink, the sky a blur of blue above her, the marine world silent and merciless about her. But she had not taken in enough air and her lungs were beginning to hurt. She needed to breathe, and soon.
Just then arms clasped her, strong and sure. She was being carried up toward the sky. And then her face broke the surface and she was gasping in oxygen through the wild tangle of her wet hair. It was Marcus who held her, one arm about her so that she was suspended without having to swim, while he smoothed back the heavy mass of her hair so she could see him and he could see her.
“What did you think you were doing?” he asked, his eyes very bright in his sun-browned face, his own dark hair slicked back like a seal’s cap.
