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"I'm... god, you're unbelievable," Marshall murmured into her ear as he took a throbbing, enticing rhythm, entering her hard, steady, but always gentle to take care of her sweet, virginal body. She held on to him tight, letting him take her, each thrust feeling heavenly. He squeezed and kissed her deeply, his breath teasing her skin, growing faster and hotter with each deep, powerful thrust. She felt herself building to a new, explosive climax, like nothing she had felt ever before, her breaths deeper and faster as the fire flashed and crackled, its light coating their body now with sweat, the heat of their lovemaking washing away the damp cool of the rain. She couldn't speak, she couldn't do anything except think on how perfect this experience was; he, too, began to lose control, and she felt his thrusts grow ragged and wild and his hands shake as he grasped and squeezed her breasts and her hips and every part of her, with each of his touches only making her hotter and hotter.
The lightning crackled and flashed through the window, electric-blue light raking across their skin as Marshall thrust deep and hard, filling her to his hilt; he cried out her name like no sound she had ever heard, and she sung his own as she felt her body fill with a powerful thrum of pleasure, shaking her to her very core as she reached her tingling, perfect climax. She felt his throbbing length inside of her explode with hot, pleasurable waves of his release pumping hot and moist against her inviting feminine depths. She held him close and he, her, as they met their perfect finish together, their breaths twining and their eyes looking into one another adoringly as this impeccable moment passed.
She smiled weakly at him, unable to say anything; she only kissed, and kissed his lips, as he lay atop her, barely able to breathe. He laid his head against her chest, and he could certainly hear the constant, powerful pound of her heart, rocked by something she had never experience before.
She began to ponder as they lay together, basking in their joined glow, if this could be what love felt like; if she had stumbled into the woods and come upon something she couldn't have ever imagined.
"Marshall..." she said, breathlessly. He answered with a kiss, a comforting kiss; a kiss comforting unlike any she'd ever had before. She realized she had never wanted a gentleman; she had never wanted a boy. She had wanted Marshall.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The storm had begun to rumble to a close, just as the old logs burned out their last few sparking embers; and by that time, Lord Beckham and Lady Havenshire had spent the entirety of the afternoon, into the beginning of the evening, simply laying together; enjoying the feeling of warmth their bodies gave one another. They had slipped into a much-needed nap together, and Lord Beckham's eyes opened from sweet reverie only a few moments after they had drifted into slumber. Lady Havenshire tossed in her sleep, her nude body shuddering; Lord Beckham grasped his coat, pulling it gently atop the two of them, which seemed to calm her raucous tossing and comfort her. He exhaled deeply, so taken with how perfect things had gone today between the two of them.
A few subsiding thunderclaps filled the air, though none loud enough to wake Nadia from her rest; and for that, the lord was thankful, as he thought after such an afternoon, she needed her sleep. He, on the other hand, could scarcely still the hot, fast pounding of his heart; he had again felt the touch of a woman, a woman who seemed so deeply to care for him, and had begun to wonder if he had found something he thought he never could again - true love, like he had with Anna. He smiled quietly to himself as he wrapped an arm around Lady Havenshire, holding her close to his sweat-tinged chest; he exhaled into her ear, silently whispering into her dreams, though he had no way of knowing if she'd ever hear his coy admissions, or simply write them off as the murmurings of her own, fevered dreams.
"I think I love you, Nadia... I didn't know if I could ever love again, but... something in my heart, beats just for you," he whispered, closing his eyes. He felt an ethereal comfort fall upon his shoulder; she wriggled in his grasp, cuddling closer against the duke's body, and he soon fell off the edge of consciousness and into deep dreaming.
And what he saw hadn't changed.
Dreams took him to a place far in the past, far from the estate. The rumble of the thunder and the fall of the rain through the forest had brought his mind back to dark places, even if he hadn't noticed it. As the rain fell overhead, it fell in Lord Beckham's dreams; he saw her, again; the face he had hoped to never see again. Anna - his love, the woman who had left him on the day of their wedding. He found a letter from her atop his desk, after the rainstorm began to fall over the wedding. The storm raging outside of the cabin, as Lord Beckham lay in restless sleep, brought his mind back to that day; to the letter that had so shattered him for so long.
I can't simply remain with a man as complacent as thee, it had said. Anna always had a method of cutting at Lord Beckham's heart, and she would, so often, no matter how much love he heaped upon her. You'll never be a man capable of having me. A woman needs something more than satisfaction. The Lord Timonere can offer me so much more than that.
He had never expected it - for her to leave him, so coldly. Outside of the reverie Lord Beckham turned, brow coated in sweat; he breathed hard, distressed, as the thunderstorm crackled in his memories; as the dreams ravaged him with pain at the loss. She had told him he'd never be good enough for a true woman, and he had kept loving her.
A crack of thunder rattled the cabin and Lord Beckham shot up from sleep, awoken by the sound, the sting of Anna's letter still fresh in his memory. Startled awake, Nadia's expression, full of concern, turned to her lover.
"Marshall? What's bothering you?" she asked, her voice a wobbly whisper, her eyes vexed in worry. He looked away, to the fireplace; he watched those last few embers crackle and die away, struggling in search of an answer to calm her.
"There's no need to worry, Nadia," he insisted, leaning down to kiss her on the lips. With that kiss, her worries ebbed away and she snuggled in comfort beneath the coat again, wrapping her hand around the duke's waist.
But something did quite deeply, profoundly worry him. His mind alight, he breathed deep, listening to the rain. It had slowed, and the thunder had faded, but each fallen raindrop reminded him of that day. Each patter brought him back to rain falling upon benches; sorrow-filled revelers gathered beneath the mansion's arcade, watching as the bouquet of flowers the lord had ordered for his bride lay soaked, drowned in the rain.
He had let Anna down. He could never make a woman happy - not with his face, or his body, or the way he talked. A woman wanted drive; a woman wanted ambition, a woman wanted everything he wasn't.
He sat, and he thought. How did he know he wouldn't let Nadia down, too?
The dreams dwelt, no matter how he tried to push them away. The thought of that letter - of the lovely times he'd had with Anna. Ms. Cauthfield had never been one to mince words on her feelings about Anna - she saw the woman as a scheming, social climber, who had never truly cared for Lord Beckham but only for the Berrewithe estate and the position it earned her. But whether that had been true or not, Marshall had truly loved her - as cruel and capricious as she could be, he had stayed by her, forgiven her; he had accepted her for her. Like Nadia, her father had considered Anna quite unmarriageable - a wild spirit that would bite as quickly as it kissed.
The fear began to set into his gut; he felt stricken, nearly ill at the thought of his desire for Nadia leading down that same, disastrous path. He swallowed hard, grasping his head as the thoughts came; tears, tears flowed at his cheeks as he remembered Anna. He looked to Nadia - so peaceful in her sleep, and he knew all at once that nothing good could come of this. He'd never be for Nadia what he hadn't been for Anna - or for any woman. She would find only disappointment in a life at his side.
He laid onto his back, sighing deeply. He had taken something from Nadia she could never again have by making love to her, and now regret stewed in his stomach. She had given him something so precious - and he could never repay her for it. The doubt shrouded his senses like the storm shrouded the moors; the clouds flooded him with loathing instead of rain, chilled him to the bone. He saw beautiful Nadia's face as the last light of the fireplace highlighted her young features, and in that face, he suddenly saw Anna - laughing, laughing at him. Telling him he'd been a fool to think he could ever make a woman happy again.
Gently, Lord Beckham lifted himself from the couch, one step after the other; he found his shirt, thrown onto the floor, still lain in a puddle of pooling rainwater. He wrung the garment out, leaving it creased with wrinkles; nonetheless, he hastily buttoned it onto his body. It felt cold on his skin, but he needed something - anything, to still the pounding burst of his hot heart. He had decided that all of this had been a great mistake - one he had foolishly led himself straight into. He straightened his breeches and pulled his boots back onto his feet, exhaling sharply. As the fire died away he pulled from the pile another log and threw it upon the stack, watching
as those few sparking embers remaining ignited the dried wood in another flash of yellow-orange.
That should be enough to keep her warm until she awoke, he thought.
He wouldn't let her down, the way he had let Anna down. And he knew she could never love him - but he would give her something she could at least appreciate. Something to make up for this twisted system that left her a prisoner; the twisted system that had estranged his dear sister. He'd make it up to Leah, and to Nadia; he'd make it up to everyone, even if he could never be good enough for them.
A marriage of convenience... he thought, it's the only way he could make Nadia truly happy.
"Are you leaving me already?" the sweet voice broke in to his dour thoughts, and he glanced suddenly to the couch, catching sight of Lady Havenshire beneath his coat, smiling. "But we've only just gotten to know each other, Lord Beckham..." she teased. His heart throbbed weakly; he had hoped to be away before she awoke, to deal with this, so that he need not face the pain of hearing her beautiful voice, or seeing her beautiful face, and being reminded of how he would be destined only to fail her.
"I... m'lady, I'm glad you're... awake," he murmured, without conviction. She smiled and crawled off the couch, looking through the window; he admired her, watching her naked rear as she held the coat to her front and strolled towards the window.
"The storm's stopped has it? Quite opportune, I suppose," she smirked. "My father will be wondering what we've been doing..." her impish smirk widened.
