“Yours,” he urged her on.
“I …” She sighed, a sad sort of smile reaching her lips. “A family. I dream of having a family of my own one day.”
I could give her that.
He wasn’t just thinking about making love to her now, though that was certainly an excitement that had him imagining pressing her against the nearest wall, kissing her, and drawing the skirt of her gown up. No, there were other thoughts, too, of a baby in her arms and a smile like no other he had ever seen on her lips.
“Maybe someday,” she whispered.
“Someday.” He was bending down towards her, needing that kiss. His lips brushed her own. He heard the breathy gasp escape her. Her hand snaked up through the air, about to take hold of the lapel of his jacket, when there were footsteps in the corridor.
She sprang back as he sighed, resting his arm on the mantlepiece once again. She retreated to the chair and sat down just as Mrs Urwin appeared in the room.
“Would you like some more tea, Your Grace?”
He took a few seconds to answer, for at that moment, tea had been the last thing on his mind.
***
Marcus tore the letter open in his study. He’d been distracted all morning in his study, thinking of the evening before with Callie and how they had nearly kissed again in his library. Rather than going for a formal dinner in the dining room, Mrs Urwin had brought them supper on trays, and they had talked late into the night about poetry and the books they both liked to read.
Now, all such thoughts had been snapped away as he recognized the handwriting on the next letter he had to open.
It’s her father’s handwriting.
He dropped the broken pieces of red wax that had sealed the letter together aside and unfurled the paper, reading fast.
Your Grace, the Duke of Peddleton,
I long to hear news of how my daughter’s visit is progressing. I hope you are as pleased with her as you wished to be? I hope she has impressed you? She is perhaps a little unorthodox in some of her ways and certainly excitable at times.
“Excitable?” Marcus was curious at this choice of word. Yes, she could be exciting company, yet she had a habit of blushing when she flirted madly, hiding her gaze. When they raced together on their horses, it was freeing, and he saw that shyness lift completely. Yet he had spied her demure smile and the way she turned her head away when Mrs Urwin or the butler startled her and asked her things. He decided that she was much more complicated a figure than her father was making her out to be.
May I trust we will hear good news soon? May wedding bells be heard before the end of the month?
Write back when you can.
Your friend,
The Earl of Woolworth.
Marcus reached for a clean sheet of paper and blotting paper, intending to reply at once and delay such an idea. He couldn’t deny that the thought of being married to Callie was a thrill indeed. Nights like the one before, staying up late together and talking of nonsense, would be a thrill to have in his life forever more.
He couldn’t deny that the thought of the marriage bed was taunting him, too. He kept imagining the pair of them in that bed, listening to Callie moan his name as he entered her, thrilled her, and did everything he could to make her scream in pleasure.
“I will not rush her,” he hissed under his breath as he began the letter to the earl. He was all too aware of how Callie had been forced here by her father. Marcus had no intention of clicking his fingers and demanding Callie marry him at this moment.
It will be her choice. She must be given time to make her choice.
His letter was disturbed by the sounds of a carriage on the gravel track outside his house. Dropping the quill and making a mess of his letter with spilled ink, he leaned forward out of his chair, the better to peer out of the window at the carriage that had arrived.
“No, no, no,” he muttered as he recognized the carriage.
It was his aunt’s carriage. It stopped within minutes by the front of the house. His aunt didn’t wait for the footman to open the door but flung it open herself so much that it ricocheted off the wall and nearly hit the poor footman in the face, who had run over to help her out. She leapt down, getting in a fumble with her skirts before she stood straight.
“Aunt!” Marcus muttered sharply, turned, and fled his room at once. He ran through the house, hastening to the front door, checking every corridor and open doorway on his way for a sign of Callie. He didn’t want her thrust into his aunt’s company too soon or knowing his aunt, just like the Earl of Woolworth, she would be clicking her fingers and demanding if they had set their wedding date yet.
For now, Callie was nowhere to be seen.
