“Because it makes me want to do this.”
The moment his mouth crushed against hers, Annabelle knew she had been lying to herself. All those times she had told herself she didn’t want the Marquess to kiss her again had been a delusion. Every moment she had convinced herself that because she disliked him, she didn’t want him, had been a fabrication.
There was no denying she wanted this.
He pushed her until her back collided with the wall. Something clattered to the ground beside her, but with his mouth hot on hers, his tongue sliding inside her mouth with practised sensuality, there was nothing else that existed in Annabelle’s world. Of their own accord, her hands reached up and gripped his lapels, holding him closer, drinking him in like fine wine. He nipped at her lip, and foreign heat spread through her. She had never felt so alive.
She had never felt so much like she was falling.
If she had been in her right mind, she might have been petrified of the landing. The Marquess wasn’t gentleman enough to catch her, and reality was sure to be a sharp, unpleasant shock. As it was, she bowed her back, pressing her body against his every way it could. Her skirts rustled as he stepped into them, one thigh between her legs, pressing up against her core, the friction sending a rush of molten pleasure through her. Unable to help herself, she moaned as he pushed his leg more firmly against her. His breath was ragged against her neck as she tipped her head back, staring into darkness.
“Do you like that?” he murmured.
“Yes, but—”
His knee rubbed more insistently against her, and his hand found her hip, gripping it in a way that made her feel as though he had reached the very edge of his control. “I need you to be quiet for me, little bird. Can you do that?”
She let out a shuddering breath, and he cupped her breast with his other hand, squeezing until her nipples pinched. She felt the touch as though it had been against her bare skin, and he let out a rough laugh, the sound barely audible in the darkness.
“Your husband will be a lucky man, Annabelle.”
Her husband. Herhusband.
Annabelle was no expert in the matter, but she rather suspected her future husband would not look kindly on her having frolicked in a darkened closet with a man whose reputation was one of ruination.
The Devil of St James. And she had almost let him ruin her, too.
He felt her hesitation and pulled away, one hand at her throat, fingers lightly pressing, the sheer possessiveness of the gesture making her head spin and her core throb with need.
“We can’t,” she said, shifting away from his fingers and catching something rigid at his groin with her hip. He grunted, angling himself away from her.
“Your mouth is saying one thing.” With his thumb, he traced her bottom lip, and she felt the breath rush out of her on a shaky exhale. “And your body is saying another. What do you want, sweetheart?”
The flagrant rush of desire made her want to throw her caution to the wind.
But this was not a marriage; it was an engagement. Afakeengagement.
“We can’t,” she whispered. “Not here, not like this.”
His hands dropped from around her, leaving her feeling bare, almost desolate in the rush of cold air. Through the darkness, she sensed his mood change, the fervour that had gripped him fading.
“Well I suppose that took the edge off,” he said, voice laconic, no hint of the rasping need that had suffused him just seconds before.
Before she could formulate an answer, he opened the door and slipped out, closing it behind him and leaving her in relative darkness. A slit of light illuminated her rumpled dress. She could still feel the clasp of his fingers around her throat, the way he had sounded, cutting and cold, when he had informed her their kiss had taken the edge off.
Quietly, she pushed open the door and exited, running upstairs and to her room, which she locked behind her.
Her body still ached, still wanted him, even though she could have screamed in his face, thrown something at him, broken off their faux engagement there and then.
Two months of this. She couldn’t bear it.
The sooner she found another gentleman to marry, the better.
Chapter Fourteen
The engagement ball was arranged for two weeks’ time, and although Jacob sent Annabelle several gifts to keep up the pretence, he made excuses not to see her. She probably thought the worst of him, but the truth was, he was ashamed. For five years, he had kept his heart and his cock entirely separate; he never lost control.
Never.
