He bent over to pick up his shirt, unwilling to look at her any further.
“I’m so sorry for what I said.”
“It was nothing that wasn’t the truth,” he said with forced lightness. “It should be I on bended knee before you.”
She stopped him from putting his arm through the hole. “No. It wasn’t the truth. Please.”
There was something so heated and fierce in her eyes that he nearly lost control.
“You are nothing like them. Any gestures you might have picked up are just those—gestures. Not used in any sort of cruel manner. It is the will that is important. It’s the intention behind the action. Pleasure, not guile. And when I look in your eyes, I see—I seeyou.”
He threw the shirt down and pulled her to him, mouth fused to hers, and spun toward the wall, pressing her against it, her legs climbing his, her heel pressing into his calf, the disjointed slide of his trousers to the floor. He stepped out of one puddled leg and insinuated it between hers, rubbing up, making her ride his thigh, causing those deliciously caught cries in her throat as her hands pressed into his hair, trapping his mouth to hers and pulling him into her. He pulled a hand down her side, down her back, cupping her buttocks and grinding her against him, pushing her back into the wall and forward onto him.
His fingers wound under the fabric and between her thighs, and she was wet and hot and pushing into his hand. He pulled his forefinger along her. God, she was hot and ready and all he wanted to do was to push into her so hard that she was permanently part of the woodwork. He pushed his finger back along her and curled the tip inside, the sound of it pushing him further over the edge.
“Please, please.”
He wasn’t sure who said it, but he brought his hand up to touch her cheek and aligned their bodies, hitching her higher against the wall, feeling her slide down onto him, fitting firmly over the top. He buried his face into her hair, her throat, and thrust upward, her cries breathy and stuttered against his ear.
He withdrew and pushed into her harder and farther. Incredible and frustrating. And justthere. He wanted,needed, to be just a bit farther. He pulled her against him, away from the wall. She wrapped her fingers around his neck, her eyes drugged and unfocused, and he quickly spun them to the bed, pushing her down on top, bending over her, feet still on the floor, driving into her, and God, yes, this was what he needed. Her head thrust back, her dress crushed and splayed indecently between them. Her heels climbed the small of his back as he pulled out and thrust as deeply into her as it was possible to go.
She moaned and the bed shook, and for the second time the world stood strangely on end. She pulled him back against her with her feet, her arms out, searching to bring him toward her and then dropping to clutch the coverlet, her stained dress, her body pulsing around his in frantic waves. And he kept driving, heady and crazy until someone roared and he was coming into her with a force that he didn’t think possible to possess.
Her legs fell to the side and he collapsed on top of her, breathing in deep clutching breaths, the echoes thrumming from her chest, her mouth.
He pulled her up with him as he crawled onto the bed, his knees crinkling the coverlet and her ravaged dress as he caught upon it, the dress pulling down to expose her neglected chest to his view.
She absently attempted to tug her dress back up, her gaze still unfocused. His position stopped the attempt and he leaned down to kiss her bared skin. Her breath hitched.
“Luscious Marietta, or Marvelous Marietta, perhaps that should be your new name?”
The tip of her breast peeked over the frill of her dress, and he ran his tongue over the top. She gripped the back of his head, her fingers pulling through the strands.
He rose on his elbow and lifted his knee to release her dress. She didn’t move and he felt a warm current. He tucked her up to him and scooted them both up the bed. She curled into him. A blast of something—desire, devotion, freedom—spun through him.
“I think you should stay with your brother for a few days. It won’t take longer than that. I can feel it.”
“And if I refuse? Will you lock me up with Mark?”
He threaded his fingers through her hair. “No.”
“And then?”
“We find the murderer and set your brother free.”
Unspoken, echoing around them, was the question:And after that?But she said nothing, her fingers gripping the bone of his hip. And he followed. Uttering no promises that could be broken.
Tomorrow was a new and unknown day. Today had been rough enough without worrying about where he’d be, where she’d be—wherethey’dbe—tomorrow. Things he needed to think about, and things he’d rather not mull at all.
Some thingsdidneed to be said, however. “Lady Dentry made a list. My father is trying to locate a few of the Londoners on it.”
“How did the—the visit go?” Her voice was hesitant, cringing.
“She was her normal, lovely self.”
“She didn’t—do anything?”
He laughed darkly. “She can’t do anything.”
