“What’s wrong? Did you lose something?”
“Marcus, Amelia not only exhibited at the London Academy, but she is also a sought-after artist with paintings in over a dozen homes just here in town. Of course the sketch of us is good.”
Not expecting such a staunch defense of Lady Sommerset, he found himself taken aback. “I apologize. I did not mean to give an affront. I admit I am not used to being in the company of artists, only amateurs.” He grimaced. “And those works have been less than…”
“Wonderful? Acceptable? Adequate?” She cocked her head as she thought about another description.
“Hardly. If forced to choose a word, I would have to say distasteful, perhaps even torturous to look upon.”
She patted his arm where her hand rested. “I believe you exaggerate.”
Thinking back to a letter with a sketch enclosed left by one of his mother’s callers at Ravenridge before Mariel arrived and their betrothal was announced, he shook his head. “As I burned the image I received, I cannot show it to you, but be assured that my forehead was twice its real height, my lips pursed like a woman’s, and my nose so large as to appear to be two.”
Her eyes rounded before she grinned. “I do wish you had saved that. I’ve never seen a man with two noses. Are you sure?”
Enjoying her glee, he replied honestly. “It was quite a sketch. I’d never seen four nostrils on a face before. I can only be thankful that it was so far removed from my actual appearance, that if anyone were to have come across it, they wouldn’t have associated it with me.”
Mariel laughed, the sound enveloping him with warmth. “Now I know you exaggerate. No mother would allow her daughter to make a gift of such an ill accomplished drawing.”
He started them toward the coach again, anxious to be alone to enjoy her company. “I do not think any parent was consulted in this gift as it was folded up inside a letter. Which now that I think upon it, the folds may have contributed additional angles that added to the overall grotesqueness of the image.”
“Now, I truly wish I could have viewed such a horror.” Her lips twitched upward. “At least you can be thankful it wasn’t a sketch of your horse. Can you imagine how many legs it might have?”
He slapped his free hand to his chest and lifted his chin in exaggerated affront. “You unfairly wound me to think that saving my horse the embarrassment of disfigurement on paper is more important than my own visage.”
Her lips widened into a full smile and she pulled her arm from his and rested her gloved hand against his cheek. “Since the true visage is so pleasant to look upon, I could easily forget any sketch.”
His heart thudded in his chest, and he captured her hand against his face. To look upon her face every day had been his dream and he yearned to have her beside him always. Unable to pretend otherwise, he struggled with telling her, finally swallowing the words. Instead, he stayed with their present situation. “While I would enjoy nothing more than to continue to view your lovely visage, I propose we be on our way.”
She gave him a quiet nod, and he took her hand from his face and helped her into his coach. He gave his coachman instructions and quickly joined Mariel inside, sitting not across from her, but next to her.
Though her eyes widened, she did not shy away. Her growth from young maiden into a woman called to him on a more primal level than he could act upon. As soon as the coach moved forward, he took her hand. “Do you think your sister would paint a portrait of you for me to have?”
He felt her pulse race beneath his fingers and a slight blush filled her cheeks. “I would be honored, but I do not think the future viscountess would appreciate it.”
How he wished to tell her there would be no future viscountess. There would never be another woman in his life. At that realization, a deep sadness filled him and along with it a need to claim what happiness he could.
Chapter Eleven
Mariel stared intoMarcus’ mercurial gray eyes and her breath hitched. There was a deep sorrow there and a desperation that drew her in, wishing she could save him. Without meaning to, she found herself leaning forward. “Marcus?” Her voice came out in a whisper, barely able to get the word past her tightening throat.
He didn’t answer. Instead, his lips pressed to hers and instinct told her what he needed was her. The thrill of that knowledge didn’t mean she understood exactly, but she was willing to comply. Wrapping her hand around his neck, she parted her lips, inviting him in.
Immediately, his tongue swept inside her mouth as if he’d been starving for her taste.
To be so loved made her toes curl in her shoes and she grasped his hair, silently letting him know, he was welcome to love her.
There was a hunger in his kiss that she hadn’t experienced before. She didn’t understand it, but the feeling was heady. He needed her, loved her beyond anything. She loved him too. Tangling her tongue with his, she tasted him, her belly tightening, so when his mouth left hers to kiss her throat, she could do no more than let her head fall back and allow him free rein.
His mouth moved to her collarbone, causing shivers to race across her skin. Her body seemed to be melting, even her dress felt loose. As his kisses moved lower, an ache started between her legs. It was strange but not painful. For some reason she wished her clothes were off, which made no sense.
Then his kisses trailed down to her bare breast and she opened her eyes just before his mouth latched onto her nipple. The spike of pleasure that shot through her made her gasp and though she’d meant to pull his head away, she held it to her, hanging on as her body was awash in exquisite feelings.
Now the ache between her legs grew more demanding and a strange moisture emerged. She must have a fever as she felt so hot. She wanted to say something, but then Marcus used his teeth and took her hard peak between them and rolled.
Her hips bucked of their own accord and she felt as if she were drowning. “Marcus?” She could barely hear her own voice, yet he halted.
“Yes.”
