“It’s too many clothes.” Almost frantic now, she unbuttoned his black shirt and started to pull it from his pantaloons.
He glanced toward the open doors of the stables, knowing any moment the groomsmen would return from cooling down the horses. Placing his hand over her two small ones, he effectively halted her movements. “Come. The stables are not the place.”
At her unladylike grunt, he had to stifle a chuckle as he grabbed his tailcoat and took her hand to lead her outside into Blackmore House’s back gardens. He brought her to the closest bench set among his mother’s aurora blue delphinium.
She abruptly sat with a pout.
Dropping his coat on the back of the bench, he set his foot upon it. “Why do you look so disheartened?”
She didn’t look up at him, and he had to lean down to hear her. “I must be doing it wrong.”
He lifted her chin with his finger. “What are you doing wrong?”
She met his gaze full on. “I was trying to seduce you.”
His entire body seemed to heat at once, and he dropped his hand. “Why would you wish to do that? Our betrothal is only temporary.”
Her gaze shifted for a moment. When it returned to him, her eyes appeared tear-filled. “Because, if we are not to marry, I want to know what it would be like to truly make love to the only man I will ever love.”
His chest tightened seeing the truth in her eyes. He could deny her nothing, even knowing what would happen. He removed his foot from the bench and pulled her up by both hands, then he swept her up into his arms, carrying her toward the house. If he was going to bring her fulfillment, even if he couldn’t join her, it would be in a bed. She deserved that dignity.
“Oh.” Her arms wrapped around his neck. “Marcus, what are you doing?”
“I’m granting your request.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mariel felt lightas a feather, though she was anything but as the tallest of the Mabry sisters. Still, being in Marcus’ strong arms, knowing she would soon discover the wonder that the book she’d read had described in too vague detail, had her feeling lighter than air.
As he strode toward the grand house, she couldn’t help wondering which position from the book he might choose. Would it feel as wonderful as suggested? Would she bereadyfor him and would he know what to do? A niggling doubt wormed its way into her thoughts that it would end in procreating, which she’d never enjoyed, but to be with Marcus was all she’d dreamed about, so she’d accept it.
“Door, please.”
At his request, she turned the knob and he strode in. With firm footsteps, he travelled down the corridor with her in his arms. She was about to tell him she was perfectly capable of walking when the butler appeared out of nowhere.
“Sir, can I be of assistance?”
Without even breaking his stride, he addressed his man. “Yes, Gibson. Have Cook wrap a piece of ice in a cloth and send it up to the gold bedroom.” He looked at her then added. “Lady Beaumont has twisted her ankle and is feeling faint. Have smelling salts sent up as well.”
Grimacing to stifle a smile, she hoped she looked as if she were in pain. Why Marcus kept trying to protect her reputation when she had no intention of ever marrying anyone else was beyond her. Now that she thought about it, perhaps a compromising situation would force him to wed her. Even as the thought occurred, she shoved it away. She wanted him to marry her because he wished to, not because he had to.
At least one question she had was put to rest. Though he couldn’t have children, he must still be able to make love if he was so anxious to grant her request. At the top of the stairs, he turned right and strode down another corridor. He passed four doors before stopping. “Door.”
She let go of his neck with one hand and turned the knob.
He pushed the door open with his foot and laid her on the pale blue brocade quilt on the bed.
She grinned. He’d not said a word about her dress earlier, but that was never his way to comment on mundane things, yet he’d obviously noticed. The room he’d chosen was covered in gold brocade wallpaper with pale blue accents throughout.
“Why are you smiling? You’re supposed to be in pain.” Though he scolded, his voice held humor as if he held back a laugh.
She cocked her head and raised her brows. “Unfortunately, or rather fortunately, I’ve never twisted my ankle before. Is it quite painful?”
He shrugged. “Bugger if I know.”
She swallowed a laugh. “Should I moan?”
His own grin froze. “No, just grimace when I touch it.”
