Still facing the door, her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath. “What do you want from me, Nicholas?”
There. At least she’d spoken in her true accent at last. Her words were carefully cultured. If he didn’t know better, he might even believe she was of the Quality. “You came to my room,” he barked. “The question is, what do you want fromme?”
“You’re speaking in riddles.” She turned her face to the side, away from him.
“Fine then.” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear again. “Let me be clear. What if I told you that I’ve learned there is no such person as a ‘Miss Marianne Notley’ from Brighton?”
He felt her body freeze. Then she took a deep breath, turned, and met his gaze. There was a steely resolve in her bright blue eyes and a determination that matched his own. “If you told me that,” she replied simply, her eyes flashing blue fire, “then I’d have to ask you, who is ‘Bell,’ and why are you ‘playacting’at being a valet in Lord Clayton’s home?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Marianne hadn’t come to Nicholas’s door to threaten him, but the minute he’d brought up her assumed name, she’d known she had no other choice. She’d been in the hallway earlier when Lord Clayton came up. She had pressed her back to the wall and refused to breathe for the few moments it took for him to knock on Nicholas’s door and gain entry. She’d been astonished when she heard Clayton call him ‘Bell’ and ask him if he was still ‘playacting.’
She’d quickly returned to her room and peeked out her door, waiting until Lord Clayton left the floor. Then she’d quietly made her way down here. She hadn’t been entirely certain what she’d say to Nicholas. But after clearly being angry with her for some unknown reason, he’d given her the perfect opening.
The anger immediately drained from his handsome face. “You overheard?” He dropped his gaze to the floor, cursing under his breath.
She pressed her back against the door and crossed her arms over her chest. It was her turn to be angry. “Yes, and I must say that was quite a convincing job of being the aggrieved party instead of a hypocrite.”
“Hypocrite?” he echoed.
“Aren’t you accusing me of lying about my identity when you’re clearly lying about yours?”
A slight smile spread across his lips. He braced his right hand against the door at the side of her neck and stepped forward. He used his left forefinger to trace the soft skin along the side of her eye, her cheekbone, the side of her lips. “Who are you?” he whispered, in a voice that Marianne was convinced had been the downfall of a number of unsuspecting women.
She shuddered and let her eyes close for a moment. Oh, God. If he was going to try to seduce her, he just might succeed. She had to keep reminding herself that she didn’t know this man. He could be anyone. He could be dangerous. She already knew he could be dangerous to her heart.
When she opened her eyes again, she forced herself to meet his heavy-lidded gaze. He towered over her. Leaning down, he moved his right arm to brace against the door above her head. His index finger had made its way to her jaw, and then her neck, and was presently making tiny circles against her skin directly above the neckline of her gown.
“You tell me who you are first,” she demanded in a hot whisper.
His smile broadened and he slowly shook his head back and forth, his gaze never leaving hers. “Not. A. Chance.”
“Very well,” she breathed, wanting desperately for him to kiss her. “Then it seems our identities are to remain a mystery.”
Her breasts rose and fell with her deep breathing as she stared up into the icy blue pools of his eyes. His left hand continued to caress her neck and she leaned her head to the side to allow him to touch more.
He dipped his head. “Can I taste you?”
She couldn’t answer, could only nod. Her lips formed the word ‘yes,’ but she couldn’t get the sound to leave her throat. When his mouth lowered to the pulse in her neck, she nearly jumped from her skin. His hot tongue dipped against her collarbone and then traced its way up to the sensitive spot just behind her ear. Then he dipped it into the tender crevice of her lobe, and she shuddered.
“Shh,” he whispered.
Marianne tried to control her breathing, but it was too far gone. She was nearly panting with desire by the time his mouth traveled along the skin of her cheek and found her lips. The moment his lips met hers, she groaned. He pushed her up against the door and ground himself into her. His tongue dove into her mouth and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with all the pent-up passion she felt. She’d wanted this from the moment she’d seen him in Lord Copperpot’s bedchamber. Right now, nothing else mattered. Not their true identities, and not the lies they’d told each other. She simply wanted him the way a woman wants a man who has overwhelmed her with desire.
His kiss didn’t stop. Instead it went deeper, and his left hand slid down to her waist, riding her hip unmercifully through her gown. He leaned down and caught the bottom of her dress, letting his hand trace its way up along her ankle, up her leg, and along her bare thigh. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around his neck even tighter.
He picked her up and pressed her back hard against the door. Her thighs parted and she hugged his hips with her knees. He held her by her waist and quickly turned her to the desk. With one swipe of his arm, he sent the few articles atop the surface flying to the floor as he sat her atop it and settled his hips between her legs. He grabbed her back and pulled her against him, hard. She moaned and her head fell back. Due to his height, the level of the desk was perfect. No longer supporting her with his arms, his hands moved up under her skirts and caressed her knees, and then stroked the outside of her thighs.
Marianne was lost in a blissful world of desire. Her nipples hardened and beneath her skirts she was wet and ready for him. Oh, God. If he pulled out his member and made her his right now, she’d want it. She wouldn’t say no. She couldn’t say no at the moment. Didn’t want to, at any rate.
His left hand moved down to tug her gown away from one breast. His mouth soon followed. She glanced down. Seeing his head sucking at her breast was so erotic that Marianne wanted to cry out. His tongue flicked her nipple back and forth mercilessly, and when he sucked the hard little nub into his mouth and bit it softly, she clenched her jaw and arched her back.
When his left hand moved under her shift, between her thighs, and he parted her intimately, her head fell forward. His kiss never left her lips. He was ravenous for her and when his finger found the nub of pleasure between her legs and began rubbing her in perfect little circles, she cried out again, but his mouth swallowed the noise.
“Shh,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful. Let me touch you.”
All she could do was weakly nod. His mouth found hers again, his tongue stroking deeper each time. Her hips became restless. She wanted to feel him inside her, but he’d made no move to take her to the bed.
