Page 24 of Lady Mariel’s Scandalous Love

Chapter Ten

The visit to the tenant farmers had taken far longer than he had hoped – but it had been necessary – he had needed to see, for himself, the state of the cottages, and the repairs which were required. Now, with that dealt with, he was keen to get back to uncrating – the pressure to get everything catalogued, and ready for the move to London hung over him.

As he stepped into the foyer, he paused – first, before burying himself away in the East Wing, he should see if Mariel needed any assistance from him, with parts of the translation. Just the thought of sitting beside her, explaining the words for various sexual acts and objects brought heat to his body, and a stirring in his groin. It was exquisite torture, especially now that he had the memory of their heated kisses in the secret room at Fortescue Grange to assist his imaginings.

He squared his shoulders, and forced those thoughts aside. If he wanted the book translated, he had to deal with his own lustful thoughts, and behave with propriety.

He tapped on the door of the little office, then entered. Mariel was not at the desk. Selina was curled on the couch, her cheeks rather flushed, avidly reading a book which he recognised as the one that Mariel had brought out of the Fortescue Grange secret room. She did not at first look up, so intent was she on the pages. When she did, she blinked for a moment, as if he was not what she had expected to see. Then her cheeks went an even darker red.

Instantly, his mind jumped to a rather stretched conclusion. If Selina reacted as if a little guilty, and embarrassed, like this, then where might Mariel be? The only place he could imagine Mariel going which might cause Selina to react in such a fashion at Dash’s appearance, was the East Wing. He knew that she was curious about the rest of his collection – she had made that quite obvious at times – but he had hesitated to show her, even after seeing her response to the room at Fortescue Grange – or perhaps because of that reaction.

Part of him was terrified that, if he did show her, she would be overwhelmed and horrified at the ‘depth of his depravity’ and refuse to continue with the translation. The other part of him was afraid that, far from horror, her response would be deep fascination, and arousal. He was not sure which he would find more difficult to deal with.

“Mariel?”

“She…”

Selina seemed completely lost for what to say.

“I see, I think I can guess.”

With that, he simply turned, and left the room.

He was sure that he had locked the door to the East Wing as he’d left that morning – so hopefully, she had not been able to… It was closed, but not locked. He cursed under his breath as he eased the door open and stepped into the hallway, closing it behind him.

He stood, and listened – silence. Each room on that floor was as he had left it, and there was no sign of Mariel. The churning tangle of fear roiled in his stomach – she must be upstairs, which meant that she would have already seen…

There was nothing for it – he was about to find out which way her reactions had gone. He went to the stairs, and up, listening as he did for any sign of movement above. Silence greeted him. Could he be wrong in his assumption? He walked on, glancing into each room as he went. Nothing moved, but the sparkle of dust in the wintry sunbeams. At the sixth room, he stopped in the doorway, his breath stolen by the vision before him.

She sat in the large armchair that graced the room, her dark head bent over a book, her profile cast in stark relief by the sun through the window, soft curls of hair escaping their pins to fall over her shoulder, where her fingers twined in their length, twisting them unconsciously as she read. Her lips were slightly parted, and her cheeks gently flushed. He did not think that he had ever seen so beautiful a sight. She was everything desirable, with her slightly darker than fashionable skin, her abundant rich dark hair, and her utterly kissable lips. That, combined with the mixture of her innocence and risqué knowledge, left him dry mouthed, hard, and aching. Without intending to, he uttered a little moan.

She looked up, and he was lost, utterly.

Her deep violet eyes were slightly hazed, and filled with heat. Her tongue slipped between her parted lips to moisten them, and his imagination ran wild with the image. He wanted to kiss her. As if in a dream, he walked into the room. She said nothing, but slowly rose from the chair, placing the book on the table next to her, beside a rather beautiful diletto which lay there. Her fingers brushed its surface, and she might as well have been touching his cock, so strong was his reaction to the sight.

He stopped before her, mere inches away, and she looked up, those hazy violet eyes meeting his amber ones. They reached for each other in the same instant, and Dash crushed her to him, bringing his lips down on hers in a plundering kiss, full of all the passion that inflamed his flesh in that instant. She met it with equal intensity, her arms going around his neck, and a soft moan escaping her lips as they parted to allow his invasion.

Her hands tangled in his hair where its unfashionable length met his neck, as his hands explored her body, caressing her back, her sides, and coming, almost inevitably, to cup her breasts. She moaned against his lips as his fingers found her nipples through the soft cloth of her day gown, and her back arched, thrusting her into his hands.

Breathing hard, he pulled back from the kiss for a moment, trying to do as propriety demanded he should.

“Mariel… I…”

Her hands tightened on him, and her voice came husky and soft with desire.

“Don’t talk. Touch me, Dash, I want to feel… everything.”

He groaned in an agony of need and whispered, “Mariel, you would tempt a saint to a delirium of sin. And I am no saint.”

She slid one hand down over his shoulder in an intentional caress, then brought it to rest on his hip. His lips dropped back to hers, and she slid that hand further, slipping it between them to cup his cock where it thrust against the constraint of his breeches. His fingers tightened on her nipples, as he thrust himself against her hand. She gave a whimper of pleasure as the kiss deepened again, her tongue tangling with his and driving him to the edge of insanity.

They were alone, in a part of the house where his servants would not venture – they could, if they so wished, explore each other completely, and no one would disturb them. Dash fought himself, even as he plundered her mouth, even as her fingers caressed him to an agony of hardness, beyond anything he had ever experienced before, fought himself for enough control to stop, to not simply draw her down to the Aubusson carpet they stood upon, and have his way with her immediately.

He took his kisses from her mouth, across her cheek, and down her neck, savouring the taste and texture of her skin, then on, to the upper curve of her breast, even as his fingers undid the two buttons at the neck of her gown, and pulled the fabric down, baring the hardened tips of those breasts to his gaze, and his lips. As he drew a nipple into his mouth, her fingers tightened on his cock, and he groaned against her flesh. She shivered in response, and whimpered again. Her knees buckled as he began to suck on her other nipple, and he caught her, turning, and allowing himself to fall into the large armchair, with her on his lap. Mercifully, that movement pulled her hand away from his cock, giving him a few moments of respite.

He went back to licking, nipping, and sucking on her nipples, one arm about her waist to keep her steady on his lap, and his other hand reached to slowly draw up her skirts, his fingers trailing over her soft skin, up the inside of her long leg, towards the heated core of her. She arched in his grasp, pressing her breasts towards him, her hips shifting on him in a way that was almost more agonisingly wonderful than her hand had been.

He knew, deep in his mind, that he should stop, that he had no right to touch her in this way – but somehow, when she thrust herself at him with such obvious need, he could not stop. His fingers reached the top of her thighs, and her legs fell apart a little in natural reaction to the touch. The tangle of soft curls between her legs was wet – so very wet, and he groaned again at the pleasure of the sensation. Gently, he probed amongst the curls, seeking the exact spot at which her pleasure might be made most intense. He knew the moment that his touch found her bud, from just the right angle, for she tensed, then relaxed, her head going back as a sigh escaped her.