Page 27 of A Virgin for the Rakish Marquess

She lifted her chin and clenched her jaw. She was fighting for control, fighting to expel the thoughts he was pouring into her mind, into her body, into the pit of her stomach.

“Marriage doesn’t guarantee pleasure. The married ladies you have seduced are a testament to that.”

A sharp crack of the whip. James shivered in rapture to see her lose the decorum she clutched onto for dear life. One inch closer was all he offered.

“Ah, I agree, My Lady.” His voice now was a low purr that rumbled in his chest. “But with the right man, pleasure can be the most exhilarating feeling.”

She swallowed. His gaze flickered down, catching the way her pulse jumped at the base of her throat.

“Th-That,” she stammered, “is none of your concern.”

James felt the turning point. The undeniable reality of her truth. It was indeed none of his concern. Then why couldn’t he give up? Why did he fight all his self-imposed rules to give her more than he set out to do? He was standing at the edge. He could step back or fall.

He made his decision.

“But if it were?”

He reached out slowly, deliberately, and traced his knuckles along the underside of her jaw. Not touching, not fully, but enough that she would feel the heat of him.

“I could show you pleasure, My Lady.Realpleasure.” He was whispering now, his breath fanning her face.

Diana’s lips parted. Not a lot, just slightly. Enough for him to lose his sanity, all walls, barriers and lines forgotten and blurred. It was as if he was charming a woman for the first time.

His hand rested on the trunk behind her, and he leaned in, so much so that their breaths mingled. He was breathing her in and could almost taste her. He searched her face for any hint of discomfort. There was none.

She wanted this. And damn his dark, rakish soul, he wanted it too. He wanted it more than anything, and though it made his heart pound, he would take it. Or else he would lose his mind.

And then?—

“Lord Crawford! Lady Diana!”

Reality crashed down on them like a bucket of cold water as they heard the clicking of the chaperone’s shoes on the path.

James cursed softly and jerked back, his jaw clenching.

Damn it.

He took back all the nice thoughts he had of the old woman. She was a menace.

Diana regained her senses quickly and even wrapped her hand around his arm, though he could feel her shaking.

“Ah, Mrs. Bremford, there you are,” she said, her voice trembling.

“I thought I lost you,” Mrs. Bremford sighed, completely oblivious to the monumental moment she had interrupted.

“Well, no one is lost,” Diana assured her as she fixed James with a glare.

It seemed that she finally got what she wished for because the walk was cut short after that and James was in no position to keep her from running away from him.

As they headed back to her carriage, James mulled over what had happened. Fate had given him a choice once more. He could apologize for going too far, for pushing too hard, but hewouldn’t. He didn’t want to. He wanted her, her shallow breaths, the heat of her body. He wanted her no matter how infuriating she was, no matter how stubbornly she fought him at every turn. If anything, that only made his need worse.

He gave her his hand as she made to climb into her carriage. He pulled her hand to his lips, forcing her to lean toward him.

With his breath on her skin still, his hooded eyes locked onto hers, he murmured, “The offer still stands, My Lady.”

CHAPTER 8

Cold Chamomile Tea

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