Page 74 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

“Would you? Been perfectly happy? I think not.”

“If you have come to lay blame at my feet again, please rethink your position. We can continue to have a distant marriage. I’d prepared myself for such a thing before I met you. I find I enjoy my independence with no husband underfoot.”

He put down his wine glass and stood. For a moment, she thought he meant to leave her again, with the Broadwood and her hopes, but instead, he came to her, kneeling at her feet. His hands went to her thighs as he placed his head in her lap, nuzzling at her stomach.

“I was gone overlong,” he whispered, the words vibrating down between her thighs. “Forgive me.”

Margaret shook her head, all her pain over their separation coming to the forefront. A tear ran down one cheek. “You were,” she choked out before sinking her fingers into the dark waves of his hair. “We should talk, Welles. There are a great many—”

“No. Later. No talking.”

Hands dipped beneath the hem of her dress. The warm caress of his fingers traveled up her silken-clad legs to her thighs where he toyed with the tops of her garters.

The slow rush of Welles crawled up her skin, his very nearness more potent than any drug. Nothing between them had been settled, although apparently his promise never to consummate their marriage was about to be broken.

The warmth of his hand moved against the inside of her thigh. His fingers trailed through the soft hair of her mound, teasing the very top of her crease and the small bit of flesh hidden there, already swollen and aching.

“Lady Welles, it appears you are much happier to see me than you originally let on.” His finger dipped through the moisture coating her flesh. Gently he pressed two fingers inside her as Margaret shivered in response.

Her forehead fell against his shoulder. Brazenly she tipped her hips in the direction of his questing hand and heard a low chuckle in his chest. “I’m still angry,” she breathed.

“Good. So am I.” He lifted his chin, mouth seeking hers for an urgent kiss that spoke of his ultimate possession of her. Coaxing her lips to part, his tongue sought out hers, deepening the kiss until Margaret went limp. His mouth moved from hers. “But I won’t leave you again.”

Pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, Welles stood, despite her protests, taking her with him. His mouth trailed over the skin of her neck as he turned her to face the chair. “Get on your knees,” he whispered.

Shaking, Margaret did as he asked. Her breasts pushed against her bodice painfully, her nipples hard and aching. His hand ran up and down the length of her spine. “Stay, Maggie.” Fingers toyed with the delicate hairs at the base of her neck. “Don’t make me tie you,” he murmured. His lips brushed against her ear. “Though I admit, I wouldn’t mind doing so. Especially if I find out Henri is your lover.”

“Welles—” Why did he think she had a French lover?

“Is that why you came home?” She gasped as he started lifting her skirts. “Because you thought I had a lover?”

“No, Maggie. I came home because I can’t stay away from you.” Another kiss. “So many petticoats.” She heard a rip as material fell away from her backside. “A waste of good cotton, in my opinion. But not to worry. I’ll buy you a whole slew of new underthings if you like.”

The air of the room touched the bare skin of her buttocks as he traced the base of her spine to cup one cheek.

“Christ, you’ve a lovely, beautiful ass, Lady Welles.”

His declaration was followed by the press of his lips against her skin, then the graze of his teeth. Fingers ran the length of her slit as Margaret struggled to breathe. Waiting. He had aroused her so thoroughly with the barest touch, her entire body was throbbing. Perhaps she’d been wanton her whole life and never realized it until Welles.

Margaret reached out, her fingers digging into the cushions of the chair.

“Good girl, Maggie.” He kissed the exposed skin of her lower back. “You’ve ascertained I’ll be breaking my earlier promise never to consummate our marriage?”

“Yes,” she breathed as the heat coiled within her.

“I find it an unacceptable way to live, not being inside you.”

He moved his fingers along the slick folds of her crease, his movements measured. Controlled. Intentionally avoiding the one spot which would give her the most pleasure. She bit her lip to keep from begging. “You still blame me.”

“I am working through that. Your current efforts to meet me halfway are helping immensely.” He nipped at her skin.

She whimpered, pushing back with her hips against the pressure of his fingers.

“I know, sweetheart.” The rustling sound of his clothing met her ears.

Her cry echoed loudly in the study as Welles drove inside her with one, hard thrust, pushing her face against the seat of the chair. One arm gripped her around the waist, holding her so she couldn’t move. The other hand moved between her thighs, fingers brushing with the lightest of touches until Margaret was begging, shamefully, for release.

Welles took her roughly, his pace steady and hard. If this was her punishment for making him want her, it was a price she would gladly pay. Her entire body sharpened, honed to a fine point as her muscles clenched in anticipation of her release. Margaret hung on the edge of the precipice waiting for the fall.

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