Page 37 of All you need is an Earl (Lords of Pleasure 2)

Marion swallowed hard. He had been quick to call her Marion after they were married, but she had struggled to use his intimate name outside of her own head or with Eleanor. However, this was the place where they were no longer lord and lady of the manor—here, they were just a man and woman, without titles or status.

“Simon,” she whispered.

He grinned up at her with a wonderfully cheeky smile that took her breath away and made her grin back. She was suddenly aware that she was not only aroused, not only full of trepidation and excitement, she was also having fun. There was a playfulness to Simon when he was like this, a playfulness that was totally different to how he was normally. He suddenly dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Simon!” She laughed, her hands dropping to grasp his shoulders, to stop herself from falling over. “What are you doing?”

“Becoming acquainted with your legs, Madame,” he said softly, and Marion watched, her breath held as he carefully undid the laces of her little boots and pulled her stockinged foot free with a gentle rasp of silk against leather. Then, slowly, as if he were trying to feel as much of her ankle, calf, and knee as possible he slid his hand up her leg, lifting her skirt up as he did.

Marion couldn’t help but watch his face attentively, carefully reviewing him for signs of displeasure or dislike, but his eyes were incredibly focused, watching with bated breath as the hem of her dress rose. Finally, the blue ribbon at the tops of her stockings were visible at her thigh.

“There is a French tradition, is there not,” Simon murmured, his eyes fixed on the lace of her stocking top and the creamy thigh above it. “Where a man might undo a lady’s stocking with his teeth?”

Marion swallowed hard, her heart racing.

“I do not know,” she whispered, then, feeling emboldened by the captivated look in his eyes, said, “Perhaps you should try.”

“I think I shall,” Simon murmured, setting his mouth to her stockings, tugging at the blue ribbons with his teeth until they came free and the stocking wrinkled down, falling to her ankle. Simon immediatelyducked his head and pressed a long kiss against her thigh. Marion gasped, tipping her head back.

“Mon Dieu,”she whispered, threading her fingers into his dark curls as his mouth worked further up her thigh, towards the crease of her leg.

“I love when you speak French,” he said, looking up at her, lips bruised.

“You do?” she asked wonderingly, stroking his hair softly.

He nodded, almost looking sheepish at voicing this part of his attraction to her. Marion found it both endearing and empowering. She smiled down at him and whispered,“J’ai besoin de vous,”enjoying the way that his eyes widened at the breathiness of her voice.

“And what does that mean, dear wife?” he asked, holding his hands under her gown as he stood up, kissing her lustily.

“I need you,” she whispered, demanding what she wanted with her eyes. Simon looked down at her in wonderment.

“Well,” he swallowed hard, “I should never wish to disappoint.”

Then, taking her entirely by surprise, he slipped a hand under her bare knee, lifting her up so that she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. He kicked open the door to his bedchamber, striding in while Marion giggled, unable to stop, at the amazement of being treated like a bride.

She couldn’t help but look around his bedchamber in curiosity. It was a mirror image of her own, but the scents and trappings were different. Rather than bottles and jewellery and a vanity, there were shaving brushes and cufflinks. The smell of the room was like leather and musk and sandalwood—scents she now associated with Simon.

Simon crossed to the bed, putting his knee on the mattress and lowering Marion onto the quilt with surprising tenderness. He pulled off his jacket and waistcoat, shrugging them off as she lay there, her knees on either side of his hips. Marion pulled his stock loose and grasped his shirt, pulling it loose of his trousers. Then Simon ducked his head, pulling the cotton shirt over until he was bare in front of her.

His skin was pale, much paler than Marion’s almond-coloured body, and she marvelled at the creamy whiteness of his shoulders, tracing her fingers over the muscles of his arms and chest, the hard, tense ridges of his stomach. Simon was breathing heavily as he loosened the ties of his breeches, but then stopped, looking down at her with the dark curls of his hair falling across his forehead.

Has he always been this handsome?Marion wondered.Did I hide it from myself, how attracted I was to him, so that I wouldn’t want him too much?

“Are you still sure?” he whispered quietly, kneeling up above her.

Marion sat up on her elbows, shuffling back so that she could reach down to gently roll off her other stocking. Her hands trembled, a little from nervousness but most from anticipation, and then looked up at him. She saw that his jaw was slightly slack as he stared at her, his eyes glazed.

“Don’t stop,” he rasped, barely moving. “Keep undressing.”

Marion smiled, glad of heart that he clearly desired her as much as he did. She rose up onto her knees.

“What first?” she asked softly, running her hands over the soft fabric of her gown.

“Your dress,” Simon whispered.

Marion felt for the small row of buttons under her right arm, gently unpicking them, aware all the time of his eyes watching her every movement. Then, she reached for the hem of her dress, pulling it up and lifting it over her head. She watched his eyes as the hem rose, revealing her nearly see-through shift underneath. She was lost for a moment, unable to see him but still able to feel his eyes on her as she pulled the gown over her head.

Then she was before him, her arms bare, in only her shift and stays. She tried to calm her racing heart, tried to feel confident. Simon’s eyes were running up and down her bare arms, and his fingers reached out, tracing up and down as if she was made of marble. She shivered, feeling the fine hair on her forearms rising.

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