Page 75 of Tender Blackguard

At the end of his endurance, he grasped her hands and brought them to his mouth, kissing her fingertips and palms. Then he set her hands to the bed on either side of his head while he reached down between them. With one hand grasping her buttock, he pulled her closer while he positioned himself with his other hand.

On a rough and ragged sigh, he pushed up into her body while she shivered and trembled above him. Once he was fully sheathed within her, she began to move. Learning how to take her pleasure of him while bestowing the same with uninhibited sensuality.

They remained wrapped in each other, soaked in passion through the night. Neither of them speaking of what had come before or what would come after. Their whispered, murmured words were only of the moment. Of longing and need. Of pleasure and acceptance.

But dawn came as it always did. And with the first sliver of gray to peek around the heavy drapes, Alastair felt an intense stab of loss—and painful regret. He’d awoken from a brief and sated slumber to find himself alone. There had been no noise to tell him so, no hint of movement lingering in the room, but he knew with intuitive certainty that Lark had only just left him.

It had been the very simple, distinct, and undeniable lack of her presence that had startled him awake.

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LARK RUSHED THROUGH the passage back to the library. She needed to sneak back to her bedroom before the first maids began to stir, which was likely to be at any moment.

She couldn’t allow her thoughts to settle for even a moment on the night of absolute bliss and revelation she’d spent with the marquess.

Alastair.

His name still felt strange on her tongue and in her mind.

Strange but exhilarating. Strange but luminous. Strange but perfect.

A small vulnerable part of her was glad she’d managed to slip away while he’d still slept. She didn’t want to look into his eyes under the harsh light of day and witness the moment he was overtaken by remorse. She didn’t want to see his features harden with self-reproach after she’d memorized how he’d looked at the height of passion and contentment. He might even hate her for approaching him as she did—practically forcing his hand while he’d been exposed and vulnerable.

Her cheeks burned but she refused to regret a single moment.

Of course, he’d likely be desperate to pretend the experience had never happened. Or perhaps he’d convince himself it had happened in a dream, never to be discussed in the full light of day. Without a doubt, he’d tell himself the experience could never be repeated. She’d known these things before she’d gone to his room last night. Had known they were a likelihood if she managed to convince him to accept her, even if just for the night. But it didn’t make it easier to bear. In truth, the knowledge that she’d only ever have that one night with him twisted inside her as though someone were wringing out her very heart.

So, she blocked such concerns from her mind, thinking only of her tasks for the day. Making it to her room without incident, she quickly bathed with water she poured into the wash bowl behind the screen. As she washed away the lingering scent of him from her skin, she didn’t allow herself the luxury of emotion, though it tried to choke her.

Within fifteen minutes, she was properly dressed and ready to meet with her staff as she did every morning before they began their chores. Then she was off to the kitchen to discuss the day’s meals with Mrs. Reynard. Then a quick meeting with Gideon over a shared concern about the state of the gardens.

By the time the marquess called for his tea some hours later, she’d managed to tuck the most potent memories so far into the back of her thoughts that she no longer experienced a shiver along her nerves or a melting in her center whenever she thought of the man upstairs and the night they’d shared.

She readied the tea tray as she always did and carried it to the breakfast room. She did her best not to focus on his dark form at the end of the table, framed by the light of full day flooding in from the window behind him.

Setting the tray on the table, she looked up briefly to ask, “Shall I pour?”

She thought she’d be all right. She really did. But that brief glance into his intense blue eyes nearly broke her.

Icy no more, his gaze bored into her with heat and fire and passion. And promise.

Her breath caught. Her knees almost buckled. Her heart quite literally stopped.

Rather than answering as he always did, the marquess rose purposefully to his feet. He didn’t approach her as she half feared, half craved he would do. Instead, he walked around the table to the door. Lark stood absolutely frozen in place, not knowing at all what he was about or what he was thinking or what she should do. Her gaze fell to the tea tray a moment before she heard the sharp click of the door shutting them into the room alone.

Within another breath, his arms were around her. One hand squeezed the back of her neck while the other arm encircled her waist as he turned her to face him. She caught just a flashing impression of his intent and handsome features before his mouth took hers.

Despite her surprise and confusion, her body knew exactly what to do as she softened and melted against him. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming and demanding the most intimate taste of her as his hips pressed to hers until her buttocks came up against the edge of the table behind her.

Just as she began to get past her shock and engage in the wonderful passion of his kiss, he pulled back with a raw muttered curse.

Lark gasped for breath and looked up at him, her vision already going starry from desire and longing.

“Now, there’ll be no denying it.,” he muttered. His voice was thick as his focus swept fiercely over her face. “I’m a blackguard of the worst sort. And I can’t even seem to care.”

Lark prepared to argue with him, but before she could, he kissed her again. And the flames which had been carefully tamped over the last few hours engulfed her once more.

She pulled him to her with a heavy sigh, wrapping her arms around his neck and lifting to her toes in an attempt to get closer. To feel more of him. To claim him as he claimed her.

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