Page 51 of The Marquess' Wicked Wager
“Edna,” he whispered in her ear. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want this,” she just about managed, for she was trying not to cry. “I want you...please.”
His breaths became her own. Reaching down between them, he pressed a finger against her parting. It came away wet, but it set her onfire. “You want me.”
She needed more. Lifting her back, she sought to rub herself against his hand. “Please, Albert,” she begged.
He conceded at last. With a cheek pressed against hers, he angled his body to arc over her. She felt his shaft press against her heat. His knuckles grazed against the very top of her sex as he angled himself low. He would be inside her, she knew, and the thought filled her with fear—eclipsed only by her hunger for him.
He pressed himself inside her core. She let out a little whimper, but the pain soon subsided. He groaned something infernal and then kissed her again. “I don’t mean for it to hurt—”
“Hush…” She grabbed the nape of his neck to hold him close, having never felt quite so complete in her life. “Don’t stop now, Albert.”
He drew himself back, and she feared she had scared him off. Then, he thrust back in. And again and again, tortuously slow. A pressure began to build, and she found herself moaning, whimpering,mewlingfor that rhythm. It was not satiation, but it was close.
She softened against him, and they became one. Writhing against her, he worked her to the gates of heaven. And then, without her knowing, the gates broke open. Her body was seized all at once by a feeling like no other—a storm, a flash of lightning, and then aglow. She cried his name, “Albert!” as she held him close.
He must have been seized by that same gift, for he cried and then shuddered, stopping his thrusts altogether.
Suddenly, it was over, and she had never been more glad for a sleepless night.
ChapterTwenty-One
Albert fastened the final button on the back of Edna’s gown. She gave a gentle, playful turn, tucking a loose curl of chestnut hair behind her ear. She had never looked more beautiful, he thought, than she did at that moment with the sun falling in dappled spots along the red silk hem of her dress. The rest of it was white.
“Had I known what you intended when you whisked me up here, I might have packed something a bit more…” she grimaced, looking herself over, “...fitting.”
Albert grinned and drew her into his embrace. She settled in his hold, and he could hardly believe she was hers—in body and soon to be in law, too. He could not have designed a more perfect woman, not that he was in any way an artist. He would leave that to his soon-to-be-wife.Wife.
“Edna, you could roll into the blacksmith’s in your stays and stocking, and I would marry you all the same.” Her cheeks flashed red, and she stepped away. Albert lowered himself into an armchair in the corner of her room.
“So, Gretna Greene it is.”
“I can’t say you sound particularly convinced.” He waved a hand. “Though I suppose it isn’t every woman’s dream to elope.”
Fixing the last ruby clip in her hair, the maid having done a rather terrible job of its coiling, Edna smoothed down her gown. “I shan’t lie and say it is but…I would rather a less-than perfect wedding with a more-than perfect bridegroom over any other.”
Just then, a knock sounded on the door.
“Odd,” Albert noted and walked over to let the intruder in. It was the maid he had hired, Lilibelle, or some equally offensive name. She started as she saw Albert.
“Oh, My Lord! I only meant to deliver a message to your…guest.”
He motioned for the maid to enter and settled himself back in his seat. After a terrible try at a curtsey, the maid handed Edna a letter.
“Might you tell me how you received this?” She was frozen to the spot.
The maid clipped herself on the head. “Of course! Max—er, the stablehand received this when he delivered your last missive to the big house in Mileton. Supposing someone left it for you, Milady.”
Edna puckered. “That’s all,” she ordered, and the maid left, closing the door behind her.
“Bad news?”
“Funny news.” She pried open the envelope. “It isn’t my father’s seal. Nor your uncle’s. Nor Violet’s.”
“Then…who?”
He waited on tenterhooks as Edna scanned the letter. “Janine,” she breathed.
