Pirate Hunter's Mistress (The Virginia Brides) (30 page)

“I’m telling you the truth, Marlee. I’ve told Bettina that I won’t marry her. I love you, my darling, only you.” He captured her face between his hands so she was forced to look at him. Her heart beat so hard that she didn’t hear the ocean’s swelling crescendo. Was Lark telling her the truth? Could she finally believe he loved her?

His kiss told her she could.

It was a bewitching kiss, passionate yet gentle. Marlee found herself trembling and clinging to him, unable to stem the mounting desire which flowed through every artery and nerve in her body. “I love you, Marlee, say that you’ll marry me. Say it,” he pleaded and held her so tightly that she could barely draw breath.

“I’ll marry you,” was her husky whisper and pure joy exploded within her for this was what she’d wanted for so long. Her arms went trustingly around his neck.

Lark groaned. “Ah, I want to make love to you, now, Marlee, but not here on the beach. Maybe we should wait—”

“No, no,” she protested and molded herself into him. “I want you, too, Lark. Isn’t there someplace we can go and be totally alone?”

He stared at her, his eyes alive and dancing with wickedly bright flames. “I know just the place, a perfect place.” Lark lifted her to her feet and took her hand.

They ran joyously down the beach, their footsteps sinking into the sand and blending together in spots. Five minutes or five hours might have passed because Marlee lost track of time when Lark halted before a rocky cove. Pulling her along with him, they followed a winding path of sparkling water that lazily meandered away from the aqua-colored ocean and beach to a secluded garden of oleander and hibiscus hedges.

“How pretty this is!” Marlee exclaimed. “Where are we?”

“This property belonged to my mother’s sister. She willed it to me, but I’ve never had any use for it—until now.” Lark grinned seductively at her and began a tantalizing exploration of her throat with his tongue.

“Oh, Lark, what if someone sees us?” Marlee asked but her worry was tempered by her desire.

“No one ever comes this way, my love,” he whispered. “We’re totally and completely alone.” His lips moved wantonly over her shoulders as he pushed the sleeves of her dress and chemise down her arms.

“Isn’t this wicked to be out here like this, letting you undress me?”

“Hmm, yes,” he said and his tongue slithered across the tops of her breasts, “very wicked.”

“Lark?”

“Yes, Marlee?”

“I suppose I’m a wicked woman because I find I like this very much.”

His lusty chuckle was lost in the valley of her breasts when he pulled her gown to her waist. The warm night air wafted over Marlee’s nakedness as she allowed Lark free rein to feast upon her nipples. A warm wetness filled the spot between her legs; she moaned with pleasure and anticipation the moment Lark’s fingers snaked up her thigh to stroke the pulsating bud of her femininity.

Sheer ecstasy washed over her the second he touched her. She clung to him, her small cry of fulfillment filled the night. Her pleasure quickly gave way to embarrassment for he’d barely started before she’d finished. “Oh, forgive me, Lark,” she said, her voice sounded thick and husky. “I—never meant—”

“I know,” he said and grinned wolfishly, “but I’m glad you respond so easily to me. I adore hearing your gasps of pleasure, to know you’re enjoying yourself.”

Marlee smiled and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Can we undress now? I want to feel you against me—every part of you.”

He nipped at her ear. “Any part in particular, my love?”

“That’s a difficult question to answer,” she pondered with mock seriousness when he shrugged out of his shirt. “I suppose I shall have to thoroughly examine you and tell you my decision later.”

“And what sort of examination do you have in mind?” Lark could barely speak he was so aroused.

“You’ll need to remove your breeches. I must see all of you.”

With a sure hand, Lark undid the buttons on his breeches and removed them, kicking them out of the way. He stood shamelessly naked before Marlee. The moonlight emphasized the broadness of his shoulders, the rippling muscles in his upper arms that could expertly brandish a sword or tenderly hold a woman in his embrace. She found herself reaching out to trace her hands upon his fur-planed chest, reacquainting herself with the way his flesh tautly fit across the sinew and muscle. Lark was beautifully made.

“Are you happy with me so far?” he asked through clenched teeth. He ached to throw Marlee on the ground and enter her velvet softness. His arousal was all too evident, and the wicked wench was biding her time, making him so hard that he literally hurt.

“So far, so good. Now for the rest of you.”

“Oh, God,” he groaned when her hands slid down each side of his buttocks and then his thighs.

“You’re extremely—strong,” she whispered, the words dying in her throat. She knelt on the ground, her fingers following the lines of his powerful legs and ending at his calves. “And very hairy.”

Lark looked down. The top of her head was visible in the moonlight and he could feel the wanton way her hands moved over him, massaging him and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He’d made love to many women in his life, but none of them had ever made him feel the way he did when he was with Marlee. He felt powerful and vulnerable at the same time and certain that he’d never love another woman as much as he loved her.

“Have you finished with me yet? You seem to be taking your sweet time.”

“Are you in a hurry, my lord?” She lifted her head and looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m not through inspecting you. There’s one part I need to examine before I can give an unbiased opinion on which part of your anatomy I find most appealing.”

“As you wish, madam,” was his husky response.

A cloud skittered across the sky and blacked out the moon just then. Lark saw nothing in the darkness, but he felt her hands moving upward to his aroused manhood. Stiffening his stance, he dug his feet hard into the ground. He feared he’d fall when she touched him, that the very pressure of her fingertips could topple him to the earth like a landslide. Never before had he experienced such desire, this heavy ache within him that was pleasure and pain. And he knew now with certainty that he loved her beyond caring, beyond life. Without Marlee, he had no life.

Her fingers lazily trailed up his inner thighs to the pulsing manhood. If only she’d hurry and touch him, if only she’d enfold her hands over him—it would be heaven. And it was the instant her hand sheathed him. Just having her seductively stroke him felt wonderful.

“Oh—Marlee—Marlee—” He sounded like a drowning man, he was unable to breathe. His heart beat so fast and so hard that he feared he might die from the ecstasy of what she was doing to him. “Stop, stop.” Stopping was the last thing he wanted, but he didn’t think he could last much longer and he wanted to spill himself inside of her.

Lark lowered himself and knelt beside her. His kiss upon her lips was so fiery that the flames which had laid dormant inside of her the last few minutes flared anew. Lifting her onto his haunches, Lark positioned her legs around his waist and fitted her buttocks against him before entering her with a swift thrust.

Sheathing him with her warmth, she welcomed him into her body and moved urgently against him. Their lovemaking was instinctive, raw, and heated. Nothing kept them apart now. They belonged only to each other and gave fully of themselves. In perfect unison, their bodies exploded into ecstasy at the same moment.

Later, after the flush of passion had disappeared, Lark dipped his hand into the stream of water to spread sensuously across her chest and breasts. “To cool you off,” he said but Marlee knew he was washing her because he couldn’t stop touching her. She felt the very same way and their earlier passions ignited again, leaving them drained and deliriously contented.

The moon had risen higher by the time they dressed. Lark and Marlee walked arm in arm down the beach to the Gilbert home. “Do you think anyone missed you?” he asked and kissed her.

Marlee shook her head. “No. Lady Olivia allows me a great deal of freedom since I’m her guest. She’s been taken up with Bettina, which is as it should be.” Her voice broke, and she gazed at Lark with hope in her eyes. “You’ve really called off the engagement?”

“Yes, yes.” He assured her with another kiss. “I’ll never be dishonest with you again, Marlee. I swear on my father’s grave.”

Could she believe him? She must believe Lark and trust in him. He was her whole life. They stopped on the beach in front of the Gilbert home. When Lark took her in his arms, a mischievous spark emanated from his eyes. “You never did say which part of my anatomy you preferred most of all?”

“Which part do you think?” she teased and kissed the tip of his nose before breaking away and rushing into the house. Lark chuckled heartily for he now knew the answer to that question very well.

~ ~ ~

“What are you looking at, Bettina?” came Alastair’s voice from Bettina’s bed. “Are you going to stand by that window all night?”

“Hush or you’ll wake my parents,” Bettina commanded in a hoarse whisper.

“Hah! Your father was so tipsy that I helped put him to bed. No sooner had he rested his head on the pillow than he was snoring away. Your mother was already sound asleep, courtesy of the seven generous glasses of sherry she imbibed this evening. The house could tumble to bits around their ears and they’d never know it. Now what is so fascinating outside the window?”

Alastair rose nude from the bed and came to stand behind Bettina. He parted the lacy curtain and saw Marlee running back to the house, her figure and Lark’s were clearly visible in the moonlight. “Lady Arden is out quite late,” he noted with a sly grin, “and it seems she’s been strolling with none other than your faithful fiancé.”

“Be quiet, Alastair! You’re obnoxious.”

“Why? Because I tell the truth, dear Bettina? Admit to yourself that you don’t love Lark Arden and never did.” He turned her face to his. “You’ve always been in love with me, and you know it.”

She brushed aside his hand on her face and paced about the room, not the least bothered by her naked state. “I can’t let Lark cast me aside like an ill-fitting slipper, Alastair. I have to marry him. I want to be mistress of Arden’s Grove.”

“Damn, Bettina! Arden’s Grove is nothing in comparison to what I’ll be able to offer you one day. Some day I’ll be so wealthy that you’ll kick yourself in your pretty behind for not accepting my proposal.”

“Oh, yes.” She sniffed the air and placed her hands on her curvy hips. “You’re going to make a fortune, literally prosper from selling straw. Gold only comes from straw in fairy tales.”

“Then I shall offer you a fairy-tale life, my love.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Bettina decided that she didn’t understand Alastair’s empty dreams. Straw, indeed! All it was good for was feeding livestock, and now some aristocrats decided to wear it upon their heads in the form of hats. Alastair thought his fortune was secured because he was exporting straw by the shipload to England. He hadn’t changed one bit since she’d been gone. Alastair had always pined after that which he couldn’t have—like herself, for instance. He was ten years older than she and ever since she could remember, he’d lived with her family. His parents had died when he was quite young and Bettina’s parents had raised him. They had doted upon him and treated him as if he were their own son. She wondered what they’d think about Alastair if they learned just how long ago he’d started sneaking into her room each night.

Bettina had been fifteen years old when she woke one night to the most exquisite sensations she’d ever experienced between her slim thighs. She’d groggily opened her eyes and discovered Alastair between her legs. His head was bent over her, his mouth doing something unbelievably wicked to her, something she didn’t understand but wouldn’t protest because it felt so wonderful. They never spoke about this strange occurrence—and she never locked her door on the nights she wanted him to come to her again. For almost two years, she’d lain in her bed and waited for him, eagerly and wantonly parting her legs the moment she heard her door open.

Alastair taught her other things about sex, and the young Bettina had cherished every forbidden act, and Alastair had joked that she was insatiable. But she never intended to marry him, though she knew they were well suited. He wasn’t wealthy enough; he had no prospects of attaining that wealth. The day she’d left Bermuda with Lark, she had shed tears. Lark had thought that she was crying because she didn’t wish to leave her parents. She cried because she didn’t want to leave Alastair—ever.

But she must leave him when Lark married her. She found Lark to be a very attractive man, but why couldn’t she break this spell that Alastair had woven over her? Why must her perverted body ache for his possession? Things would be so much easier if Alastair would only leave her alone. But from the second she saw him again she knew she’d be unable to stay away from him. That first night on her return home, she didn’t lock her door. He had come to her, as she’d known he would. It was almost dawn before he sneaked back to his room, and once again, she was his willing slave. She’d not felt the least bit of guilt about their lovemaking even though Lark hadn’t broken the engagement at that time.

Now he had and discarded her for another woman. She didn’t know if her pride was hurt because of Marlee or the fact that if Lark didn’t marry her, she’d appear unworthy in the eyes of her family and friends. Everyone would wonder what had actually happened with Silva. Already she’d seen people whispering behind their hands about her. The servants even whispered about her when they thought she wasn’t in hearing distance. Lark had to marry her and save her reputation, she had to become mistress of Arden’s Grove. Nothing and no one would prevent that from happening, not even her twisted love for Alastair.

Alastair reclined on the bed and observed her with a lustful and hungry look. He never tired of this woman, he doubted he ever would. To Alastair’s eyes, Bettina was the most beautiful and perfectly formed woman in the world, and Lark Arden didn’t deserve her. Arden would never understand her as he did. The very fact that he’d broken the engagement was proof. Though Bettina hadn’t confessed the reason for the broken betrothal, Alastair guessed that it had something to do with the pirate who’d kidnapped her. Apparently Lark couldn’t accept that Bettina wasn’t pure—that she might not have been virginal in any case. Alastair would stake his life that the virtuous Lark Arden hadn’t bedded Bettina before her kidnapping. Maybe if he had, the bastard wouldn’t be so swift to break the engagement. Bettina was a lot of woman for a man to handle. And Alastair knew just how to handle her. They shared the same heritage and blood, a perfect match. Somehow he was going to marry her, even if the little vixen protested the whole way down the aisle.