The Lady Who Came in from the Cold (20 page)

“I was raped.” The words burst from her.

In the silence that followed, her heart thundered in her ears, wings of panic beating in her breast. She saw the flames explode in Marcus’ eyes, and every fiber of her braced for the worst.

“Penny. My God.” He cupped her jaw. His hands shook, yet he touched her with such care and tenderness that her throat thickened. “When?”

“Around the time I met Octavian.”

She saw raw pain slice across her husband’s features. His eyes closed briefly. When his lashes lifted, she saw the fire had been banked in those vibrant depths. His jaw quivered, betraying the sheer strength he was employing to keep his emotions in check. And he was doing it for her.

So she gave him more. “I was out late selling flowers. A man said he wanted to buy some but had forgotten his coin purse at his lodgings. He said if I followed him he’d take the rest of the lot in my basket. I knew better, but I was tired, and that day I hadn’t sold or stolen enough to buy the night’s supper. So I went with him.”

Marcus said nothing, listening, his silence more reassuring than any words.

Strangely enough, talking about this didn’t feel as bad as she’d feared it would. As she gave voice to the details, they seemed… muted somehow. Like something she was watching happen in the distance. Or through a pane of frosted glass.

“He forced me into an alleyway. Left me there afterward.” Her throat convulsed. “That’s how Octavian found me.”

Marcus’ chest surged, his hands holding firmly onto hers. “God, Penny.” His words were rough with emotion, and to her shock, she saw that his eyes were wet. “You must have been frightened out of your wits.”

“I was, at first. But Octavian said something to me that took away the fear. He bundled me in his cloak and said,
If it’s justice you want, come with me. I vow not to hurt you and to give you the weapons to avenge your honor.
”

“You were a girl,” her husband said, his voice turning low and dangerous, “and a hurt and vulnerable one at that. What the hell was he thinking?”

“He’d seen me in action in Covent Garden. I’d caught his eye when he was there tracking down a Frenchman named Vincent Barone, an enemy agent notorious for his cruelty and ruthlessness, his love of inflicting pain.” Her heart thumping, she forced herself to go on. “As Fate would have it, Octavian’s enemy and mine turned out to be the same. Thus, I dedicated myself to the training he offered: the art of disguise, combat, coding—I learned everything that I could.”

In truth, she’d soaked it up like a thirsty sponge. The need for revenge had displaced helplessness, given her a sense of power. Recalling how Octavian’s approval of her progress had meant the world to her, she felt that old twinge of bitterness. But it was just a twinge, tempered now by an acceptance of who she’d been: a young girl in need of a parent, some older, wiser figure. It happened that the man she’d chosen for that role valued ambition more than anything else, including those who’d worked for him.

Still, in some ways, she owed Octavian her life.

“Three years later, in a brothel in Dieppe, I had the opportunity to mete out my justice,” she went on. “Barone didn’t recognize me in my disguise, drank the wine I served him. And when he lay there, dying, I told him exactly who I was and why his next breath would be his last. I walked out of there knowing I wasn’t powerless anymore.”

Even as the words spilled from her like water from a dam, anxiety frothed inside her. God, she sounded so… ruthless. Aggressive and cold-blooded, like no lady would ever sound. Was Marcus shocked? Had she succeeded in disgusting him at last?

“The bastard deserved to die.” Marcus’ tone was savage. “My only regret about his death is that I cannot kill him all over again. I’d like to tear the bugger from limb to limb, rip his bloody heart out.”

Her heart thudding, she saw the primal intent in Marcus’ eyes, his fierce expression. It was the look of a man who meant what he’d said: he would kill for her. He would avenge the wrong that had been done to his woman. Such brutal justice might offend the sensibilities of a well-bred lady, but to Penny it was a revelation.

Finally she
felt
the truth of what he’d told her time and again. He loved her. Loved
her.
No matter what and with a ferocity that satisfied her deepest longings.

He loved her the way she loved him.

Certainty flooded her, along with a relief so great that she felt her soul let out a sigh. It made it easy to let go of the rest. To cleanse herself of the past once and for all.

“The other two men I was with were part of missions. Chenet and Martin—they were nothing but means to an end. Octavian had taught me to use every weapon available to me, including my physical charms. At the time, I thought it was a form of power. I wasn’t going to be anyone’s victim again; I was going to use
them
. I thought that, in using my body,
I
was in control. Flora tried to dissuade me from that dark path, told me I was trading one devil for another. She said I deserved far better.”

“I’m adding a full bloody wing to Flora’s Abbey.”

Marcus’ grim and unexpected humor startled a gurgled laugh from her throat. She hadn’t ever imagined that she could feel lightness while talking about her past; it was yet another gift he’d given her.

Now it was her turn to take his face in her hands. His bristly jaw was quivering with what he was feeling for her, but his eyes burned with love.

“Then I met you that Christmas,” she said softly, “and you made me recognize the truth of Flora’s words. That I did deserve better. That I would do anything to have your love, the love of a good man.”

“By God, you have it. I love you, Penny. More than anything in the world.”

His kiss simmered with intensity. An answering fire leapt within her, billowed by a pure freedom that she’d never known before. Love and lust combusted, blasting through her. But when she parted her lips to deepen their connection, he drew back.

“Are you certain you want this now, love?” His voice was strained, his gaze searching. “You’ve gone through a lot tonight. I could just hold you—”

“Make love to me, Marcus.” Her hands speared through his hair. “I need this. I need
you
.”

His eyes blazed into hers. “Whatever you need, you’ll have it.”

Then he was kissing her, truly kissing her, giving her the passion she craved, the bright flame of his love melting away her shadows. He shoved away the sheets, sat up against the pillows and rolled her on top of him. He continued kissing her until she was panting, squirming, delirious with desire. The thick iron bar of his cock throbbed against her thigh, the temptation almost too much to bear.

“I want you,” she whispered.

His nostrils flared, his pupils darkening. “Take me then. Whatever you want, Penny, it’s yours.”

Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. She knew why he was giving her the power, and she loved him all the more for it… but, blooming hell, how was she to
choose
what she wanted? It was like being given carte blanche at a sweets shop. She wanted her delicious husband in every way she could have him.

She began by kissing his jaw, the strong column of his neck. His warm masculine scent curled in her nostrils as she moved down to his upper torso, running her fingers over the lean slabs of muscle, loving the virile rasp of his chest hair. Bending down, she kissed his coppery nipples, teasing the flat discs with her tongue, smiling when she heard the hitch in his breath.

She trailed kisses over his ribs, the ridges of his abdomen flexing beneath her lips. Nudging his muscular thighs apart, she made room for herself there, the way a cat does in a sunny spot. As she eyed her lord’s masculine bounty, she did feel rather like a feline presented with a dish of the richest, tastiest cream.

“Keep looking at me like that, love,” he said, humor threading through his deep voice, “and it’ll be over before you know it.”

She curled her fingers around his huge shaft, so erect and hard that she had to pry it gently away from his stomach. “From firsthand experience, I can vouch for your staying power, Lord Blackwood.”

“If those hands of yours continue what they’re doing, Lady Blackwood,”—his eyes grew hooded as she ran her fist from thick root to fat, glistening tip—“you may be in for a surprise.”

“You don’t like my hands?” She made a moue.

“Do I look as though I don’t like your hands?” he said dryly.

A droplet of his essence formed on his cockhead, punctuating his point. The pearly bead invited her to lean forward and lick it off. So she did. The clean, salty taste of him tingled on her tongue.

“
Christ
, woman.”

His voice sounded strangled, likely because she was in the process of trying to swallow his entire shaft. She loved taking him this way, his proud heat filling her, his hips bucking when he hit the back of her throat. She bobbed her head on his cock, her hands cupping and rubbing his heavy stones the way she knew he liked, and his hands clenched in her hair.

Not guiding or controlling her. Just holding on as she took what she wanted.

It made her want more.

She slid her mouth upward, releasing him with a moist
pop.
Propped up against the pillows, he watched her, loving lust in his blue eyes. Holding his gaze, she clambered astride him, reaching down to align their bodies. She sank down on his meaty pole, impaling herself in a swift stroke, crying out with the pleasure of it.

“Bloody hell, I love being inside you.” His voice was a sensual rasp. “Your pussy is so wet and hot and greedy for my cock, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She gasped as his rod jerked inside her.

“Then take what you want. Fuck me, Penny.”

She needed no further urging. Balancing a hand on his shoulder, she rocked her hips, sliding up and then slamming all the way down. He growled, and she did it again, pleasure welling at her very center. It spread outward, sweetness singing through her limbs as she rode her husband’s cock, and he let her dictate the pace. Gave her anything she wanted. Made her feel loved and powerful, free to be who she was.

With exhilarating abandon, she gyrated on his shaft and cupped her breasts.

“Kiss me, Marcus,” she invited.

His eyes flared, and he wasted no time in taking what she offered. The hot suck of his mouth shot straight to her pussy, which clenched around his wide girth, making them both groan. He tongued her nipples as she rode him faster and faster, needful of the finish just in the distance. She was so close, her muscles tautening, her insides trembling for want of relief, but she couldn’t quite get there.

His thumb slid to where they were joined, right where she needed it.

“Blooming hell,” she gasped.

Her head flung back as she shot over the precipice, propelled into toe-curling, mind-melting bliss.

The next instant, she was on her back. Marcus was over her. His face dark with passion, he drove into her. The hard, pounding strokes fueled her rippling climax. The pleasure went on and on, and she didn’t know if she came again or if her orgasm simply didn’t stop. She hung on, riding the waves of it, and then his big body shuddered and he shouted out her name. His heat flooded her, warming her very core.

He collapsed onto the bed, rolled her atop him, keeping their bodies joined. He stroked her hair as she cuddled against him, her cheek pressed to his chest. Lulled by his strong and steady heart, his whispers of love, she drifted into a contented sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Four

1827

Marcus entered his wife’s bedchamber and smiled at the gorgeous picture she made. Sitting at her vanity, she was dressed in a vibrant fuchsia gown that emphasized her tempting figure. Her maid Jenny stood by her side, an open jewelry chest before them.

The maid tied a pearl choker around Penny’s neck, muttering, “No, that’s not quite right either, is it, milady?”

Apparently, he’d come just in time. He came forward.

“Marcus… you look splendid,” Penny said, her eyes meeting his in the mirror.

He loved the breathy quality to her voice when she said that. When she looked at him this way as if, to her, he were the only man on earth, and she saw no one else. It made him feel powerful and bloody lucky… and he had to stop thinking about how lucky he was or he would ruin the smoothly pressed front of his trousers with a raging cockstand.

Pausing at Penny’s side, he bent and kissed her cheek, breathing in the subtle allure of jasmine and neroli.

“I can take it from here,” he told the maid.

Jenny, being a longtime retainer, had a knowing twinkle in her eyes. Placing the pearls back into the jewelry chest, she closed its lid and, with a quick curtsy, scurried off.

Marcus removed the flat velvet box from his pocket and handed it to Penny.

“Our tenth anniversary isn’t until next week,” she said, smiling at him.

“I know. But since our Summer Soiree is about to begin and, knowing you, the house will be Bedlam and run over with eager guests,”—he winked to let her know he was teasing her—“I thought you might like to debut this tonight.”

“You’re the best of husbands,” she said, her voice tremulous.

He loved that she thought that—and she hadn’t yet seen her present.

“Open it, darling,” he said.

She did, and the gasp that left her lips was worth every penny he’d spent on the extravagant piece of jewelry.

“Marcus… it’s extraordinary,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anything this beautiful.”

“I have,” he murmured. “Let me help you put it on.”

He lifted the necklace and set it against his marchioness’ satiny skin. He smiled in satisfaction at the reflection. The collar of large, deep red rubies connected by strands of flawless diamonds suited his Penny perfectly.

His eyes met hers in the mirror.

“For my wife,” he said huskily, “whose price is above rubies.”

Penny’s eyes shimmered. “It’s too much. But I love it. I love
you
.”

“As I love you, my darling.”

She came to her feet and threw her arms around his neck with a ferocity that might have knocked over a lesser man. He merely wrapped his arms around her waist.