The Wild Marquis (20 page)

“Did you understand what he meant?”

“I had no idea at the time. My studies, believe me, especially with the Reverend Josiah Ditchfield, included plenty of Bible reading. I thought I’d found every spicy story the Good Book contains. Somehow I missed that one. I probably would have found it amusing.”

He drew his lips into a ghastly semblance of a grin. Instinctively he wanted to climb out of the emotional trough he’d dug and return to his habitual state of cavalier insolence.

“Cain, please.” Her soft protest told him she wasn’t fooled. “What did you do next?”

“I left, with the hundred pounds he’d given me. It seemed a fortune.” He shook his head in wonder at his own naïveté. “I packed a few things, walked five miles to the nearest mail stop, and took the coach to London. I was happy to escape.”

“When did you realize?”

“About Amnon? On the coach. One of the passengers had a Bible and I borrowed it.” All trace of humor, feigned or otherwise, vanished. He couldn’t begin to express his revulsion. “I thought I was going to be sick when I found it.

“The worst of it was I knew I would likely never see Esther as long as my father lived. How could I
even write to her without appearing to confirm his accusation?”

“And after his death?”

“I returned to Markley Chase for the funeral. I thought it was all over. That I could go back and live at home. I even looked forward to seeing my mother again.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “She wouldn’t even let me
see
Esther. Repeated my father’s accusation and forbade me to go near my own sister. I could have made her leave the house. My father had no power to disinherit me. But the one thing he could withhold from me was my sister. If my mother left, so would she. And I couldn’t punish Esther by making her an exile from her home. I knew what that was like. For three years my mother and I maintained an uneasy truce. I left her in possession of my house and my sister. She refrained from publishing my sins to the world.”

“Until Esther ran away.”

“Until then,” he agreed. “I will fight for her in the courts, but I take the risk that my mother will openly accuse me of incestuous rape of my eight-year-old sister.”

Juliana blanched at the words in all their ugliness. “Surely no one would believe anything so vile?”

“God knows I’ve done enough damage to my own reputation.”

Little did Cain expect so bitterly to regret his years of merry dissipation. “You don’t know the worst,” he said.

“The worst!” Juliana exclaimed.

“I learned why Esther was crying that day. It was because she had found my father beating my mother. And I left them. I left my mother and sister behind while I went off and enjoyed myself. I escaped and left them in his hands.”

T
he black chariot with its red appointments had become home for the past three days. How many hours had she and Cain spent in this small velvet cave, a space too small to be comfortably shared for any length of time save by lovers?

By some strange contradiction, she’d learned, two people so confined could feel either powerfully close or leagues apart.

Now as she sat across from him, knees almost touching, she could sense a deep shame that he had, in his own estimation, abandoned his mother and sister.

“You didn’t fail them,” she said.

He slouched on the bench seat, thumbs tucked into the pocket of his waistcoat, his chin resting on the linen ties of his neck cloth. Unfocused blue eyes stared at nothing. The sensual mouth appeared pinched and unhappy.

“I should have known,” he said. “He must have been beating her for years.”

“You can’t be certain of that. And if it’s true I’m sure
he was careful to keep you from the knowledge.”

“I never spent much time with her. For most of my life she was increasing and kept to her rooms and her endless prayers. I was cared for by servants.”

“Yet there are only two of you,” Juliana whispered, appalled by the thought of what violence might have wrought on a pregnant woman.

“Only Esther and I lived. She must have lost half a dozen children, at least, some at birth, some earlier. I wonder if he punished her for it. I should have known and I should have done something.”

“You were a child, Cain, still only a boy when you left. How could you have stopped him?”

“I grew older. At least I could have tried to protect her. Esther says he went on beating her until he died. Had he lived longer he might have started on Esther too. And I had no idea. I resented my father’s treatment. But it was nothing to how he treated my mother. I enjoyed a life of happy dissipation while she was living in hell.” He raised his head and sat up straight to look at Juliana full-on. “I am as bad as my father.”

“Stop! If there is one thing I know about you it’s that you would never hurt a woman. You have too much esteem for them.” The words emerged unconsidered but she knew them for the truth.

“I have spent most of my life in the company of men,” she continued slowly, “and none of them has shown me as much respect and consideration as you have. You never treat me as an ignorant fool, just because of my sex.”

“I’d be an ignorant fool myself, to do so. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my misspent life, it’s that
women are just as clever as men, and a lot nicer.”

“I don’t know very many women,” Juliana said. “If by ‘nice’ you mean honest and honorable, then many men of my acquaintance qualify for the word.”

“Lucky you. I can’t say I share in your good fortune.”

“But, despite their virtues, men, in my experience, expect women to bend to their will. And there isn’t much we can do about it.”

“The law sanctions it, encourages it even,” Cain said. “My mother had no redress against my father. She and Esther were completely in his power.”

She leaned forward. “Look at me,” she said, willing him to meet her eye-to-eye. “You are nothing like your father. Any woman who, thanks to the law, found herself under your authority, would be safe and well cared for. I know what you have done for so many of them.”

“What do you know?”

“Your housekeeper, Mrs. Duchamp, told me the other morning while I was getting dressed.”

This drew a fleeting grimace. “Mel has a big mouth.”

“You are giving a considerable portion of your fortune to make sure your former servants and others like them have a sanctuary.”

“I don’t wish to discuss it and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t either.”

“Why would you keep such acts of generosity to yourself? Besides, I’ve seen one of your…objects of charity myself. I came to your house one day to deliver a book.”

“Did you, by God? Was I out?”

“No. When I saw this young
person
leaving I decided not to call after all.”

A shadow of amusement crossed his features. “Clearly you leaped to the same conclusion all my neighbors have done for three years. They believe me a man of Herculean vigor.”

“It’s sad they are so wrong about you,” she murmured.

“That, my dear, is an ambiguous statement,” he drawled. “I hope you don’t mean it the way it sounds. I would be very sorry to have disappointed you.”

A wave of heat went through her and she blushed. She realized how much she enjoyed Cain’s wicked innuendos. “I see you’ve returned to your usual outrageous self,” she said, maintaining a straight face.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help myself. Years of habit, making fun of everything.”

“Don’t apologize. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying yourself. I like that in you. I like your jokes, and your…irreverence.”

“Truly?”

“You sound surprised. Don’t you understand? It makes you…” She waved a hand, searching for the right words. “I have fun when I’m with you.”

“You mean I’m a comic figure, a clown?”

“Never that.” She shook her head. “It makes you wonderful company. I’ve never enjoyed myself as much as when I’m with you. I scarcely recall my grandfather or Joseph laughing.”

“No jokes? Perhaps they had more important things to think about.”

“I’m beginning to think nothing is so important it can’t be improved by a little levity.”

“That’s a challenge I can’t resist.” He relaxed back into his seat, surveying her through half-hooded eyelids. “Let me see. There’s one thing you always treat with the utmost gravity. Suppose I were to buy one of those books printed by Caxton. Since I can’t read it, I could take it apart leaf by leaf and use it to wallpaper my library.”

Her grandfather would have been shocked. To him a great book was a sacred object. As for Joseph, he just wouldn’t have understood the jest.

A bubble of laughter formed inside her. “Why stop at one?” she asked. “Buy two copies and paste the pages on the wall in order. Then you could use them for decoration
and
read the book.”

“What would I do with the bindings?”

“Fifteenth-century leather makes excellent kindling.”

“I suppose you know this from personal experience.”

“It burns beautifully. Though when it comes to starting fires there’s nothing like the classics.”

“Any particular works?” he asked.

“I’ve always found an Aldine edition of Horace or Virgil works best.”

“I would have thought Catullus or Ovid would generate more heat.”

Although she’d actually read very little classical literature, her knowledge of Latin going little beyond the ability to decipher a title page, Juliana grasped Cain’s allusion to the most amorous of Roman poets.
“I’ve never tried them,” she said. “But I’d like to.”

“Now you’ve shocked
me
,” Cain rejoined. “Remind me not to let you into my library on a cold day.”

“Not even if I asked nicely?”

“Particularly not if you asked
nicely.
” The words, delivered in Cain’s most gravelly tones, caressed like the velvet of the carriage seats.

“Just like a man. Always ready to command a woman but never listens to her carefully framed suggestions.”

“I’m different, remember? I wouldn’t dream of ordering you about. But don’t bother with careful phrasing. Just come straight out and tell me what you want.”

He continued to lounge against the red backrest, but his eyes were wide open and the intent blue gaze had its customary effect. Every nerve in her body buzzed with sensual anticipation. There was no question what he offered.

She had only to ask.

Really, she told herself piously, Cain had just gone through a disturbing confession. It would be a kindness on her part to cheer him up and turn his thoughts to happier activities. She choked back a sputter of laughter at her marvelously selfless justification.

A vision of their first encounter at the White Hart came to mind. While making love with Cain had been pleasurable every time, there had been something particularly satisfying about that quick, artless coupling.

The one she had initiated.

She ran her gaze up the lean, well-sculpted length
of his body and he watched her examine him. When her inspection reached his face she met a look of smoldering heat.

“Whatever you want,” he said softly, “if it’s in my power I shall be happy to provide it.”

“You’ll do as I wish?”

“Exactly.”

“Even if it means I am in charge?”

“I should enjoy that. Tell me what to do.”

“I want you to do nothing. Don’t even move. Leave it all to me.”

Cain held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m all yours.”

He was all hers, this magnificent male specimen. What, she wondered, was she going to do with him?

T
his sudden boldness on Juliana’s part fascinated Cain. Not that she wasn’t a brave woman, but her audacity hadn’t shown itself in the bedroom. With her obviously limited experience he was curious about her ability to improvise. He relaxed against the soft yet firm seat cushions in a state of happy anticipation. While by no means the first seduction advanced in this carriage, it was the most eagerly awaited.

Their knees brushed in the narrow space between the seats, communicating her tension. Her eyes like smoky emeralds sent him an unmistakable invitation, one he yearned to accept. To reach across the divide and take her. His fingers flexed in an involuntary move.

She frowned. “Keep those hands still.” And held up her own.

“Yes, madam.”

Like his, her hands were bare. Both had discarded their gloves earlier. Though it was late in the day, the weather was warm for April and the atmosphere in the carriage comfortable, rising to torrid. He trusted her plans for those delicate little fingers involved
touching. His skin tingled at the notion. Soon, he sincerely hoped, she would be removing some of her clothing, and his.

She bent to unfasten her sensible half boots. Her head nudging his knee threatened the stability of her hairstyle, but to his disappointment the pins held. She kicked off the shoes and rose to her feet. Just then a rough spot in the road shook the carriage, despite its excellent springs. To restore her balance she placed her hands on his shoulders. The posture seemed to give her an idea. She climbed onto his seat, straddling his knees with her own.

His cock, already stirring, reacted firmly when she lowered herself onto his lap, clasping his hips between her knees. It was immediately aware of its preferred destination only inches away, notwithstanding the barrier of several layers of cloth.

With a clumsiness he found endearing, she settled herself into a secure position, then enclosed his face in her hands and kissed him with barely open mouth, probing the flesh inside his lips with her delicately questing tongue.

There was something about her that made even a simple kiss infinitely exciting. An emotional side to their connection set it apart from the countless couplings he’d enjoyed with dozens of women, even though he’d liked all those others and been very fond of a few of them. Juliana’s thoughts and desires were at least as important to him as her actions.

Which wasn’t to say he wasn’t exceedingly interested in what she was
doing
, right now.

“Am I allowed to kiss you back?” he murmured against her lips.

Her brow creased a little as she drew back and gave his question solemn consideration, looking so delectable he wanted to hug her to him and gobble her up. Keeping his hands to himself wasn’t the plain sailing he’d expected.

“Yes,” she said, and kissed him again.

What was the question?

In a moment he remembered and returned the kiss, gently forcing her to widen to him and engaging his own tongue, exploring the hot cavern of her mouth, tasting her distinct flavor and sharing the sweet air of her breath. She raised herself so her face was slightly above his, wresting back the control he’d threatened to take. Pushing his head against the backrest with the force of her kiss, she freed her hands to work at the knot of his neck cloth. Without thinking he tried to help and she rested back on his knees again.

“Naughty,” she said. And pressed each of his hands against the seat with her palms.

“I crave my lady’s pardon. May we continue as we were?”

“First this needs to come off.” With a look of intense concentration and the tip of her tongue provocatively protruding, she unwound the crisp linen cravat and cast it aside. Carefully she undid the buttons of his shirt to reveal his neck, which she scrutinized with hands, nose, and mouth, caressing, sniffing, nuzzling. She seemed fascinated by his Adam’s apple; he had no idea why. He didn’t believe it was overly
prominent, but perhaps her husband’s had been particularly small. He wondered idly if the size of the laryngeal bump was related to sexual prowess, until she stopped examining it with her fingers, placed her mouth on the prominence, and sucked. At which point he ceased to ponder obscure physical hypotheses and thought about all the other parts of his anatomy he’d like to feel her lips on.

“I need your help,” she said after a few minutes’ groping behind her own neck. “I can’t undo my gown.”

At last he was going to get his hands on her. Not that he wasn’t enjoying himself. But some slight assistance on his part would speed them toward the really interesting bits. He unbuttoned the gown with practiced speed and, for good measure, unlaced her stays. She rose, small enough to stand in the carriage without bending, and shrugged the gown to the floor.

Cain leaned back in his seat and enjoyed the show. Juliana placed her feet firmly and slightly apart and adjusted her balance to the rocking of the carriage. Next to go was the corset, tossed onto the seat behind her. At last, to his great pleasure, she located and removed enough hairpins to send her glorious mane down over her shoulders. She bent her head and gave it a little shake, then looked up, her tumbling locks a fiery aura in the light of the swaying carriage lantern.

She looked like an angel, but not, thank God, in a saintly way.

Her simple linen shift, all too decent at the neckline, stopped well above the knee, to reveal a narrow expanse of creamy skin between its hem and the tops of her gartered stockings. Cain felt his mouth go dry at those tantalizing inches of flesh, a coy yet mesmerizing hint of the delights that lay higher, hidden by the no-nonsense undergarment. He actually considered sitting on his hands to stop them reaching out to touch, to feel…to climb those slender limbs.

Patience
, he adjured himself.

She was contemplating her next move, surveying him lazily from head to Hessian boot. His breeches were much too tight and seemed more so when she fixed her eyes on the evident bulge.

Undo them, please
, he urged silently.

Instead, in one smooth motion, she whipped the shift over her head and dropped it. Naked from the knees up, she was Venus, perfection itself, the white and gold epitome of feminine beauty.

Cain was quite prepared to get down on his knees and worship, should his goddess demand it.

Venus had other ideas.

It was, Juliana thought, unbearably arousing to stand before him, almost naked and wholly exposed to Cain’s burning, desirous eyes. She climbed back on top of him and started kissing him again. Her bare breasts rubbing against his wool clothes were swollen and aching. Her nipples tingled with pleasurable pain when they caught the cold resistance of brass buttons. And straddling him, her now naked sex touched the bulge of his still confined erection. With
a little moan she thrust her hips forward and ground against him.

“For God’s sake,” he groaned. “Undo my trousers. Please.”

Immediately she disengaged herself. “Silence!” she ordered. “You may not speak, move, or touch.”

Juliana returned to her own seat and received a practical demonstration of the sensuous effect of velvet upholstery. As she wriggled, enjoying the soft texture against buttocks and thighs, she caught him staring at her, his mouth slightly agape. After a moment’s hesitation she leaned back and placed her stockinged feet against the opposite seat, on either side of him. His expression at the sight offered between her slightly bent knees was worth the courage she’d drawn on to display it.

Hot, naked need. But being Cain there was something else too. An undercurrent of amusement mixed with the desire in his azure eyes. He appreciated the drama as much as she enjoyed performing it. Her heart gave a little flip, separate from the physical passion that enveloped her.

“You’re overdressed,” she said. His eyes gleamed his agreement. “Take off your coat.”

The dark blue garment joined her gown on the floor with remarkable speed.

“And your waistcoat.”

He moved more slowly this time, one by one slipping the shiny brass buttons from their slits, teasing her with the gradual revelation of white linen beneath. As he shrugged the garment off his shoulders,
the plackets of his shirt parted, offering a glimpse of muscles and hair beneath.

Hmmm. There was no reason to keep
herself
waiting.

“You may as well remove your shirt while you’re about it.” She issued the command with a smile, and his answering grin was every bit as wicked as hers felt.

Oh yes oh yes oh yes
. Bare to the waist, he sprawled back. She noted the nice contrast of skin against the scarlet background. Whether to keep them from wandering, or because he knew he appeared to advantage thus, he hooked his hands behind his head. The resulting enhancement of chest muscles made
her
hands itch to wander.

Her eyes traveled lower, to the waistband of his breeches. And stopped.

She could take them off and skip to the conclusion. She wanted it, badly. Every inch of her skin yearned for the touch of his. Between her legs she was hot, wet, and aching for fulfillment.

Yet she hesitated, not because she wasn’t ready, but because she wasn’t ready for it to end. It might be a game, it
was
only a game. Yet she found the illusion of total power and control immensely enjoyable. She wished to prolong it.

An image from
that book
, the French version of Aretino she’d looked at with Cain, shot into her head.
Kiss the winged God Priapus
. She examined the concept and found it somewhat bizarre, quite embarrassing, and very exciting.

Did she dare?

Why not? Somehow she didn’t think he would have any objection.

Her arms too short to reach the buttons from where she sat, she had to kneel on the floor. An upward glance showed his eyes as blue and wide as a sunlit sky staring down at her. She gave him a pouty little smile, then turned all her attention to the task at hand.

She stroked his member through the soft cloth. It was hard and twitched at her touch. Cain’s throat emitted a strangled sound, though she couldn’t accuse him of uttering an actual coherent word. Clearly he expressed his dissatisfaction at her progress, so she teased him, releasing each button with agonizing deliberation, enjoying his obvious frustration. As the ninth and last gave way, the “God Priapus” burst forth, knocking away the fall of the breeches and making a linen tent of his white drawers.

In about a minute she’d pulled off Cain’s boots, breeches, and undergarments, rendering him even more naked than she. From her vantage point on the floor she admired the completed picture: the incised contours of shoulders and chest, the gradual taper to slim, firm waist and hips, the intriguing ridges where hard stomach gave way to muscular thighs.

And
it
. Bolt upright against his torso.

She grasped it gingerly, pulled it forward a few inches, and released it. It jerked right back.

It seemed very large. It couldn’t possibly fit, not all the way. Perhaps, she imagined wildly, Frenchwomen had bigger mouths. Or Italians. Aretino was Italian, wasn’t he?

One small Englishwoman was going to have to manage with what she had. Resting her elbows on Cain’s knees, she considered the problem. Then wrapped a hand around the shaft. A quick glance at his face showed no objection so she tightened her grip and moved her fist up and down, working smooth skin over rock-hard muscle. Downward movement uncovered a ridged bulbous head and, after several repetitions, a bead of liquid formed there. Greatly daring, she licked it off with a single stroke of her tongue. It tasted salty, not disagreeable.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned over and closed her mouth over the head. Combining the use of hands, mouth, and tongue, she tried to establish a rhythm akin to that of intercourse. After a while she ventured to raise her eyes and meet Cain’s, which were fixed on her head and hands. The look of bliss on his face boosted her courage. She felt a surge of exhilaration at her power to give him pleasure, and an answering arousal in her own sexual parts. There was something exciting about being the one to set the pace and control the progress of the encounter. Yet she wasn’t sure whether she could bring him to climax.

As though aware of her unspoken doubt, Cain disobeyed orders. “Suck.” She could feel the growled word reverberate through his body.

With that extra stimulation she heard his breathing increase to a steady pant. His shaft began to thrust and she had to tighten her grip to maintain her position and rhythm. It was like a battle, but one in which they were both equally antagonists and allies. As she sensed him primed for completion, he tried to pull
away but she refused to release her grip. She’d started this and, by God, she’d see it to its conclusion.

She was still there when he released with a hoarse, ecstatic shout and a salty torrent.

The shudders that racked his body subsided. Cain was wrung out, worn out, wholly depleted. But his mind, blissfully humming, was filled with the woman who had just given him the greatest pleasure of his life. For such a tiny little thing she certainly wielded a punch, figuratively speaking. Without a moment’s further consideration of her “rules,” he pulled her up onto his lap and wrapped her slender body with his own. Using his neck cloth he tenderly wiped her cunning mouth, then kissed those rosy lips. Her avid response and the heat of her skin against him reminded him of unfinished business. While he was more sated than he could ever recall feeling, she wasn’t even halfway there.

“Darling,” he whispered, tonguing the warm porcelain whorls of her ear. “I’m afraid it’ll be some time before I can rise again. You’ve quite worn me out. But I should be more than delighted to reciprocate your generosity.”

He pictured her supine on the cushions, open to the ministrations of his tongue. The very idea had things stirring down below.

“I can wait,” she said, twisting in his arms to face him. “Today I’m in charge. I’m not ready to give that up.”

He understood at once. The events of the past days had been a journey into her past dominated by men who hadn’t always treated her well. Who had, at the very best, dominated her. George and Frederick Fitter
bourne. Joseph Merton. Each of these men had put his own needs and ambitions before hers and she’d had no right to gainsay them, to exert her own wishes.