Silk Is For Seduction - Loretta Chase [132]
“Does this mean I’ve won?” he said. Tears were all very well, but he needed to be absolutely sure.
“Yes,” she said, her voice muffled against his waistcoat. “Although some might argue that you’ve lost.”
“Will you marry me?”
A long pause.
His grip of her tightened. “Marcelline.”
“Yes. I’m simply not noble enough to say no.”
“Don’t be noble, I beg you,” he said. “I think nobleness of spirit . . . and morals . . . and ethics . . . and scruples . . . those sorts of things are all very well in their place. To a point, you know. But beyond a certain point, I think they make me bilious.”
She looked up at him. Tears shimmered in her eyes but there was laughter as well, and it curved the corners of her beautiful mouth.
“It doesn’t agree with me,” he said. “I tried to be good. I tried not to be my father. I tried to live up to Lord Warford’s standards. Then one day I realized it was pointless, and I’d had enough. That’s when I set out with Longmore on a Grand Tour. But when he decided he’d had enough of the Continent, and wanted to come home, I didn’t think I could stand coming back. Then you came into my life and everything changed. Because you were right. For me. Are. Right. For me.” He slid his hand down her back. He heard her breath hitch.
That was all it wanted. That little sound. He had waited for so long. He’d suffered the tortures of the damned.
He tipped up her chin and untied her bonnet. He tossed it aside.
She winced. “That was my best bonnet. It took me forever to decide which one to wear.”
“You? But you always know what to wear.”
“I never had to confess to anybody before,” she said. “That’s my confession bonnet. I even trimmed it special—and you toss it aside like a soiled handkerchief.”
“You confessed,” he said. “It was beautifully done. Like everything you do.” He quickly untied the black lace thing around her neck.
She caught his hand before he could throw that down. “Clevedon, what do you think you’re doing?”
They’d waited long enough. They’d made each other miserable for long enough. It was time for happiness.
“You know very well what I’m doing,” he said.
“You didn’t even lock the door,” she said.
“Right.”
He let go of her hand, picked up the nearest chair, and pushed it under the doorknob.
Then he led her to the sofa. He draped the lace thing over the back, and brought his hands to the fastenings of the layered cape.
“You can’t undress me,” she said.
He looked down at the layered cape and the great puffed sleeves and the belt, and he remembered what was underneath, layer upon layer. He remembered watching her undress herself. He remembered the way she’d set her leg on the bed, against his hip, and rolled down her stocking.
For a moment he couldn’t breathe. His heart was pumping too fast and his breathing was too quick and that was nothing to the excitement stirring down low.
“Right,” he said. “Another time.” He drew her down onto the sofa and gathered her in his arms. He kissed her until her body went all soft and yielding and her arms wrapped about his neck, and she kissed him back in the same fierce way.
He lifted his mouth an inch from hers. “I’ve been wretched,” he said.
“I’ve been wretched, too,” she said. “I’m no good at being good.”
“I don’t want you to be good,” he said. “I want you to be you. Marcelline. The woman I love.”
She caught hold of his head and brought his mouth to hers.
It was a long, searching kiss, and a lifetime seemed to pass in that kiss, and a lifetime opened up before them. He’d very nearly ruined his life and hers, but they’d found their way at last.
He eased his mouth from hers and said against her cheek, “One of these days—soon—we’ll have time for leisurely lovemaking. I’ll spend a delicious forever taking off your beautiful clothes. “But for now . . .” He found the bodice fastening under the cape and he unhooked enough of the bodice to get to her corset and chemise, exposing a few inches of her velvety skin. He kissed the hollow of her throat, and the smooth curve of her neck, and she sighed, and arced back,