He Said Yes Page 17

  For several long minutes the only sound was the rush of wind over water. Marshall looked at her face, washed by the fading sunlight. Her expression was still serious, her chin tilted in the stubborn angle he knew so well.

  "And. . .," he urged lifting a brow.

  "I've decided to accept your offer," Evelyn said looking him directly in the eye. "I will be your lover. But only for the summer. When you return to London, I will not be going with you. If those terms are agreeable, then I will share my bed with you."

  If she had slapped him, Marshall couldn't have been more surprised. He had come to the country with a tactical seduction in mind days, perhaps weeks, spent in carefully maneuvering the elusive Evelyn back into his arms. Her de­cision caught him completely off guard.

  Surprised or not, he wasn't going to waste a moment of her cooperation. He looked around the bluff hid them from the view of anyone corning from the main house, but it didn't guarantee them the privacy he wanted. Reaching for her hand he tugged her forward then started walking down the beach, toward the cottage.

  "Dare I ask what brought about this change in attitude?" he asked striding briskly toward the cottage and the bed she had mentioned.

  "The reasons are my own," Evelyn told him, knowing ex­actly where he was taking her. "So are the rules."

  Marshall stopped to stare at her. "Rules."

  Evelyn drew a deep breath before divulging the second half of her decision. "I will be your lover, my lord. But I will not be your mistress."

  Marshall gave her an inquiring look. "Are they not one and the same?"

  "No," she told him. "As your mistress I would be at your disposal, day or night. I have no inclination to be a puppet on the end of any man's string. As your lover, I will have some control over our relationship. I will share my bed willingly, not because I am employed as a companion to Lady Waltham, not because I am dependent upon you for food and shelter, not because I owe you a debt of gratitude. I will share my bed my body, myself, because it is what I wish to do." She took another quick breath, wishing with all her heart that the next words weren't necessary. "I will be your lover until the summer ends. When you are called back to London, to Parliament and the obligations of your title, I shall resume my own path, my own life."

  Marshall's eyes met and held hers. Evelyn had just given him exactly what he wanted. She would share her bed volun­tarily, welcome him into her body, and yet he felt as if the goal he had worked so patiently to obtain was a minor tri­umph. She was giving him the summer, a few months, noth­ing more. His pride, somewhat appeased at having her con­fess that she wished to be his lover, took another blow at being told he was wanted only temporarily. The irony of the situation didn't go unnoticed. For a man, taking a mistress was a provisional arrangement, a relationship he could end or extend as he saw fit. Evelyn had just taken that choice away from him. She would be his lover only for as long as she wanted. Her decision, one he could accept or reject, ef­fectively turned the tables on him and his well-orchestrated plans.

  Twelve

  "Does this mean that you agree to my terms?" Evelyn asked, holding on to his hand because to do anything else meant she'd go tumbling back down the hill.

  He glared at her over his shoulder. "It means I'm taking you to bed."

  Evelyn glared right back at him, but it did little good. He was hell bent on reaching the cottage as quickly as possible, his eyes focused on the dark green door, not on her. She sup­posed she could have been slightly more diplomatic in her recital, but she'd spoken plainly for fear that he'd find some­way around her resolve.

  Once they reached the flat stones that formed a path from the edge of the bluff to the front door of the cottage, Marshall turned and scooped her up into his arms. When she started to protest, he stopped her with another fierce glare. Once they were inside, he instructed her to latch the door.

  "I will have you for my lover, Miss Dennsworth," he said. "Are there any more rules you'd like to list before we spend the rest of the day in bed?"

  "Ah. . . not that I can think of," she replied realizing she'd just unleashed a very male animal from an invisible cage. She had the frightening thought that he actually meant what he'd said. But men didn't keep women in bed for hours, or did they?

  He set her on the edge of the bed with a firm order that she wasn't to move.

  Evelyn watched as he walked to the chest of drawers against the far wall. He poured water from a ceramic pitcher into a matching floral bowl. With basin in hand he returned to the bed.

  "You have sand on your feet." Having said that, he placed the basin on the floor.

  Evelyn sucked in a gasp of surprise as he flipped her dress and single petticoat up to her knees, exposing her bare feet and lower legs. A slow smile came to her face as he gin­gerly lifted one foot and soothingly bathed it with water, washing away the sand. The other foot was treated to the same tender care. When all traces of the beach had been re­moved he slowly traced the instep of her right foot. The sen­sual glide of his index finger sent a shiver of anticipation through her entire body.

  Her feet were still damp, but instead of drying them with a towel, Marshall used his hands, which were also damp. The friction of damp skin against damp skin was an unex­pected pleasure Evelyn couldn't help but enjoy. He rubbed her feet, massaging them as if they'd just carried her the en­tire length of England. She was helpless to do anything but watch and feel and wonder what else he had in store for her. Her decision, once confessed had freed them both to enjoy each other without the barriers of guilt or regret.

  Marshall pushed the basin under the bed before moving closer. As he moved his hands slid upward to cup her calves. "Do you know how many times I've thought of having you again?"

  Supporting her weight on the palms of her hands, Evelyn leaned back and smiled the smile of a woman who was en­joying herself. "Not as many times as I've thought of it," she responded as his hands gently squeezed and kneaded her legs. "Are you surprised?"

  "Nothing about you surprises me. Not anymore." He raised up, his hands moving over her knees to disappear under her tossed-up clothing. "But I've got a few surprises for you."

  With that his hands moved again, spreading her legs wide as he came to kneel between them. Agilely he found the drawstrings that held her petticoat and drawers in place.

  "Raise your hips."

  She did and the garments were swept away. He brushed the inside of her thighs with his fingertips, lightly tracing a path that stopped just short of where she was beginning to ache with a sweet need. The touch of his hands freed the last of her restraints as the pleasure built, running through her body and her blood through every limb. She had never con­sidered her feet or legs being anything more than necessary parts to get her from one place to another, but now Evelyn knew they were just as sensitive as her breasts or her lips.

  "Lie back." His voice came to her. It was low and husky, like the sound of the ocean. And like the wildness of the cur­rents that swept both the shores of England and France, it called forth her own wildness, her own need.

  Evelyn did as he asked slowly reclining until all she could see was the beamed ceiling and the play of sunlight and shadows on the upper walls. The windows were open. The wind blowing inland from the Channel filled the room with the scents and sounds of nature. Her eyes drifted closed as Marshall continued to caress her thighs, slowly tracing random patterns over her skin with his fingertips. Her body was humming with need the song growing stronger as his hands moved freely, exploring her at his leisure.

  The dance of fingertips over sensitive skin went on and on. First her thighs, then her hips, then the softness of her belly, coming closer and closer but never touching that spe­cial place where she was aching the most. Evelyn tried to relax, to concentrate on the sheer pleasure of being touched, but Marshall was slowly driving her insane. The breeze moved over the bed, cooling her flushed face. She reached out, wanting to touch him in return, but he wouldn't allow it.

  "Not yet," he whisp
ered, then stood up, ending the erotic play that had her body aching to feel so much more.

  She opened her eyes and watched him as he tugged his shirt from the waistband of his breeches, then shrugged it off his shoulders and dropped it to the floor. She stared at the crisp, curling hair on his chest, the flat, firm planes of his stomach. He watched her, watching him, as he flicked open the buttons on his trousers. Unable to avert her gaze, want­ing to see every inch of him painted in sunlight, caressed by wind, Evelyn looked her fill, admiring his naked body. The power of his masculinity was almost frightening. So was the desire building inside her.

  He held out his hand.

  Evelyn reached for it and found herself being raised to a sitting position. Then his hands were on her, his fingers nim­bly undoing buttons and more laces, pushing her chemise away from her shoulders, exposing the swell of her breasts. He wrapped one arm around her and lifted her off the bed. She could feel the heat of his body burn into her own skin, rekindling the fire that had been smoldering for weeks.

  "I want to watch you take off your clothes," he said. He moved away from her then, giving her room to finish what he'd so expertly begun.

  She hesitated for a moment, knowing he was testing her, testing her decision to come to him of her own free will, on her own terms.

  Slowly her hands came up to push her blouse the rest of the way off her shoulders, then down her arms. It dangled from her hand for a moment, then soundlessly joined his shirt on the floor. Her hands were shaking as they reached for the buttons on her skirt. He watched her the entire time, his gaze heated by desire and the knowledge that he could command and she would willingly obey. The skirt, once un­done, slid easily over her hips, then down the length of her legs. She stepped out of it, standing in front of him in noth­ing but a cream-colored chemise of sheer muslin.

  "All of them," he said. "I want to watch you walk naked into my arms."

  The request was a husky reminder of the first time they had made love. The sun had been shining that morning, its inherent heat warming her skin the same way his gaze was warming her now. Bunching the fabric in her hands, Evelyn slowly worked it up, hesitating only a brief second as the muslin rose to the junction of her thighs. Then, eager to be in his arms again, she pulled it up and over her head.

  Marshall watched her, smiling as the nest of tawny curls was enticingly revealed. Then she was standing before him, dressed in nothing but soft sunlight. Her hair had come un­done to hang about her shoulders. It glowed thick and golden, in the light.

  She came to him then, and he cradled her face in his hands.

  For a moment, Evelyn couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Then he kissed her, and all she wanted to do was feel. He was right. Naked was better.

  Caution briefly called to Marshall. As much as his body wanted satisfaction, he wanted to pleasure her first. Her an­nouncement that she would leave him at the end of the sum­mer was still pricking at his ego, but he wanted her too much, had waited for her too long, to let it interfere with his present course of action. The summer was still ahead of them. There would be plenty of time to change her mind.

  He held her close, letting her feel the ultimate intimacy of their nakedness. "I have lain awake at night remembering how it was between us." His mouth traced the line of her jaw, the soft indentation of her throat. "I want you now more than I did the first time."

  Her hands moved slowly up his arms, coming to rest on his shoulders. "Then take me," she whispered. "Love me."

  His hands slid around her, caressing her back, then lower, until he was cupping her bottom, lifting her high and tight against him.

  Evelyn moaned softly as he kissed her again, harder this time. Deeper. He tasted like cigar smoke and brandy, sun­light and salt air. She kissed him back, needing to give of herself as unselfishly as he had given to her. She loved him. There was no shame attached to her feelings. She had given herself freely once, and she would do it again, every day of the summer if he wanted her. Whatever the future held, she would have this, the memory of his touch, of his whispered words, the dream of belonging to him if only for a few months.

  They stood in the center of the room, totally naked, to­tally enthralled by the taste and feel of each other, oblivious to anything but the moment, the sensations, the power of a passion held in check for too long. Marshall's fingers dug into the soft flesh at the back of her thighs. She moaned as he took her mouth again, his tongue dipping and teasing, tormenting her until her legs grew weak and she leaned against him for support.

  Then he was sitting down on the bed, pulling her forward until she was standing between his legs, her hands on his shoulders. He splayed his hand wide over her lower back, urging her even closer. "You have a mole," he whispered, then kissed the tiny imperfection on her hip.

  His mouth branded her, his hands becoming rougher as they grasped her hips, holding her still for a long and entic­ing trail of kisses that moved slowly upward until he was licking the hard tips of her breasts. She arched backward, supported by his hands, as he feasted on her body, sucking her deeper into his mouth, tormenting her nipples with his tongue and teeth until she was literally shaking with a desire that demanded satisfaction.

  She drew in a deep breath when he moved her again, lift­ing her onto the bed then coming down beside her. He con­tinued kissing her, taking his time, making the fire she already thought out of control burn even brighter.

  "Please," she said unable to hold her feelings inside. Her hands moved over his warm flesh, the muscles in his arms and shoulders, then down the center of his chest. When his mouth returned to her breasts, she fisted her hands in the bed linens and arched upward offering herself, willing to give anything he wanted.

  Knowing she'd burn even brighter, soar even higher, Marshall took his time. With a wild controlled hunger he moved slowly down her body, kissing the flat of her stom­ach, nibbling at her hips, then lower still, until his breath warmed the very center of her.

  "Spread your legs for me, sweetheart," he said. "Give yourself to me."

  Still gripping the linens, Evelyn obeyed him again, think­ing he was finally going to join their bodies. When she felt his breath on the most sensitive part of her, she gasped in sensual shock. She clutched at his shoulders, thinking to stop him, but his tongue was already dipping, tasting the very essence of her. Her fingers fisted in his hair as her hips instinctively rose off the bed following the outrageous plea­sure.

  His tongue slid inside her, hot and wet. Again and again, he caressed her. Each gentle stab of his tongue sent her soar­ing higher and higher, splintering the last of her control. She writhed and twisted mindless to anything now but the hot sensations coursing through her body. Slowly, in rhythm with his exploring mouth, another kind of sensation began to build deep inside her. Her fingers clenched and unclenched.

  Suddenly the sunlight exploded shattering behind the lids of her closed eyes, bursting into a thousand tiny pin­points of light, golden stars that danced wildly, then gradu­ally gave way to a rich, soft darkness as her body convulsed then surrendered in a blissful moment of pure sensation.

  Marshall laughed lightly, then moved up and over her. He kissed her, long and deep. "That's one surprise," he whis­pered. "You'll have to wait until later for the other. I need to be inside you now."

  He entered her at that moment, one long, smooth stroke that embedded him deeply inside her. Holding himself there, totally accepted by her body, washed in the warmth of her release, he felt the remnants of the pleasure he'd just given her. Soft, female muscles clenched around him. Marshall gritted his teeth. His blood was pounding in his veins, pool­ing fiercely in his groin. He pushed harder, burrowing deeper into the hot, moist channel of her body.

  With every slow stroke, Evelyn felt Marshall claiming more of her. Each kiss, each caressing touch of his hands, stole more of her heart, of her very soul. Never had she imagined a joining so sweet, so achingly gentle, yet so to­tally possessive, so absolute it forced her to admit that she could ne
ver, would never, give herself so completely to an­other man.

  She moved helplessly against him, rocking her pelvis. Each movement brought them closer together, feeding the fire, making it burn deep within her, deep within him. The pleasure was extraordinary. He whispered her name. She moaned softly, unable to form a coherent word. Her body ached with need her heart swelled with emotion, and still he moved pushing forward then retreating until she was beg­ging him to end the sweet torment.

  Wanting fulfillment as much as Evelyn, Marshall came to his knees, forcing her legs wide and high. "Look at me," he demanded roughly.

  Evelyn opened her eyes. His body was gleaming with sweat, his hair tousled and damp from the exertion of plea­suring her. She reached for him. Their hands touched fingers entwining, palm to palm. Need vibrated through her body. She wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted her hips. The movement shattered the last of Marshall's control.

  He moved fast and deep, his hips pumping repeatedly, straining to claim as much of her as he could to give her as much pleasure as he could to take as much in return.

  A breeze, scented by the sea, swept over the bed as they reached for satisfaction, bodies gleaming with sweat, mus­cles taut with need words whispered with an earthy urgency. Desperate to please both Evelyn and himself, Marshall rode her hard and fast. The first ripples of ecstasy started deep in­side her, growing stronger with each forceful thrust of his hips. She stiffened and cried out his name.

  He looked into her eyes. They were clear blue pools, and he longed to dive into them, to be swallowed up, to drown. He ducked his head in fierce homage to her beauty, kissing her breasts as he pushed deep inside her. He found oblivion between her thighs, felt himself drawn into her. He contin­ued riding her until their skin was hot and gleaming with sweat, until their bodies began to melt and merge like fire and candlewax.

  "Yes," Marshall groaned. "Don't fight it, sweetheart, let it happen."