Page 36 of A Marquess of No Importance (Inglorious Scoundrels #3)

T hey returned to their lodging in tense silence. Footmen Roger and Thomas helped Rivendale up the stairs, adding to his feeling of inadequacy, and he followed Melissande into her room.

The moment the door closed behind them, Rivendale reached for Melissande’s hand, turning it gently to examine her wrist in the firelight.

Dark bruises were already forming where the thug’s fingers had gripped her.

“Christ.” The word came out as a low, bitter curse. He traced the edge of one bruise with a gentle caress, as if he could somehow erase it. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing.” She pulled her hand back. “It will heal.”

“Nothing?” His voice rose despite his attempt at control. “You were attacked because of my foolish insistence on that damned walk. Because I was too proud to simply get into the carriage like a sensible person.”

“We were attacked by street criminals,” Melissande replied. “That had nothing to do with you or your decisions.”

“I put you in danger because I wanted to pretend—” He broke off, unable to finish the thought. That he was normal. That they belonged. That he was worthy of her.

“Pretend what?”

“That I was capable of keeping you safe.” The admission tasted like ash. “I should have been able to defend you, but instead, you had to rescue yourself with that pistol. If you hadn’t been armed—”

Melissande set her jaw. “If you think I’m the sort of woman who enjoys fainting into a man’s arms at the first sign of peril, you are mistaken.

I live surrounded by danger, Rivendale. I run a gaming hell in one of London’s roughest neighborhoods.

I’ve dealt with drunken gamblers, thieves, and men who think they can take liberties simply because I’m a woman.

Stop patronizing me as if I’m a weakling. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” he insisted stubbornly. “No matter your background and upbringing, as a gentleman it is my job to keep you safe.”

“And you did!” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “You used your chair like a weapon and disabled two of them before I even drew my pistol.”

“Did I?” His laugh was harsh and humorless. “All I did was delay them long enough for you to save us both.”

“Fine,” she said on an exasperated sigh. “We saved each other. But if you’re going to wallow in self-pity about not being some heroic knight who single-handedly defeats all threats—”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Rivendale closed his eyes briefly, then opened them to meet her challenging gaze. “If danger is your life—if this is the world you inhabit daily—do you really think I’ll be of use to you? A man who can’t even walk without assistance, who needs a chair just to navigate a street?”

Melissande’s expression shifted from annoyance to confusion. “Will you be of use to me?” she repeated slowly, as if not quite understanding his question. “For what? Do you think I need a guard rather than companion who makes me laugh, who challenges me—”

“That’s not enough,” he interrupted harshly.

“Not enough for what? For me?” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you actually suggesting that I don’t know my own mind? That I can’t determine what I want or need?”

“Are you telling me that this is what you want?” He gripped the arms of his chair tightly and tried to stand, but his legs wobbled beneath him, refusing to bear his weight for more than a heartbeat before buckling.

He collapsed back into the chair with a thud that echoed his frustration.

He raised his head, lips pursed in anger.

“The man who can’t even stand up on his own. Who can’t walk.”

“No,” she said sharply, and the word struck him like a dagger through the heart. “ This is not what I want. Because I don’t want a specific feature or characteristic of a man. What I want is you. I want you, Nathaniel.” She bent down and planted a kiss to his lips. “I want you here. Now.”

Rivendale kissed her back.

It wasn’t gentle. It was fierce and claiming, responding to her insistent demand. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer until she was in his lap.

She broke the kiss just long enough to hitch her skirts and straddle him properly, settling onto his thighs with a deliberate roll of her hips that made him groan.

“Here?” he managed to gasp. “Now?”

“Here.” Her fingers were already working at the buttons of his waistcoat. “Now.” She kissed him again, all the while tearing at the buttons of his shirt. “In this chair, with this man. That’s what I want.”

* * *

Their kiss was desperate, feral.

Melissande clawed at his clothing as he held her close, biting her, licking her, devouring her. All the melancholy from earlier in the evening, all the uncertainty of their future had disappeared and there was only them, here, now.

Melissande raked her nails over the ridges of his shoulders and down his spine, heedless of the thin linen shirt that bunched beneath her fists. Nathaniel gripped her hips, pulling her closer, sweeping the heavy folds of her skirts aside, letting them spill around the chair like a waterfall.

The chair beneath them skittered backward, the motion causing tickle low in Melissande’s belly. She smiled against his lips, then pressed her body to his, arching instinctively, her breasts flattening against his chest as she nipped at his jaw, his neck, the lobe of his ear.

He fumbled at her bodice, hooking his fingers over the neckline and pulling hard, until he could bare one breast to his hungry gaze. He fixed his mouth to her nipple, sucking hard, and she moaned.

His hands dipped under her skirts, up her thighs, to the slick heat at the center of her. Desperate to have him there, she reached between them, and undid the falls of his breeches.

She found him—hard, hot, thick—and wrapped him in her fist.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, his head lolling back. Nathaniel wrapped an arm around her waist, and guided her down until the tip of him nudged at her entrance.

The chair rolled a few inches, and her skirts snagged on the wheels, a faint ripping sound following.

She moved her hips, letting the head of him spread her feminine lips, and gasped. She let herself slide down his length slowly, savoring the exquisite, ache as he stretched her inch by inch.

She spread her thighs, taking him in deeper, feeling her intimate muscles clenching around his hard, hot length. When he was fully sheathed inside her, she did not move—she simply held him there, impaled, bodies trembling, while she tried to remember how to breathe.

Nathaniel’s fingers trembling as they threaded through her hair, he yanked her down for another kiss. She let out a helpless moan, desiring more and at the same time wishing they could stay like this forever.

She began to rock her hips, not in a gentle rhythm, but with a wildness that threatened to tip the chair over altogether.

The chair skipped backward along the floor with every slam of her hips, the frame groaning, her dress ripping even further, tugging at her, until the wheels locked against the wall.

Melissande grinned and Nathaniel pulled her in for another kiss. His thumb brushed against her clit and she gripped his shoulders, lest she crumble to the floor.

“Yes,” he whispered, “take it. Take what you need from me.”

She rocked her hips, moaning in pleasure. Nathaniel spread her moisture around her swollen nub, circling it, caressing it in ways he knew drove her wild.

“Nathaniel,” she gasped.

“Ride me, Meli, my queen,” he rasped. “Use me.”

She bucked her hips and bore down on him, hard, grinding her clit against the root of his cock.

With a strangled cry, the first wave of pleasure ripped through her. He thrust up to meet her, and the friction of their bodies, the relentless circling of his thumb on her clit only deepened the wild sensations.

She was trembling, sobbing, while he continued the relentless onslaught on her senses. The chair banged against the wall, threatening to topple over.

She leaned into him, breasts pressed to his mouth, and let him devour her.

The climax built inside her once again with a shattering force. She let out a cry, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder as the relentless tide left her boneless.

He held her through it, his own body rigid, spasming. She felt the hot flood of him inside her, felt him shudder, heard his helpless cry as he emptied himself inside her.