Page 30 of When the Marquess Needed Me (The Rake Chronicles #4)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

T heir carriage reached the first inn long after nightfall.

Leith had recommended the place to Beatrice as a stopping point and he had been relieved when she hadn’t objected.

It had been one of the only things that she hadn’t objected to since their departure from London.

The woman was clearly trying to avoid being indebted to him, most likely because she did not want to be under an enduring obligation to a man with whom she only desired a temporary arrangement.

At least in the latter case, a bad alliance can come to an end.

That is what she had said, on their first meeting, about why she wanted to be a mistress and would never marry. She had always made clear that she preferred a bond that could be easily dissolved.

He would force nothing more lasting on her, of course.

But he also couldn’t stand for her to be harmed. In any way.

He had never before been a protective man. Or at least not when it came to women. With his friends, he supposed, he could be. In the case of Monty, all those years ago, those protective instincts had led him horribly astray, so it was difficult for him to trust them.

But they couldn’t be helped. Not when it came to Beatrice.

Now, he understood what John and Trem and Monty felt. The churning inside of him, the pounding rage, that he felt at the prospect of anyone harming Beatrice—he supposed it was what his friends experienced for their wives.

He remembered how wrathful John had been, that one time, before his marriage to Catherine, when he and Monty had encountered them at a roadside inn. Leith had thought John absurd for becoming so possessive when Monty and he had breakfasted with Catherine alone.

In this moment, however, he understood his friend perfectly.

The truth was that he had already sent, before their departure, a letter to his solicitor commanding the man to dig up anything and everything he could on Mr. Gordstone. And he had sent letters to John, Trem, and Monty with their special symbol, the one that they used when circumstances were urgent—and asked them to do anything they could to inquire into the matter.

He knew that, in Monty’s case, he may have trespassed too far for their friendship to continue. Once Monty knew he was traveling with Beatrice across the countryside, to her family’s home no less, he would know that he had bedded her, against his express orders.

And, knowing Monty and certainly knowing Olivia, the rest would be evident, too.

They would know—as Trem and John already did—that Leith was in love.

Leaving Preston and Charles to deal with their trunks, Leith strode up to the inn door and rang the bell. A porter quickly answered.

“Who is it?”

“The Marquess of Leith. I know Mrs. Bercine.”

Once, long ago, Monty had been shot in a duel, and he and Trem had repaired to Mrs. Bercine’s for his recovery. Leith had come out to visit while Monty recovered. Back then, he and Trem both had thought that Monty and Mrs. Bercine might have had an attraction. Leith had even supposed that Monty had slept with her. Now, of course, he knew that wasn’t true.

Nevertheless, Mrs. Bercine ran the finest inn along this particular thoroughfare. And he was prepared to pay for their comfort.

The porter beckoned them inside and, soon, he had arranged for three rooms: one for Sally, one for him and Beatrice, and one for Preston and Charles. He also ordered a cold dinner for their party—including Preston and Charles—which they all ate quickly, in the tavern, before heading off to bed.

When he was finally alone with Beatrice in their room, Leith felt an immediate relief.

He was fond of her sister, but he hadn’t quite realized that he badly wanted to be alone with Beatrice.

In sleepy silence, they both prepared for bed. In fact, he already sat in bed in his nightshirt, watching her go through the last of her nightly ablutions.

And he found her silence quite vexing.

“Are you cross with me?” he finally asked, when he couldn’t bear it any longer.

“No,” she said, but her voice sounded thin.

“You seemed frustrated in the carriage.”

She sighed. “I just don’t want to be overruled in my own home, Thomas. How would you feel?”

He considered the question. The possibility had, of course, never truly occurred to him. He and his mother had been alone for so long, just the two of them—and she overruled him all the time.

But he supposed it was not the same as an outsider doing the same.

“I promise not to overrule you. I only want to help.”

She had let down her hair and it swished becomingly over her shoulders.

“I know,” she said, her expression tired.

Beatrice sat down in the bed next to him.

He realized that he wasn’t sure what to do now.

Usually, they were focused on their erotic arrangement.

But something between them had shifted. Obviously, she was worried about her mother, and he didn’t want to press her for favors that she was not in the mood to give.

Even though, of course, he wanted her. Needed her. Of course. Like always.

But she seemed to have little need for him. She turned so that her back was towards him.

Her lack of interest could not be clearer.

He turned towards the nightstand and put out the candle.

His cock was hard, but it was no matter. He was tired from their travels and soon he would be asleep.

For a few minutes, he tried to occupy himself with something mundane, something that would lull him into unconsciousness. He thought of the account books sitting in Leith Manor. The numbers that waited there for his review. He tried to think of how much his housekeeper had spent on candles last month—five pounds—and how many pence that calculated to per candle.

He tried to think of anything but her next to him.

“Would you—would you hold me?”

He startled at her words, given that he had begun to drift off to sleep.

For a moment, he didn’t process her request, only that she had spoken.

“I just—I—I do not know what I can ask of you. Perhaps I shouldn’t ask that.”

“You can ask anything of me,” he said, reflexively, without thinking. “I would like very much to hold you. As long as you don’t mind…”

His cock had come alive again at her words. And then hardened further when he thought of pulling her towards him…and the way her warm arse would cushion his aching member.

“Don’t mind what?”

He sighed. You wouldn’t think, he thought to himself, that it would need to be stated.

Only a week before, the words would have been agony for him to say aloud.

Now, he found them much easier to say, if slightly exasperating.

“As long as you don’t mind my hard cock. I can’t be in a bed with you, Beatrice, without it happening. But I don’t want you to think that I am asking for anything.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. “No, I don’t mind that.”

Her back was still turned, but he supposed she wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t want him to touch her.

He slid over to her in the bed and wrapped one arm around her, pushing her body against his. She let out a small sound of contentment as he did so, which gratified him.

“Is this—is this what you want?”

“Yes,” she said. He could feel her body relax. “That’s nice. I have just been all anxiety.”

“Don’t worry now,” he said, not being able to recollect the last time he had soothed another person. “It will all be well in the end. I’ll see to it.”

His cock was still aching for her, but the sensation was almost pleasant. He felt more in control of his attraction to her than usual, perhaps because he sensed her melancholy.

“No,” she said, her voice sounding sleepy, and nowhere as stern as her words. “I’ll see to it.”

He smiled above her ear. “But I am allowed to help?”

“Yes, you can help. A little,” she said, distantly. She was falling asleep, he realized.

He felt the tension leave her body as he held her close. Then, when he was sure she had fallen asleep, he pressed a kiss into her hair.

Some hours later, Leith awoke to find himself intertwined with Beatrice. She had somehow moved so that she was now facing him, her leg between his own, and he found that his hand was threaded through her hair.

He, of course, was hard. But he could expect little else from himself in such a situation.

He stirred, surprised to find that he had become so wrapped up in her without realizing it.

“Are you awake?” she said.

“Just barely.” He could just about make out her face in the dim light.

“I had a dream,” she said quietly.

“A bad one?”

“No, a good one.”

Suddenly, he felt more awake. “What did this good dream entail?”

She kissed him, just lightly.

He bit back a groan. “Don’t tease me.”

He meant it. He wanted her, but he didn’t want to be a beast, not when she had so many worries.

“What do you mean?”

“I would understand if you’re not in a state for bedding. But it doesn’t mean that I want you any less.”

She gave a little huff. “Is that why you were so reserved? Before we went to sleep?”

He hadn’t thought of himself as being reserved. He had thought that he was being respectful.

“You gave no indication of wanting me. You appeared vexed with me.”

“Perhaps I was,” she said, but then she was kissing him again, and he could only focus on her lips on his.

His hand found her breasts and he cupped her through her thin chemise. She let out a low moan when his fingers ran over her nipples.

That moan undid something in him. And he was possessed by a deep, potent desire to make her feel good.

He kissed down her body and then, with his hands on her hips, found the apex of her thighs.

“Thomas,” she panted. “Yes.”

He parted her legs and placed his mouth on her core, letting his tongue slip into her channel. He found the spot inside of her that was so sensitive and she bucked upwards, but he held her hips steady. He pressed his fingers to her clit, worrying the little bud there until she was completely slick beneath him. At the same time, he worked her channel with his mouth.

When she came apart, she did so with abandon. By then, he was in a frenzy himself, seed leaking into his smalls already.

“I need to be inside of you,” he said, aware that he should let her recover, but unable to leave the demands of his body unarticulated.

“Please,” she said, her voice sounding hardly less needy than his own, despite her recent release.

He stood to get the French letter and then, with a sinking sensation, realized that he had none.

He had left his letters in London.

“I don’t have any letters,” he said. “Do you have one?”

“No.”

“Fuck,” he said.

He thought that he would go mad if he couldn’t join with her. It felt necessary to his being. To be that close to her.

Leith had never fucked a woman without a letter. He understood that men found it more pleasurable without the letter, but he had never been tempted to try. He found the act pleasurable enough as it was.

But now the idea of entering Beatrice unsheathed, to feel her heat directly, it made his head swim. It was a mad, dangerous notion.

He considered the alternative. Mrs. Bercine was likely to have at least a few letters, given her line of work, but the idea of waking her for that purpose, at this hour, was hardly appealing.

“I want you inside of me,” Beatrice whispered from the bed.

“I want you, too,” he said, his voice jagged.

“You could withdraw. If you take care, I do not think it will come to any harm.”

Leith was still standing. The early morning light through the window had strengthened and he could see her better now. Her dark hair was strewn over the white bed sheets and he could see the outline of her exquisite, precious curves through her chemise.

If he was going to do this, he wanted to do it right.

“Take off your chemise.”

She stood and obeyed him, letting the garment fall around her feet. Then, she moved back to the bed, staring at him with her mouth and legs parted.

He removed his smalls and then walked towards the bed.

“You must heed my warnings,” he said, his voice low and taut. “I cannot lose control.”

She nodded rapidly.

He crawled towards her.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

He put his fingers to her core. She was wet, but he stroked her until she was more so, until she was gasping beneath him. The thought that his unsheathed cock would soon be where his hands were made him impossibly hard.

Aware of his heightened sensitivity, Leith eased himself into her.

Christ.

He bit his lip to stop the spend that threatened.

She was too perfect, so wet for him, her sheath clinging to him and urging him onward.

“You feel—” he began, and then found the effort to speak threatened his composure.

“Are you well?” she said with a little smile.

“Very. Almost too well, in fact.” Her easy smile, her humor, helped him calm his blood. “I have never done this before.”

“You may have amnesia. You’ve done this before with me .”

“You know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do,” she said, with a smile. “And I haven’t either.”

He groaned at that. It was endlessly erotic to him that he was the first man to have had her without any barrier.

Leith attempted to move, to feel the sweet slide of her against his cock.

“Ahhh,” he said. “That’s rather—that’s very good.”

He immediately found the sensation too threatening and stilled again.

At this rate, he wasn’t sure how he was to maintain any composure at all. Surely, he was to mortify himself again with her. Although it had become so common at this point that his embarrassment had lessened.

Instead of moving, he kissed her, deeply, and she kissed him back. The wet heat of her mouth mirrored that of her quim and he groaned aloud again.

“I am going to spill very quickly,” he panted.

She laughed. “I do not care. Take your pleasure, my love.”

My love.

The words pierced him. He knew that she meant it as only a meaningless endearment and yet the combination of her sweet words and her sweet cunt undid him.

He could deprive himself no longer.

He withdrew a little and then plunged back into her. His body sang in pleasure. He repeated the motion and found himself on the brink. Once more, he managed to withdraw and thrust, and then he could risk it no longer. He stilled.

“God, Beatrice,” he panted. “You are so good to me, my love. Too good.”

She spread her legs wider, just a little, and it nearly undid him.

“Easy, love.”

She had her hand on the nape of his neck.

“Thomas,” she whispered into his ear. “Are you going to come for me?”

“Yes,” he panted. “God, yes.”

She moved against him again and he moaned.

“And why are you going to come for me?”

“Because your pussy is perfect.”

Because I love you , he thought to himself. He could feel the words on his tongue. He wanted to say them, he realized, as much as he wanted to come.

“Is this needy cock going to take what it wants?” she whispered.

“If you let me,” he said, not realizing how honest he was being, until the words were already out of his mouth. “If you let me, I’ll take everything that you give me.”

She moved her hand down to his arse and grasped him there. She kneaded his flesh and he relished the slight pain that she raised. Then she pressed her palm flat against him and urged him upwards into her. He slid deeper into her channel and cried out.

“Not yet,” she said, stilling him. “You feel so good. And I am so close.”

He gave an incoherent cry at that. He’d had no idea that she was on the brink herself.

“Really, Beatrice?”

“Yes.”

He was staring deep into the dark oblivion of her eyes. He had never felt so close to anyone in his whole life, he realized, as he felt to her right now. He would do anything for her. Be anything that she needed. He wanted to make her understand.

“Tell me,” she said. “Tell me that I am the only one who does this to you.”

“You are the only one.”

She grasped his arse again and pumped him up and then down. His cock sang with gratitude.

“And why is that?”

He could tell that she was close. Her very skin seemed to hum. And her channel was taut, as if to trying to pull the seed from him by force.

She rocked against him once more and his vision dimmed.

“Because I need you,” he said honestly, and her eyes contracted.

He thrust into her now, taking back control.

“Because without you, I am lost.”

“Thomas,” she gasped.

“Because you are exquisite, and beautiful, and enchanting,” he said, punctuating each word with a thrust, somehow able, in speaking the truth, to stave off his spend.

He realized then that he was going to say the words. That they would come before he could stop them. Just like he would.

“Because I love you, Beatrice.”

She cried out and he felt her come. Her sheath milked his cock, tightening and releasing over him.

And Leith could take no more.

He pulled himself out of her and then he was coming in hot, thick spasms, coating her curls and thighs.

She stared up at him, her mouth agape.

Then he lay down beside her and gathered her up in his arms.

He feared that his revelation might cause her to reject him.

But she didn’t.

“Thomas—” she began.

But he shushed her. “Sleep, darling.”

He could not bear to hear her excuses now. Or the reasons that she could not love him. The truth was that this moment, with her, was nearly perfect, and he could not stand having it ruined.

She had made clear that she would not be falling in love with him.

However, he thought, right now, with her head on his chest and his arms around her, it was enough to just have her here with him.