could do was kiss her flushed cheeks, her dark red lips, her neck, her breast.
Then, a chance movement to his left drew his attention. He did not want to acknowledge it, but a cold dread began forming in his stomach. Turning his head, he encountered the accusing gazes of Lord and Lady Harris.
Chapter 6
Fantine noticed the change in Marcus immediately, but it was some moments before she could react. Never before had she felt so wonderfully strange, so encompassed and liberated all at once.
Always before, a man's touch repulsed her, pushing her to escape in any way possible. But not with Marcus. His touch warmed her, set her skin to tingling, and her heart to skipping with excitement. It was terrifying and consuming, but she had no time to absorb or even understand what was happening. Because as soon as she opened her eyes, she saw Marcus, his face set in rigid lines, his gaze fixed on the center of the room.
Turning her head, she encountered the horrified stares of Lord and Lady Harris. "Gawd almighty," she whispered, a mortifying blush burning in her face.
Marcus shifted his gaze to her, his expression both chagrined and apologetic as he buttoned up her bodice.
"My dear," said Lord Harris to his wife, "perhaps you had best return to our guests."
The plump woman nodded and pushed to her feet. She had already readjusted her clothing, and after a final reassuring smile from her husband, she left the room.
"You might as well come out of there, Chadwick. I cannot imagine your position is all that comfortable."
"On the contrary," drawled Marcus with a rueful glance at Fantine. "It has its advantages." Despite his words, Marcus gingerly struggled off of her. Unfortunately, Fantine's nerves seemed to have developed a hypersensitivity to the slightest touch. His movements left her quivering, gasping for breath, wanting nothing more than to curl into her side and die.
"Come along, miss. You, too," came her employer's gravelly voice.
"Give her a minute, Harris," returned Marcus, his tone almost bland. "I am somewhat heavy. No doubt it will take some time for the feeling to return to her legs."
Fantine stared at Marcus, stunned by his attitude. His face was the perfect aristocrat's mask of boredom. He looked as sated and as uninterested in her as the worst satyr in her mother's court. He cared nothing for her and even less for what feelings he had created in her. He used her!
Betrayal burned like acid within her. How dare he? How could he? And how could she have allowed him—with one single kiss—to turn her into her mother? She had no illusions about what would have happened if they had had more time and more privacy. She would have done anything for him, been anything for him, allowed him to do whatever he willed with her.
Suddenly everything she believed about herself was in doubt. Called into question by him. She could not hate him more if he had chained her around the neck and driven her naked through Hyde Park.
And at that precise moment Marcus leaned down, extending his hand with an expression of sympathy. "Come on out. There is no use hiding now."
She gaped at him. Hiding! Did he think she was hiding, when in truth she was fighting the urge to drive a knife straight into his lascivious heart?
He saw her expression and hesitated, clearly confused. Behind him, she caught a glimpse of Lord Harris, frowning at her, and realized that she did not need a dagger. She had a much more potent weapon at hand.
Above all things, the peerage prided themselves on the appearance of propriety, the show of poker-up-the-arse decency. She now had the opportunity to rip that veneer away, wounding Marcus in the most important aspect of his entire personality: his respectability.
Her lip began to tremble, and she drew away from Marcus's outstretched hand as if he were evil incarnate. She released a pitiful whimper akin to a tortured kitten. Then she turned pleading eyes toward Lord Harris.
"Don't let 'im touch me,
Then, a chance movement to his left drew his attention. He did not want to acknowledge it, but a cold dread began forming in his stomach. Turning his head, he encountered the accusing gazes of Lord and Lady Harris.
Chapter 6
Fantine noticed the change in Marcus immediately, but it was some moments before she could react. Never before had she felt so wonderfully strange, so encompassed and liberated all at once.
Always before, a man's touch repulsed her, pushing her to escape in any way possible. But not with Marcus. His touch warmed her, set her skin to tingling, and her heart to skipping with excitement. It was terrifying and consuming, but she had no time to absorb or even understand what was happening. Because as soon as she opened her eyes, she saw Marcus, his face set in rigid lines, his gaze fixed on the center of the room.
Turning her head, she encountered the horrified stares of Lord and Lady Harris. "Gawd almighty," she whispered, a mortifying blush burning in her face.
Marcus shifted his gaze to her, his expression both chagrined and apologetic as he buttoned up her bodice.
"My dear," said Lord Harris to his wife, "perhaps you had best return to our guests."
The plump woman nodded and pushed to her feet. She had already readjusted her clothing, and after a final reassuring smile from her husband, she left the room.
"You might as well come out of there, Chadwick. I cannot imagine your position is all that comfortable."
"On the contrary," drawled Marcus with a rueful glance at Fantine. "It has its advantages." Despite his words, Marcus gingerly struggled off of her. Unfortunately, Fantine's nerves seemed to have developed a hypersensitivity to the slightest touch. His movements left her quivering, gasping for breath, wanting nothing more than to curl into her side and die.
"Come along, miss. You, too," came her employer's gravelly voice.
"Give her a minute, Harris," returned Marcus, his tone almost bland. "I am somewhat heavy. No doubt it will take some time for the feeling to return to her legs."
Fantine stared at Marcus, stunned by his attitude. His face was the perfect aristocrat's mask of boredom. He looked as sated and as uninterested in her as the worst satyr in her mother's court. He cared nothing for her and even less for what feelings he had created in her. He used her!
Betrayal burned like acid within her. How dare he? How could he? And how could she have allowed him—with one single kiss—to turn her into her mother? She had no illusions about what would have happened if they had had more time and more privacy. She would have done anything for him, been anything for him, allowed him to do whatever he willed with her.
Suddenly everything she believed about herself was in doubt. Called into question by him. She could not hate him more if he had chained her around the neck and driven her naked through Hyde Park.
And at that precise moment Marcus leaned down, extending his hand with an expression of sympathy. "Come on out. There is no use hiding now."
She gaped at him. Hiding! Did he think she was hiding, when in truth she was fighting the urge to drive a knife straight into his lascivious heart?
He saw her expression and hesitated, clearly confused. Behind him, she caught a glimpse of Lord Harris, frowning at her, and realized that she did not need a dagger. She had a much more potent weapon at hand.
Above all things, the peerage prided themselves on the appearance of propriety, the show of poker-up-the-arse decency. She now had the opportunity to rip that veneer away, wounding Marcus in the most important aspect of his entire personality: his respectability.
Her lip began to tremble, and she drew away from Marcus's outstretched hand as if he were evil incarnate. She released a pitiful whimper akin to a tortured kitten. Then she turned pleading eyes toward Lord Harris.
"Don't let 'im touch me,
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