tell her that the past was past and could not hurt her any more. To tell her sweet lies, give her comfort. She knew it was fantasy, that she could not rely on anyone but herself and yet…
‘Nell?’ His voice was muffled by her hair, gentler than she had heard it before. Something thrummed through her, bone-deep, like the vibration of a great bell, felt rather than heard.
‘I just want to be held.’ The words spilled out as his arms came round her.
‘Shh.’ He rocked her gently, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other circling her shoulders. ‘Let go of it, Nell. You don’t have to fight all the time.’
He understands. It’s so hard alone, so lonely. So cold. She tipped up her face to look at him, to tell him that and found no need for words as his mouth came down and took hers in a kiss that soothed and stroked and lulled her into a dream of safety and certainty.
Marcus’s lips were warm, oh so warm. They caressed her mouth with a gentle pressure until she opened to him with a sigh that was like coming home and she leaned into the strength and the heat and felt her body turn to silk and flame and still he simply held her and spoke, silently, with his lips and his tongue and his strength while she melted, surrendering. At last, at last.
Gradually his breathing quickened; she felt his body tense against hers, and the hand that had curved protectively around her shoulders moved, urgent, seeking,found the swell of her hip, the dip of her waist, up to the curve of her breast and he became just man , just another male wanting her body, wanting her secrets, wanting her surrender.
‘No!’ She pushed him away, as desperate as she had felt in the carriage, the panic clogging her lungs, the pulse wild in her throat. ‘Stop! Stop now!’
Marcus threw up his hands, stepped back, his eyes dark, his lips parted. They looked swollen. Hers must be too. That kiss, that foolish kiss, had been no simple brush of the lips.
It was insanity to have relaxed, to have trusted, to have dreamt. She could rely on no one but herself. Ever. To believe anything else was a delusion. How could she have let herself become so weak? How could she have let herself trust?
‘Nell?’ He reached for her and she batted his hand away.
‘No. No. I am tired. Tired . I did not mean… How can I trust you? Any of you?’ She turned and ran and knew he stood there watching her go.
Marcus flung himself down onto one of the sofas flanking the fireplace and ran both hands through his hair. His shoulder muscles spasmed with pain, but he ignored it. What had just happened? That had been more than just a kiss and far more than a simple response to a woman who seemed unhappy and confused. Why had he done that? God, he had wanted her. Wanted to comfort her, wanted to protect her and then, compellingly, wanted to take her.
His body was racked with need. Deliberately he sethimself to master the reaction, focusing until his breathing levelled off, the ache in his groin subsided, the demand of his body released its hold. Think, he told his intellect. That’s what you are supposed to be good at.
Nell had been moved by that family portrait. You know where you come from, where you belong. So she does not know, any more. Whatever former life had given her the educated speech, the polished manners, the education—that had gone and now she was adrift, fighting every battle alone and aching for comfort.
Comfort, but not the comfort that two bodies entwined together brought each other. He had known, the moment the kiss became more than the desire to soothe her, know her, that he had lost her. That had been outright rejection, not shyness nor the maidenly alarm of a virgin experiencing a man’s passion for the first time.
And yet, he could not believe she was experienced. Those kisses, her reactions, had been instinctive, not tutored. The only explanation that made sense to him was that she was in love with her dark man and to find herself in
‘Nell?’ His voice was muffled by her hair, gentler than she had heard it before. Something thrummed through her, bone-deep, like the vibration of a great bell, felt rather than heard.
‘I just want to be held.’ The words spilled out as his arms came round her.
‘Shh.’ He rocked her gently, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other circling her shoulders. ‘Let go of it, Nell. You don’t have to fight all the time.’
He understands. It’s so hard alone, so lonely. So cold. She tipped up her face to look at him, to tell him that and found no need for words as his mouth came down and took hers in a kiss that soothed and stroked and lulled her into a dream of safety and certainty.
Marcus’s lips were warm, oh so warm. They caressed her mouth with a gentle pressure until she opened to him with a sigh that was like coming home and she leaned into the strength and the heat and felt her body turn to silk and flame and still he simply held her and spoke, silently, with his lips and his tongue and his strength while she melted, surrendering. At last, at last.
Gradually his breathing quickened; she felt his body tense against hers, and the hand that had curved protectively around her shoulders moved, urgent, seeking,found the swell of her hip, the dip of her waist, up to the curve of her breast and he became just man , just another male wanting her body, wanting her secrets, wanting her surrender.
‘No!’ She pushed him away, as desperate as she had felt in the carriage, the panic clogging her lungs, the pulse wild in her throat. ‘Stop! Stop now!’
Marcus threw up his hands, stepped back, his eyes dark, his lips parted. They looked swollen. Hers must be too. That kiss, that foolish kiss, had been no simple brush of the lips.
It was insanity to have relaxed, to have trusted, to have dreamt. She could rely on no one but herself. Ever. To believe anything else was a delusion. How could she have let herself become so weak? How could she have let herself trust?
‘Nell?’ He reached for her and she batted his hand away.
‘No. No. I am tired. Tired . I did not mean… How can I trust you? Any of you?’ She turned and ran and knew he stood there watching her go.
Marcus flung himself down onto one of the sofas flanking the fireplace and ran both hands through his hair. His shoulder muscles spasmed with pain, but he ignored it. What had just happened? That had been more than just a kiss and far more than a simple response to a woman who seemed unhappy and confused. Why had he done that? God, he had wanted her. Wanted to comfort her, wanted to protect her and then, compellingly, wanted to take her.
His body was racked with need. Deliberately he sethimself to master the reaction, focusing until his breathing levelled off, the ache in his groin subsided, the demand of his body released its hold. Think, he told his intellect. That’s what you are supposed to be good at.
Nell had been moved by that family portrait. You know where you come from, where you belong. So she does not know, any more. Whatever former life had given her the educated speech, the polished manners, the education—that had gone and now she was adrift, fighting every battle alone and aching for comfort.
Comfort, but not the comfort that two bodies entwined together brought each other. He had known, the moment the kiss became more than the desire to soothe her, know her, that he had lost her. That had been outright rejection, not shyness nor the maidenly alarm of a virgin experiencing a man’s passion for the first time.
And yet, he could not believe she was experienced. Those kisses, her reactions, had been instinctive, not tutored. The only explanation that made sense to him was that she was in love with her dark man and to find herself in
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