The Pursuit of Pleasure by Elizabeth Essex

choose. And he needed to know she had chosen him.
    She would need to remember that, sometime in the future.
    Even though, as far as she was concerned, there was no future. He would leave and that would be an end to it. His Majesty’s Navy would see to that.
    So in the meantime, honor demanded he grant this one request. It was only fair. It wouldn’t be fair to leave her alone with a brat. She was hardly more than a brat herself. A brat with lovely, pale breasts and deliciously long legs.
    Marlowe moved to kiss the sweet, soft corner of her mouth. “I’ll take care of you.”
    “I don’t need you to take care of me.” She reached for her shift. “I’m perfectly—”
    “No.” He stayed her hand. He liked her naked. Besides the fact that she was startlingly beautiful, it gave him an advantage. And he needed all the advantage he could get with Lizzie. “I meant I know what to do.”
    But he was not, as it were, prepared. He had French letters in his trunk at the Red Harte, but he didn’t want to admit to Lizzie her new husband had such supplies as part of his normal kit. It seemed, at best, unflattering to his character. So he closed his eyes to the disheveled beauty before him and yanked his breeches back on over his rampant cock.
    “Stay right here. I’ll be right back.” He padded out the door and down the stairs on bare feet, hoping to God that Mrs. Tupper, if she was still about downstairs, was still enough of a navy wife not to have a fit at his appearance.
    He must be mad. He must love her if he was running around an empty house, half dressed, with what felt like a loaded pistol shoved down his pants, looking for contraception.
    The startling thought yanked him to an abrupt halt in the middle of the stairway. Did he love Lizzie Paxton?
    It was hard to say. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t feel … well, what he felt, for Lizzie Paxton. And he admired her, this newly grown woman, from a purely aesthetic point of view, of course, with her sinuous curves and her vivid colors. He liked her, even. She was amusing and never, ever boring. And he loved being with her and watching her doingwhat only she could do—collect the world to her with her always curious, watchful eyes. As a child, she was always observing and thinking, soaking in experiences and opinions. Holding it all behind those green cat eyes until she made something new, something entirely her own. She was unique, his Lizzie.
    And she was his, wasn’t she? For better or for worse. Poor girl. He’d have to remind her of that later too, no doubt.
    But they had unfinished business between them, he and Lizzie Paxton. And he was going to do whatever it took to bring it to a satisfying conclusion, even if it meant hunting up something in the way of a vinegar-soaked sponge.
    Ah, the stillroom. Bound to be some vinegar there.
    The housekeeper’s stillroom was tucked between the empty larder and the laundry at the back of the kitchen wing. A few neglected bunches of dried flowers still hung from hooks and racks hanging from the rafters, and the room still held a lingering scent of once pungent herbs. But Mrs. Tupper had been busy. Though there was no current housewifery on display, the counters and tabletops were all free from dust and debris.
    Marlowe began to pull the corks out of the few remaining bottles clustered in the cabinet, muttering vile imprecations against demanding, provocative, lovely ginger-haired women under his breath.
    “What are you doing?”
    Lizzie nearly startled him out of his pants. Except what was in his pants got even bigger at the sight of her. She’d retrieved his damp coat jacket and wore it over her nearly transparent shift. She’d taken off her stays, and her ripe little breasts were just barely hidden beneath the edge of the fabric. Sweet God above, give him fortitude.
    “God, Lizzie.” He didn’t care if it sounded like a groan. She was far too provoking a creature. She seemed to have no earthly idea of