English Rose Ch. 08

Joan felt her breath catch as his fingers feathered her chin before making their way down the column of her throat. From there Marcus trailed the tips across the heaving expanse of her cleavage before hooking onto the gauzy sleeves of her dress.

He teased them both with the slow slide of her sleeves down her arms. He watched as creamy skin was exposed, the delicate material finally falling past her finger tips to gather around her waist. Her undergarments were sheer, Joan having relinquished the usual corset to save the graceful lines of the dress. He made a mental note to send Madam Lisette a thank you note.

A gentle tug and the dress slid off her hips and pooled at her feet. Offering her his hand, Marcus helped Joan to step out from the fabric, turning her so that her back was to the fireplace. The warm light blazed, illuminating the voluptuous curves beneath the sheer fabric. "So beautiful," he whispered in worship.

Joan felt her flesh flush with heat and desire, her breasts felt heavy and her nipples hard beneath her chemise. Marcus backed them up until he sat perched on the end of his massive bed. Spreading his thighs, he grasped her hips, pulling her forward until she stood between his knees.

Marcus considered the bounty before him. Her breasts were full and heavy, tempting him to taste. Slowly, he bent his head and circling one pert nipple with his tongue, drawing it into his mouth and suckling hard.

Joan groaned as sensation pulled at her nipple, rippled down her core and settled in her sex. She could feel herself growing slick, wetness coating her quivering thighs. "Marcus," she moaned.

Marcus' only response was to grip her hips and pull her closer before moving from one breast to the other. He paid homage to her breasts, licking and suckling until she was wild and restless in his arms. It was only when she fisted his hair, tugging none too gently, that he relinquished his hold on her breasts and scooped her up into his arms.

Joan yelped as Marcus tossed her into the center of his bed. Sitting back, she watched as he quickly shed his clothes before crawling up onto the bed beside her. He moved with a fluid grace, something almost feline and definitely predatorily.

Marcus didn't stop until he was crouched over his wife. Crawling up the length of her, he used his knees to nudge her thighs apart before sitting back on his haunches. "You look edible," he said, his eyes drinking in the sight of her feminine curls. She glistened in the firelight, the heady scent of her arousal drifting up to tickle his nose.

She still wore her chemise, stockings and heels, her state of half undress more erotic than if she were spread out naked before him. Grasping her ankles, he moved her heels until they rested on either side of his hips forcing her knees apart and giving him a better view of her core.

Slowly, he followed the length of her legs, his palms gliding up her calves and over her knees, settling on the insides of her thighs. Pinning her to the bed, Marcus lowered himself until his nose nuzzled her curls. Beneath him, Joan shuddered and moaned, her hips thrusting up to meet his mouth.

He couldn't refuse the offer of such juicy fruit. Sealing his mouth to her flesh, he licked at her lips until her folds parted revealing her hidden pearl. The gem of her desire was swollen, throbbing against his tongue to the beat of her heart.

Joan fisted the sheets beneath her, her hips rolling and thrusting against Marcus' mouth as he suckled and licked at her. Pleasure built; her body winding higher and higher until she trembled. Arching her neck, Joan reached for that point where she knew pleasure would break and become something else, something more. "Marcus, please."

Marcus shouldered her hips further apart and settled more firmly against her. She was slick, her juices coating his chin and running down the back of his throat. He drank his fill, her pleasure nurturing his soul, until she grew restless beneath him.

"Marcus," she pleaded, her hand fisting in his hair and pulling him more firmly against her.

Responding to the desperation he heard in her voice, Marcus released her. Planting his hands beside her hips, he launched himself up her body and in one swift move impaled her on his cock.

Joan cried out as her body clamped down, her inner muscles rippling in pleasure.

Marcus didn't hesitate, didn't pause for her to catch her breath. Quickly, he withdrew before thrusting home once again. There was nothing soft or tender in his love making. He pounded into her flesh, his body plunging forward again and again.

Joan wrapped her legs around Marcus' waist, pulling him deeper into her body. She felt tight, her skin too small for her body, for the pleasure she was experiencing. Opening her eyes, Joan found Marcus watching her. His eyes missed nothing; saw every quiver of pleasure that spiked across her senses. "Marcus, I..."

Marcus cut her off with a searing kiss. He couldn't afford to hear any declarations, didn't deserve them and wouldn't do that to her.

Melting into the kiss, Joan fisted her hands in Marcus hair. Their bodies locked together, sweat slick and heaving, they moved together. She teetered on the edge, her body winding tighter and tighter, poised for the pinnacle that was just beyond her reach.

Marcus released her mouth and lifted himself onto his hands. Beneath him Joan undulated, her body rolling with his. He held them there, stretched the moment out. For he knew that, while there existed the promise of pleasure beyond belief, it was the end.

Joan reached up and touched his face, tracing the lines of his lips, moaning as he sucked her fingers into his hot mouth. So focused on his mouth was she that she startled in surprise when she felt his fingers parting her folds. Never varying the timing of his thrusts, Marcus searched out her pearl, circling it once before grasping it with his finger tips and squeezing.

Joan shattered, her world fragmenting. Her body clamped down hard, contracted around Marcus enabling her to feel every bump and ridge of his cock.

Marcus felt her inner muscles fisting around him, her swollen heat gripping at his engorged flesh, and felt his own release barreling down on him. His balls tightened as lightening rushed up the length of his shaft and exploded behind his eyes. Head thrown back, he shouted out his wife's name before collapsing on top of her.

It was several minutes before Marcus had enough energy to move. Even then, it was all he could do to roll off his wife, tuck her under his chin and pull a blanket over the both of them. Closing his eyes, he listened quietly as her breathing evened out and eventually fell into the deep rhythm of sleep.

He allowed himself the luxury of holding his wife as she slept. For a few moments, in the dark behind his closed eyes, all he saw was her. Their love making had touched something inside of him, as it always did, and for those too brief moments he'd felt free.

Opening his eyes, Marcus was surprised to see that the fire had grown dark and the room lighter. The hour had grown late, passing from night into dawn as he slipped from the bed and dressed. Crossing the room, he stopped to build up the fire before grabbing the wine and slipping out into the hall. His last look of his wife was of her sprawled across his bed, her face turned away from the door, sleeping peacefully.

Dillon was finishing his breakfast when one of the maids sought him out below stairs.

"Begging your pardon, sir," Ginny said.

"Good morning, Ginny. Shouldn't you be upstairs by now?" Dillon rose, straightening his coat and giving his sleeves a tug.

"Yes, sir," she said quietly. "Only I just came across his lordship in the study..."

Dillon immediately understood the implications of the young maid's words. "Skip the study," he said, stepping past her. "Go on about the rest of the house. I will see to his lordship."

"Yes, sir," Ginny said as she hurried back upstairs.

Dillon moved quickly. The family's servants were familiar with Lord Edington's retreats into his study. However, with a new bride to tend to things were bound to be different...and complicated.

Marcus heard the door open but didn't bother opening his eyes or lifting his head. "Dillon?"

"Is there anything I can get you, my lord?"

"Ah, Dillon," Marcus sighed. "You should know better by now."

"Of course, my lord," Dillon stepped back, preparing to close the door behind him.

"Dillon."

Surprised, Dillon stopped. "Yes, my lord?"

"Take care of my wife."

"Of course, my lord," Dillon said as he closed the door. Waiting until he heard the tale tell click of the lock.

She had been surprised to wake the morning after the ball still in Marcus' bed. Not surprising was finding herself alone, the bed cold and Marcus long gone. Still, riding high on the evening's success, Joan had decided not to dwell on her absent husband but instead dressed for the day with plans to call on Sabrina.

Descending the stairs, Joan noted that the house was quieter, colder, than usual. The servants who had started responding to her presence with morning greetings were noticeably absent. The only one present was Dillon.

"Good morning, Dillon." Joan smiled as she approached her husband's study. "Is his lordship in?"

"Yes, my lady," Dillon said as he stepped in front of the door. "My apologies, my lady, he left word that he was not to be disturbed."

"Oh," Joan said, surprised at the order. In the past few weeks Marcus had seemed to change to a more open policy with respect to his time. The return to the cold, quiet silence of the first few weeks of their marriage was both surprising and painful. "Very well," Joan said, trying to conceal her hurt. Turning, she walked alone to the breakfast room.

Joan had planned to call on Sabrina but was waylaid by the first of many deliveries she was to receive that day. Flowers from Lord and Lady Huntington arrived just as the hour chimed fashionable, a note asking them to dinner in one week's time. After that came more flowers, invitations, requests to ride and even a poorly disguised indecent proposal or two.

Having spent the better part of the morning sifting through cards, notes and correspondence, Joan was relieved when a subdued Mary brought in the tea tray.

"Thank you, Mary," Joan said. "Is his lordship still in his study?"

"Yes, my lady," Mary said.

Joan frowned. "Very well, I guess I'm on my own for tea today."

"Shall I pour?" Mary asked.

"No, thank you." Absently returning to the pile of papers in her lap, Joan wondered what could be keeping Marcus. It wasn't like him to spend so much time on business. She knew that while most men eschewed business all together, her husband had remarked in passing that there was a certain challenge in seeing just how much he could increase their estates. She suspected that he actually enjoyed business but would never admit to such an unfashionable way of thinking. That evening Joan dined alone and retired early, it was the first night since their marriage that Marcus didn't visited her bed.

Waking early, Joan found Dillon back at his post with the same orders barring her from entering her husband's study.

"Let me pass," Joan ordered.

"I'm sorry, my lady. Lord Edington was quite clear. He is not to be disturbed, no exceptions." Dillon repeated.

"Surely, his wife..."

"I'm sorry, my lady, his lordship was explicit when issuing his orders," Dillon said. What he didn't add was that, in this, he agreed with his lordship. Her ladyship had no need to see her husband in his current state.

Joan blinked in surprise. "He specifically stated that I was not to be allowed to see him?"

"No one, my lady," Dillon hedged. There was no need to hurt her ladyship with the truth.

"Admit no one," Marcus had ordered, "especially my wife."

"Yes, my lord," Dillon had acknowledged.

"Are you sure he is alright?" Joan hated having to ask but she needed to know.

"Yes, my lady." Dillon strived to reassure her. "This is not the first time his lordship has required a brief period of solitude."

"It's not?" Joan asked. In the months since their marriage she had never known Marcus to close himself off in such a way.

"No, my lady," Dillon said, choosing his words carefully. "His lordship requires a bit of quiet now and then. If I may suggest, give him a day or two before you start to worry."

Joan stared uncertainly at Dillon, nodding in acquiescence only when it became clear that the loyal servant would not be moved. "Very well, I'll give him another day or two but if he's not out by then I will insist on being allowed in to check on him."

Dillon bowed but said nothing. He knew from experience that there was no getting in unless admitted. His lordship had changed the locks long ago and held the only existing key.

Days had passed while Marcus remained locked in his study. Joan no longer left the house but insisted on remaining close by. Dillon remained ever vigilant outside of his master's door. She had given up ordering and had resorted to begging to be let in, flabbergasted when Dillon admitted to having no way to enter the study -- short of breaking down the door. On this, the sixth day since Marcus had locked himself away, she found herself tempted to do just that.

Joan was at a loss. Emotionally drained, she'd gone from hurt and angry to worried, to downright frantic. Even the servants were showing signs of strain.

Having spent another night alone, Joan rose early to dress. While the servants still refused to say much, she knew that there was one person likely to have answers. Sabrina.

Stepping down from the stairway, Joan nearly ran right into Mary as she hurried by, a bundle of linens in her arms and a smile on her face.

"Good morning, my lady."

"Good morning, Mary," Joan said, looking around she was surprised to see a number of servants moving about. "What is all of this?"

Mary practically beamed. "His lordship ordered all of the rooms opened up."

Joan whipped around only just now registering the fact that the study door was open and Dillon no longer at his post. "His lordship..."

"Yes, my lady," Mary said. Gently, she reached out and lightly touched her mistress' arm. "He asked that you join him as soon as your schedule allowed."

"Thank you, Mary," Joan said. Slowly she approached the study door. After so many days of banishment she suddenly found herself uncertain of her desire to see her husband or of her welcome. Remembering her earlier determination to get answers, Joan squared her shoulders and stepped into the room.

Marcus sat behind his desk studying an assortment of papers. A quick look around showed a tidy room, the air tinged with the scent of cleaning solution and stale spirits. "Marcus."

Marcus' head snapped up at the sound of his name. Spying Joan just inside the door he pushed to his feet and ran a nervous hand through his hair. He'd had a bath as well as a shave, both going a long way towards stripping away the residual markings of the past several days.

Joan drank in the sight of her husband; his normally bright hair and eyes were dull and he appeared to have lost some weight.

"Good morning," Marcus said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I trust you are well?"

Joan blinked. It wasn't the greeting she had expected. She had expected an explanation or an apology, perhaps, but what she got was her husband's usual cocky self. His face held the smile to a joke that only he knew. Feeling her anger rise, Joan felt a furious response form on the tip of her tongue, stopping only when she realized that the smile didn't reach his eyes, eyes touched by lines that weren't there a few days ago. "Well enough," she said, swallowing her initial response. "And you?"

"Fine," Marcus said, a wave of his hand dismissing the silence of the past several days. "I realize that I have been neglectful in my duties as husband. The Huntington's ball was to have been the first step in rectifying the matter. I apologize for the delay."

Joan decided to apply the apology to the past several days, whether intended or not. Stepping further into the room, she considered her husband. Despite his outwardly casual appearance, she noted a tension in the set of his shoulders, a tightening about the eyes and mouth, and knew that he wasn't nearly as apathetic as he appeared. While she didn't understand she could accept - for now - without understanding. "Think nothing of it, sir," Joan offered. "I understand from Mary that you ordered the rest of the house opened."

"I did," Marcus said as he stepped out from behind his desk and, crossing the room, drew his wife into his arms. Lowering his head, he kissed her. He needed to touch her, need to taste her and reassure himself that she was still there.

Joan felt swept up by the kiss, the pain and anger over the past several days draining away under his tender touch.

Marcus slowly brought the kiss to an end. Raising his head, he searched his wife's face. He could see the strain of the past few days and swore to himself that he would find some way to make it up to her. Actually, he had already taken steps. "I ordered the entire house opened and placed funds in your accounts for additional staff."

Reluctantly, Marcus released his wife allowing her to step out of his arms. He wanted to linger, to reacquaint himself with the feel of her but sensed she wasn't ready. There was a distance, a reserve between them that hadn't been there before. "If you're agreeable to it, I thought perhaps we could walk through the house together and see what changes you might like to make. I realize that you've come to favor the small sitting room but with your success the other night I suspect you'll be receiving additional callers -- ones that you might not want to invite into such a private space."

Joan didn't bother mentioning the number of callers she'd already turned away. In an effort to avoid undoing their success at the Huntington's ball, she had let it be known that she had taken ill. "I'd like that," she said. "Will you be joining me for breakfast?"

"Of course," Marcus said, flashing his smile. "I wouldn't miss it."

They spent a pleasant morning together, awkwardness giving way to the comfortable familiarity they had begun building before Marcus' absence. Walking through the house, Joan was surprised at the change. Doors were open, curtains pulled back and the covers removed from the furniture. The house was beautiful, each room done in tasteful elegance.

"My mother directed most of what you see," Marcus said in response to Joan's observation. "You should feel free to change whatever you like."

"Your mother...?" Joan started.

"Will not mind," Marcus assured her. "She has not been back since she married Lord Billings."

"Oh," Joan said. Looking around there were very few things that she would change. Lady Billings had chosen timeless pieces, their beautiful elegance as fitting today as the day they were purchased and placed. "I wouldn't change much," Joan said, "perhaps just to add a few personal pieces here and there."

Marcus turned towards the back of the house escorting Joan to her sitting room. "As you wish," he said. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have some calls to make."

"You're leaving," Joan said, resignation ringing in her voice.

Marcus paused midway to the door and turned back to find his wife watching him with wide eyes. "I shall return in time for supper," he promised.

Joan swallowed passed the lump in her throat only to feel it settle in the pit of her stomach. "Of course," she said, forcing a smile she didn't feel. "I'll have Cook prepare your favorite meal."

"No," Marcus said offering her a reassuring smile. "Have her prepare yours."

Marcus let himself out of the house and stepped up into the waiting carriage. Having given his coachman the direction he sat back and took his first deep breath in days. The morning with Joan had gone well. He still had a ways to go in repairing the damage done but he was confident the he would prevail in time. As for him, he didn't want to think too long on the past few days. To do so risked revisiting a nightmare from which he had thought never to escape.