CHAPTER 9

IF THALIA HAD HAD ANY hesitations about the wisdom of pressing on to Elvington tonight, the steady rain that was soaking the city, and no doubt making the roads muddy and treacherous, would have dissuaded her from that course.

The hired carriage rolled its way through slick cobblestoned streets on the way to the inn. She was immensely grateful that Liam had made such efficient arrangements. In her impulsive pursuit of her sister, she had not stopped to think about all the risks she would incur by traveling alone.

What would she have done if Liam had not found her? If he had not offered his company and protection? It galled her independent nature to think that a capable man was useful in these circumstances. Yes, maybe she could have found a cab on her own and secured a room in an inn by herself. But she would have been putting her safety in peril.

As she studied the man seated across from her, studying her intently through half-lidded eyes, a pang of desire slithered through her. It was not only because of his usefulness that she was glad for his company. The promise of pleasure reflecting in his gaze had her emotions swirling in a chaotic dance inside her.

His offer of spending the night together was nothing less than a dream come true. She had fantasized about it. But even after that devastating kiss, she had not believed it would come true. When he invited her to his room, she felt shocked, flattered, and scared. But above all, excited.

At last, she would know about passion. She would enjoy the physical pleasures. Revel in having his magnificent body skin to skin with hers...

Was it hot in here?

"Come here," he commanded, as if in tune with her desire.

His voice was deep, dark, mysterious, and so sensual it turned her insides to warm honey. She could do nothing but obey it without question. Standing up, she maneuvered her skirts in the tight carriage, intending to sit beside him. But as soon as she was standing up, he grabbed her by the waist and tumbled her onto his waiting lap.

"Hmm, much better now. Here is where you belong," he growled a moment before his mouth captured her once more with the same urgency as before.

She had not had nearly enough of him, either. Soon she was clutching his lapels, straining against him, basking in the feelings he elicited. Feeling the ridge of his rock-hard arousal pressing into her hip. How she longed to see his member. Encircle it with her fingers. Test to see if it was as hard and as big as it felt.

The coach rolled to a stop, and the shudder of the carriage told her the coachman and Liam's servant had jumped from their perch to help unload their luggage. Neither of them had packed heavily, but still... She appreciated not having to carry her portmanteau by herself.

"I will procure another room for you, so that there's no question of impropriety," he said, his lips brushing her temples. "But you will sleep with me." His tone was possessive, allowing no argument.

His concern was heartwarming. Even so, she balked at the unnecessary expense.

"I appreciate it, but I'm sure that's unnecessary. This far from home; we are unlikely to arouse gossip. Nobody here knows me."

"Better to be safe. You asked me for no consequences. And that includes no scandal."

"Thank you. I shouldn't complain, but it seems so wasteful to have an empty room."

He laughed. "Don't worry about that. My servant will make use of it and consider himself lucky for the privilege."

He was so adept at organizing secret liaisons. How many of them had he had over the years? She shouldn't complain. It would be better for her if he had experience. After all, it's not as if she wanted to marry him. She just wanted a night of pleasure with a man who knew what he was about. And if his arrangements were any indication, he very much knew.

"Come," the marquess extended his hand to her, after he descended from the coach.

His servant covered him with an enormous umbrella, but rain soaked the ground, which had turned into a muddy mess. With a sigh of regret for the only shoes she had brought with her, which would get irredeemably wet, she stepped one foot on the step. Only to be swept into the marquess's arms.

She squealed, grabbing onto his massive shoulders for support, and hopefully to make herself lighter to carry.

"Put me down," she hissed.

"Your shoes will get dirty," he replied reasonably as he strode towards the inn's entrance. It was a short distance away, but seemed so very distant.

"You'll hurt yourself carrying me," she whispered.

He looked at her with such affront that she wondered if she had offended him somehow.

"Do you think I'm so feeble that I can't carry a woman a few steps?" he asked, his tone full of disbelief and outrage.

"No, I don't think you are feeble." He was probably the strongest man she had ever met, if the size of his muscles were any sign. "But I'm too heavy," she added, humiliated at having to spell it out.

His indignant gaze turned tender as he shouldered his way into the inn and lowered her slowly to the ground.

"You are not too heavy. You are a delightful, proper armful."

"Please, don't patronize me. I know—"

He kissed her, hard and swift, interrupting her tirade. "Cease your protests before I carry you all the way upstairs, just to prove that I can," he threatened.

She glared at him, but it lost its effect when her mouth twitched at the ridiculousness of their argument. "Fine. I'll shut up now. But next time, give me a warning before you sweep me off my feet."

"What fun would that be?"

The innkeeper, an older and distinguished-looking gentleman with a white beard and hair, greeted them warmly.

"Would you like to have a seat in the parlor while I arrange for our rooms?"

Thalia agreed with a nod and looked around. The inn's parlor, with its plush armchairs and intricately patterned rugs, was just what a weary traveler needed. Warmth enveloped her as the soft glow of gas lamps and the rich scent of polished wood greeted her. The faint aroma of a delicious stew and freshly baked bread conspired to make her stomach grumble and reminded her she had only had one meal today, if the admittedly excellent tea service she'd enjoyed on the train could be called a proper meal.

She settled into a comfortable chair, right by the ornate fireplace that crackled merrily, giving off pleasant warmth on this rainy and cold day. But all too soon, the marquess was calling her.

"Would you join me for dinner, my lady?" he said, bowing and offering his arm. "I've arranged for it to be served in a private parlor," he said. "And then to have baths sent up to our rooms."

"Dinner and a bath sound marvelous," she said as she took his arm, and they walked down a hall tastefully adorned with paintings and featuring gleaming brass fixtures.

The private dining room, with its table set with a crisp white tablecloth, sparkling crystal, and gleaming silverware, promised a culinary experience of the highest caliber. Liam led her to a chair and gallantly pulled it for her to take a seat.

Following fast on their heels, the servants entered with trays laden with covered dishes. They set everything up on the dining table and, after ascertaining that everything was satisfactory, departed unobtrusively. The service was as excellent as everything else in the inn.

"Thank you," she said while removing her gloves and sitting down at the lavishly laid out table.

Liam sat across from her. Together, they uncovered the plates, revealing an array of sumptuous dishes that promised to satisfy even the most discerning palate.

An oxtail soup, hearty and aromatic, a generous slice of succulent roast beef, accompanied by fluffy Yorkshire puddings, roasted potatoes, and a medley of seasonal vegetables, all drizzled with a rich gravy and no less than three desserts. Everything looked and smelled delicious, and her mouth watered with delight.

Until she spotted Liam staring at her, barely paying attention to the food. She froze, reminding herself not to appear too eager for food. That was extremely unbecoming, especially for someone her size. She smiled, embarrassed, and dipped her spoon in the soup, taking a tentative sip.

The flavor was exquisite, and it tore a reluctant groan from her throat. She closed her eyes to better enjoy the taste, and when she opened them, Liam was pouring her a glass of wine, his gaze never straying from her mouth.

"Aren't you going to eat your meal?" she asked, discomfited by his attention.

"I will. But it is such a pleasure to watch you enjoy your food. You eat with gusto, savoring the flavors."

"You are making me self-conscious." She put down her spoon and frowned at her food.

"You shouldn't be. The Italians have a saying: Chi mangia bene, vive bene . Meaning, that who eats well, lives well. I've found it's true. A person who takes pleasure in food, also knows how to enjoy other life's pleasures... Such as sex."

Well, her face was probably flaming, judging by the heat she felt around her ears.

"I haven't. Enjoyed the pleasures of sex, that is," she confessed.

As much as she yearned to experience passion in this man's arms, she didn't want to mislead him into thinking she was accomplished in bed. That would lead to severe disappointment on his part and great humiliation for her.

But far from being deterred, his eyes glowed with possessive hunger. "I'm sorry your previous lovers have been such dunces. But if your response to my kisses is any indication, you shall enjoy pleasure tonight."

His words, as much as the wicked promise in his eyes, melted away her apprehension in a surge of heat. She cleared her throat and sipped her wine, attempting to calm her rioting emotions.

"Not unless you can secure the sheaths," she retorted cheekily.

His smile was devilish. "Oh, even without intercourse, I can and will show you pleasure like you have never experienced, my dear."

"Oh." She tried to hide her disappointment. She had rather hoped for the intercourse part.

As if reading her thoughts, the marquess went on, hiding a smirk behind his glass of wine. "But never fret. Mathias is combing the streets at this very moment, looking for an apothecary shop or some such establishment that can provide the sheaths. I have perfect confidence in his abilities. He's a resourceful chap."

Her eyes widened in shock. "You sent your servant out to buy sheaths for you?"

"Yes. And why not? It's not the first time he has fetched them for me. It's part of his duties," he said with a nonchalant shrug.

"But he will know what they are for."

"I sure hope so. The lad doesn't strike me as na?ve."

"I mean, he'll know we will..." she trailed off, unable to say it.

"He knows, anyway, dear. He's the one who will sleep in your room. But don't worry, he's loyal to me, and the embodiment of discretion."

"If you say so," she muttered, still uncomfortable with the idea. "I hope you don't ask him to wash your used sheaths as well."

That produced a big guffaw. "Absolutely not." He leaned forward as if to impart a big secret. "I never reuse my sheaths."

THIS DINNER WAS TURNING into one of the most sensual experiences of his life. He couldn't tear his eyes from her lips, the way she licked them after taking a sip of her wine. Watching her neck ripple when she swallowed had become an obsession. And the rise and fall of her breasts on every sigh of pleasure was almost more than he could endure.

His erection was becoming painful, and if Mathias didn't return soon with sheaths, he would be reduced to roaming the streets himself to get the damn things. He had meant what he said before. He could show her pleasure without intercourse, but he was afraid his cock would never forgive him. His organ might wither and die of despair if it couldn't sink into her sweet haven tonight. He chuckled at the melodrama of his thoughts.

"Did I say something humorous, my lord?"

"No. I was just thinking."

She raised an eyebrow questioningly, but there was no way he could tell her about the direction of his wayward thoughts. A knock on the door saved him from having to make something up. He called permission to enter, and a maid peeked in.

"Milord, milady, just to inform you that your baths are ready in your rooms when you please."

"Thank you. We'll be up soon."

The meal was almost over, but he wanted to savor the dessert. He was partial to sweets, and the delicious Tipsy Cake was one of his favorites. The first bite of the succulent dessert did not disappoint. He was quite looking forward to seeing her lick a trace of custard or whipped cream off her lips, or close her eyes and sigh in ecstasy while the flavors of the sponge cake soaked in sherry exploded in her mouth. Who would have thought dessert could be so tantalizing? He'd be the one to explode in his pants like a callow youth if he didn't cease these lurid imaginings.

"You should try the dessert," he told her after washing down the initial mouthful with a sip of sherry. "It's excellent."

"No, thank you. I don't eat dessert."

Well, that brought this particular fantasy crashing down. "You don't like dessert?"

"It's not good for the constitution," she replied primly.

What balderdash. He had not expected such a ridiculous statement from a woman who so obviously enjoyed the finer things in life.

"Says who? I love desserts, and they have never done any damage to my constitution. Have you ever tried the Tipsy Cake?"

"Not since I was little. It was a favorite of my mother's, and we sometimes indulged together as a treat." The dreamy, nostalgic gleam in her eyes told him all he needed to know. "But my stepmother banished desserts from the house. My late husband was of the same opinion. I haven't enjoyed one in years."

Well, that was sad. And a state of affairs he couldn't allow to continue.

"Here, try this," he said, offering a spoonful of cake overflowing with custard and sweet cream. She looked at it hesitantly, but the temptation was evident on her face. "Open your mouth, Thalia."

She met his eyes and licked her lips in anticipation, making his cock twitch. But when she closed her mouth over the decadent morsel, and hummed in pleasure as the flavors caressed her palate, the rush of lust to his groin almost made him regret offering her the cake. Fuck, but he was in a state. Unless he paced himself, this encounter could turn embarrassing for him.

"That was delicious."

He used his thumb to wipe a bit of cream from the corner of her lips and brought it to his mouth to lick it off. "You are right. Quite delicious."