Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Marjorie was surprised to feel his lips against hers.

She stumbled backward, losing her footing and colliding against the door jamb. She felt his pain as his lips moved over hers, searching, softly demanding, and she gave herself over to the power of him.

Alfie's hands tangled into her hair as she slowly moved her body, slipping through the cracked door, pushing it a little wider, never allowing their kiss to break.

She wasn't afraid. She wanted him to know he didn't have to be either. She was there, and the late September morning was warm, the soft breeze rustling the trees outside his balcony.

His body tensed as she turned them, about to fully step outside. But he didn't give voice to his fears if he had any. Instead, Alfie clutched her closer when she gave herself over.

She wasn't about to let Alfie spend the rest of his life cloistered in this room, not when she remembered what he had been like before.

Yes, he had always been the dutiful older brother, the presumptive heir, and he had taken that seriously. Though bookish, they had that in common. But he enjoyed being out in the world. He had always commanded some sort of power when he stepped into a room. She missed that, and if she did, then she feared he either forgot or didn't think he deserved to be out with the rest of London now after the deaths of his brother and father.

She whimpered against his mouth as they spun and stepped out onto the balcony. His back slid against the hard stone fa?ade of the house, and she looked up, breaking their kiss, holding his face in her hands.

"I'm here," she whispered. "I am here, and you are well."

Alfie sighed and slid down the wall.

He was so handsome.

When he was younger, she had thought so as well. But he was no longer fresh-faced. Now, his eyes shone back at her, wild. Her chest hurt. She wished to tell him where they were but feared bringing light to it would only make it worse. So instead, she dropped a kiss to his forehead and the tip of his nose and cheeks.

Alfie gathered her up and placed her on his lap and clung to her as he tried to steady his breathing.

She slipped her hand through the buttons of his linen shirt, resting her palm over his racing heart. She tucked her head low and kissed the side of his jaw, down the line of his throat, and dropped one last kiss to the hollow there, feeling his pulse beat against her lips. When she sat back up, her heart hurt in reverence all the same.

"You must think…"

Marjorie shook her head, placing a finger gently against his mouth. "I don't want to hear one disparaging thought," she warned. "I think you're brave. I think you're kind. And I think I love you."

His eyes flared open at her last words, and he pushed her hand away to kiss her once again. This time, not out of desperation but hunger. Not frenzied but slow, calculating, as if he had dreamed of nothing more since she'd left for London years earlier.

He kissed her as if he only wanted to kiss her and her alone , and it meant everything.

His hands ran through her hair, pulling out the pins, and it tumbled down her shoulders as the birds sang. The golden sun filtered through the dark-green leaves in the last whisper of summer warmth, carried off in the wind. She knew autumn was coming. Soon the leaves would fall, and it would grow colder and darker, but for now, kissing him was like finding an eternal summer.

She felt the hard length of him pressed against her core. She grew achy and frustrated and issued a soft moan as his lips trailed down the column of her neck. His teeth dragged against her skin, bringing about the softest kind of pain. And to her surprise, it faded to a new kind of pleasure as well.

She stared down at him, slowly unbuttoned his waistcoat, and untied his shirt as he tugged at her dress.

There was too much between them. His eyes darkened, and she felt it too—the sudden madness driving them forward. This was a man kissing a woman he loved. A woman realizing she had loved this man for years, and this had always been what was going to happen, even if she'd lost her way for a while.

His hands pulled down her dress, revealing the tops of her shoulders. Then a little more, to the tops of her rounded breasts. The brush of his fingertips against the soft, delicate skin sent a shock down her spine.

"Alfie…" It was a soft, desperate plea.

His thumb tentatively brushed over her nipple, and she bucked her hips against him.

"Let me taste you," he groaned against her mouth.

Marjorie felt as if she were being spun apart with each touch. She kissed his cheek, tasting the salt of his tears, smelling the leather notes of his cologne, feeling the heat of his skin under her fingertips. She was consumed with him, throwing herself over to the moment.

"Lay back, sweet."

Alfie bent forward, guiding her gently down to the ground before running his hands up her calves, then higher over her ribbon garters, before pushing her dress above her knees.

She propped herself up onto her elbows, attempting to catch her breath as he crawled forward, ducking down to push her dress higher still.

Her pulse thrummed as he skirted his fingers up her inner thigh, his eyes pinned to her reaction. Marjorie bit down gently on her bottom lip, waiting, the last of her patience about to snap before his fingers found her core and slipped between her folds.

She gasped, tossing her head back up at the sky.

"No, keep your eyes on me."

She snapped her attention back to Alfie as stroked his thumb against the sensitive pearl at her apex. Everything within tightened.

He bent his head down, pulling apart her legs with his hands, then kissed the inside of her thigh.

Marjorie couldn't look away, couldn't…

She had never experienced such pleasure before. Certainly not with Percy who hadn't dared…

Alfie's mouth licked up her seam, parting her folds, before his tongue slowly circled that magical spot again, and she swore she saw stars as soon as he sucked.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, too afraid to say anything, too afraid to look away. And all the while, her body tightened, chasing some end she wasn't sure of, only that she felt herself climbing toward a secret destination.

"You taste like heaven," he whispered against her. "Do you like it?"

Marjorie nodded, her pulse quickening.

"Good." He slipped two fingers inside of her, and instead of shock, a rush of pleasure flooded her body, and she clamped her eyes shut and fell back against the cold stone floor. His mouth tasted her, and his fingers worked in and out, and just when she thought she couldn't handle it any longer, something snapped inside of her.

Marjorie's back bowed as a pulsing rush washed over her and her body, and for a moment, as she glanced up at the sky, she thought she might be flying. But everything soon settled, and she came back to her own, realizing what she had just done with Alfie, and she closed her eyes, embarrassment bright on her cheeks.

"Don't close your eyes, Jo." He pulled down her skirts, before crawling over her. He braced his body over hers. "Don't leave me now."

She shook her head, finally gathering the courage to open her eyes. He pressed his mouth to hers, and she could taste herself there on his lips. Another spike of excitement rushed through her, a genuine surprise at how much she enjoyed such a private act.

"Heavens," she said, suddenly falling into giggles. "The door was open the entire time. Anyone could have seen, Alfie. What were we thinking?"

"I was thinking how perfect you are." He brushed his hands into her hair, suddenly sitting up and pulling her into his lap.

Such utter reverence. She was sure she had gone mad. This could only be a dream.

"I was thinking how we're outside."

His shoulders tensed under her touch. "London doesn't know what's coming. No one steals from my duchess."

"Your duchess?" she squeaked.

He grabbed her hand, kissing the back of her knuckles. "If you will have me, Jo. I know I am not?—"

Marjorie shook her head, rocking her hips against his, satisfied to feel his hard length between her thighs. She cupped his face and brushed her thumbs over his sharp cheekbones, remembering once the boy who had stumbled upon her reading, eating a plump peach.

* * *

Alfie tipped his face up toward the sky.

He choked back a surprised laugh, suddenly feeling the tension melt from his body as a soft breeze caressed his skin and birdsong filled his ears.

Outside .

Maybe it was the woman tracing her thumbs over his cheekbones, sitting in his lap. Having her there made the moment all the easier, and now he was outside.

The heavens still remained, and the world wasn't coming to an end.

He turned his eyes back to her, loving how the golden September light flickered on her dark-brown hair, painting it with gold. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes nearly sparkled, and her lips were plump and inviting. Her dress lay off her shoulders, making her look wilder and more desirable than he had ever seen her before.

He was used to seeing Marjorie Merriweather walking in the park, her boots covered in mud, her raven nearby. He loved to watch her march across the fields in the early morning mist. That had been some kind of magic. But this, now, was a different magic: kinder, softer, and overwhelming all the same. He wasn't certain if he'd ever loved anyone more than he loved her.

"Sweet," he said.

She giggled, dropping her head to his shoulder. "Someone could have found us."

"We're not doing anything," he said, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk. She only grinned.

He kissed her more, bringing her pleasure, and now all he could think of was bringing her to his bed, exploring her, savoring her. The rest of London could hang; he would deal with that damn cad another day.

He hadn't shared with Marjorie yet, but he had already written to his solicitor to see about buying the publisher and stopping the presses on Percy's book. That was his first step. His next would be marrying her and bringing her to London as his duchess, confronting Percy together.

"Door," she reminded him again.

He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, sucking on the tip of her index finger. "Right, the door."

"Are you listening?"

She slowly rose from his lap, and he couldn't hide the cockstand in his trousers. He pushed up to his knees and then to his feet, gesturing for her to spin around to fix her dress and pull up her sleeves.

"I don't suppose you know how to fix hair."

"No one is here to mind," he replied. "And I love your hair."

She blushed, as if he hadn't had his mouth on the most intimate part of her only moments ago. Too bashful over a compliment about her hair. He laughed.

When she was sorted, he fixed his shirt. He braced his hand on the stone of the building and peeked over his shoulder once more at the park beyond. The morning light danced, casting shadows over him and Marjorie.

He stepped inside his room, grabbing her hand, before marching over to the door, fully expecting to either slam it shut or freeze. He was surprised when he stepped through.

"Alfie?" she asked as they found themselves in the hallway. She clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a surprised giggle.

"It's my house, isn't it?" he said.

She nodded as he took her a few more steps away. The soft carpet beneath his boots cushioned their footfalls. It was a dark house, the walls of wood and stone, covered in tapestries, dark drapes, and paintings. His father had been an avid art collector. Alfie had shared the same passion and, along with portraits and landscapes, also liked to collect maps.

He clutched Marjorie's hand, never letting go, as they approached the grand staircase Percy used to chase him around on Christmas holiday. Once, they had taken their mattresses off their beds and raced down the staircase until their mother had discovered what they were doing and scolded them both.

With each step, he expected the panic to come, the sour stomach, and the metallic taste in his mouth. While the rest of him felt on edge, the panic mostly subsided. He was determined to go on a walk.

"Where are we going?" Marjorie asked. "Alfie," she said, tugging on his hand.

He stopped on the landing, spinning back to see her standing there a step above him, gazing down on him as if she were a queen. By God, she was beautiful. Simply stunning. Her smile was his favorite.

"It's a nice day," he said. "We're going on a walk."

"We're going on a walk?" she asked, clearly confused.

"Agreed," he said, then held her hand once again, continuing down the stairs before his mind could catch up to what his body was doing. Before the excuses could start or the fear could take hold. He was done with it all.

For Marjorie, he would leave his room, leave this house, go to London, and protect her. He would help her reclaim what was rightfully hers because he loved her and was proud of her. Above all else, she had done the hard work, not Percy. Percy had capitalized on Alfie's hard work throughout school, always relying on his charm. But Alfie wouldn't let him win, not now, not again. He'd already taken Marjorie away from him the first time.

He would claim what was his, speak up for himself, and fight, no matter his fear. He had lost too much already, and time was unforgiving.

He opened the door and waved her outside, struck by her genuine smile.

"Very well, Your Grace," she said.

"Very well, my lady. No need to stand on formalities now, is there?"

She shook her head. "I only wanted to try it the once. I like you best as my Alfie."

He offered her his arm. She slipped her hand through, and the two of them walked down the front steps of the house, out onto the stone drive, and farther still out toward the pond.

"I like that best as well."