Falling for the Marquess - Julianne MacLean Page 0,39
divorce case. Did you love her?”
He sat forward slightly. “Now we’re getting somewhere. No, I did not love her, but neither was the sentiment returned.”
“How long were you involved with her?”
“Only a few months. She was a regular patron of the Cakras Balls. I was not the only man she carried on with but was I the only witness in court that day.” He looked away for a few seconds. “She was a kind-hearted woman. Quite witty on occasions.”
“Where is she now?” Clara asked.
“She went to Ireland. Her husband is still here, though he hides away in the country most of the time.”
Clara settled back onto the deeply buttoned upholstery. “Have you never been serious with anyone?”
“Ah. The questions are becoming more interesting, aren’t they.” He gazed up at the roof of the coach. “Yes, I was serious once.”
Clara sat forward. “How serious?”
“As serious as a young man can get. I was in love and wanted to be married.”
Clara nearly lost her breath.
“You’re surprised,” he said.
“Well, yes.” But it was more than that. A thousand questions were darting around inside her brain. “Why didn’t you marry her?”
“Because I was young and according to my father and stepmother, not aware of the ‘importance’ of my marriage. I was heir to a very old title, and I had the unfortunate luck of falling in love with a merchant’s daughter. Not even a very prosperous merchant, at that.”
Still digesting her shock, Clara probed further. “How old were you?”
“Sixteen. I knew within a week that she was the one for me, and I was hers, secretly, for four years before I proposed. When my father learned of it, he was livid. The marriage was of course forbidden, and she was sent away, rather unexpectedly.”
“By whom?”
“My father.”
Clara was brimming with curiosity. “Where did she go?”
“He sent her to America, but the ship sank, halfway across the Atlantic.”
A lump formed in Clara’s throat. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He looked the other way toward the small red velvet curtain that covered the window. “It was a long time ago.”
“Have you not cared for anyone since then?”
He turned to look at her again. “I’ve cared for many.”
Clara’s heart began to race as he leaned closer and his gaze settled on her lips. He was so close that his nose was almost touching hers. The proximity roused her desires.
“Are you going to kiss me now?” she asked, breathlessly.
“Only if you want me to.” He remained where he was, waiting for her to give him some direction. Anticipation sizzled in the air around them.
“I’m not sure what I want,” she replied. “This feels dangerous.”
“Sitting in a carriage alone with a notorious libertine at three o’clock in the morning, asking all sorts of intimate questions, seems dangerous as well. Yet here we are.”
“Yes, here we are.” His nearness was overwhelming. The flow of blood through Clara’s veins throbbed in her ears.
She moistened her lips and the marquess smiled.
He was still smiling a few seconds later when he kissed her, his lips reaching hers almost experimentally. Clara closed her eyes and gave in to the mad rush of desire, welcoming his touch after so many days remembering what it had felt like that glorious first night under the stairs. Now, here it was again—the passion, the eroticism, the sweet, pounding ache of lust being fulfilled.
He cupped her face in his hands and grinned roguishly. “Still delicious.”
“That was nice,” she said, trembling all over, a blush warming her cheeks. She wished she could be more in control and know what she was doing, but she had no idea. This was unlike any experience of her life.
“You even taste like strawberries,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to kiss you again. There’s simply no getting around it.”
“Please do.” But before he had a chance to follow through, she lunged forward and pressed her open mouth to his.
The kiss was deep and fierce and utterly intoxicating. A sweet shiver ran through Clara’s body as she clutched at his shoulders, realizing she had been starving for this, far more than she realized.
The marquess eased her down upon the seat, never breaking the intimacy of the kiss. His hands roamed leisurely over her hips, then he rose to move her leg to one side and adjust her skirts so that he could settle himself between her thighs.
This was risky, she knew—to let him lie on top of her like this—but she did not wish to stop. She wanted to feel the weight of him, tight