Notorious (Rebels of the Ton #1) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,66
like a creature?”
“Tsk, my precise wife, you did not listen. I said you remind me of this creature, not that you look like it. It is called a porcupine—you have heard of it?”
“Yes, of course, an animal with some sort of spines?”
“They are covered in sharp quills; it is their defense mechanism—they display their quills when threatened.” He rubbed the top of her hand, his thumb warm through the fine kid glove. “You do the same with me—you always have.” He leaned in and breathed into her ear. “Why do you display your quills? To scare me away?” She sat frozen as he stroked from her hand up her leather-sheathed forearm, not stopping until he reached the place where glove met skin just above her elbow. She shivered with pleasure.
“I do no such thing.” Her voice was breathy and not her own.
“Mm-hmm, you do.” He brushed her lobe with his lips as he whispered, “Put down your quills, Drusilla. I would like to come closer and touch you.”
She stiffened. “But—but somebody might see us.”
“We are married—kissing, and more—is permitted.” His mouth caressed the sensitive skin of her neck, and she sucked in a noisy lungful of air. The sound acted as some sort of catalyst, and he slipped a hand around her nape and turned her to face him, his other hand at her waist, his lips moving across her jaw until they reached her mouth, where he began to feather kisses.
“So soft,” he whispered, the words hot against her skin.
She was breathing loudly, her soughing, uneven gasps drowning out even the stridulation of the evening insects.
“I like kissing and touching you far better than fighting with you, Drusilla.” He paused, nibbling her jaw, an area she’d never thought of as particularly sensitive. Until now. “Do you like me touching you? Kissing you?”
She swallowed convulsively, not trusting herself to speak.
He pulled back and she opened her eyes, but he did not release her. Instead, he studied her with huge pupils and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I want you.” His nostrils flared. “I desire you. I want to make you my wife. Tonight I will come to you.” His voice had lost its usual smooth, low timber, and it made her heart thrash and swell: he wanted her.
“Yes,” she said, the only word she could manage to squeeze out. But it was enough.
He lowered his mouth over hers, the hot tip of his tongue tracing the seam. He nibbled her, licked her, sucked her—she lost track of what he was doing, until his tongue slid between her parted lips. Drusilla started.
“Shhh,” he murmured, kissing and nibbling her lower lip. “Let me inside.”
Her head spun at his words and the tone with which they’d been uttered.
She opened and he slid inside, his tongue stroking hers, teasing a response. Drusilla was hesitant at first, but his low growl of encouragement made her bolder and she accepted his invitation to explore. She gloried in his taste, smell, and texture, and invaded him more deeply and with growing confidence. When she took his tongue between her lips and sucked, he groaned, his arm tightening around her, making her realize he’d been feathering touches up and down her side, his hand hot against the silk of her gown.
He kissed her once more and then pulled slowly back.
When she opened her eyes, she saw that his were black and heavy lidded. His lips seemed fuller and redder, and his breathing was uneven and labored.
He gave a slight shake of his head, his smile gentle as he tucked a straying curl behind her ear. “Drusilla.” His voice pulsed with . . . something.
His other hand continued its caressing while they held each other’s gazes. Never had she imagined she would see such an expression on his face: he wanted her.
He sighed, leaned close, gave her a brief kiss, and then stood, turning away to make some adjustment to his clothing before turning back and holding out his hand.
“Come,” he said, “let us get the next few hours over with and then we can scheme some way to get out of here early.”
When they reentered the ballroom, Drusilla was stunned to find that life was still moving on as usual. How could that be? Out in the garden the earth seemed to have altered—or the air had thinned, or her body had begun to float away, or something.
He wanted her. Gabriel Marlington, the perfect star always beyond reach, wanted her. The knowledge left her breathless, as if