Once Upon a Marquess (The Worth Saga 1)

“This world will take a great deal of work,” he said. “But… We can start in on that together. And while we’re sorting through all the imperfections, we can find more little things to make perfect. Perfect strawberries, for instance.”

“Perfect…marriages?” She smiled tremulously up at him.

“Yes.” He slid his arm around her waist. “But before that, might I suggest perfect kisses?”

“Yes.” She stepped close to him and tilted her face up to his. “Yes. Please.”

Epilogue

Fourteen months later

Judith woke in bed.

It was early autumn, just cold enough for a fire. She could detect heat against her face and the faint odor of burning wood. Even more faint was the scent of bread wafting from the kitchens below.

It was nothing to the heat of Christian’s hand on her hip. He was awake and touching her lightly. He’d promised her little notes of perfection, and he’d delivered.

Another hand touched her shoulder and he slid closer. So close she could feel his body against hers.

“Good morning,” he whispered. His stubbled chin rasped against her shoulder.

“Good morning.”

“I got up early just so I could toss all the cats out of the room,” he whispered to her.

“Mmm. No cats?”

“No cats. No commotion.”

Judith’s sleep-fogged brain finally began to wake. “Oh dear. No commotion. What do you suppose Theresa is up to?”

“Nothing she won’t still be doing in twenty minutes,” Christian said with a smile. “Here. Let me wake you properly.”

He pulled the covers back. The air was cool against her nightrail, but only for a moment. He slid next to her, cocooning her in his arms. His lips found hers.

“Mmm. You had mint tea sent up.”

“I did.” He kissed her again, minty and sweet, and she gave herself over to him. To the feel of his fingers running down her body. Stroking her arms, the crook of her elbow.

His mouth trailed kisses down her chin.

“I love you,” she said.

“Good.” His hand slid up her ribs to circle one of her breasts. “My nefarious plan is working.”

“Oh, no.” She could scarcely muster up what sounded like mock fear. “What nefarious plan have I fallen prey to?”

“It goes like this. One, I steal your capacity to reason.” His thumb brushed over her nipple and a spark of desire awoke, coiling deep between her thighs in response.

“I like one.” Judith breathed out. “Let’s keep on with one for a while.”

He ducked his head and took her nipple in his mouth. “Like this?”

“Yes.” It came out strangled. She reached out and pulled him on top of her—not that it took any pulling worth speaking of. He settled on top of her body, holding her in place, licking, his hips pressing hard into her.

Her hands slid under his night shirt. “Two,” she said breathlessly. “What’s two?”

“No two, not if you can still think,” Christian said with a wicked gleam in his eye.

“I can’t think. I promise.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t lie to me, Judith. You’re thinking right now.”

Judith considered this. “Unfair. I don’t stop thinking just because you made a stupid list. When I get lustful, I don’t need all the blood in my brain to go anywhere else. Your list is physiologically impossible. I shouldn’t be denied number two because of it. You need to edit.”

“Two,” Christian said smoothly. “Edit item number one. Let’s just make it so that you enjoy yourself instead.”

“Accepted. As long as you get to enjoy me, too.”

He kissed her again, this time longer. His hands flirted with the bottom of her nightrail, sliding it up her thighs.

“Mmm.”

“I like that,” he said. “Mmm is close to mindlessness. And you said it couldn’t be done.”

“You said you edited.”

“Mmm.” He kissed her again, and she smiled.

“Three,” she said. “If I don’t stop you from thinking, clearly we’ll never get anywhere.” She pushed on his chest and he rolled away. Not for long. She straddled him, setting his hands on her chest. Feeling his body beneath her, all hard muscle. “Victory,” she proclaimed.

He smiled up at her. “Sweet, sweet defeat.”

It took them a moment to guide him inside her. She was wet and ready; he was hard and wanting. He growled in his throat as she sank onto him. God, it was good. So good.

There was no more talking as he urged her on, his hands finding her hips. There were no more numbers as she gave herself up to him, to the feel of their joining.

For a little space at the end, there was even no thinking at all. But Christian didn’t need to know that.

He waited until they’d finished. And kissed. Until he’d played with her hair, until they’d reluctantly agreed that breakfast downstairs was a necessity. He called his valet into the dressing room; she made do with her maid.

Her maid was settling slippers on Judith’s feet when Christian came to stand beside her.

“Oh, one last thing. I forgot to mention why I had a nefarious plan in the first place. Now that you’re feeling favorably inclined to me, maybe I should mention that I told Theresa yesterday she could have another seven cats?”

“What?” She stared at him in horror. “You didn’t. I can’t believe you.”

A grin took over his face.

“Oh.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I see. You literally didn’t. I shouldn’t believe you.” Her hand slipped to her side, to the bed behind her. “You may have won this battle, Lord Ashford, but there are still numbers left on your list. I wouldn’t be so cocksure, were I you.”

“Are there?” He waggled an eyebrow at her. “What will you do with number five, Lady Ashford?”

Her fingers closed on a nearby pillow.

“Five…” She let her voice fall

to a throaty whisper, and she motioned him to lean in. “Five, I suppose, is…”

She whipped the pillow up, smacking him in the face with it. “Death to cat liars!”

“Not the pillow!” He held up an arm. “Anything but the pillow.”

She smacked him again—but as she hit him, one of the seams burst. Feathers spattered everywhere, exploding over them. They cascaded to the ground in a snow of down.

She stared at him and then very slowly, brushed feathers off her gown. “I didn’t think I hit you that hard.”

“You didn’t.” He brushed off his shoulders. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“No…?” But she realized it a moment before he opened his mouth again. “No. Don’t say—”

“Who is England’s greatest chicken-killer?”

“—It.” She finished.

He leaned over and brushed white down off her shoulder. “You are,” he said softly. “You are. I’ll see you downstairs. You have feathers in your hair; you might want to do something about that.”

After the Epilogue

The bread was perfect. The kippers were perfect. The number of cats in the household was…oh very well, it was nineteen, but the cat population had been growing at a relatively small rate month-by-month, and Judith would take what she could.

She almost didn’t notice the knock on the front door. She almost didn’t pay attention to the rumble of voices out front.

But then she heard the voice. That voice. She didn’t recognize it, not really. Still, it sounded achingly familiar. As if she should have known it, but did not.

“No,” a woman said. “You have to let me in. I don’t need to go round the back. I only wish to have a word with Lady Judith. I must.”

“Lady Ashford,” she heard their butler say. “She’s Lady Ashford. Don’t speak of her in such familiar tones.”

Judith pulled her hand from Christian’s, and before he could say a word, darted into the hall. “Wait!”

The woman standing in the front entrance was missing shoes. She wore a dingy gown, the hem ragged and dripping in mud.