How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal 3)

He tugged her scandalously close, and her heart thudded as her breast at times grazed against his chest.

“Be yourself, Evie.”

She shifted, and her forehead butted his chin, so close he held her.

“If you want his attention, be yourself. Your genuine and full laugh is not boisterous as your mother has berated, your joy will enchant him, your wit and charming personality will beguile him, you are irresistible…one smi

le from you and he will hunger to know your desires and be desperate to grant them.”

He bent his dark head toward hers, and his warm breath caressed her lips. “Do nothing in half measures as your mother and governess have impressed upon you, and if you do not secure his affections, he does not deserve you.”

She leaned back slightly and stared at him in speechless wonder. “If I am to be bold and do everything full measured as you say…I cannot withhold my kisses.”

He grounded them to a halt, though the waltz had not ended. His eyes flashed a dangerous warning.

She ran her fingers through his hair. “Do you deny it is impossible to know if someone is ideally suited to be your lifelong partner without a few but very discreet stolen kisses?”

“Have a care, Evie,” he said smoothly, hooding his gaze. “I would hate to break the man’s bones.”

He had never shown the least inclination to be so possessive before and a thrill burst in her heart. She gave a flirtatious shrug. “I think not,” she drawled. “At the opportune moment, I—”

He dragged her up along his body, the strength in his action a scintillating shock. Before she could protest, his mouth slanted across hers with a ravening urgency. The raw force of his mouth possessed her, the strength of his hunger catching her unawares. He had never touched her with such roughness before, and she moaned in acceptance of his sensual dominance. He tasted dark…dangerous. Her hands fisted in his hair to hold him closer when she should be pushing him away. Anyone could come upon them. Slowly, inexorably, her blood heated and desire coursed through her like molten lava. Their tongues tangled wildly, and a long, low moan broke from her lips.

He pulled from her, breathing heavily. She lifted trembling fingers to lips that were bruised.

The harsh contours of his face were uncompromising. “If you value this man’s life, you will afford him no liberties until you are married.”

His meaning was unequivocal. “You are outrageous,” she gasped.

Without speaking, Richard melted away in the dark.

Chapter Eight

Evie was haunted by Richard’s kisses. It had been several days since she had almost been delightfully debauched, and despite keeping herself busy, memories of his illicit touch and his harsh kiss at the ball tormented her dreams. Her week had been hectic—a musicale on Monday, a carriage ride on Tuesday with a newly minted and wealthy baron whom her mother favored, a picnic on Wednesday with the Mosely sisters, balls on Thursday and Friday, a soiree on Saturday, and thankfully today, Sunday, she was free. Free to torment her thoughts with memories of his touch and his rejection of seductive lessons.

She’d never imagined there were such pleasures to be had with a man. Nor had she envisioned a kiss would have traversed along such a wicked path. There was a part of her that was mortified to have allowed him such intimacies without any understanding, and another part, the rebellious wanton in her, celebrated in the joy she had felt in his arms. She had been so helpless against his kisses. If not for his restraint she would have been thoroughly ravished. In a moving carriage. And then on that dratted balcony.

She felt uncertain, off kilter, and desperately needed to confer with Adel.

Evie’s morning had heralded the same pleadings and threats from her mother to select a beau from the ton, a refined gentleman with at least thirty thousand pounds a year, with acceptable bloodline, connections, and reputation. Now was the opportune time to escape to visit her friend since her mother had taken it upon herself to call upon the new Countess Blade, who, if the rumors were true, was very scandalous indeed. Several weeks ago, Lord Blade had thrown his wife over his shoulder at a ball, creating the stir of the season. Then the society papers reported that Lord Blade was the author of the “In the Service of the Crown” series—delightful, scandalous, and provocative books Evie herself had occasion to read. The scandal that had erupted in the wake of such revelations had Mamma rushing off to visit several neighbors to partake in the gossip.

With a sigh, she opened the letter she had received yesterday and reread.

Dearest Evie,

Edmond and I are traveling to Rosette Park on Sunday. We’ve been away too long from the girls and the twins. Promise me you shall visit soon and spend a week with me. Please ask your dear mamma if she will spare you.

Faithfully, Adel.

Evie had been too mortified to share her intimate encounter with Adel at the ball held in their grand ballroom on Friday. Her friend had recognized she was unsettled, but she had stubbornly held her silence, and now Adel was away from London and might not return for the remainder of the season.

Bloody hell.

It felt so satisfying to curse in such an unladylike manner even if it was only to herself.

With another gusty sigh, she placed the letter on the small writing table in her room, collected her shawl, slipped her feet into slippers and exited. A long walk would do well to clear her thoughts. Halfway down the winding stairs, she paused as loud, angry voices filtered up.

“That blackguard, I have a mind to call him out,” her brother snapped.