Ask for It (Georgian 1)
“Do you love me, Marcus?”
She had promised herself never to ask him how he felt about her. He showed her in a hundred different ways every day how much she meant to him. But somehow the need to hear the words could not be denied.
His mouth smiled against hers. “Do you even have to ask?”
Elizabeth pulled back to search his face. “Would it pain you so greatly to say it?”
His mouth parted to speak just as a soft rap came at the door. “Come in,” he called out, unable to hide his relief.
William poked his tousled blond head inside. “Lady Barclay heard you arrive. She would like Elizabeth to meet her nephew now. You will have to wait until morning, Westfield.”
“Of course I’ll come now.” Elizabeth stood on tiptoe and waited until Marcus lowered his lips to hers. “I am not finished with this conversation, my lord.”
He nuzzled his nose against hers. “I await your pleasure, Lady Westfield.”
As Elizabeth left the room, William stayed behind.
Marcus regarded his brother-in-law carefully, noting the dark shadows under his eyes. “You look exhausted.”
“The future Earl of Langston has a voracious appetite and Lady Barclay has refused a wet nurse. I attempted to dissuade her, but to no avail. She stands firm.”
“Congratulations.” Marcus extended his hand and William clasped it firmly. “You are a most fortunate man.”
William ran his hands through his hair. “You should not have returned to London.”
“I agree, but like your wife, Elizabeth could not be discouraged. Unfortunately, she has reached the point where she’s willing to make herself a target to bring the situation to a head.” Marcus sighed. “The woman shows a deplorable lack of fear.”
“Yes, she always has. Don’t look so grim, Westfield. I can see you are not in accord with her decision by way of your early morning arrival and avoidance of returning to your own residence. You don’t want anyone to be aware of her return.”
“Do you fault me for that? She is my wife. You must know how I feel. Have you not lived with the same fear these last four years?”
“It was not like this,” William admitted. “There was no journal to worry over and no knowledge of a spy within the agency. The danger is greater now, I’m not blind to it or nonchalant. I love Elizabeth, as you well know, but I have a son. The time has come to conclude this chapter of our lives so we can all proceed.”
“And what of my children? Should something befall Elizabeth I will be left with nothing. You both beg the impossible from me.”
“Westfield . . .” William sighed heavily. “You and I will be prepared when the time comes.”
“When the time comes for what?” Elizabeth asked from the doorway.
“For you to be enceinte,” William said with a smile that hid the true nature of their exchange.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “You were discussing children?” She looked at Marcus. “Our children?”
He smiled at the thought. Every day he forced himself to believe she was his. It was a gift he continued to marvel over.
William engulfed her in a quick hug.
“Your son is beautiful,” she said with a soft smile. “He’d fallen asleep by the time I arrived. I look forward to holding him when we are both less weary.”
Kissing her forehead, he yawned before making his egress. “’Til morning then.”
The door shut with a quiet click and Elizabeth faced Marcus with shoulders squared. “We have never discussed children.”
“There is no need.” He moved toward her. “They’ll come when they come, and not a moment sooner.”
She looked away, biting her lower lip.
He frowned at the sudden chill of her features. “What pains you, love?”
“I don’t wish to discuss it.”
Chuckling softly, he ran a fingertip over her collarbone, feeling the flare of awareness flow from his touch to her skin. “You often say that, and then force me to pry your thoughts from you. But the hour is late, so I pray you’ll spare me.”
Her eyes closed. “Can we not just retire? I’m tired.”
“Tell me,” he urged, his lips to her brow. He dropped his voice seductively. “There are ways I can make you. Would you like that?”
“Perhaps . . .” Her chin lowered, as did her volume. “Perhaps I’m barren.”
He pulled away, stunned. “Where do you find these ridiculous notions?”
“Think of it. I was married a year to Hawthorne and—”
“He didn’t put any effort into it,” Marcus dismissed with a snort.
“You have put more than enough effort into it these last months,” she argued. “And still my courses come with clockwork regularity.”
Frowning, Marcus stared at Elizabeth’s downcast head. Her tangible sadness caught his breath. “Ah, sweet.” He reached behind her and began to loosen her garments. “You worry without cause.”
“With every month that passes I fear I’ve failed you.” She rested her cheek against the velvet of his coat.
“How odd. With every month that passes I’m thankful I can have you to myself for a little while longer.”
“Please don’t jest.”
“Never. I have two brothers. The Ashford line is in no danger.”
“Surely you want your own offspring and it is my duty to provide them.”
“Enough.” He spun her around to facilitate undressing her. “I only want you. In all my life, I’ve only ever wanted you.”
“Marcus—” Her voice broke, as did his heart to hear it.
“I love you,” he said gruffly, his throat tight. “I always have.” Beneath his hands he felt her crying. “If it is meant to be just you and I alone, I would die the happiest man. Never doubt it.”
She turned and caught him, tugging his mouth down to hers, pressing tear-covered lips to his. “I don’t deserve you,” she sobbed, her fingers frantic in his hair.
Marcus absorbed her assault with a crushing embrace, unable to speak now that he’d said the words he’d once sworn not to say, not to even think. She pressed forward, her movements so wild he stumbled backward. Her hands slipped into his coat, shoved it from his shoulders, tore at the ivory buttons of his waistcoat.
“Elizabeth.”
She was everywhere, clawing at the many layers of his clothing and the placket of his breeches until all he could do was help her. He understood her, perhaps better than she understood herself. She was cornered, trapped by feelings she had run from since she’d met him, and she was running again, only this time it was to him, rather than away from him. And he would give her the solace she needed, and take what she offered in return, because he loved her with every breath in his body.
“Take this off,” she cried, ripping at her bodice. “Get this off me.”
He gripped the loosened back flaps, and rent the gown open. She stepped out of the remnants, then with corset and chemise and a pile of underskirts, his wife tugged him to the floor, pressed him down, and tossed her leg over his hips. Marcus laughed, adoring her in her concentration and near brutal need of him. Then he gasped, and arched upward as she took him in hand, and then took him inside her, clasping his cock in slick, silky tissues.
“Christ,” he groaned, wondering, as he did every time he fucked her, if the pleasure would ever subside to where it was at least bearable. If this was all there was, if his seed never took root, he could live with that. He
knew it in his soul.
Elizabeth stilled, panting, her waist and breasts squeezed tight by her undergarments. She gazed down at her husband, sprawled beneath her, so gorgeous in his disarray. Marcus Ashford, known for his unshakable implacability, was flushed, his eyes bright, his sensual mouth parted. Unable to resist, she cupped his nape in her hand and lowered her lips to his. The taste of him, dark and dangerous, and the feeling of his tongue, silken and hot, made her shiver and clench tight around the shaft that throbbed within her.
He moaned into her mouth, and wrapped gentle arms around her. He thrust his hips upward in deep lunges, stroking her depths with the broad head of his cock.
“Marcus . . .” Filled with heated, voluptuous yearning, she rose and swiveled her hips, then bore down as he pumped upward, taking him so deeply she writhed with the pleasure of it. Every touch, every growl from his throat told her how much he loved her and accepted her, how much he needed her. Despite all her faults.
The intensity of his gaze was a tactile caress. He loved to watch her, she knew. Loved to hear her cries, and feel her need. Her body undulated over his, a thing separate from her mind, lost to her desire. The unyielding grip of her corset altered the experience, made her both achingly aware and dreamily dizzy.
“Yes,” he urged hoarsely. “Take what you need. Let me give it to you.”
Her fingertips rested on his abdomen and beneath his linen shirt she felt the tight, hard lacing of muscles flex with his exertions. Her eyes locked with his. “Hold me.”
He pulled her down, pressed his lips to hers, his tongue driving into her mouth in rhythm with the long, deep plunges of his cock. She was so wet, so aroused, every upward thrust sounded wetly through the room.
I would die for this, he’d said, and she knew it was true, because there in his arms, she did.
And was reborn.
Elizabeth woke late in the morning, and found herself alone. She bathed and dressed, eager to find Marcus before she spent the rest of the day with Margaret and the baby.
As she descended the main stairs, she spied Lord Eldridge and Avery standing with her husband in the visitors’ foyer. She paused a moment, composing herself for whatever was ahead, and then proceeded.