The Lady Courts a Marquess (Ladies of Seduction #2)

Chapter One

April 1813

12 Hill Street

Mayfair District

“W hat do you mean, you won’t go forward with the divorce?” Kitty demanded, driving her heel into the carpeted floor as she glared at her husband. He was sitting upright on his large, canopied bed, an open book on his lap and a full glass of brandy on the table beside him. In the muted candlelight, his features appeared even sharper and more forbidding than normal.

Handsome, yes—the Earl of Radcliffe was almost impossibly handsome. But there was a ruthless edge to all of that brooding beauty.

An edge she’d sliced herself open on more than once.

“It’s late, Katherine,” William sighed, and he knew—he knew —that she hated it when he called her that, which only served to spike her temper higher. “Can’t we get some sleep and address this in the morning?”

She shouldn’t have come in here. They kept separate chambers for a reason, and it wasn’t due to goodwill. For while the Countess and Earl of Radcliffe presented a united front outside Hill House, their London manor, inside of it they’d taken to keeping as far apart as two people could be while still living under the same roof. But if the first glass of wine she’d imbibed in the parlor downstairs had bolstered her courage, then the second had spurred her into action. And since she’d already climbed the stairs...

“We can address it now ,” she seethed.

“There will be no divorce.” He gave a casually, infuriatingly dismissive wave of his arm. “There. It’s done.”

A myriad of emotions swirled through Kitty’s body at her husband’s proclamation.

Fury.

Hopelessness.

Anguish.

“But you said—” she began before he cut her off with an impatient snarl.

“I was not being serious , Katherine. I spoke of divorce in a moment of anger. You know as well as I that it isn’t a feasible option.”

“It could be,” she persisted stubbornly. “If we petitioned the courts—”

“No,” he said flatly.

“But you don’t want to be married to me!” The wine bubbled to the tip of her tongue, putting words there that sobriety kept at bay. “Not when you love her.”

William closed the book he’d been pretending to read with a violent snap. “I said I don’t care to speak of her.”

“Why not?” Kitty said shrilly. “She’s always right here, whether we speak of her or not. In our house. In our carriage. In our bed. She’s here all the time, and I for one am sick of it. I won’t live like this, William. I won’t have three people in this marriage when I only said vows to one.”

A thundercloud rolled across the Earl of Radcliffe’s countenance. When it had cleared, he raised his hand in the air and crooked his finger. “Come here, Katherine.”

“I don’t want to,” she said, shaking her head from side to side.

“Katherine—”

“ Fine. ” Her feet dragged over the floor as she obeyed his summons. His arms shot out and he caught her around the waist, swinging her easily up and onto his lap. At first, she wanted to deny him. To resist the traitorous feelings swirling around inside of her. Feelings of lust. Of longing. Of desire. But it was a futile endeavor.

Her mind may have hated William, but her body...

Her body was helpless to resist him.

And while they didn’t have any of the other traits that made for a good marriage—love, trust, respect—they had this .

They’d always had this.

Sheer, unadulterated passion.

William’s book fell to the floor with a soft thump as she straddled him, her ivory nightdress skimming to the top of her thighs while the blue wrapper she’d donned before daring to enter her husband’s bedroom followed the direction of the book. He cupped her jaw on a low rasp of breath as she leaned toward him, her breasts, unbound by constraint or corset, rubbing against the rigid expanse of his chest.

“Kitty,” he murmured, and she melted into his kiss, her lips parting to welcome the bold slide of his tongue while hers flicked into the cavern of his mouth where she tasted the warm oak of brandy and the barest hint of peppermint.

She slid her fingers through his hair, nails gliding along thick, silky, wheaten tendrils before anchoring at his nape when the kiss deepened and he yanked her closer to the hot, hard heat of his loins. Sparks, bright as fireworks exploding over Vauxhall Gardens, ignited in her belly as she rubbed herself along his throbbing length, a moan of frustration stealing from her lips at the rough, restrictive barrier of the trousers he preferred to wear to bed in place of a nightshirt. Her fingers left his hair to fumble at the row of brass buttons holding his manhood captive, but before she could unfasten the first one he lifted his hips, simultaneously dropping her onto the mattress whilst yanking his trousers off. Naked, he pounced, his lean, muscular body enveloping hers in an iron embrace.

“We said we wouldn’t do this again,” he said harshly, his brown eyes burning black as he wavered between desire and restraint. A battle that Kitty had no intention of fighting.

“We lied,” she purred, arching her spine off the bed to bring them together.

A flash of fire, a rumbling growl of assent, and the Earl of Radcliffe—renowned for his self-control—captured her mouth in a bruising kiss while one of his fingers parted the curls below her navel to slide seamlessly inside her velvet sheath.

She clenched around him, her wet muscles contracting, and carried his groan of approval deep into the base of her throat. Bowing his head, he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked in tandem with the glide of his hand, establishing a rhythm of ebb and flow that had her writhing shamelessly atop the linen coverlet.

The wall sconces on either side of the bed began to sputter as on top of the mattress, Kitty and William’s desire soared to new heights. She panted his name and then cried it when his fingers drove her over the edge, but before her nerve endings could find a soft landing amidst the heady thrum of pleasure he flipped her over onto her side and entered her from behind, his hand biting into the curve of her hip as he buried his staff to the hilt in a thrust that robbed them both of their breath in the very best way.

She closed her eyes and saw flashes of light, bursts of color that exploded across an ebony swath of starless night. This was how it had always been when she was wrapped in William’s arms. It was when she was out of them that the trouble began. But there was no room to think about that here, in this sacred place, in this sacred moment, when their bodies were entwined and their skin was slick with perspiration and passion.

“ Katherine ,” he rasped into her ear and this time the sound of her full name didn’t annoy as much as it enthralled. He pushed her hair to the side and kissed the side of her neck, the soft, intimate gesture making her toes curl even as the rest of her demanded more.

He thrust again and her entire back bowed, lust humming through her veins. Bracing an arm above her head, she flattened her palm against the engraved mahogany headrest as he withdrew and then drove forward, carrying her right up to the brink... and then over it on a sharp cry of release.

She might have said his name. She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything as her vision blurred and warmth flowed through her body in a soft, dewy unraveling; the first blush of sunlight after a long, cold night.

He sought his own satisfaction immediately after, his breath hot and harsh against her nape while his abdomen contracted and he pulled her tight against him, merging them together until it was impossible to tell where he ended and she began. And for the tick of a minute, for the length of a miniscule eternity, they clung to each other. To what had been their past, however brief. To what would never be in the future. He stroked her hair, gently combing out the tangles. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers along the arm he had draped over her side, allowing her defenses to weaken and waver in the afterglow of a desire that refused to be denied.

She didn’t want to want William.

Not like this.

Not with an insatiable hunger that she felt in her bones.

In her very being .

It would be easier, so much easier, if their physical appetites had waned along with their tolerance for each other. But it was as if the harder she tried to untangle herself from him, from their empty husk of a marriage, the stronger the bonds of their lust became.

And it was tempting—oh, so tempting—to settle for this. To let these stolen nights, fueled by fury and frustration, be enough. To let their passion be enough. But she wasn’t going to be her mother. She wasn’t going to settle for crumbs when she deserved the entire bloody pie. If William couldn’t give her all of himself, then she would take none of him. Tonight was just another mistake. Another lapse in judgement. As was the night two days ago... and the afternoon a week before that.

Seven months’ worth of mistakes.

But her biggest mistake was ever agreeing to marry William in the first place.

Stiffening, she began to withdraw from his embrace, and after a token display of resistance he lifted his arm, watching with a shuttered, unreadable gaze while she gathered her belongings.

“You’re going to your room,” he said.

“Yes.” She held her nightdress to breasts that still throbbed from his kisses. “I want a divorce, William.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You can want it all you like. My answer remains the same.”

Anger and the vestiges of desire quickly cooling brought twin splashes of pink color to her cheeks. “But we’re miserable together! Why not separate and find happiness individually?”

“It’s out of the question.”

“William—”

“ Go! ” His thunderous roar made her eyes widen. William’s emotions ran deep, and he rarely let them rise to the surface. But when he did... when he did, the heavens rumbled. “If you cannot abide my bed, if you cannot abide me , then go, Katherine. Seek your own room. Seek your own company. But you’ll do it under the Goddamned roof that we both share. As husband and fucking wife. Is that understood?”

Glaring, she drove her heel into the floor and quit the room without another word.