Chapter Six
Marlowe
For the shortest moment of his life, Marlowe thought that Millie might have wanted to kiss him.
Or might have wanted him to kiss her. He even thought that she’d eyed the bed longingly, but obviously, that had been some kind of devious wishful thinking because not too long after that supposed bed-sighting, she’d suggested they return home.
And he would honor that request. He’d have to find a different way to woo her.
Really, he thought the bed in the library in the forest would have worked.
Then again, maybe it had. His heart was feeling rather full.
Seeing her in love with the library, knowing they shared some vulnerabilities, just being in her presence was enough to convince him that he needed to know her more.
That he was falling for her already. Somehow.
In the most bizarre turn of events that he could imagine.
And not just for the purposes of seduction.
To spite his mother, and with a glass of water, of all things, he had stumbled upon the most intriguing woman he’d ever met.
Lost in thought, he nearly bumped into her standing stone still.
“Everything all right, Millie?”
“Yes,” she mused, staring directly at the rain barrel used to water the small garden behind his beloved library cottage.
He continued to study her movements as she reached for a bucket and dipped it in the now-uncovered barrel.
“What are you doing, Millie?” He had to ask because he had the oddest premonition about the strange, humming stillness within her.
And that’s when she said it. “Just a little revenge.”
That one simple phrase was not enough to prepare him. He wasn’t sure it was enough to prepare any man—
Splash!
Water dripped down his face as he stood in pure shock. She appeared to be in the same state of disbelief, mouth agape, eyes wide.
“You did not—”
She tossed another one at him.
“That’s it!” he shouted with a grin as he cupped his hands into the water, spraying her with it.
Water immediately soaked her bodice, which was equally his intention and not his intention.
Soaked.
Laughing.
He had the largest grin on his face as she took another bucket of water and threw it at him.
She was laughing so hard now that she was bent over at her hips, leaning against the cottage wall.
Never had he seen a more beautiful sight.
His heart squeezed in his chest. Like her joy was a ribbon tied around it and every time she belted out another spell of laughter, the ribbon tightened just a little bit more.
Walking toward her in this state was dangerous, but he already knew this wasn’t fake for him anymore. Likely had never been fake. There was something magical about her. Her laughter. Her heart. Her mind. Her eccentricities. Her. Just her. All of her.
“You’re soaked,” he said to her, staring at her drenched frock.
She was like one of those dark stars theorized about, so massive and encompassing that light could not escape.
She being the dark star, he being the light, the analogy was backward, but it was no less true that he couldn’t extricate himself from the hold she had on him.
“What will we tell them?” he asked, referring to their drenched clothes.
Her eyes sparkled with mirth as she looked up at him. Palms up and extended out, she answered, “We’ll tell them it was all the rain’s fault.”
“But—” He stopped himself, realizing that it was indeed raining. Water pinged against her skin, and he had no recollection of when it had started.
They needed to return to the manor. Now.
Lest her reputation deteriorate completely.
If they didn’t make it back tonight, there would be no other choice but for them to marry.
And he knew she wouldn’t like her independence and control taken from her.
Despite her indifference to her status as a fallen woman, he couldn’t let that stand.
“We need to go home. Now—”
Thunder crashed and lightning lit the sky.
Change of plans. “Get inside!” he shouted, grabbing her and hauling her through the door. He slammed the door shut.
“Damn it,” he muttered. This could be it for her reputation. The scandal would leave indelible scars and would force her hand.
When he looked up, he expected to see terror, mortification, or some other emotion akin to that. Instead, he saw anger. And not just a flash of it. It was a full flame.
And then she was peeling her layers off. Ties were being loosened. Shoulders were being uncovered. On his end, her actions were having the reverse effect. Tightening. Coiling. Swelling. That was what was happening in his gut and between his legs.
“Oh, my God.” His heart beat heavily in his chest as his breeches tightened around his cock. “What are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” she practically growled at him. “I’m not dying, that’s what I’m doing. Start a fire, will you?”
Yes. That was a damn good idea. He needed something to do other than stare at her increasingly exposed body. But his legs didn’t quite function the way his brain wanted them to. “Y-Your reputation.” Apparently, neither did his lips.
“I’m not missish to the point of death.”
“I can see that.”
“Besides, you’re a rake. What’s one more body of the feminine form?”
“Yes. Exactly.” He licked his lips unconsciously. “Just another one.” He stared. Dumbfounded. Every movement revealed more. Every gesture from her made him that much closer to throwing her on the large bed he’d seen her take in earlier.
Fire. Fire. They needed to heat up. Not on the inside. That was already ablaze. But fire was necessary to keep her warm and prevent a chill.
Having used the cottage enough as his own escape into literature, the supplies were at the ready, and he was able to start a fire quickly.
“Same as every other body.” She was still talking nonsense as he stood to face her. Which…wow…was a mistake of the grandest proportions.
“Not quite.” He pushed his hair back, water dripping down his spine. “You’re actually quite exquisite.”
“Marlowe, please. You must stop saying things that aren’t true. Do you really expect me to believe you when you spew lies like that?”
Loosening his cravat, he took a step toward her now-naked form. “I don’t expect you to do anything. Be you, Millie. But I hope that you can believe the truth.”
Her jaw loosened and her bottom lip parted from the top. “What are you saying, Marlowe?”
“What I’ve been saying from the beginning, Millie. There’s something about you that I can’t deny.”
“What does that mean?” Her brows furrowed as her lips pulled tight.
“It means I want you.”