Dukes of the Demi-Monde by Felicia Greene

Author:Felicia Greene
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-05-26T04:00:00+00:00

If he stopped running, even for a moment, it would stop being true. Marcus gripped Elsie’s hand in his, not caring how tightly he held it as he ran through the service corridors of the Hall. The occasional curious face appeared in a doorway, or an exclamation came from someone standing too close—he ignored them all.

All that mattered was Elsie in his arms. Her voice in his ear, saying what had inflamed his lust and tenderness in equal measure. Make it yours.

It was madness. Madness of the purest kind. But he had been reasonable for so long—so very long, and all he had gained was sadness. Now was the time to see where insanity would take him.

Where could they go? Not to the bedroom James had given him, with all the reminders of who he was supposed to be. Not the kitchens, not the storerooms full of flour-sacks and potatoes, not the room full of boots waiting to be polished…

‘Here.’ Elsie’s breathless, laughter-filled voice stopped him in his tracks. Marcus turned to see her pointing to a small, plain door. ‘Where the groundsman sleeps, when it’s snowing and he can’t get to his cottage.’

‘Is he in there now?’

Elsie smiled. ‘Is it snowing?’

Everything she said sparked with that lively, irrepressible humour. A flame in her that Marcus coveted. Smiling, he pushed open the door to the new room.

It would do. He knew it before he had taken his first breath in the space; it smelled clean and warm, with rosemary hanging by the window. A fire crackled in the grate, as if in expectation of a visitor.

‘The scullery maid thinks of everything.’ Elsie’s voice was suddenly quieter. Softer. ‘She’d light a fire in every room of the house, if they’d let her.’

The bed was small but clean—freshly made, with starched white sheets and a woollen blanket. Marcus, suddenly nervous, stroked his finger along the wool.

He turned to Elsie. It took only one look into her wide, yearning eyes to not be nervous anymore.

‘You are shaking.’ He tried to speak reasonably, but his voice trembled. ‘Go closer to the fire. Get warm.’

‘Come with me.’ Elsie bit her lip. ‘Warm me.’

There was no disobeying her. Marcus, near-overcome at the sight of her waiting for him, went to her with a harsh, needful sigh.

Warmth was irrelevant. As soon as he touched her, he was aflame; as soon as his lips were on hers, he burned. A kiss that set ablaze every moment of looking, of longing, sparking his core with lightning as he took her in his arms. Elsie’s sigh as her mouth met his, the delicate way her tongue stroked against his own, was a reward that only increased his desire. Her cheeks were damp from rain, her neck; Marcus kissed her skin, tasting the rain on her, feeling her quiver against his lips.

Her gown was sodden. It was practically a kindness to remove it; Elsie tried to help him, her fingers clumsy and stiff as she struggled with the bodice. After the third failed attempt, Marcus couldn’t help but laugh.

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