A Marquess for Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page B

only a few steps down the hall. It had been
so long since she’d been intimate with anyone and now she yearned to know that
pleasure again.
    As
she touched herself, his image formed in her mind. Try as she might, she could
not erase it, could not think of anyone else. She imagined her hero whole and
perfect, as he’d been when he’d galloped toward her on the road. She could see
his luscious lips and silky hair and his firm, confident hands.
      Hands that would know exactly how to
hold her, how to caress her skin. And when he put his lips to her neck, she’d
tremble down to the tips of her toes. Her fingers would fly down the buttons of
his waistcoat and divest him of his shirt and underthings .
    She’d
kiss her way over his chest, nuzzling the fine hair with her nose, making her
way down his abdomen. The buttons of his trousers would go as quickly as the
rest and she would hastily strip his leggings and drawers until he stood as naked
and proud as a Roman statue.
    Her
breath would catch when she gripped his shaft and stroked him. His hands would
caress her derrière until she was damp with excitement. And she would feel his
power as he yielded to her demanding hands. She would grip the hair at the base
of his scalp as she pumped him, taking him down into the depths of desire with
her.
    And
when he couldn’t hold back his excitement any longer, he’d lift her up in his
strong arms and wrap her thighs around his waist. With a searing kiss, he would
command and she would whimper in response, allowing him whatever he wanted.
    When
he entered her, the way would be eased by the thick dew of her arousal. She’d
feel every inch as he claimed her, rocking her body over his until they were
fully one.
    She
would give him everything. Every sigh, every caress, every squeeze of her sex
would be in homage to him. Because he was the god who had awakened her, who had
brought her out of slumber and ignited the desire she’d thought lost forever.
    With
each thrust, he would draw her deeper and deeper into his world even as he went
deeper and deeper into her body. And he would take her to the precipice until
she cried, screaming his name.
    What
was his name? Violet came out of her daydream, still soaking in now tepid
water, her hands between her legs, and her desire only partly eased.
    She
wanted to know more about him. She wanted to know his name, so that when she
came again, she could whisper it to the heavens. Maybe the angels would grant
her wish.
    Violet
rose from the water and stepped onto a towel. Miriam had not returned, but that
was just as well. She needed to check if Dr. Littleton had finally
arrived—and to see if the stranger was coherent enough to tell her who he
was.

 
    Chapter Three
    Kit
did not recognize his surroundings. The cherrywood armoire and the large four poster bed were not his own. His gaze went in and
out of focus and he saw two footman and a girl that he couldn’t recognize. She
was tall with flaxen hair. Next to her stood another woman with high cheek
bones dotted with freckles, midnight hair, and emerald colored eyes.
    “ Bel —” He started to speak, but his words came out
slurred. When she put the blankets over him, he tried to reach for her arm.
    Her
eyes widened and she gave a tiny yelp.
    “ Don’tch be mad at Friddy .” His
words were a garbled mess.
    “I’m
sorry, sir. May I help you?”
    He
looked at her again, blinking a few times to clear his vision and realized that
she wasn’t his sister. She was young, but fuller than Bella, who was tall and
thin like a birch tree.
    A
sharp stabbing went through his head and Kit squeezed his eyes shut. As he
released his hand from the girl’s arm, he noticed how heavy and dull it was.
His body was almost numb, except for the bashing on his skull.
    A
cool hand felt his forehead and rubbed his temple. Then everything faded and
Kit could only see shadows. The room with its large windows and the bed with no
canopy vanished as if they’d never been