Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2), Maggi Andersen [best short novels of all time TXT] 📗

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Carrie woke beside Nicholas, her arm flung over his chest. Early morning light crept into the room, around the edges of the huge swag of gold damask curtains. She carefully lifted her arm. He was asleep, his dark hair rumpled, his sensual lips slightly open. In sleep, his face was finely drawn and appeared younger, more like the boy he’d once been, and her heart gave a throb for all the hurt he’d suffered throughout his life. The loss of those he loved.

Carrie rested her head against his chest and listened to his even breathing.

Mary’s description of making love had been nothing like this. It sounded rather perfunctory and uncomfortable. It fell way short of the ecstasy Carrie experienced with Nicholas. Especially when they’d woken earlier and made love again. Her friend had not mentioned what a man’s clever hands could do to a woman’s body. Or what one felt when he kissed her down there. Or how wonderful it was to be with the man you loved, to breathe in his clean sweat and kiss his salty skin. To lose yourself so completely, you cried out in abandonment. She grew hot remembering.

His hand moved to stroke her hair. “How are you, my love?”

She lifted her head from his chest. She was a little sore and sticky and longed for a bath. But she wouldn’t tell him that. “I am very well. But I wish to know where this sea voyage we go on will take us.”

He propped his head up on a hand and studied her, his gray eyes alight with humor. “Greece.”

“Greece!” Carrie squealed. She hit him on the chest.

He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Have I married a violent woman? What was that for?”

“You might have told me. I believed I’d never get the chance to see those places Papa wanted to take me to.”

“And have Gwen learn of it? We would have half the ton at the docks to see us off.”

She found she didn’t want that either.

“It’s the fulfillment of the promise your father made to you.” He slid his fingers through her hair. “And besides, I want you to myself.”

Her tresses fell in heavy waves over his chest and stomach. He brought a lock to his nose. “Mm. Lavender. You have beautiful hair.”

“Some say redheads are difficult.”

“No.” He grinned. “Do they?”

“Am I, do you think?”

He rubbed the supposed sore spot on his chest where she hit him. “You are perfect!”

“I believe you are humoring me. No one is perfect.” She laughed as he pulled her atop him, and framing her face, kissed her until she was so breathless, she could only giggle and murmur his name.

He tenderly enfolded her in his strong arms. “Sweetheart, believe me when I say, you have my heart and soul forever.”

Epilogue

At full sail, the big schooner surged through the waves, the hot Mediterranean sun dappling the sea with golden lights, the distant shoreline smoky gray. Nicholas stood at the rail, his arm around Carrie as the sea breeze ruffled her hair and threatened to steal her hat. Above them, seabirds wheeled about in the azure sky.

They were both tired, having spent the last few evenings in their cabin discussing those places mentioned by the poets they intended to visit, while drinking the prince regent’s champagne, eating his foie gras, and making endless love.

Nicholas couldn’t get enough of his beautiful wife. Her loving and passionate nature, her curiosity, and her desire to please him had been a wonderful surprise. Although perhaps not such a surprise, he’d seen glimpses of it that night when Carrie danced in the garden beneath the full moon.

“What shall we do at Elm Park when the moon is full?” he asked her.

She turned shining eyes to him. “Why dance with the fairies, of course.”

He raised his eyebrows. “As long as we don’t have to dance naked, Carrie. The nights can be cool in Surrey.”

“You are entirely too prosaic,” she said with a pout, but her loving gaze betrayed her.

If his bride wanted to dance naked under the full moon, so be it. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” And he meant it with all his heart.