WHEN YOU LOVE SOMEONE

Some men are not for marrying.
They have no interest in being dutiful, respectable husbands.  What they offer is a sensual paradise to any woman who dares take it.  And Julius D'Abernon, Marquis of Darley, is the master of the game...

Excerpt

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, coming to a standstill ,kissing her some more. “I don’t want you to be sad.”

“I’m not—never, never—not with you.” Hiccupping and sniffling, she tried to smile.

“Tell me what to do,” he murmured, always at a loss with tears.

“Take me away.”

He almost said where and meant it, the feel of her in his arms perfection, the thought of taking her away from her restricted world tempting.

Aware of his hesitation (men like the marquis dealt only in transience) she quickly covered her faux pas. “I meant to your race box, Darley.” She managed a flirtatious smile because her happiness was at stake. “Did I frighten you?”

“No.”

He’d answered without hesitation this time, she noticed, no further clarification required. “In that case, shall we go?” she lightly said, gesturing toward his phaeton. She wasn’t about to give up what Darley had to offer, nor quibble over playing the role of coquette if necessary. She understood very well that it was a man’s world. Had it not been, she would have been living on a Greek isle long ago.

“By all means,” he said with a smile, striding toward the phaeton, dismissing all the complexities with the ease of considerable practice. “I brought you something.”

Was this where she said, You shouldn’t have, I couldn’t, really? And for a fraction of a second, she almost mouthed the words. But as they approached the phaeton, she saw a small black velvet box on the leather seat and instead, squealed in delight.

He laughed. “You haven’t seen it yet.”

“I’m excited, that’s all.” She couldn’t say she’d never had a present in such a distinctive velvet box.

“It’s just something small,” he said, lifting her up onto the high seat. “Take a look.”

As he walked around the carriage, she lifted the hinged top and squealed again. On a bed of white satin lay the most gorgeous diamond and sapphire bracelet she’d ever seen. Of course she’d seen very few this close. None, in fact. The earl wasn’t the kind of man to spend money on a wife’s jewels, and her family hadn’t been able to afford expensive baubles. “It’s absolutely beautiful,” Elspeth breathed, as Darley leaped up into his seat and gathered up the reins. But she understood, covetousness aside, she couldn’t accept something so expensive. All the principles of a lifetime warned her off. “Much as I’d like to have something this lovely, I really can’t—”

“Nonsense; it’s the smallest trinket.” He gave the matched pair of bays their head and the light phaeton sprang forward. Catching the jewelry box as it slid out of her lap, the marquis snapped it shut and handed it to her. “Wear it and think of me.”

As if she wouldn’t think of him without a diamond bracelet, she reflected, clutching the velvet box in one hand and the seat rail with the other. “We can discuss it later,” she said in way avoidance, more concerned at the moment with maintaining her balance on the high, perched seat. “If I’m still alive when we reach your house,” she added, hanging on for dear life.

Holding the reins in his left hand, Darley slipped his arm around her and pulled her close. “Don’t worry,” he said with grin. “I definitely want you alive. I have plans.” His bays race at top speed, he maneuvered a curve with finesse, his hand light on the reins. “This pair loves to run.” He tipped his head and kissed her on the cheek. “Aren’t they beauties?”

“I’ve been too busy writing my will now that I have a diamond bracelet to bequeath to notice,” she muttered, willing the horse to remain sure-footed on the rough country lane.

“Practical woman,” he said with a flashing smile.

“Keep your eyes on the road if you don’t mind. And I’m taking the bracelet; it was only idle banter to distract me from dying.”

The vicar’s daughter never ceased to amaze him. She was sincere about not keeping the bracelet. A radical departure from women of his acquaintance. “Why don’t I slow down.” Darley's skill with women wasn’t entirely the result of practice; he was intuitive if he chose to be.

Within seconds, the horses were sedately cantering, the hedgerows and trees ceased to fly by in a blur and Elspeth’s pulse rate was considering returning to normal. “Do you always drive hell-for-leather?” she asked, releasing her white-knuckled hold on the seat rail.

“I like speed. That’s why I love racing. And thoroughbreds.”

“And winning all the prominent races.” Darley could live well on his race winnings alone.

He shrugged. “I like to win. Don’t you?”

“My options are more limited than yours.

He gave her a narrow-eyed glance. “They don’t have to be. Let me give you a loan if you won’t take funds outright. You’ll have options in your life, your brother will be solvent; you might find independence to your liking.

“All it takes is money. Is that it?”

“Don’t get touchy, darling. No one needs a fortune, but a certain competence helps.”

“And you’re the banker for all the improvident ladies in your life?”

“Not usually,” he said, because most of the ladies in his life were married to other men and didn’t need his money. Sexual amusements came second only to gambling in the aristocracy.

“So I’m the only poor church mouse,” Elspeth testily remarked.

“I don’t like seeing you with Grafton. You should have a damned sight better life.” His vehemence startled him. “Although I’m in no position to give unwanted advice,” he added, reining in his aberrant emotions. “Forgive me.”

“Could we just not discuss this?” Her voice was cool.

“Yes, of course.” His was equally cool; the solution to her problems could have been handled very simply with a bank draft.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

‘The pounding of the horses’ hooves, the muted creak of the phaeton springs were suddenly loud in the dappled sunlight, a palpable tension in the air.

“I don’t know about you,” she finally said, “but I get out so seldom, I dislike quarreling on my holiday.” She offered him a conciliatory smile. “Paix?”

He smiled back, forgiving her easy. “It was my fault entirely.”

“Yes, it was. You’re too wealthy, Darley. That’s your problem. Oh, dear, I shouldn’t have said that when I meant to be—”

“Submissive?”

“I beg your pardon.” Her blue gaze turned heated again. “Darling, stop, stop—I apologize. .. for having teased you, for my wealth, and anything else that displeases you.

“I might require something more than an apology.” She half smiled, back in good humor again after such a blanket conces­sion. “Something more substantial.”

“How substantial?” he drawled, innuendo in every syllable.

“The issue isn’t how much but when,” she replied with a sportive flicker of her brows.

“We could stop here.”

“If only I shared your exhibitionist tendencies we might,” she drolly noted.

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”

She pouted prettily. “Not too long I hope. Did I mention  I dreamed of you again last night?”

He almost pulled the phaeton off the road right there, the thought of her wet dreams, of her hot, sweet pussy needing him, almost irresistible. “The grass is cool; I guarantee no one will see us.” He nodded toward a clearing ahead.

She made a moue. “I just wouldn’t be comfortable.”

Having had considerable experience with making women for­get about comfort in a variety of locales, he debated arguing with her. But she wasn’t an exhibitionist, she’d said. On the other hand, he definitely wasn’t a monk. “Hold on,” he said crisply, cracked the whip and set his pair into a tearing gallop.