Page 99 of The Boxing Baroness

“Lord, what are you doing to me?” he repeated in an oddly shaken voice. And then he drove himself home and flooded her with warmth.

Marianne held his big body while he shuddered with his release. They were pressed so close that she could feel the pounding of his heart in her own ribs.

Had she ever been happier? If so, she couldn’t recall when.

Pure contentment flowed through her body like sweet, slow-moving honey. He was everything she’d hoped for and more: a thoughtful, decent man, a loyal, caring friend, and a passionate, tender lover.

She squeezed her eyes shut when she felt the telltale prickle of tears.

And he could never, ever be hers.

Chapter 25

It was dawn when she next woke, and the bed beside her was empty.

Marianne pushed herself up and squinted into the crepuscular light.

The duke was sitting in the chair nearest the fire, fully clothed, lacing up a boot.

“What time is it?”

“Half-past six.” He finished and sat up in his chair, rolling down his sleeves. “I will have a bath sent up for you.”

“That sounds divine.”

“Would you like me to send up breakfast, as well?” He stood and took his coat from a peg on the wall.

“No, I will come down.”

Sin buttoned up his coat and then strode to the bed and sat down beside her.

Marianne met his gaze warily.

He smiled at her—the rare expression setting her heart fluttering. He reached out and cupped her chin, smoothing his thumb over her lower lip. The desire to take him into her mouth and pull him back into the warm blankets was strong, but he was already clothed and ready to leave.

And she needed to collect herself.

“I meant what I said last night,” she said, her face heating under his hawklike gaze. “I have no expectations.”

“I know you meant it.” An uncharacteristic look of uncertainty spasmed across his features. “Last night was . . . well, I shan’t lie, Marianne: I want to do it again. And again.” He lowered his hand with obvious regret. “The decision to continue this must be yours. I will not importune you.”

“But I may importune you? Again.”

Heat flared in his icy eyes. “I hope you do.” He raised her hand from where it rested on the blanket and lifted it to his mouth, kissing not the back, but the palm, the tender, erotic gesture obliterating her wits.

He left before Marianne could speak—not that she had anything to say that wasn’t gibberish.

She slumped back against the headboard, her face flaming as she recalled how loudly the duke had made the heavy wood pound against the wall last night—more than once. And how loudly she’d cried out. She raised her hands to her heated face. Lord. Her uncle had the room next to hers. What if he and Sonia had heard?

She dropped her hands and gritted her teeth; Barnabas was not her uncle. And even if he were, he was the one who’d all but shoved her into Dominic’s bed, so he’d have no right to comment on what she did now.

Marianne looked at the door the duke had just passed through. So, he would not come to her; she would have to go to him.

She chewed her lip as she considered his words. Last night had been more wonderful than she’d ever hoped. She had known he’d be a generous and caring lover in bed, but his passion and uninhibited zest had stunned her. As had his earthy language and open hunger for her body.

And he wanted to do it again. And again.

Marianne couldn’t recall a time in her life when she’d both wanted something fiercely and yet feared it at the same time.