A Brooding Beauty by Jillian Eaton Read Free Book Online Page B

that swirled and teeth that nibbled. Catherine writhed beneath the delicious onslaught and arched her spine, offering herself with the wild abandon of one who desperately craved more.
    She was rewarded with hands that swept down her body to her thighs, before they slid between her knees to pull them gently apart. She yielded easily to the quiet pressure and when a finger slipped into the soft velvet core of her she couldn’t help but moan. The first finger was joined by another. They began to slide in and out in a sensual rhythm that had her crying out before her mouth was captured and devoured with bold, sweeping strokes.
    Fire licked through her, burning her from the inside out, and she began to move in wild, mindless abandon… spurred on by the crude, naughty, utterly imaginative things her lover was whispering huskily in her ear as his fingers continued to plunge and stroke.
    It was too dark to see the face looming above her but she knew who it was. No one had ever touched her like this, kissed her like this, loved her like this but her husband. A throaty moan shot up from the depths of her throat as she hovered on the brink of surrender. The fingers inside of her intensified to a frenzied tempo that had her hips bucking and begging for more. She cried out her lover’s name as release washed over her like a wave, sending her spinning into dark, tumultuous waters.
     
    Catherine woke with Marcus’ name on her lips. She blinked and shot upright, sending cold water sloshing over the sides of the tub and onto the floor. Shivering, for the bath water had long ago gone cold, she climbed out and wrapped herself in a soft cotton robe. The covers of her bed had been drawn back and without bothering to comb the tangles from her hair or even dry herself off, she crawled beneath the heavy quilt and let the pillow dry her tears.

 
    Chapter Six
     
    Five Months Later – London
     
    For the first time since her debut, Catherine was not partaking in any of the balls, elaborate charity events, or intimate dinner parties that made up the Season. Surprisingly she missed nary a second of it, instead finding a quiet kind of comfort and joy from reading in front of the fireplace late into the night, taking strolls through Hyde Park with her friends, and spending time with her parents who had a residence only two streets over from her own.
    From Marcus she had heard not a word and as the weeks turned into months she began to think of him less and less, until he only entered her thoughts once or twice a day. Despite her fervent attempts to the contrary she could not help but wonder where he was and what he was doing. Had he returned to Kensington? Was he spending his nights with someone else? Were they happy? Did he ever think about his wife?
    “You are doing it again,” Grace chided gently, bringing Catherine back to the present.
    The two friends were walking slowly through the middle of Hyde Park , their hands burrowed in fur muffs and their bodies layered in thick wool cloaks. It was late January in London , and winter had not been kind to the city. Their boots crunched over snow as they stepped to the side to let a sleigh pass and Grace teetered on a patch of ice before regaining her balance with a rueful smile and shake of her head.
    A bit on the plump side with raven colored hair and sky blue eyes that bespoke of her Irish heritage, Grace was woefully uncoordinated. Her clumsiness was a bit of a running joke amidst her friends, but her potential suitors did not find it so amusing when she lit their sleeves on fire, spooked their horses, or – the worse yet – caused them to fall head first into ponds. As a result she was still unmarried at the rather advanced age of twenty four; a problem she seemed in no hurry to remedy.
    “Doing what?” Catherine’s voice came out muffled as she gave the red scarf covering her face a firm upwards tug until only her eyes were visible.
    “Thinking about Lord Kensington,” said Grace. Due to