M Is for Marquess by Grace Callaway Read Free Book Online Page A

said tartly. “I’m perfectly well and stronger than I look.”
    “Did you know Miss Thea has an illness too? I would not have guessed,” Freddy piped up from the bed. “She was fearless yesterday and didn’t stand down.”
    “Miss Kent’s vigor is indeed a thing of wonder,” Tremont said.
    Cheeks flushing, Thea told herself to ignore the husky edge to his voice, the hungry gleam in his eyes. Frustration filled her. Why was he toying with her, flirting with her when he’d made clear not once, but twice , that he didn’t want her?
    There was, she supposed, a freedom that came from knowing that one has been rejected. She had enough pride not to ask him to reconsider. If Tremont couldn’t recognize the strength of her passion—couldn’t see her for who she was—then she would find someone else who would.
    She refused to languish away like some piece of forgotten fruit. No, she would search out someone who would return her love. Who would kiss her, touch her, desire her as a flesh and blood woman. Who would make her feel as alive as she did when she was in Tremont’s arms…
    Stop it. Don’t let him play with your emotions like a cat with a ball of string.
    “I have errands to attend to, my lord,” she said coolly.
    The steel curtain dropped over his gaze.
    An instant later, he moved out of the way and let her go.
    What a surprise.

Chapter Six
     
    After ensuring that Freddy was settled, Gabriel descended the steps to the main floor.
    What the devil are you doing flirting with her?
    He had urgent business to take care of—and that didn’t include dallying further with an innocent miss he couldn’t have. Yet in Thea’s presence his principles seemed to fade, the compulsion to be near her, to possess every glowing inch of her, making him act like a damned cad.
    God help him, her passion had burned so brightly at their midnight encounter, illuminating his darkest fantasies. He’d stared at her lustrous hair, knotted in his fist, and the beast in him had hungered to use that silken skein like a rein . To flip her onto her knees, tear off her shift, and plow her until she screamed his name—until she let him do anything. Everything.
    Instead, he’d hurt her. Caused her to have an attack.
    He passed the landing, his shoulders rigid.
    He knew better than to get involved with a woman who couldn’t give him what he needed. And whom he couldn’t please no matter how hard he tried. Memories of his marriage fell over him like a shadow.
    Fresh from leaving the Quorum, he’d met Sylvia at a society ball, the first he’d attended as a newly minted marquess. After the life he’d led, he’d felt out of rhythm with the carefree dance of the ton , but from the moment he’d been introduced to Sylvia, her delicate brunette beauty and ladylike graces had anchored something inside him. Over the next few weeks, they’d fallen in love. He’d asked for and received her hand in marriage.
    He’d been certain that he’d finally found what had been missing in his life. Sylvia had been like a shining torch: her lightness and beauty, her tranquil presence, had promised to chase away his shadows. For the first time, his future had seemed bright.
    Their marital relations had come as a shock—to both of them. Having spent his adult life immersed in the murky world of espionage, he’d never been with a lady before. He hadn’t realized how debauched his sexual preferences were. The whores he’d bedded prior to his marriage had never complained; in fact, they’d urged on his depraved demands the way a jockey does a mount.
    But Sylvia was no trollop. She was his bride, an innocent. He’d made every effort to tame his lovemaking, to change his needs and see to her pleasure—but nothing changed.
    She didn’t enjoy his touch. Every time, she lay there, tense and stiff as a board, waiting for it to be over. When his hope began to fade and his visits to her bedchamber became less frequent, he could see the relief, the sense of