Hold Me Close Read online

  Marcus bit at his lower lip. He remembered the corporal bringing him the letter from England, the paper sealed with black wax. He scarcely recalled the actual reading of it, just the sensation of a crushing darkness around him, and a harsh ringing in his ears. He hadn’t been able to breathe, then, either.

  And he hadn’t really spoken to anyone about what he felt. Soldiers didn’t do that.

  But Julia deserved to know she didn’t grieve alone.

  “It was awful,” he said. “When I got the word that he—that he was gone, I could not even comprehend it. It was as if I’d suddenly walked off the edge of the earth.”

  “Yes!” she said. “Into—into a great void. Black, and—and terrible.”

  He nodded. “I don’t even remember the next few days. I suppose I drank a great deal, which is not at all my habit. And then—well, then, there was still a war to fight. I had my duty. A battle to lead. So I pressed on.”

  “Oh,” she said on a sharp breath. “I wish I had some duty. Some real duty.” Her hands fell back to her lap, balling into fists, and he instantly missed their warm touch. “I’m not even the Countess of Grantleigh anymore, not really. I’m just a placeholder now, until Christopher’s cousin Alfred takes a wife.”

  Her words were bleak, but her tone had no self-pity in it. In fact, even as she spoke, she made a visible effort to straighten her spine. She was trying to pull herself back under control.

  But, still, he felt her suffering, and it sent a wash of pain through him that nearly dropped him to his knees. What was it like, to be a woman? To have one’s whole identity tied up in domestic life? Where a single loss like this could rob one of everything that mattered?

  “By any chance,” Julia said, “is the army looking for female recruits?”

  He chuckled, despite the heaviness in his heart. “No. I’m sorry. Though I suspect you’d make a formidable officer.”

  That made her laugh as well, a brief, hoarse sound, barely more than a cough. “Formidable? Do you really think so?”

  “I have no doubt.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “I was always the capable one, did you know? Out of all my friends. Sensible, clear-headed, confident Julia. The one to come to for advice. The one who knew what to do, how to behave, how to handle any situation.”

  “I know that. You have always been most capable. And clear-headed.”

  “And when I met Christopher, when he chose me, out of all the girls who were vying for his attention, I didn’t even realize what a miracle it was. It merely seemed…the next natural step in a life properly lived. I took it for granted. Well, no—I knew I was lucky. But I didn’t see how improbable it was. How much more I was given than any rational person should expect.”

  He sighed. “You deserved a love like that. To be loved like that.”

  She drew herself up even straighter, and her brows arched. “Well, the joke’s on me, now, isn’t it?” she said, her tone suddenly sharp. “Because Christopher’s been taken away. And it turns out I don’t know how to live my life. Not at all. Not without him.”

  Marcus didn’t know what to answer to that. He just waited, and listened. Let her say whatever she needed to say.

  “You were right, you know,” she said. “I have grown too thin. I don’t eat enough of those meals I plan so diligently.” She held up the fingers of her left hand, and flicked her thumb against the base of her ring finger. “Look at my wedding ring. It spins so loose I’m always afraid it will just drop off one day.” Her tears brimmed once more, and her breath shuddered. “And then I’ll have—nothing. Nothing left of him at all.”

  And then Marcus couldn’t bear it, he just couldn’t bear it anymore.

  In one swift move, he gathered her in his arms and drew her against him, holding her tight. “Julia,” he said, daring to use her name, not her title. “Julia.”

  And, thank God, she didn’t stiffen and pull away, she leaned hard into him, pressing her weight into his chest and burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her arms went around him, too, clutching at the muscles of his back as though she’d sink through the earth without that support. She was gulping for air, her whole body trembling as though it would break apart, and he thought it might kill him if her grief truly did make her run mad.

  Desperate to soothe her, he cradled the back of her head in one hand and rubbed her back with the other, whispering soft words, he wasn’t even sure what, telling her she wasn’t alone, telling her everything would be all right, even though he knew it wouldn’t be, knew there was nothing he could do to make any of this better.

  Blast it all, he wanted to run his sword through someone, load a cannon and blow something to smithereens. But those skills were useless here.

  So he just held her. Held her and whispered whatever comforts came into his head.

  Slowly, Julia’s trembling stilled. The shuddering stopped, and she gathered herself once more. Finally, she took one hand from his shoulders to draw a handkerchief from the placket of her gown, mopping at her eyes and nose, her ladylike delicacy returning.

  When she looked up at him again, her eyes were a bit pink around the edges, but their blue was still piercing. “Thank you,” she said, giving him a wobbly smile. “For listening to me. I haven’t had anyone to talk to, to really talk to, all this time.”

  He swallowed hard. “You have me,” he said, and it felt like he was swearing a vow. “You always have me.”

  “Oh.” Her lips parted on a soft gasp. “I do?”

  “Of course. To—to listen to you,” he hastened to add. “To listen to whatever you have to say.” It took all his force of will not to say more, not to unburden his heart more fully. She wouldn’t want to hear all that, surely, all the things he felt about her. It would horrify her.

  But his will mustn’t have been entirely under his control, because before he knew what he was doing, the hand that had been motionless at the base of her skull slid forward to press against her cheek.

  “I am your friend,” he told her. “You must know that.”

  She leaned into his palm, laid her own hand over his knuckles. Her blue eyes locked with his, and the force of her gaze stripped his soul raw. “Yes,” she said. “I see that. Christopher always told me you were the best friend anyone could hope to have. And now I understand why.”

  And then, to his shock, she turned her head towards his hand and pressed a soft kiss into his palm. Just a gentle, chaste touch of her lips, for the slightest instant, but he felt the pulse of it straight through to his belly.

  “Marcus,” she said, trying out his name carefully, and the sound of it on her lips nearly gutted him. “Thank you, Marcus.” Her gaze was still so open, still taking him in so completely.

  Now his tongue wouldn’t quite work. “Of—of course,” he managed to say. His arms were still partially around her, one hand pressing the small of her back. She still had one hand resting on his shoulder.

  He really ought to let go of her, he really ought to stand up, and retrieve his coat, and button the buttons tight, and put the safe barriers of civilization between them again. But he couldn’t seem to draw his hands away.

  Some force, some palpable force, seemed to bind the two of them together, and he was powerless to resist it.

  He took a deep breath. “You know you may tell me anything,” he found himself saying. “And ask me for anything. Anything you need from me, I will give. I swear that to you.”

  Her eyes went wide at those words, and he could have sworn her pupils darkened, or perhaps grew larger against the brilliant blue. She studied him for a long moment, scanning his features slowly. What on earth was she thinking now?

  “Anything?” she asked, her voice soft as breath. “Do you mean that? Do you really mean that?”

  “Anything.”

  And then he was quite sure the madness she had spoken of earlier had suddenly become entirely real, rising up and sweeping over them both.

  Because Julia leaned in closer to him, and she slid her
arms around his neck once more.

  And with a heart-rending sigh, she pressed her mouth to his.

  5

  Marcus didn’t respond at first, his brain frozen as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

  Julia was kissing him.

  It seemed improbable—impossible.

  And yet, undeniably, he felt the silken softness of her plush lips against his. He felt the soft pressure of her breasts against his chest, the clutch of her fingertips kneading the muscles of his back, and the lavender scent of her hair. Oh, and the subtle heat of her mouth, and the sweet taste of her.

  He made a sound in his throat of animal desperation.

  Julia pulled back and looked at him uncertainly. Her hands trembled on his shoulders. “Do you—do you want me to stop?”

  What he thought was, Yes. Yes, absolutely.

  Yes, you should stop kissing me, and get the hell out of this room before I drag you into my arms and ravish you, because this is wrong a dozen different ways, and you will regret this, and I will regret this, and once whatever strange impulse has seized you passes, you will hate me forever if I don’t stop you now.

  But, oh, God, he wanted her. He had always wanted her. And what he saw in her eyes—the need, the profound loneliness, and, great heaven, the raw yearning—it was more than he knew how to fight against.

  So somehow what he said was, “No. No, Julia, I don't want you to stop.”

  Almost without the effort of his will, his hands went to the sides of her head, his fingers spearing through the soft waves of her hair.

  His lips came down on hers, and she sighed against them, her breath warm and fragrant, and the surge of wild desire he felt drove out all thoughts of honor or scandal or propriety.

  Julia was here, actually in his arms, offering herself, and if he was the one who’d now turned lunatic, he wouldn’t have returned to sanity for anything in the world.

  Her hands were pulling at the linen of his shirt, trying to draw it upwards. “Take this off again,” she murmured against his mouth.

  He let go of her just long enough to oblige, stripping the garment off over his head, then pulled her back hard against him, his heart pounding as he felt her arms slide warm and smooth against his bared flesh.

  “Better,” she whispered, and then her hands were roving over him. Oh, and the feel of them, her eager palms on his shoulders, her chest, his ribs, tracing the shapes of his muscles, sent shock waves through his body. “You’re beautiful,” she said, in the breaths between kisses. “So beautiful.”

  “I’m beautiful?” Nobody had ever said such a thing about him before.

  “Extraordinarily so,” she insisted, skimming her hands over his biceps and back up to his shoulders again. “Like something from a dream.”

  He groaned. His blood roared, and the air in the room seemed to blaze even hotter than before.

  She was the beautiful one. So perfectly made, every curve and angle of her. His greedy hands explored her back, the elegant angles of her shoulder blades, the fine tapering of her rib cage, the trim turn of her waist. A lady, every inch of her. She felt tiny and delicate against the breadth of his body, so delicate he feared he might crush her without meaning to if he let the passion rising in him have full rein. But there was a lushness to her as well, where her hips rounded outwards, and in the fullness of her breasts. Her long, slim arms had a strength and solidity greater than he would have expected.

  She broke their kiss for just one moment, as one of her hands left his side and reached behind her to the lacings at the back of her gown. “Loosen these,” she pleaded. “And my stays. I can scarcely get any air.”

  Oh, Lord. He tried to keep some grip on his reason, on his sense of what was right. It was one thing for his chest to be bared, but if they started removing her clothing, they’d soon be headed to a point of no return. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asked.

  “To breathe?” Her eyes sparkled as they gazed into his, and the effect on him was as heady as brandy. “Yes, don’t you remember? You told me yourself it’s what I must do.”

  Damn it all. If there were reasons why he shouldn’t let this go forward, he suddenly couldn’t remember any of them. Both his hands fell to the base of her spine, and he tugged her lacings loose, whisking the long ties through the eyelets inch by inch upward until her bodice gave way enough for him to drag the silk down from her shoulders. Such lovely shoulders, smooth and white, utterly flawless. The creamy flesh of her breasts swelled deliciously at the top of her stays, and he couldn’t stop himself from groaning at the sight.

  She might be a lady, but she was also a flesh-and-blood woman.

  And very clearly aroused—her lips were swollen and flushed from his kisses, her eyes alight, her careful coiffure spilling from its pins, and beneath the thin lawn chemise that was the final layer of clothing beneath her stays, the peaks of her breasts visibly hardened to nubs.

  As for himself, he was all but shaking with his need for her, the blood driving forcibly downwards through his body, thudding with a deep, primal rhythm, making his cock hard as a length of steel.

  Even so, even as he tore at the final set of lacings at the front of her stays, his conscience made one final stand against the force of desire. “Julia,” he said, panting. “You should tell me to stop. We will both regret this if we go any farther.”

  A flicker of hesitation crossed her face, but then she shook her head. “I don’t want you to stop,” she said, her voice tremulous, but certain. “I need you to touch me. Please, Marcus. Touch me. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched.”

  His fists clenched as he fought down the need that was driving him. “This isn’t like you. This isn’t the way you’ve lived your life until now.”

  She gave a little cry. “Who’s to say what I’m like, anymore? Who’s to say how I should live my life? I can’t keep going as I am. You may not be a phantasm, but I’m becoming one. I meant what I said about feeling lost in a fog—everything so cold and numb…”

  He squeezed his eyes shut against the assault of contrary feelings within him. “But even if that’s what you need, there must be someone else to turn to. Someone better than me. A man who could offer you a proper life—”

  “No, Marcus.” Her fingers squeezed his shoulders. “I don’t want someone else. I don’t trust anyone else. It’s you—it has to be you. Right now. You swore that you would help me, remember? That you would protect me.”

  “I don’t think Christopher meant it to be like this.”

  “How could he predict what I would need? All I know is that if you don’t touch me now, I’ll disappear entirely. I’ll dissolve into nothingness. I’ll die.”

  “You won’t—”

  “Right now,” she insisted. “I don’t care if this is madness. I’m begging you. Please.”

  Please. It was that last word, said with such desperation, that pushed him over the edge.

  He wasn’t going to think any more. He couldn’t think. Seizing her face with both his hands, he crushed his mouth against hers.

  It was a claiming kiss, and a pledge.

  With a sigh against his lips, she arched her back and pressed in closer against him, the silken softness of her breasts molding still tighter to the hardness of his chest. Her lips parted, yielding to him, and his tongue drove inward, flicking against the soft, slick flesh of her mouth. Desire flared hotter in him, fierce and demanding.

  His fingers freed the last loop of the ties of her stays, and he eased the firm shell of it away from her ribs and shoulders, then dropped the whole stiff garment to the floor.

  Without that restraint, his hands could move more freely over her body, and he was eager to reach every part of her. Her thin lawn chemise, the final barrier, was gathered along the neckline by a length of silk ribbon. A quick tug to loosen the bow, and that fabric, too, slid loose from her shoulders. Her bosom was bared at last.

  He drew back from the kiss so he could look at her, and the heady ru
sh of desire left him dazed. Dear Lord, her breasts were exquisite, lovelier even than he had imagined—firm and high and round, her nipples pink as rosebuds, upturned as if begging for the touch of his tongue.

  He was more than happy to oblige.

  Ducking his head, he took one pink nub in his mouth, drawing the swell of surrounding flesh deeper with the pull of his lips as his tongue rasped back and forth across the peak.

  Julia cried out in pleasure, burying her hands in his hair and drawing his head tighter against her, urging him on. He was happy to oblige that request, too, using lips and teeth and tongue to draw more cries and moans from her, laving one breast and then the other, using his hands to lift the soft mounds from beneath, kneading them gently, and using his fingers to stroke and squeeze whichever nipple was not currently in his mouth.

  Her flesh heated beneath his touch, and she arched into him almost violently, demanding more. A harsh impatience drove him, too, as the more primitive parts of his brain began to demand he explore the regions of her body still hidden beneath her silk skirts. His breeches were almost painfully confining now, and to keep from bursting his own buttons he had to take one hand from the delight of her breasts just long enough to release the fall.

  His cock sprang forward, thick and hard and urgent as a battering ram, but he ignored its insistent pleas to heave up her skirts immediately and bury it deep within her.

  Given the way she was moaning and writhing against his mouth, he suspected Julia would have no objection to hurrying things forward, too. But he intended to take his time with her. She needed to be given pleasure, enormous pleasure, until every last part of her was soft and heated and thrumming with delight—and undeniably alive.

  He eased her backward onto the divan now, but with no intent to position himself atop her. He settled her head upon a throw pillow, kissed her once more deeply on the lips, and began to trail hot kisses along the length of her throat and torso. He let himself linger, briefly, on her delicious bare breasts, pausing to draw each one lovingly into his mouth again before moving downward, kissing and stroking her ribs and the taut flesh at the top of her belly. She arched her back and panted as he went, her fingers twisting in his hair and grasping at his shoulders.