His Wanton Marchioness (A Lustful Lords Novella)

She waited her entire life to be married, and she refuses to let anyone interfere with her happiness…not even her new husband.

Elizabeth Grafton, the Marchioness of Carlisle just married the man of her dreams. Or he was. Now, he barely spends time with her. But most disturbing, he comes to her bed under the cloak of darkness—the man won't even light a candle!—and insists she keep her nightgown on until he leaves. 

Alexander Grafton, the Marquess of Carlisle is deeply, madly in love with his wife. But, he wants to do things to her that a man could only do to his mistress. He's struggling to keep his baser instincts in check, and that was before his wife decided to seduce him. If she knew what he really wanted…she'd run away. 

Armed with "professional" advice, Elizabeth sets out to thwart all of her husband's best intentions and show him just how shameless she can be. Can her wanton nature tempt her husband, or will he win their battle of wills? 

London, March 1859

Elizabeth Grafton, the Marchioness of Carlisle, spun around as her heart skipped a beat. Stopping, she stared at the figure reflected in the mirror. Her skirts continued on their trajectory until they wrapped around her legs—that is, as much as the crinolines permitted—and then reversed course to settle around her ankles. She considered her familiar dark blonde hair coiled into thick braided loops. Her small waist appeared even smaller due to the corset that her mother had insisted she wear laced so tightly the act of breathing was a Herculean task. The blasted contraption also had her breasts teetering on the edge of spilling from her bodice. It was almost indecent! The ivory silk of her wedding gown had a soft sheen in the glow of the gas lamps that made her feel otherworldly. The woman reflected in the mirror was a veritable stranger.

Lady Carlisle. The Marchioness of Carlisle. Mrs. Alexander Grafton… that was the moniker that gave her the biggest thrill. She had married the man she loved. Her life couldn’t be more perfect than it was in that moment.

Despite the myriad unfamiliar names she now bore, she still felt like Lizzy, though her stomach executed a slow roll when her thoughts turned to her wedding night that lay ahead. She had hoped her new husband might play the role of lady’s maid on this night. But alas, he had sent her upstairs with the expectation that Sarah, her actual lady’s maid, would attend to her shortly. Her brows drew together as she puzzled over that decision on his part. Was he not as eager as she to commence marital relations? Perhaps he simply thought she needed the time to settle her nerves? Hhmmpphh. Carlisle was what she required. He had a steadying effect on her, one she badly needed as virgin jitters took up residence within her stomach.

A soft knock interrupted her musings. “Come in,” she called out as an irrational spark of hope flared to life.

The door opened, and Sarah bustled in with a gush of excitement. “My lady! You were beautiful today.”

Lizzy tamped down her disappointment and offered her maid a smile. “Thank you, Sarah. You styled my hair so elegantly; I am still amazed it is me when I look in the mirror.”

Her maid smiled. “Thank you, my lady. I am glad it pleased you.” She strode over to the armoire. “Let me just pull out your nightgown.”

Sarah pulled the scandalously sheer night-rail from the Mahogany cabinet and laid it out across the bed. Then she returned to where Lizzy stood and began unfastening her gown. Together they made quick work of undressing her, and before long, she sat at her dressing table, clad in her filmy batiste cotton nightgown that exposed more than it covered, and pulled a brush through her tresses.

“Let me do that for you.” Sarah reached for the brush.

Lizzy waived her off. “I’ll brush my hair. It’s been a long day. You should retire.”

Her maid hesitated, as though she feared Lizzy might accuse her of shirking her duty.

Lizzy huffed her impatience. “Go!”

“Thank you, my lady.” Sarah curtsied and quickly exited the room.

Silence settled around her as she pulled the brush bristles through her hair over and over. The dark golden blonde hair shimmered as she continued to stroke through strands. Focusing on that was far easier than wondering where her new husband could be. She sighed and set the brush down. This was ridiculous. She stood up and paced toward the fireplace. She knew Carlisle—Alexander. He was her husband now. He was the man she had cared for, for over a year as he courted her and ultimately asked for her hand in marriage. He would never hurt her. He would never do anything to cause her pain—well, at least not beyond that one act that was unavoidable. Her mother had warned her that the first time would be unpleasant.

She stared into the fire, watching the flames dance as she tried to settle her nerves. He would join her soon, and she did not want him to find a scared virgin. She tried to imagine how her intrepid sister, Theo, would handle this. Lizzy laughed. She would have marched downstairs and demanded to know where Alexander was.

A firm knock sounded at the door that separated their rooms, causing her to jump and gasp. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. “C-come in.”

Alexander Cornelius Grafton, the Marquess of Carlisle, stepped into the room. He was shrouded in shadows and what she thought looked like a dark dressing robe. Her heart raced, even as her feet seemed rooted to the floor. A low groan escaped from his general direction, spurring her to take a step forward. “Are you well, my lord?”

He snorted and then spoke in a gravelly tone she’d never heard from him before. “Rather formal for a married couple, don’t you think?”

“O-of course, Alexander.” She offered him a tentative smile. “Are you well?”

He seemed to shake his head but then said, “What in the bloody hell are you wearing?”

Lizzy glanced down nervously. “A nightgown.”

“For the love of God, step away from that damned fireplace.” The words came out as nearly a snarl, which caused her to squeak as she hustled away from the light and into the cooler shadows with him.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to…” she trailed off. What had she done wrong? She wrinkled her nose a bit. She was just standing there. What could possibly have upset him?

He seemed to shake off whatever had bothered him. “No, I shouldn’t have been so gruff. I simply—” He stopped speaking abruptly. “Bloody hell!” He cursed and strode over to where she stood. He hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

Blood rushed through her veins as she grew lightheaded under his kiss. Had he not held her so tightly, she was certain her legs would have given out, leaving her crumpled at his feet. His tongue invaded her mouth, duelled with her own, and explored her with a thoroughness that addled her wits. All she could do was cling to his shoulders and follow his lead.

His mouth pulled from hers and made a trail down her neck. She swore she could feel his tongue on her skin with each kiss he placed, as though he were tasting her. A shiver skated down her spine.

Her breathing grew laboured, and chill bumps rippled across her flesh, though she felt as if she was trapped in a furnace. And there was an ache growing between her thighs that was shocking in its intensity. She rubbed her legs together in an attempt to ease the discomfort, but the effort was to no avail. The throb seemed to grow worse until a low moan escaped her throat just as he made his way down and across the tops of her breasts.

“Please.” The single word burst past her strangled breath. Please what? What did she want him to do? To stop? To do more? She didn’t know. She simply hoped he would know, that somehow he would understand and take action. He had always made her feel so safe and cared for. Certainly, he could handle this… whatever this was.

Then his lips found her nipple. Already pebbled and hard, they seemed to pucker even more as his warm, wet mouth settled on one nub despite the sheer cotton that shielded it. Or perhaps the fabric heightened the feeling? She wouldn’t know, having never had his mouth on her nipple before. Or really, any man’s mouth, for that matter.

Nearly bent backwards, she couldn’t help but press deeper into his mouth. More, her body seemed to say. Though her mind spun, and started to lose focus as sensation overwhelmed her. The tingling in her breasts seemed to sweep down and meld with the throb between her thighs until her entire body felt like one giant raw nerve. Every brief touch merely made the flames grow higher instead of dousing them. This was terrifying. Terrifying and yet amazing.

He shifted to her other breast and repeated the suckling and nipping he had subjected the first to. She lifted a leg, as much as her long nightgown allowed, and wrapped it about his hip in an attempt to get closer to him. To perhaps try to ease the unending ache in her core. “Please,” she pleaded again. The distress she felt over the throbbing between her legs crept into her tone.

Alexander lifted his head until their gazes met in the shadows. His dark brown eyes melted into blackness but for the reflection of the flames dancing in them. He lifted her up and carried her to the bed, where he laid her down. Closer to the lamps and the fireplace, she could see a ferocity in his gaze that was unfamiliar and yet exciting. Gone was the kind, gentle man she had always known. In his place stood a ravening beast who seemed to want to devour her whole. And heaven help her; she was prepared to let him.

The clock on the mantle ticked loudly as the moment stretched. Looming over her, he reached down and gripped the front of her gauzy nightgown in his fist. He jerked up, and the straps at her shoulders snapped. He pulled down, and the scrap of fabric separated at the seams until she lay there naked before him.

Lizzy’s mind whirled as she tried to piece together what was happening with what her mother had told her. Alexander had touched her breasts as her mother had warned, but then he’d put his mouth on them as well. That had been unexpected. And her mother had told her to think of pleasant things such as shopping, but Lizzy found it incredibly difficult to focus her thoughts on anything beyond the sensations buffeting her body. And then he’d ripped—ripped!—her nightgown off her body. Her mother had spoken of him pushing the hem up and then his rutting between her thighs for a few minutes before his crisis would come. Was Alexander having a crisis? What was happening?