He must have made a sound, because her gaze shifted to his, flicked over his body, and then widened at his obvious state of arousal. Green cat eyes almost eclipsed her face; her mouth worked, and no sound came. Amusement rushed through him when she regained her composure, smoothing her face into a blank mask. Always the lady. He wondered how she would react if he made her aware he could see the wild fluttering at the base of her throat.
“Thank you for trusting me to read such an intimate letter, Emmeline.”
Red stained her neck, but she held his stare. There it was, the inner strength he had seen from her since the start of the war. It could not have been easy for her, to sit only a few feet away from him, knowing how the letter and her presence affected his body.
“I have more. I can share those with you that are… less intimate,” she offered with a tentative smile.
Marcellus doubted she knew how delectable she looked garbed in her black day dress. Her raven curls were pinned tightly in a severe bun, her alabaster skin looking ever paler against her mourning garb. Lips he knew had no rouge on them were kissed with a natural red ripeness, and she possessed the most beautiful green eyes with flecks of gold. She had high, graceful breasts, rounded hips, and long legs that would easily wrap around the high of his back and hold him deep inside her.
“I would love that, Emmeline. Please eat more. You’ve had nothing since breakfast.”
She broke off a piece of bread and chewed slowly, watching him with simmering awareness. She thought she hid it, but he saw it. And he understood the wariness. Max had been the smooth, seductive brother, the one that teased her, charmed her, the one she had fallen hopelessly for within a few weeks.
He scanned the rest of Max’s letter, and Marcellus felt his cock harden farther. The tightness that Max had written about was what Marcellus desperately yearned for right now. He wanted to soothe the hunger he’d felt from the first time he’d met her almost two years ago. But he needed her more so now to soothe Max.
As twins, they had a unique connection, so he could feel Max’s scalding agony, need, and loneliness. He flinched at the raging pain that tingled over his skin, the phantom caresses of torment, and knew it was Maxwell’s hell. He had to comfort his brother, and he knew the surest way was to sink into Emmeline, letting Max feel the heat of her, the tightness, hear the cries that would echo through his soul to Max?
??s when he took her. He wanted Max to feel what he should live for. Max had cried for her endlessly in his delirium. So if he could give his brother dreams of her, anything for Max to hold on to, he would.
Blood had stained Marcellus’s hands, and he’d sunk to levels that had even staggered him to protect his country and family as a spy for His Majesty. Yet the hardest thing he’d ever faced was to now seduce her. She had erected a wall of steel around her heart upon her beloved’s death.
When they had gotten the news that Maxwell died in the Third Battle of Picardy, she had screamed, tearing at her hair, and her agony had been a blow to Marcellus. The depth of her love for his brother kept him sane as he’d worked to find Maxwell. He had known his brother lived, for he would have felt the blow, the severance of the connection that bonded them together for as long as he could remember if Max was truly dead.
He tried several times to let her know that Maxwell was alive, but Emily could not understand. Not even their mother, who should comprehend more than anyone else, could understand. Only his father and uncle accepted his word and aided him. Emmeline had been inconsolable, and every night Marcellus had restrained himself from going to her, to banish her hoarse tears with pleasure.
“I am going to do something that may frighten you. If you resist, I will stop immediately.”
“I beg your pardon?” She straightened and paled.
Marcellus wished there was some way to ease her into what would happen in a few short minutes. She was smart, sensuous, possessed a wonderful sense of humor, kind, everything they wanted in their woman. She knew of his attraction to her, only imagining the surface need that he showed her. He wished he could seduce her how Maxwell had—charming her legs open with soothing promises of heated delights. Marcellus could not; his brother was relying on him too much. Marcellus hungered for her too much.
“I am going to fuck you in the next few minutes.”
She dropped the teacup from her hands, and it clattered to the carpet. She laughed, a sharp sound that ended as soon as it started. She surged to her feet and then slowly sank into the sofa, looking at him as if he were mad.
“I will try to be as gentle as possible, and I will only seek to bring you pleasure.”
Marcellus arched his brow as she continued shaking her head in denial. Her face flushed, and her eyes glittered with arousal and apprehension. Her gaze skittered to the door and then back to him as if judging if she could make her escape before he pounced.
“Make no mistake, Emmeline. I will be in you, riding you long and hard for the night. It will be rough at times, but you will howl my name in agony of desire and ecstasy. I wish I could offer you seduction, but you have known how I feel about you for months now. I wish I could explain what precipitated my actions tonight. But I can only tell you, I need you.”
Chapter 2
January 21, 1917
Dearest Emily,
The only person I love as much as you is Marcellus. Do not let his cold, gruff exterior fool you, my darling. He needs your warmth and gentleness to rescue him as you did me. Marcellus craves your smiles, your generosity, that beautiful laugh of yours that steals into the cold corners of my heart and thaws it, filling it with sunshine. I beseech you more than ever, my love, to charm him away from the darkness that edges his soul, the darkness I can feel pressing in on him, choking the joy from his life.
Your love, Maxwell Wynwood
Emily’s breathe seized.
I need you. The words sank into her, terrifying yet intriguing.
“Surely you jest!” she burst out, mortified at the surge of arousal that burned in her veins.
Marcellus watched her with knowing eyes, and heat climbed her neck. She tried not to stare helplessly at his sensual mouth. The guilt surfaced, and she jumped to her feet and scampered away from him to face the windows that overlooked the rolling lawns blanketed with snow. The rhythmic scraping of the frozen brambles against the windows were the only sounds in the room. Even the crackle of the fireplace had hushed. She pressed her hands low on her stomach, praying to still the flutter of desire his words incited.