The glass reached her lips when Marcus's hand covered hers. "Slow down, lass. You're liable to regret this in the morning."
"Unlikely." She brushed his hand aside, then strolled to the hearth while sipping the cognac.
"Is something wrong?" Marcus inquired.
"Wrong?" She whirled. A delicious warmth radiated through her body. "A few months ago, I was shipwrecked, left penniless and alone, then, na?ve little lamb that I am"—she narrowed her eyes at the mirth that leapt to his eyes—"I was pursued relentlessly by you."
"Perhaps what you need is a little comforting," he suggested.
Elise rolled her eyes. "What I need is another cognac."
"Nay."
She gave her head one single slow shake. "Do not think you can stop me from doing as I please. Now or after we're married."
Marcus caught her arm as she approached the sideboard. "Have you not had enough?"
She disengaged herself from his grasp. "I'm capable of handling my liquor. Be so kind as to move aside." She placed a hand on his chest and shoved.
He stepped back as she passed. "You're in a fine mood tonight. I have never seen you this way before."
Elise paused in filling her glass and looked at him. "Regretting your proposal?"
His mouth twitched.
Damn him, she mentally cursed.
"I think I will still wed you," he replied. "I'm looking forward to ravishing your sweet body every chance I get."
"I believe I pointed out you need not marry me to do that." She lifted the glass to her lips.
"Perhaps," Marcus said. "But it will be my obligation, and I will always know where to find you when my sense of duty calls me into service."
Elise halted mid-sip and narrowed her eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged. "A wife is always in her husband's bed, aye?" His gaze made a possessive sweep over her body.
She lowered the glass from her lips. "Are you saying you're marrying me to ensure my… my availability?"
His wince and quick "Nay" confirmed the assessment. "I am marrying you because I love you and want you at my side."
A tremor passed through her at the declaration of love given so naturally, but she gave a feminine snort and retorted, "A masculine play on words."
"Nay," he denied even more vehemently.
Elise regarding him more closely. "You're jealous."
"Jealous?" His expression snapped to a stormy darkness. "Of whom?"
She waved her glass, dodging the liquid that sloshed over the rim and onto the carpet. "The funny part is"—the funny part is, she should have created a fictional lover long ago—"you were afraid I would want someone else."
He looked startled and she couldn't help a laugh. Elise placed her glass on the sideboard and came to stand in front of him. A fuzzy sensation in her belly made her feel reckless. Wrapping one arm around his neck, she caressed his jaw with her free hand. She ran her gaze in a purposeful, slow motion from his mouth to his eyes. "Perhaps I should have considered another application or two for my hand."
His arm shot around her. She squealed with the hard yank of her body against his.
"I am marrying you because I cannot live without you," he growled.
But you will, she thought, and pulled away so he wouldn't see the pain that rose too easily to the surface. Elise started for the sideboard and her drink. She reached the tumbler and once again downed the glass.
"Elise," he growled. "Enough."
Despite the sudden fogginess of her vision, she reached for the decanter again. This time, strong fingers pried her hand from the stopper.
"You seem to forget," Marcus said, "my warning about disobeying me."
Elise frowned, the fogginess creeping into her brain. "Ahh, you mean the threat to distract me with your body." She laughed. "I think that threat is a little old, don't you?"
Without warning, he swung her into his arms and, an instant later, she found herself on the couch, pinned tightly beneath him.
"I always keep my promises, love, even if it means finding a new twist to an old game."
"I'm not in the mood for your games tonight, milord. Let me go."
"Nay."
"Marcus." She groaned with the effort of attempting to shove him off her.
He shifted and, grasping her hands, wedged them behind her back. His weight lay fully on her and she wriggled, the increasing cloud across her mind impairing the ability to think. Even as she realized he'd lowered his head and his hair was tickling her chin, the sudden flicker of his tongue dangerously close to her nipple sent a jolt through her. She gave a tiny squeal and he responded with a noise deep in his throat. Gripping her wrists with one hand, he freed his other hand to reached down and yank up her skirt.
"Marcus," she breathed, unexpectedly clear headed, "we're in the library. You cannot!"
But he continued, his tongue—his tongue, she forgot in favor of the finger that slid across her pleasure point. Marcus wound a foot around her ankle and tugged her close until she felt the thick bulge pressed to her thigh. His grip on her hands loosened as a slow thrust slid along her thigh.