Mary and the Marquis

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Janice Preston. Mary and the Marquis

Her lips—soft pink, full and tempting—were parted, and, as rotten as he felt, still his loins stirred at the thought of tasting them

Mary and the Marquis. Janice Preston

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He frowned, a memory floating a fraction beyond his reach.

Her lips. He could feel them, he knew their taste—silky as rose petals, sweet as honey. But how? He licked his own lips, paper-dry and sour. The answer eluded him as he continued his perusal of the woman by his bed.

.....

‘Please,’ she said, ‘let me see?’

He scowled, but he lifted his jacket away from his left shoulder. She leant over him, grasped the lapel and opened it wider, reaching inside and placing her hand on the huge patch of blood that stained the front of his white shirt. It was wet. He hissed with pain.

.....