The Officers Temptation Ch 13

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has left support comments! It really motivates me to keep writing! <3

The Officer's Temptation

Chapter 13: Truth

Marlowe's palms were sweaty as he waited in the study. The air was close, warm enough that there was no fire in the hearth, only candles consuming themselves in their holders. His heart was beating quickly, but he wasn't nervous, only full of determination. He had been thinking about Arabella's threat all day. There was only one course of action to take now that he had cleared the air with Kate. He had been fooling himself for months, thinking that events could lead him anywhere but to where he was now.

He was done running. He was done hiding. And he was done with Arabella.

The door opened. "Hughes, you're looking peaked." Nicholas closed the door behind him. The click as the latch fell into place had an air of finality and danger that Marlowe did not like. Better that the door had remained open. Nicholas came around and sat behind his desk. "Still recovering from the ball? I didn't even see you drink last night."

"I didn't drink," Marlowe said.

Nicholas nodded his approval. He looked different in the candlelight, younger yet somehow older as well. "Would you like a port now? I had a glass an hour or so after dinner, but I could do with another if you like."

Marlowe shook his head and brushed back a sweat-dampened curl. "It's better to not. This is not going to be a long visit. I wanted to talk to you, Nicholas, about something important."

Nicholas looked worried. He raised an eyebrow cautiously. "What ever is the matter? Is it your parents? Your Miss Jennings?"

Marlowe sighed heavily and stood. His body was restless and he needed to pace. Nicholas watched him with an ever-growing look of alarm. "It's about Arabella." Marlowe swallowed. "Your wife," he added unnecessarily.

"What is it?" The blood drained from Nicholas's face. He rose suddenly, gripping the edges of his desk. "What is it?" he repeated, each word punctuated by something primal.

Marlowe grit his teeth before responding. He flexed his hand against his trousers. The pain from the recent wound helped clear his thoughts. Nicholas watched him with the raw expression of an animal. "She has been my lover."

Dark shock resonated through Nicholas's eyes. He shook his head and blinked rapidly. "What did you say? Is this some kind of a twisted jest?"

Marlowe moved back reflexively. "I'm sorry, Nicholas. It's true."

Nicholas's mouth hung open in shock. His grip on the desk tightened, his knuckles turning white. "When?" he choked out.

"Months ago. Before we left England. I met her before you returned and ever invited us to that dinner party."

"The dinner party where she turned her ankle... and requested that you accompany her back..." Nicholas looked sick. He slammed his hand on the desk with a sharp growl of anger. "How could you?" His voice was deep in the back of his throat, raw with emotion.

"I'm so sorry, Nicholas. I never meant for things to go as far as they did."

Nicholas made a fist, and Marlowe tensed, ready for the fight he knew that he deserved, but Nicholas only banged it again on the desk before pressing his fingers to his head, letting his dark hair fall in front of his face. "I always knew," he moaned. "I always knew that you were the more desirable, the stronger, the braver. Of course she would prefer you. Of course; it makes perfect sense." His voice cracked. The pain on his face was visceral.

Marlowe wanted to rush to him, to comfort him somehow, but he was incapable. "It's not like that Nicholas, I swear. It was a mistake, a stupid bloody mistake."

Nicholas's eyes burned. "And does she think that it is a mistake as well? Or does she regret that she met me and accepted my suit before she ever had a chance to meet you?" He took a few quick steps away from the desk, towards Marlowe. Hurt, anger, betrayal all swirled in his eyes.

Marlowe raised his hands in alarm. "Calm down, Nicholas."

Nicholas laughed darkly and swiped his arm across the surface of his desk, knocking some books and an ashtray to the ground. "How can I be calm!" he said, voice rising angrily, "when my wife prefers my closest friend? Do you even know what she meant to me?" He thumped his fist against the wood. "Of course you don't, how could you! Everything has always come so easily to you! Well, let me tell you, she meant everything to me! And I gave her everything that I had!"

"I know," said Marlowe. "I'm so sorry. You never deserved this."

"Do you love her?" Nicholas barked.

"No," said Marlowe softly. "I thought I did, but I was wrong."

Nicholas shook his head in disbelief. "I trusted you. I told you things about her, about our marriage, all while the two of you were making love behind my back. You must have laughed at what a fool I was." His face looked gray and sick.

"No," said Marlowe hotly. "Never. It's not your fault, Nicholas. It's me. There was something broken in me, and I did something stupid, and I will regret it for the rest of my life, because you have been like a brother to me, and I have never been good enough to deserve your esteem."

Nicholas's face blanched pale. "The baby," he said. "I suppose I should be happy there was no baby. Would it have been yours?"

"I don't know," admitted Marlowe.

"Get out of my house before I kill you with my bare hands," growled Nicholas. "Now!"

Marlowe nodded and reached for the door, but at that moment it flew open. Arabella ran in, trembling. "What have you done!" she cried at Marlowe. She was pale and trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. She ran to Nicholas. "I heard the shouting! What did he say? What did he tell you? It's a lie! It's all lies!"

"I told him the truth," spat Marlowe. "It's over now, Arabella."

She sank to the floor, pawing at Nicholas's knees. "What did he say?" she sobbed. "Did he really tell you the truth? That he forced me! Oh Nicholas, I never wanted him, I swear to you!" Tears began to streak her face. Nicholas looked furiously at Marlowe.

"I never took what was not freely offered," Marlowe hissed. "Nicholas, you know me."

"I know nothing! I can not trust my oldest friend. I can not trust my wife!"

Arabella clung to his legs, sobbing, "I love you Nicholas! I love you!"

Nicholas met Marlowe's eyes. "You have sullied our friendship, and you have dishonored me and my wife." He pulled Arabella roughly up by her elbow, supporting her at his side. His gray eyes flashed like naked steel as he met Marlowe's gaze. "Pistols," he said. "At dawn."

*************************************************************************************************************

The pen made a dry scratching sound across the paper. Marlowe squinted unhappily in the light of the low-burning candle at the sentence he had just written. He crossed through his words and scowled in consternation. Now the page was too messy. And the message was foolish, at any rate. He crumpled the sheet in his hand. His letters to his parents and his sister were complete, sealed and waiting on his desk should the worst come to pass. He was writing to Kate now, and it was slow-going. It was not just that the words were evading him, but also the pain in his hand. The cut from the glass was still raw and inflamed, and with the residual stiffness from his injury, holding the pen was incredibly uncomfortable. Not to mention that he wanted his letter to Kate to be perfect. How could he encapsulate all that he felt when he looked at her? All that he regretted? He sighed. It would be easier to pen an apology to Nicholas, but he assumed that if Nicholas killed him tomorrow, the letter would just be thrown unread into the fire in anger.

Marlowe had made so many grave mistakes. His eyes felt heavy and dry. He only wanted to sleep, although it seemed a shame to waste what could be his last few hours living in dreams. He set aside the pen and lowered his head to his hands. He should have been better for his friend. He was tired and his mind wandered back to when they had been younger men, at one of their first balls. Marlowe had been dying of excitement, had flirted with every eligible young woman there, asking all the prettiest to dance without fear. And Nicholas had been paralyzed by his shyness, preferring to stare at his shoes, blushing and fumbling his words every time a pretty girl approached. He had always been insecure. And instead of helping him, supporting him, Marlowe had made love to his wife behind his back. He felt sick. Had he ever done anything to be a worthy friend to Nicholas? Christ, he hadn't even been there for him when his father had died. He deserved the duel. He deserved injury or death or whatever other cruel fate awaited him afterwards.

He looked at the letter again. How could he possibly hope to explain that all to Kate? He had just taken out a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped his pen back in the inkwell when the floorboard creaked in the hall. It was a tiny sound but his muscles tensed and the hairs prickled on the back of his neck. The house had been quiet for hours as it was now well past midnight. He strained his ears, listening closely, and though there were no more creaks in the hallway, he knew without a doubt that there was someone in the hall. As quick as a cat, he prowled noiselessly to the door. He waited for a moment, and then yanked it open.

Kate's hand was raised, as if to knock, but she jerked it back reflexively and clapped it over her own mouth to stifle a gasp. "Bloody hell!" she swore quietly.

"What are you doing out here?" he hissed. It did not escape his notice that she was dressed in her night rail, with only a dressing gown belted loosely over. Her beautiful dark hair was hanging in a thick plait over one shoulder and tied off with a blue ribbon. "Someone could see you."

"Then let me in," she whispered, pushing past him and not waiting for an answer. Her eyes roved over the candle on his desk and the letters sitting tidily to the side. She looked at him with an expression of absolute betrayal. "Then I was right." She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You've told him and he has challenged you."

Marlowe shut the door silently. "Yes," he admitted defeatedly. "Is that why you've come?" He rubbed his eyes. "And how did you even know?"

"I was sleeping," she said. "For a while. But I woke up and I thought about how you looked at me earlier. When you said you had something to attend to.

Of course

you told him. And

of course

he challenged you. It was inevitable. So how could I sleep, Marlowe? How could I sleep?" She curled her fingertips to her face in dismay, looking pale. He was afraid for a moment that she would cry, but instead she looked at him accusingly. "What are you going to do?"

He passed a hand through his hair and sighed, leaning against his desk. He was also unfortunately aware of his own state of dishabille, his shirt loose from his trousers. "What else can I do? I'm going out to meet him."

"But you could kill him!" She began pacing the room. "He could kill you!"

"I would never hurt him" he reassured her. He crossed the room to sit on the bed, finding her pacing exhausting. "I'll shoot in the air." He grabbed her by her arm as she passed, stopping her in her tracks.

"And if he shoots you?" She bit her lip, frowning.

"Then it is no worse than I deserve."

She glared at him, and pulled away as if to continue her pacing. "Men are so infuriatingly dramatic!" He did not release her and with a swift pull, yanked her down beside him on the bed. She struggled for a moment, but once she calmed, he released her wrists, and she balled her hands against the bed, cheeks puffed out in anger.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"How angry was he?"

Marlowe grimaced and didn't answer.

"Does she know?"

"She was there. She told him that I forced her."

Kate's eyes went wide. "You would never! To have the gall to even to suggest such a thing. That vile witch!"

"Of course I would never. But she is his wife. What else can he do?" He leaned backwards, supporting himself with his arms pressed into the bed behind him. He was tempted to just fall back and let the feather mattress absorb him. "It is her honor or mine."

Her dark brows wrinkled into an expression of pure dismay. "Did you tell your family?"

"How could I possibly explain? It is better if no one knows. I..." he swallowed, "left letters. On my desk. If something goes wrong tomorrow, Kate, could you ensure that they get them?"

Kate made a small sound in her throat and turned her face abruptly away. "Of course," she choked out in a tiny voice.

He righted himself, and turned to her, gently pressing his fingertips to her chin to tilt her face towards him. She glared at him with shining eyes, the redness causing her irises to look an even more brilliant blue. Her soft lips were pressed together into a harsh line. "Oh Kate, please don't cry," he said. "I'm truly not worth your tears."

"I'm not crying!" She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes, just as a small tear slipped down. She made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, "Or at least, I was trying not to!" she said. "But how can I help it when you look at me as if... as if..." she bit her lip, little white tooth denting the plump fullness of her pink lower lip.

"As if what?" he breathed. A few strands of her hair curled loose by her ear, as black as ink. This close, he could see that she had acquired new freckles under the hot Italian sun. They kissed her flushed cheeks and dotted her nose like specks of brown sugar on creme. Droplets of unshed tears clumped in her long eyelashes as she blinked, looking at him wide-eyed. He would sell his soul to kiss her, to touch her, to take her in his arms.

"I have something to tell you," she said, wiping away the moisture from her eyes.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"I lied to you," she said with a sad smile. "I told you that we could be friends, but I didn't mean it." She twisted her pale hands against the fabric of the coverlet and then clenched the collar of her night robe in her fist. "I think that I have been in love with you since nearly the first time we met."

"Oh Kate," he whispered, eyes roving her face. She was so beautiful, so warm, and strange, and kind. He wondered how he had not noticed from the very moment that he met her that she shone like a star. Her lips were softly parted, so full and sweet. Marlowe could not help himself. He kissed her.

Deeply, slowly, his mouth closed on hers. Her lips met his with a surprising ferocity, her tongue flicked against his as she pressed her body against him, her breasts crushing against his chest.

All of his fatigue vanished in an instant as his body caught on fire for her. He cupped the back of her neck in his hand as her fingers roved over his shoulders and chest. "Kate," he groaned. "I don't think I can stop myself."

"Don't" she whispered devilishly. "I'll never forgive myself if there is not another chance."

He kissed her neck and was rewarded as she trembled in his arms. "Don't speak of it," he said, kissing lower and lower, brushing his lips against her pale neck. She shuddered as his lips nipped against the hot skin of her throat as he let his tongue slip out to taste the sweetness of her skin.

Every sound seemed loud in his ears-the rustle of the silk as he unfastened the knot belting her robe, the quick and sharp sound of Kate's breath as he pushed the garment from her shoulders. His hands trembled in anticipation as the robe fell behind her and she was left sitting beside him in only her nightgown, the thin cotton offering scant protection from his hungry eyes. He took her face between his hands, and supporting her neck with one, used the other to explore the delicate line of her neck, down to her flushed chest. He pressed his hand flat against her clavicle, and then slowly explored the swell of her curving breasts, fingers brushing against a nipple, stiff beneath the thin cloth. He stifled a groan as he rubbed the hard nubs, palming the soft well of flesh beneath.

He had been sloppy in the carriage, rushed and desperate. This could be his last night alive and he needed to live it, to experience every sensation as fully as possible. Something terrible and overwhelming was rising up through his chest, the agony of desire and an intense and crushing yearning. He needed Kate. He needed to feel her body against his, to take her and claim her as his own, not just physically, but somehow more. She was so infinitely precious and rare. It was bittersweet to have her here with him while also knowing that he could have been with her this whole time If only he had not realized it too late.

His fingers tangled in her plaited hair, mussing it. He found the ribbon blindly and pulled it loose, letting her plait fall apart. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulder in beautiful rich waves and he combed his fingers through them. He had always wanted to see it unbound like this. He drew back from her, drinking in the sight of her on his bed. Slowly, so as not to startle her, he pulled off his shirt. Kate watched him with a mischievous grin and he was gratified to see the look of unhidden lust that flashed in her eyes as she took in the sight of his broad and muscled chest. "Oh!" she breathed, her lips, swollen and red from kisses parting in a beautiful circle.

"Lie back," he commanded. His voice felt rough in his throat, thick and gruff with the need that was building in his body.

She obeyed wordlessly, positioning herself in the middle of his bed. Goosebumps rose on her arms as he knelt over her, drawing the night rail up her legs. She bit her lip and shivered as his palms rose up over the soft skin of her calves, rising over the firm little bump of her knees and then to the silky skin of her thighs. His chest felt tight. It was hard to breath, harder still to believe that he was going to do this. His fingers explored higher and higher, edging against the crease where her hip and thigh joined.

Kate pushed her head back against the bed, shaking as he lightly skimmed over her hip bones and then across, brushing past the soft triangle of dark curls that crowned the soft vee between her legs. He had touched her here in the carriage, of course, but he hadn't really been able to see her so clearly, so perfectly as he could now. He pushed her delicate folds apart, running a finger lightly between her plump lips. She was hot, and her wetness licked his thumb as he skimmed her, teasing her.

He longed to be inside of her so badly that it practically hurt. His cock was painfully hard, aching underneath his breeches, but he schooled himself to patience, wanting to savor every small moan and gasp that issued from her lips. He slipped his thumb higher, to find the small, slick nub nestled between her folds and caressed it lightly. Her hips bucked and she bit her lips so sensuously that he could not resist penetrating her with a finger. Slowly, he pushed it inside of her, groaning as her slick heat wrapped around him. She snapped open her eyes, meeting his gaze with a burning intensity as he slipped in and out of her. Her breathing was coming faster now, but he needed to see her.

"Take off your nightgown," he said, withdrawing his finger. He watched intently as she wriggled it over her head, exposing her beautiful, full breasts. They were so round and perfect, rising and falling against her chest with her fast breaths. The candlelight caressed them intimately, bathing them in the soft orange glow, shadows cradling the curves. He yanked off his breeches without another word and let Kate study him with her wild, slightly panicked eyes. Her cheeks were glowing a furious pink. There was nothing left between them now, both naked and revealed to one another.

"You're so... large," she gasped. "I never realized how much tamer men seemed when hidden in clothes."