The Villainous Marquis Is Obsessed With Me

Chapter 75: I Need You

Pulling herself out of the memory, Penelope looked down at the man resting beside her, the lingering pieces of the puzzle finally clicking into place. She could see the resemblance a bit more clearly now.

Back then, she had truly thought he was just an ordinary commoner boy abandoned by the world. Who could have possibly guessed that she had saved the one and only heir to the Marquisate of Vandalia?

Over the years, she had occasionally wondered if that strange, empty-eyed boy was even still alive, but with the suffocating chaos of her own life at the barony, she had simply chosen to bury the memory and forget it altogether.

Vincent better not find out about that, she thought guiltily.

She leaned a bit further forward now, her gaze tracing the sharp, masculine lines of his sleeping face.

Last night, he had finally bared his past, telling her about the horrific conditioning of his parents. Yet, her mind kept drifting back to a chilling detail from her arrival at his parents’ memorial shrine—the stark, dried bloodstain she had seen on the floor. Who had it belonged to? What kind of violence still haunted the corners of this grand house?

She had no desire to press him on the matter. Heaven knew the sheer fortitude it had required for him to lay bare his soul the previous night, and she was, by painful degrees, learning the art of restraint. Just as he had finally granted her entry into the shadows of his past, she would content herself to wait until he was ready to surrender the rest.

Her fingertips ventured forth once more, tracing the sharp contour of his jaw before drifting down the column of his throat. With a sudden flare of daring, her hand slipped past the undone horn buttons of his nightshirt.

There she paused, lifting her gaze to his face to catch the slightest flicker of his eyelashes. When his eyes remained closed, his breathing slow and undisturbed, she allowed herself to continue.

She would merely steal a fleeting glance, she reasoned, offering a silent justification to her own conscience as she parted the linen to expose his chest to the morning light.

No, she mentally scolded herself, checking her own wayward hand.

Sighing softly, Penelope shook the heavy thoughts from her mind and sat up. She required focus for the trials of the day ahead. Her mission was singular and perilous: she must gather concrete evidence against Lady Genevieve and prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Mirabel was not her father’s biological daughter.

That secret was her solitary leverage. It was the only weapon sharp enough to force Lady Genevieve to yield the truth of what had genuinely befallen Penelope’s mother.

Steeling her resolve, she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, preparing to slip from the warmth of the bed. But before her feet could greet the cold floorboards, a hand shot out from the tangled sheets.

Her wrist was caught in an iron-tight grip.

With a breathless gasp, Penelope was yanked backward, tumbling back onto the expanse of the mattress. Before she could orient herself in the sudden rush of movement, a heavy, powerful frame shifted over her. She blinked up, her heart hammering against her ribs, to find Vincent hovering directly atop her.

There was no trace of slumber left in him; his piercing gray eyes were fully awake, burning with a dark, intense focus that pinned her to the sheets.

"Vince?"

He dipped lower, his lips on the precipice of claiming hers, but she stayed his descent by planting her palms firmly against his chest.

"What are you doing?" she breathed, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs..

"What does it look like I am doing?" he whispered back, his voice thick with a dangerous restraint. Surrendering her lips for the moment, he buried his face into the crook of her neck instead, inhaling her scent like a man starved. "Do you require me to spell it out, Penny? After all, you started this."

Penelope’s eyes widened at the sheer, unbridled intensity radiating from his form.

"Vince, wait—"

"I need you," he rasped against her sensitive skin, his breath hot and uneven. He shifted higher, his lips trailing a searing path up to her earlobe, where he nipped the delicate flesh with a sudden, needy hunger that made her entire body shudder.

"I thought you were going to kiss me," he murmured against her skin, his grip tightening. "And so I stayed still, patiently waiting. But you were going to flee from me."

Her face flushed a deep, burning crimson at the raw, desperate confession escaping his lips. She had been so certain he was asleep mere moments ago; what madness or sudden fever had seized him this morning?

Before she could form a coherent thought, let alone remind him of the staggering amount of work that awaited them both, Vincent’s hands slid down to her waist.

His grip was possessive and unyielding, pinning her deeper into the mattress. Whatever cool air lingered in the morning room was utterly obliterated by the overwhelming warmth of his body pressed flush against hers.

His touch was masterful, yet beneath the command, she could feel the faint, trembling vulnerability of the way he clung to her.

"But..." Penelope pressed a frantic finger to his lips as he leaned down once more, her eyes wide. "H-how about... you see, my morning breath today is quite unbearable. Let me just use the—"

Vincent narrowed his eyes, entirely unimpressed by her deflection. "Your breath is perfectly fine—"

A sudden, sharp knock at the chamber door startled them both. Taking immediate advantage of his momentary distraction, Penelope slipped from beneath him and scrambled out of the bed.

She must resist his allure at all costs!

The heavy oak door creaked open, and Martha stepped into the chamber, a basket of fresh linens balanced against her hip. She stopped dead in her tracks, clearly not expecting to find the Marquis still lingering in the marriage bed.

"Oh, my profound apologies. I was unaware His Lordship was still in residence," Martha said, hastily lowering her head in a respectful bow. In truth, she was visibly astonished. The Marquis was a man of rigid habit, and by now, he would already be at the barracks.

Was he still unwell?

Vincent was sitting up now, the sheets pooling at his waist, his brow furrowed. But before he could command Martha to excuse them, Penelope had already darted across the room, her fingers eagerly catching the maid’s arm.

"You have arrived at the perfect moment, Martha," Penelope said, her voice a pitch higher than usual. "Come. I must make preparations to visit the barony today. His Lordship also requires time to dress for his own duties, so let us use the adjoining dressing room, shall we?"

Martha could only stare in blank confusion as Penelope practically dragged her out of the bedchamber, leaving the frustrated Marquis behind.

Along the dimly lit hallway, Martha stared at Penelope, whose cheeks still burned with a telltale, flustered crimson.

"Why do you intend to visit the barony, My Lady?" Martha asked softly. Though she knew it was not in her place to pry into the affairs of the nobility, a quiet bond of trust had forged between them over the passing months. It allowed for an ease of confidence, and besides, Martha was genuinely concerned.

"There is something of great importance I must retrieve from the estate," Penelope replied, keeping her voice low as they hurried away from the master chamber.

"The tribunal’s interrogation will soon draw to a close, and I believe the prisoners will be transferred elsewhere. Or, at the very least, my father shall be. The evidence of his illicit dealings continues to mount by the day. But before the gavel falls, I must expose a monumental lie."

Martha’s eyes widened slightly. "Ah, so the baron’s misdeeds have truly caught the ear of the High Court?"

Penelope gave a firm, solemn nod. "Lady Genevieve and Mirabel shall certainly be stripped of their titles and whatever status they possess. But I fear my father is bound to face a far more severe judgment from the Crown. Since the family remains confined beneath house arrest at the estate, it is safe for me to return and search."

As they entered the secondary dressing chamber, Martha carefully set the linen basket aside and began to sort through the mahogany wardrobe containing Penelope’s daytime gowns.

"Do you intend to accompany the Marquis to the capital, My Lady?" Martha asked, her fingers skimming over silk and worsted wool.

Penelope was already crossing the threshold into the adjacent washroom. "I have not yet decided."

"I strongly believe you ought to," Martha replied, her voice carrying over the sound of pouring water. "I have heard that his Lordship will not be the only one present at court. You should be by his side."

"Even so," Penelope spoke around her toothbrush, her words slightly muffled but firm. "His Lordship is more than capable of managing the court on his own. I see little reason to impose myself if the Emperor desires an audience with him alone."

"Lady Catherine will be in attendance."

Penelope paused, spitting into the porcelain basin. "Who?"

"Lady Catherine, the Duke of Belgravia’s sister," Martha revealed, turning around with a grave expression. "Word has reached the servants’ hall that she has resolved to accompany her brother to the capital as well. You know, the same woman who was obsessed about getting married to the Marquis."