Taking the Spinster (The Kidnap Club Book 3)

by Samantha Holt

“I do not believe I ran for one moment,” he drawled. “That was more like a stroll of a few steps.”

  An eyebrow arched. “There’s no need to be flippant.”

  Actually, there was. It might be the only way he’d survive this interaction. Now he’d admitted he’d never slept with a woman at the grand old age of five and thirty, she would demand answers. There were few ways to explain precisely why every woman he had attempted to bed had run from him. How did one tell someone he was ridiculously well-endowed? Oh by the way, I have a giant cock.

  He smirked to himself. There was hardly a delicate way of putting it nor a way that would prevent the recipient of such a confession doing a quick about turn and leaving him aroused and frustrated.

  He didn’t think he could bear it happening with Freya. He’d be more than frustrated.

  “Is it true?” She shut the door and stepped fully into the room.

  “Is what true?”

  “You know what.”

  “I would hardly say such a thing if it was not. It’s not really something men take pride in.”

  “I know that,” she muttered. “But how is it possible? Someone of your stature, of your looks...you must have had women throwing themselves at you all of your life.”

  He sighed and rubbed a hand over his jaw. Freya would never let this drop. It went against her inquisitive nature. And while he trusted her not to go writing about his problem in her column, he wasn’t certain he was willing to let go of the idea that they might eventually mean something to each other.

  Even if it was an impossibility.

  Good God. He really cared for this woman. More than he realized it seemed. But once he revealed his, uh, issue, that would put paid to that. No more furtive kisses, no more heated looks from her.

  “I have been approached before, yes,” he admitted.

  “But you just...did not fancy it?”

  “I’m not impotent you know?”

  “Oh no, I did not mean that.” She inched a step closer. “You were...saving yourself perhaps?”

  Christ. “Not on purpose, no,” he said tightly.

  “Then what is the matter? If it is medical, I understand, I promise.”

  She moved closer and went to put a hand on his arm, but he shirked her touch. The sympathy radiating off her made his stomach turn. Bloody hell, the last thing he wanted was to feel pitied for the fact he hadn’t bedded a woman yet. He didn’t think he had a huge ego, but could she let him keep a little of his masculinity please?

  “It’s not bloody well medical,” he snapped.

  She flinched, shifting back a step. “Then what...?”

  “It’s my cock.”

  “Um...your cock?” she repeated, her voice slightly strangled.

  He blew out an aggravated breath, slipped a hand around her neck and kissed her hard. She melted into him with ease. If he couldn’t explain, he might as well show her. That would put an end to this farce, and he could go back to being the bachelor virgin who ensured he was so busy he never gave women a damned thought.

  When she moaned against his mouth, his body ached. He grabbed her hand and pressed it flat against him. She froze and he released her enough so that he could see her expression, his hand still upon her neck. Her eyes were wide.

  “Do you understand now?” he said, his voice low.

  Her hand shifted a little, sending the most unbearable pleasure-pain shooting through him. What he wouldn’t give to keep her hand there, to have her touch him properly. He ground his teeth together and waited for the inevitable.

  She’d turn and run at any moment.

  Her throat bobbed. “You are...you are...huge.”

  He nodded. “Enough to break you, Freya.”

  She moved her hand again, explored the shape of him through his breeches. He closed his eyes briefly and tensed his jaw.

  “This is why,” she breathed. “This is why you kept pushing me away.”

  He nodded.

  “Is this...is this why the engagement ended?”

  Unwilling to voice the answer, he nodded again. The last thing he needed was to relive that humiliation.

  When she smoothed her hand up and down him once more, he moved her hand away. “Don’t.”

  “I want to.”

  His heart came to a halt in his chest. He eyed her for several moments, scowling. “Pardon?”

  “I want to, Lord Huntingdon.” She flattened her palm against him once more.

  “Call me Guy,” he uttered. “I cannot be bloody lord when you’re feeling my cock.”

  “Guy,” she whispered.

  Damn. His cock roused further if that was possible. “I’ll break you,” he repeated.

  “Considering women can give birth to huge babies, I very much doubt that.”

  “I’ll hurt you.”

  “Would you?” She shook her head. “I do not think you are capable of that.”

  “The first time hurts for all women.” He bit back a groan while she explored him further.

  “It would not be my first time.”

  It was hard to decide if he liked that or not.

  “I resigned myself to being a spinster years ago and decided I would like to know what it is like at least once before I went to my grave,” she confessed. “I know it was hardly the ladylike thing to do but I did not think I was saving myself for anyone.”

  “I think I hate him.”

  Freya smiled. “It was nothing spectacular, if that helps.”

  Great. Now he wanted to show her spectacular. He could bring her plenty of pleasure, he knew that. He had not arrived at this age without learning to use his mouth and hands. But there was still a chance he could hurt her...

  “I would very much like to be your first, Guy.” She looped her hands around his neck. “That is, if you still want me.”

  “If I still want you,” he muttered. “Christ, woman, I think I wanted you from the moment you started following me.”

  BREATHS QUICKENING, FREYA tugged closer, allowing herself a moment to feel his body against her. There was no denying it was daunting, but she could not think of anything she wanted more than to be with Guy, as close as two humans could get. The vulnerability in his confession might well have been the complete and utter undoing of her.

  If she had not been in love with him before, she was now. It would never lead anywhere, of that she was certain—how could it given she was nobody?—but it did not matter now. She wanted to give herself fully to him, regardless of the consequences.

  He put his hands to the small of her back and rocked into her. She moaned while heat flooded through her, pulsing at her core. His gaze connected with hers briefly before he scooped her up and laid her on the bed. He paused when he moved over her, setting his curled fists on either side of her.

  “Are you certain?”

  She nodded frantically and tugged his cravat loose. He tossed it aside and flung open a few buttons with one hand as he lowered down to kiss her. She rose up to him, curling a hand around his neck and the other curving about his shoulders. Muscles rippled beneath her fingertips and they tingled with the need to feel his warm, solid flesh.

  Once he’d thrown off his shirt, he let her explore him, tracing each line and dip of his muscles. He remained hovering over her, his arms shaking with tension, the tendons in his neck tight. She ran her hands down his arms and urged him to put his weight atop her. A sigh escaped her at the feeling of all his raw strength and power as it settled over her body.

  He moved a hand down between them and eased her leg up to give him access while his mouth played across her skin. He kissed her collarbone and décolletage and his hand explored under her skirts, seeking out the bare skin above her stockings then moving higher, higher. The first stroke of his fingers had her trembling.

  He stroked her many more times until her limbs were a quivering mess then he eased away and left her cold and disappointed. For one awful moment, she feared he had changed his mind, but he shoved up her skirts and settled betwee
n her legs.

  She released a whimper at the feel of his hot breath on her delicate flesh. He moved his tongue over her firmly, keeping her legs apart with his hands while she twined her fingers into his hair and glanced down at this sensual sight of his dark hair against her pale clothing.

  Then he eased his fingers inside her, and she clenched her eyes closed, no longer able to make sense of the world she saw before her. How was it this wonderful, heroic, hard-working man wanted her? She could not fathom it, nor could she bring herself to care.

  “Guy,” she murmured, and he groaned against her, sending delightful tickles of pleasure surging up her.

  He licked her and toyed with her over and over, thrust his fingers in until she was certain she might explode. She almost did. The pleasure built so high that she scarcely recalled how to breathe. Then in one swift moment, it descended upon her. She tensed her whole body then released, letting it sweep through her with a gasp. He gave her a few gentle strokes then rose to align himself with her.

  She put a hand to his cheek. “That was...”

  He offered a lopsided grin. “Wonderful,” he finished for her. He went to kiss her again then paused. “If you have changed your mind...”

  She shook her head vigorously. “Never.”

  A small, relieved smile crossed his face. “I need to see you.”

  She nodded and rose to allow him access to the buttons down the back of her gown. He made quick work of them, stripped the gown from her body then removed her stays with slightly shaking hands.

  She rolled down her stockings and tossed them across the room then put her hands to the fall of his breeches. He let her help him remove them.

  She swallowed hard at the sight of him and met his tentative gaze. His throat worked. Feeling him and seeing him in his entirety were two different things. She understood why his fiancée had been fearful, but she knew this man could never, ever hurt her.

  Reaching out, she curled a hand around him and he closed his eyes. Soft and hard at the same time, the feel of him beneath her palm had her pulse racing. She released him, laid back and offered out her hands.

  “Take me,” she whispered.

  He nodded gravely, settling between her legs. He twined his fingers with hers, urged her hands above her and locked their fingers. His gaze never left hers.

  “Tell me,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

  “Take me,” she begged again.

  His eyes were dark, his brow furrowed. He moved forward tentatively, and she widened her legs to him, latching around his hips. He eased forward the tiniest bit then a little more. She gasped at the feel of him and tightened her grip on his hands.

  Waiting a moment, his gaze explored hers and she refused to look away, refused to close her eyes to the pleasure. If she could give him anything in return for all his kindness, it was no fear, no doubt.

  Finally, he moved again, sinking deeper, slowly deeper. She moaned. He filled her completely and she gulped down several deep breaths.

  “That feels...” She struggled for air for a moment, feeling so full, so complete. “That feels amazing.”

  The furrows in his brow eased and she heard him release a breath. “It does.”

  He shifted inside her, the length of him sending shooting pleasure mixed with the tiniest tinge of pain through her. Somehow, it combined to create the most erotic sensation inside her. She feared she would come apart in mere moments.

  “You are too beautiful,” he said between kisses as he rocked inside her. “I fear I cannot control myself.”

  “Then do not,” she urged, squeezing his fingers.

  He kissed her hard, moved up and watched her as he surged forward. She rose her hips to meet his thrusts and gasped at the sensations. He shifted against her, more firmly each time, until the pleasure wrapped itself about her and she tilted her head, closed her eyes and let it explode over her in wonderful sparks of bliss.

  He dropped his head to the crook of her neck, groaned and eased himself out of her. Releasing her hands, he came to completion against her thigh while he muttered her name.

  Freya ran trembling hands over the taut muscles of his shoulders then cupped his face to urge him to look at her. “Thank you.”

  He shook his head and kissed her gently. “I think I should be the one to thank you.”

  He collapsed against her, his head upon her chest. She stroked his face, his hair. If she had been in doubt before, she wasn’t now. She loved this man, this earl.

  Unfortunately for her, it would never go anywhere. Penniless reporters with no noble blood in their veins did not marry earls.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Oh Lord Huntingdon!”

  Guy winced and drew the perambulator to a halt. He should never have brought Brig to the park. What had he been thinking? Apparently losing one’s virginity also meant losing one’s mind. Since Freya had left early this morning to assist Miss Walker at the shop and pursue some mysterious lead, work has been damned near impossible. So why not test out the nearly finished perambulator?

  Fool.

  “Lady Marston.” He greeted her with a tip of his hat. “Forgive me but I must—”

  She blocked his path with her rather formidable form. Dressed in mourning wear ever since the death of her husband over ten years ago, she struck him as a little like a crow, waiting to swoop down and ravage whatever pickings were left of him.

  After a long stroll around the park, there wasn’t much remaining. It seemed a gentleman with a perambulator struck a note with every woman from here to Christendom. If a man wanted female attention, this thing was a damned miracle worker.

  “I did not realize your brother had sired a child.” She moved around the pram and peered in. “Oh. It’s—” She drew out her spectacles and pressed them to her face then leaned over the pram.

  “A dog, my lady. It’s a dog,” he said wearily.

  “A dog.” She straightened and tucked her glasses into the folds of her immense fur-trimmed coat. “Goodness.” With a frown, she glanced at him, back at the pram then eased away. “Well, um, good day to you, my lord. Enjoy your, uh, walk.”

  Sighing, he pressed on. All he had to do now was get to the other side of the park unhindered. If he walked at a pace, surely no one else would stop him?

  “Lord Huntingdon!”

  He bit back the temptation to utter a string of curse words. His stomach gave a little twist and he turned with a forced smile. A while ago, Amelia’s sunny expression would have wrenched his heart, but when he looked upon her pretty features and tightly curled auburn ringlets, he felt...well...nothing. She dragged her husband over, a tall, wiry chap with a shock of almost white hair peeking out from beneath his hat and a thick moustache to match. They went rather well together, he had to admit.

  “Mrs. King. Mr. King.” He greeted them both. “I’m in rather a—”

  “I know you did not have a baby so who is this?” Amelia loosened her hold on her husband, stepped forward and leaned over, the feathers on her hat bobbing in the wind. She dressed with all the elegance and beauty of their courting days but Guy could only think of how Freya would look in such clothing. Foolish probably. If it were not for the fact the blasted thing was so riddled with holes, he’d prefer her in her ugly brown coat. No fuss, no silly feathers and no distraction from everything that was Freya.

  “It’s a dog,” she said, a sudden laugh escaping her. “Why are you pushing a dog around, Guy?”

  “He likes the park,” he responded, keeping his expression blank. “He gets bored at home otherwise.”

  “Are you quite well?” Amelia tilted her head and eyed him for a few moments. “I know our failed engagement took its toll on you and I am sorry for any pain I caused you.”

  “I'm quite well,” he assured her. “Better than ever.”

  “Good.” She offered a quick smile, leaning in farther over the pram and whispering, “I’m sorry that I upset you about the, um, you know...” Sh
e glanced briefly at his breeches. “It was not very dignified of me.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  “I think it was for the best, though. You were always so busy, and I do rather like attention, you know.”

  He allowed himself a brief smile. She wasn’t wrong. “I hope you are happy with Mr. King.”

  “Oh yes.” She straightened and offered a hand to her husband. “You are quite devoted to me, are you not, Mr. King?”

  Her husband offered a tolerant smile. “I am indeed, my love.”

  “That’s good to hear. Now if you will excuse me, I must continue to walk the dog, or he will get grumpy.”

  Amelia gave him a bemused look before saying her farewells. Guy resumed his quick pace, the large stone arch at the entrance of the park beckoning to him. Just a few more yards and he would be free. The perambulator worked, Brig seemed to quite enjoy it, and he would never have to experience this again.

  That was, unless Freya wanted company. He’d tolerate odd looks and confused conversations if she decided she might want him by her side. He damned well hoped so. He didn’t need hundreds of women to compare her to. He knew, deep in his gut, what they had together did not come along often, if ever.

  He just had to figure out what to do about it. They were, after all, rather different.

  At least in terms of status and history. Not to mention her job. An earl with a gossip columnist? It would certainly set tongues wagging. But tongues had wagged about him before and he’d survived just fine. Freya would be worth every ounce of talk that came with it.

  He eyed the entrance and picked up the pace. With any luck, Freya would be home before long. Not that it was really her home, of course, but—

  “What are you doing?”

  He froze, tightening his grip on the handle, then turned. He let his shoulders sag. “Only you could talk to me in such a way and get away with it.”

  “OH DO FORGIVE me, my lord.” Freya pressed a hand to her chest and offered a deep curtsey.

  “Stand up,” he muttered, his amused expression belying the annoyance in his voice. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Brown told me you had come to the park.”