An Improper Seduction

by Quill, Suzanne

  Her garden bonnet was askew, letting tendrils of her red-gold hair fall to frame her face. Her garden gloves were soiled, as was her gown where she had knelt in the dirt to divest the earth of some wayward plant, which threatened the happiness of one of her prized shrubs. Periodically a light tune came to him on the warm spring breeze. She was humming a country ballad as she moved confidently round her garden like a beautiful butterfly sampling the nectar of the blooms.

  He would like to sample her nectar, right here, right now. But he doubted Angus would appreciate such an action no matter how much he wished to marry her off. His groin tightened with desire just thinking once more about the feel of her firm derrière against his sex.

  He made his decision right then. If he must marry, and of course he must to get a legitimate heir, he determined to have her as bed partner and wife. She would do quite nicely with her woman’s ways and woman’s figure, rounded in all the right places. Soft in all the right places. And a face to look upon that made one think of the angels for whom she was named.

  She surely must have a stubborn temperament to have made it through two London Seasons and another twelve years without some lascivious rake or peer in his dotage ensnaring her and reining in her headstrong ways.

  He would take a different path to get her. No proper courting for this one. He doubted that would work any better now than it had over the past years. A more unusual approach would be needed. And he was just the man for the endeavor.

  Geoffrey enjoyed his view of her, but when she once again bent to pull a weed, his aching shaft could take no more. Surely she had the most perfect arse nature had ever created. And she kept presenting it to his eyes with complete indiscretion.

  Did she not know what that could do to a man? He felt like a stag in rut. He best face her now and be gone before things got out of hand. He wanted her too much to spoil the future with a few inappropriate advances in the present.

  Angeline stifled her curiosity and her overheated thoughts while she trod about her garden. She would not let that miscreant arouse her ire again, she assured herself. She would not let him invade her sanctuary and comfortable life. He had no right and she had no interest.

  Did she?

  Moments later, she sensed a presence behind her. Then someone cleared his throat. She stood up straight as a ramrod. She had once again been bending over. How could she?

  How could he?

  “Lady Angeline,” Geoffrey began, “I will be off shortly.” He would for sure if he didn’t get his rampant sex away from her immediately. “I thought it best to come to say goodbye. And, before I take my leave, I thought I should tell you your father has given me leave to court you.”

  Angeline turned upon her heel, her eyes blazing, the seafoam depths now a raging sea, wrath plain upon her angelic face. “I think not, my lord. I have no desire for your attentions,” she said with scorn. “You shall only be wasting my time and yours in such a fruitless endeavor. Leave me be. I do not wish to be the center of your marital goals. Surely there is some other woman who would be easier met to satisfy your needs.”

  “There is no one else I wish to assuage my needs, my lady,” Geoffrey assured her as his rod twitched within his trousers. “And to attain your interests ours will not be a proper English courting.”

  Throwing caution to the wind and taking the bold path, Geoffrey lowered his voiced and asked, “Tell me, my lady, have you ever felt the pleasures of a man? Have you ever swelled under the feelings of desire?”

  The heat and color rose to Angeline’s face so quickly Geoffrey could not help but see it.

  “That is none of your affair, sir. What I have or have not felt is no one’s business but my own. Your questions are most improper.”

  Geoffrey moved a few steps closer, putting him less than a foot from her. He could easily reach out now to stroke her hair, her breasts, to raise her skirts from over her sensual derrière. “I thought not, based upon our little encounter this morning. My dear Angeline. . .”

  “I gave you no leave to call me by my Christian name,” she spat out at him. “Please desist from these efforts and leave me be.”

  Eyes still glaring, she refused to give him the satisfaction of backing off. She remained rooted in place before him, her cheeks an explosion of red color.

  “Lady Angeline,” he went on, ignoring her reprimand, “let me be blunt. Do you truly wish to die a virgin? Do you have no thought to leave this plane having some knowledge of the secrets held between a man and a woman?” he quietly demanded. Only inches from her face, her lips, pink and full, enticed him to take them with his own.

  Angeline was startled and appalled by his inquiry. “That is no business or concern to you, my lord.” But the heat was pooling in her abdomen.

  What was it like to feel such things with a man?

  “Ah, but it is, my lady, because I choose to be the one to teach you the pleasures between the sexes. You may never marry, me nor anyone else, but you shall not go to your grave pristine and untutored. You shall know the very meaning of passion and desire.”

  His eyes were heavy-lidded and held a glint of knowledge she knew she wished to share. But she would not. Especially not with this. . .this. . .rake.

  “And you think you are the one to show me?” Angeline scorned him once again. “How very arrogant you are, my lord. I could choose any man I wish to give me such knowledge.”

  “I am sure you could, my lady. But I am here now and I have the experience and knowledge needed to make it a most pleasant affair for you. Why should you trifle with a man who would lack the very finesse you need to show you the error of your ways?”

  His right eyebrow lifted. The man was incorrigible.

  “I doubt there is any error in my ways, my lord. It is you, you randy rake, who presumes all persons are in rut because you are.” Still irate, Angeline glared green fire while her mind reeled over the thoughts of all he knew and she did not. What was it like to lay with a man? To feel him fill her? To feel passion and desire?

  “Randy I might be, Lady Angeline, but it is your blessing. Lessons will begin tomorrow night. . .at midnight. You must know the cottage by the lake on my estate. It is not far from here. I will see you there at the stroke of twelve. You will learn what it is you are willing to forego for the rest of your days. Then, if you still wish to do so, you will have my blessings and I will let you be.”

  Without giving her a chance to respond, he swiftly turned away stalking out of the garden as if he were the master of his race.

  Angeline remained behind, utterly speechless, her cheeks still aflame, her body still yearning. His face had been so close to hers she had thought he would kiss her.

  Had she hoped he would do so? She had been kissed before but it had been quite some time since her last experience and it had not given her delight.

  Certainly it had raised no desire in her.

  What was it about this particular man that seemed to set every cell in her body on alert? He caused her such distress, such heat, such frustration.

  “I will not meet you, my lord. Your offer is most improper,” she assured the local wildlife. “There is nothing you can teach me I wish to know.” But in her mind, she wondered further about desire and passion.

  What did this man know she did not, would not, if she refused his offer?

  Did she really wish to die a virgin?

  Was it not a riskless task she could learn what she wished, then retreat from the field to live in serenity? He told her he would let her be.

  What did passion really feel like?

  Could she trust him at his word?

  Chapter 3

  Through the next day and a half, a battle raged within Angeline.

  One minute, she would go to grasp all the sexual knowledge and passion she could, to use him as he would wish
to use her.

  The next, she would let the rogue, who was now haunting her dreams with his hard, manly body and fierce, green eyes rot in hell.

  One minute, she was filled with heat and desire and the memories of his hot, brazen sex against her sheathed backside while the next, she was cursing him as the devil with his highhanded, arrogant ways.

  At half past eleven, Angeline was ensconced in her bed, her cotton night rail buttoned fully to her chin, her down-filled duvet cloaking her in weight and warmth. The lamps were out, the fire still glowed upon the grate, and the moon, now rapidly waning, shed the glow of pale light across her bedchamber floor.

  She tossed and turned in the bedclothes. Would she never get to sleep? Could she not divest her mind of the rake and his temptations? No wonder Adam and Eve lost the garden—curiosity was the most motivating, frustrating condition.

  She jumped from her bed to don her clothes, throwing on the first things that came to hand, a dress and shoes only. Quickly putting her braided hair into a bun, she dashed from the room, irate. Determined to put this wicked man in his place, she fled in the direction of the cottage.

  Her way over the fields and through the trees was well known. She had traveled it many times as a child when she went to play with Ronald by the lake. It was in that very cottage, at the age of nine, she received her first kiss. Ronald had placed a chaste kiss upon her lips. She had grown red with rage, slapped his face, and run away. He had come to her home later to apologize. From that day to his death, he had never kissed her again, though he had courted her on and off for years and asked her to marry him at least three times. She had always declined. As sweet as he was, there was no fire there for her. She had never known if she had generated a fire for him. And now he was dead. And she was heading for that same cottage to meet a man who would never be so courteous, so respectful, as Ronald.

  She would give him a piece of her mind and go home. Surely that would purge the confusion of emotions battling within her.

  At midnight, Geoffrey stood in the small room that was the first floor of the cottage. His staff had spent the day cleaning away the dust and decay of years. He had a large, comfortable bed, two small wing chairs, a table and two side chairs, a bureau stocked with linens, and a washstand with a basin installed for their comfort and convenience. He had the finest linens placed upon the bed; down filled the mattress; flowers scented the room. He was ready for her. Would she come?

  Not five minutes later, there came a pounding at the door, no ladylike knock. The Tempest had arrived and in fine fettle, too.

  Strolling leisurely to the door, his manhood already saluting his interests, Geoffrey opened the portal. Bowing graciously, he swept the space before him with his hand while inviting her in. “Welcome, my Lady Angeline. Do come in. All is ready for you.” Not the least of which is I, he thought to himself, working hard to retain his self-control.

  Angeline swept into the room. “I am not staying. I have only come to tell you this plan of yours is absurd. I see no purpose to it. I am not some foolish schoolgirl you can sweep off her feet to use as you see fit.” She came to the blazing fire to warm her hands. It was still chill in the evenings at this point in spring. The heat felt good upon her hands and her face.

  “I am so glad you have arrived, my lady. Let me take your cloak.”

  Geoffrey moved toward her, ignoring her denials.

  Suddenly he was right behind her. She could feel the mass of him, the heat of him, in every part of her body. And desire pooled once again in her stomach. A tightness arose, calling to her, telling her she needed something, was missing something.

  What did this man do that made her so agitated?

  Lord Colburn placed his hands upon her shoulders, tugging gently on the cloak, which held fast at first, then fell away into his hands. “It’s warm here, Lady Angeline. I made sure of it. You will not need the cloak,” he crooned into her ear.

  His voice was rich, deep, resonant, molten seduction.

  Angeline felt the vibration in her heart, the desire in her stomach. There was so much she wanted to know.

  Yet again she asked herself—did she really wish to die a virgin, never knowing the fullness of life?

  Geoffrey whispered into her ear, “I am so glad you came. All is prepared for our lesson. You shall not regret for a moment all that will take place here.”

  His hot breath was like a kiss, causing the hair on her nape to stand on end. She felt the heat rush up to her face. Her body ached. She knew she should not be here, that danger lay in this path if she sustained it. She turned round in a whirl to face her would-be seducer.

  “I am not staying, my lord. This is not proper for a woman of my station. I only came to assure you your efforts are futile. I have no wish to change my ways, no less to learn any of yours. I will be greatly in your debt if you will, in the future, leave me to my own occupations.” Angeline looked up to see the depth and heat of his jade green eyes.

  “As you wish, Angeline,” he murmured, then placed his lips upon hers, brushing them softly back and forth, inviting her reaction.

  But she did not pull away. She only tensed her body to withstand the coming onslaught.

  As if sensing her defiance, he pressed his lips to hers more firmly.

  His lips were so warm, so soft. Her body was tingling again, everywhere. But she knew this should not, could not be. She put her hands upon his chest, fingers splayed across the massive, muscled bulk, and pushed hard against him. But, he made no retreat. Instead he opened his mouth slightly. His tongue caressed her lips ever so gently, sending a shiver down her spine, causing her to gasp.

  Lord Colburn gently pushed his hot, wet tongue into her mouth as if to taste the essence of her. Her body tensed against him but he did not desist; instead, he tangled his tongue with hers, starting the lesson he had promised: This is how we kiss. This is what I do. This is what you do in return.

  All thoughts flew from Angeline’s head as she felt and tasted the man who held her. Strong arms embraced her gently, sweetly but firmly. She could not have gotten loose.

  Did she even want to?

  The kisses of the men in London had not felt like this. The kisses of the local gentry had not moved her like this. She had been kissed before, she was sure of it, but now she realized she had never been kissed before.

  His tongue tantalized her, enticed her, melted her resolve. Then his lips were gone only to be placed upon her jawline, her forehead. When he brushed them gently against her ear, she thought she would go mad. Then he placed his arm round the small of her back and arched her over it as he moved to the warmth of her virgin neck.

  Angeline groaned with the feel of it, with the heat of it, with the desire that was now pulsing everywhere within her. This must stop, she thought languidly. But she could not gain control of a single muscle to put her mental musings into physical action.

  His hand was at her throat now, easing the buttons from their moorings. The kisses followed the expanse of skin that was released. His other palm was firm against her buttocks, squeezing gently, arousing, inciting.

  “You feel so wonderful, Angeline. You smell of flowers and woman. Your skin is like silk, warm silk. I want you, Angeline. I want all of you. I want you to feel a passion you never knew existed. I want to feel your passion and I want you to feel mine.”

  His words were soft and husky in her ear.

  The onslaught continued, his breath hot as his words whispered against her neck, over the crest of her breast. Angeline groaned, “No, my lord, you shouldn’t.”

  She protested weakly as his hand came up to cup the soft orb. He grasped it firmly. Angeline arched into the heat and strength of his hand. Her moan was low. “My lord, I should take my leave.”

  “Geoffrey,” he corrected her. “You cannot go yet; your first lesson is not over.”


  More buttons slipped free, then he parted the front of her bodice and turned her toward the light of the fire. “Let me see, Angeline. Let me see these breasts I have imagined for more than twenty-four hours.” With tender care, he pushed her gown from her shoulders, freeing her from her restraints. “Your breasts are beautiful, Angeline,” he attested as he placed a strong palm against the firm, warm, mound of flesh. “So ripe, so lush, so begging for my touch.”

  Geoffrey ran his thumb over her nipple, feeling his groin twitch as Angeline’s skin flushed and her nipples furled from his attentions.

  “Geoffrey, you shouldn’t, you mustn’t,” protested Angeline, as she arched to push her breast more firmly into his grasp. “How can it feel so very good?” she murmured.

  “There is more, Angeline, so very much more, my angel,” Geoffrey promised her as he bent his head to take the sweet morsel into his mouth. The gasp and moan that met his actions assured him his courting was being received with the greatest of appreciation.

  With such encouragement, he taunted the virgin breast. He circled his tongue around the areola, feeling the nipple grow tighter still. He flicked the pink bud with his tongue, only to feel the object of his desire push toward him harder. He tenderly nudged his teeth against the sensitive nub. Another gasp was his reward, along with frantic fingers in his hair pulling and tugging. Then he suckled, gently at first, then more urgently. The woman in his arms melted against him.