He wanted her to tell him? “You mean?” She could hardly allow herself to imagine some scenarios in her head, let alone have them cross her lips.
“I mean, yes.” He leaned closer. “I want to hear the words on your lips.”
Oh. Could she? It wasn’t proper…
“I want to put you in my mouth.” She was done with being proper!
“Put my what in your mouth?” His fingertips drew little circles around her buttocks.
She had seen it in pictures and not quite understood why. But she wanted to see him clearly. She wanted to know… it.
“Your member,” she whispered.
He froze and then a devilish glint entered his eyes at the same time he rolled onto his back. “Very well.”
Margaret sat up and licked her lips.
“Straddle me backward,” he commanded. Rather than question the logistics of how such a maneuver could work, she lifted one leg and set it across his hips. It felt lovely, and she gave in to the urge to rub herself against him.
“But how—?”
Before she could finish her question, he was sliding her hips up and toward his face. “Do as you please. Just don’t hurt me, thank you. I’m not a fan of teeth.” And the whiskers on his jaw scraped along her thigh just as his mouth… “Unless you are very careful.”
Margaret turned boneless and fell forward.
Oh.
His member stood at attention, directly before her eyes. She did her best to remain coherent what with his hands wrapped around her thighs. It was rather startling, really, waving before her. She touched it gently. Smooth—silkier than the skin on his chest. Veins pulsed along the length.
“Relax, Maggie,” Sebastian said from behind her, urging her hips in a small circle. His whiskers scraped against her skin again and all hesitation fled.
All in, Margaret wrapped her lips around the tip of him and then moved her tongue in the same circling motion as her hips.
She closed her eyes and visualized his tongue gliding along her seam. She felt him with her body, but she also felt him with her mind. She would not overthink what they were doing, though, what he was doing. She trusted him.
It had appeared unnatural, when she’d seen it in a book, but it was not. All of it felt natural, and lovely and exciting.
She gripped his shaft with one hand, holding herself above him with the other, and listened to his various exclamations. When his hips shot forward, she noted what she had been doing, and again as his legs flexed.
She squeezed him, she took him to the back of her throat, she sucked on him, and despite his order, dragged her teeth gently up his length.
“I’m close.” His voice vibrated against her skin. It was a warning, she knew. But she didn’t care. She slid him in and out, farther, the blood pulsing through him matching the need he’d inflamed in her.
His completion came only seconds before her own. As his salty release filled her mouth, he clamped her hard against his face, his fingers inside her, and she spiraled into her own vortex of pleasure.
It was messy and ought to be embarrassing but it was not.
Sebastian’s hands soothed her bottom after she’d collapsed.
“You don’t have to answer if you do not wish to.” Sebastian was sitting against some tall pillows with Margaret cradled against his chest. With their fingers tangled together, she studied his hands. The candles still burned, casting a warm glow on the bed.
He had lovely hands. They were strong but also elegant looking.
“Ask me.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Did you have passion in your marriage?”
Locked away with him in his chamber with all of the guests fast asleep, Maggie could almost pretend they existed in their own little world. She did not want to dishonor Lawrence’s memory but at the same time, she experienced an intimacy with Sebastian she’d never known. She felt safe telling him things.
“We made love as married people do.” And then she added, “Properly.”
“It was the same for Bethany and me,” he surprised her by volunteering. “But it was beautiful as well.”
“It was,” she agreed. It was nothing like what they’d been doing. She and Sebastian had been seeking pleasure whereas…”We wanted children in the worst way. Eight years, we were married. Tell me what she was like, this young girl who captured your heart.” He would have been just as charming and charismatic then but younger, of course, and optimistic. What would Sebastian Wright be like as a man in love?
“Her hair was so blond it was almost white. She was very thin and nearly as tall as me.” He sighed behind her. “She was always laughing, and if she wasn’t laughing, she was smiling.”
“She sounds like a lovely person. How long…?” Margaret swallowed. She turned around to stare up at him.
“Our marriage lasted eight months. Bethany died in childbirth.” His fingers trailed along Margaret’s arm now and he spoke softly as he remembered. “The midwife didn’t arrive in time. Only her maid and I were present to help her. There was no time. She didn’t suffer long… It happened in a matter of minutes.”
Margaret squeezed his hand. “You must have been terrified.”
He nodded behind her, and she felt him swallow hard. “So much blood. And the child…” He trailed off and Margaret sensed he was done speaking of it. She rubbed his hands and then his wrists and forearms.
She remembered how much she had bled. Her and Lawrence’s baby had been a boy. So very tiny and so very perfect in every way but one. He had failed to take a single breath.
Stillborn, the doctor had pronounced almost cruelly.
In that moment, she’d wanted to bleed and bleed and bleed.
“My mother was a godsend.” Who did he turn to after his wife and baby died? “She wouldn’t allow me to wallow. Did you meet my mother, when you were in London?”
“I was presented to her once. Oddly enough, it was George who introduced me. But afterward, he warned me to steer clear of the Dragon Danbury.” He chuckled. “Are you going to wear feathers sticking out of your head when you are in your dotage?”
She laughed. Her mother had been dead barely a year and a half, and it always made her sad to be reminded of it. But the memory of her mother’s hundreds of feathers and her elaborately styled hair made her smile. Imagining wearing her hair in a similar fashion made her laugh.
“Oh, definitely,” she answered.
“I think red and yellow would suit you best. Or perhaps a rainbow. You can add to your height that way.”
“I think that is partly why my mother wore them. She was not very tall and could not abide being overlooked.”
“I have some ideas for when you wear those feathers. I’ll pluck them out and most definitely not overlook any part of you.” Even joking, he had the ability to make her squirm.
In a most delightful way.
“Not to tickle me.” She slid her eyes toward him sideways.
“You mean like this?” Sebastian’s hands slid around her waist and he ran his fingers along her ribs.
“Stop!” She giggled as she made a half-hearted effort to push his hands away. It was easier to go on the offense, so she danced her fingertips down his abdomen. By the time they paused, their antics had them both laying down, facing one another with their heads on the same pillow, breathing hard but staring into each other’s eyes.
“Truce.” He traced her hairline with one fingertip. “I promise to never tickle you if you promise the same.”
“Truce.”
What would her mother say about what she was doing now? Her mother was above all, proper in all things… and yet, in a moment of clarity, Margaret was certain her mother would have adored Sebastian.
“My mother cared more about her children’s happiness than her own. She tried to send me away to London when she realized that she was ill. Thank God I did not go.”
“You were with her in the end?”
“I was, and I am so very glad for it.”
/> He kissed her on the forehead. “I’m sure she must have been, as well.”
Indeed, her mother would have liked Sebastian.
“Do you get on well with your parents?” She knew him intimately, but she knew so little about his life when he was in London, his family, his history.
“My father has always been a duke first and a father second. And we disagree on some very fundamental things.” He opened his fingers and then threaded them between hers. “But we tolerate each other. My mother is a mother first and a duchess second. She disapproves of my plans to sail. She thinks I ought to be happy enough in London.”
“She is a mother.” Margaret was not, and yet, she could imagine her fears. Margaret could not allow herself to imagine that in a few months he would be at the mercy of a wooden ship in the middle of the huge ocean. It was unimaginable.
“My uncle thinks it’s folly.”
Margaret sat up. “You will do it. I have every faith in you.” She felt his need in the depths of her soul. She didn’t want his dream to die without him ever chasing it.
Which reminded her… “Did you tell your uncle that you are staying?” Feeling insecure suddenly, she added, “I quite understand if you must go. He is your family, after all.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me, Maggie?” He spoke in jest, but she recognized the same insecurity she felt.
She drew her hand along his cheek and jaw. “I’ll keep you a little longer.” For how long though? The thought of him leaving was not a pleasant one. “Penelope thinks you ought to tell George you are staying so that you can search for the ring.”
“Penelope… knows?”
“I am not good at dissembling. Even about the smallest things. But you mustn’t worry, she has promised not to tell my brother.” She trailed her fingertips to softly graze his lips. “I’d rather not see you cut in a duel. You are far too pretty for that.”
He grasped her arms above her head and wrapped her fingers around the wooden rail. “Hold tight, woman, while I make you pay for such an emasculating comment.”
Margaret did just as he asked, and he proved to her that although he might be pretty, he was also depraved. Quite depraved indeed.
* * *
“Are you sure this is the place?” It seemed like a lifetime had passed since they had last searched for the ring… and yet it had barely been two days.
Sebastian halted and opened his journal. “Three boulders, clustered just so.” He glanced off to the open space over her shoulders. “And the fallen tree facing west.” With that, he snapped the small leather book shut and repocketed it.
“How very clever of you.” Oh, but he’d proven how clever he was a number of times the night before. Today she carried a small basket of food and a blanket while he’d lugged the wooden-handled lawn tools up the hill.
Although she wanted to locate the ring, she felt none of the urgency that she had before.
“Am I a horrible person, do you think, that I won’t be distraught if we don’t find it?”
He handed her one of the rakes. “Not as horrible as I am. Seeing as it once belonged to my ancestors.”
After deciding on a course of action, they both began dragging the lawn tool along the ground, watching carefully for the family heirloom but making comments, some flirtatious and some simply to share a random thought.
After talking about their respective brothers, both of them younger, and deciding they had grown less annoying with age, Margaret glanced up and caught Sebastian watching her.
“What is it?”
“You’re beautiful, you know. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.” It was such a fantastical compliment that Margaret wanted to laugh, but his gray eyes glowed with sincerity—warmth.
“I thought we’d decided you were the beautiful one.” She attempted to dismiss it.
“Not even close, Maggie.” And then he went back to dragging the rake through the grass. “Was there ever anyone else for you, aside from your husband, that is?”
Margaret bent forward to sift through some dirt and then rose again. “I had a few beaus,” she admitted. “One of them the son of one of my father’s tenants. No one I could ever marry.”
“Were you in love?”
She felt her brows furrow. Had she been? “I thought so at the time. But my father nipped it in the bud as soon as he realized how close we’d become.” And he’d been quite successful. She barely remembered what he looked like. “Shortly after, I was betrothed to Lawrence.”
“Were you terribly upset about it?”
“I remember thinking that I ought to be. That it wasn’t fair. But neither did I wish to disappoint my parents.” And then she frowned.
“What is it?”
“I overheard them talking once, shortly after Hugh was born.” She’d been very young and had shoved the memory to the back of her recollections. “My father mentioned that Hugh ought to have been the spare, not the heir. It would have been more convenient if my twin had lived instead of me. I think perhaps this drove me to work extra hard for their approval.”
“But now you require no one’s approval but your own.” He went back to raking.
It was exactly what she’d told him yesterday, in Hugh’s study. “But it isn’t as simple as that. I suppose we must strike the perfect balance.”
“As in all things.” He smiled across at her and she nodded.
“What will you do when you return from your travels? You said you would make changes to your father’s estate. What do you mean by that?”
Sebastian lit up and then spoke of all manner of ideas. He wanted the estates belonging to the dukedom to shift from relying solely on agricultural pursuits to some form of manufacturing. He thought the workers ought to own their own homes but wasn’t at liberty to sell off any of the ducal lands.
Before she realized it, the sun was high in the sky and she’d told him of the sense of guilt she’d experienced the night before. How she was oddly questioning the way she had viewed the world for most of her life.
He spread out the blanket while she opened the basket. “When a person only knows one way of living, it makes it difficult to see the world from a different perspective.”
And he was determined to see other ways of life.
She nodded and handed him a napkin. This meal wasn’t nearly as elaborate as the one they’d shared on the cliff, but it somehow tasted better.
“I’m not completely sure if I like it or not.” She frowned because in having begun to see her world from another paradigm, she wasn’t certain she could continue as though she had not.
She’d justified her family’s lifestyle in that her father and Lawrence had been kind landlords. And that the servants at Land’s End had been treated fairly. But had they been? Were they? She would speak with Hugh. And Penelope. Her sister-in-law was one of the most progressive and smartest people she’d ever met.
Sebastian was laying on his side, watching her. “Seeing as neither you nor I are going to change the world today, tell me something you think you might be able to do to reconcile yourself to your life?”
It was a good question and would require far more thought than she was willing to give it today. She did, however, determine to ask a few questions—and learn.
“First,” she said. “I am going to open this bottle of wine and share it with you.”
His eyes flared.
“And second.” She settled her gaze on his broad but relaxed shoulders and then down to his tapered waist and very firm thighs. “I’m going to see if you are as delicious outdoors as you are in the privacy of your chamber.”
23
Romance Vs. Adventure
Margaret found herself seated beside Sebastian at dinner that night and did her best to pretend butterflies weren’t racing through her limbs when his hand played with her leg beneath the table. The guest placement was no accident, Margaret knew immediately, when she caught Penelope smiling over at her from where she sat at the foot of the long table.<
br />
Every cell of her body came alive at the most casual brush of his arm or when he leaned close to whisper what he planned to do to her later that night.
She was grateful she had her fan with her and waved it in front of her face. Surely, her ears and cheeks were beet red… due to the candles and so many warm bodies sitting around the table. She might even blame it on the wine, if asked outright.
Mr. Spencer sat on her opposite side and Lady Sheffield across from her. No one dared mention George’s hasty departure, which coincidently coincided with that of the Drake party.
For the most part, it was Lady Sheffield who steered the conversation with skill and authority. Her mouth moved and she was speaking, but Margaret found it difficult to pay attention.
What was that about the holidays? Fashion? The weather? Margaret fluttered her fan and nodded vaguely when asked for her opinion.
“Excuse me?” She had not paid attention to Lady Sheffield’s question.
“Lord Rockingham was saying he preferred Robinson Caruso to Swiss Family Robinson. Have you read either?”
“I was recently gifted a copy of the latter, actually.” Margaret smiled. She had managed to read about half of it. She turned to address Sebastian. “I find the contrast between the two main protagonists interesting. One is independent with no real desire for family and the second is about a father, who seems to be mostly intent that his children succeed. I’m surprised you prefer the second version. Perhaps because it is more modern?”
Or is it that he desires to someday be a family man, in the distant future perhaps?
“But you must remember that the protagonist in the original book, Caruso, ultimately wanted companionship.” A chill ran down her spine. Was he trying to tell her something?
“As long as they did not view him as their dinner,” she commented.
“A rather significant distinction.” The light in Sebastian’s glancing gaze, however, promised that he would either have her mouth on him or his mouth on hers later that night.
“The conflicts differ considerably,” Mr. Spencer added. “Man versus man is the strongest conflict in Caruso, whereas William, in Swiss Family Robinson, wrestles with self and with God, and nature.”
Lady and the Rake Page 21
