by Lynne Barron
“Slow and sweet,” he chided before nipping her upper lip.
“No.”
Henry ignored the single word delivered on a wispy sigh that could not, must not belong to her. Brushing his lips over hers, lightly back and forth, he withdrew and slowly thrust into her body once more.
“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured, coasting his lips across her cheek.
Georgie wound her arms around his back, her fingers spread wide. His flesh was warm and slightly damp with perspiration. He shuddered beneath her touch, a soft moan whispering from his lips to feather across the fine hairs at her temple.
Again he withdrew from her body only to stroke back in, inch by agonizing inch, seating himself firmly and rolling his hips between her legs.
“Yes.” The word fell from her lips without volition as she arched into him, grazing her nipples through the course hair on his chest.
Henry released her head to wedge his hands beneath her back, his fingers finding her shoulder blades and tracing their contours. His lips drifted over her jaw to her chin. “Such a pretty little chin you have.”
She tilted her head back and he kissed the pointy tip before trailing his lips down her neck to the hollow beneath, where he stopped to dip his tongue.
“Oh,” she gasped, drawing in a stuttering breath.
He continued onward, sweeping his lips over her collarbones, one then the other, paying special attention to the deep crevices above and the shallow dips beneath.
And all the while he thrust into her, his pace infinitely slow, as if he had all the time in the world to make love to her.
Georgie tossed her head back with a soft cry when his lips found her nipple and gently pulled the peak into his mouth to worship.
Henry’s hands flexed on her back, lifting her to him as he sucked the peak deep into the wet heat of his mouth and twirled his tongue around and around.
“Henry,” she whispered, tightening her legs around him to pull him down as she surged up, needing more, needing harder and deeper.
“Not yet, love.” His breath blew over her chest as he turned his attentions to her other breast, his mouth wetter and hotter.
Georgie was close to climaxing, so wonderfully close. She only needed a few hard strokes, perhaps a nibble of the stiff bud he sucked deep into his mouth.
As if to tease her, to torment her beyond reason, Henry scraped his teeth over her nipple before lashing the peak with his tongue and slowly gliding nearly out of her quim. He swiveled his hips, the engorged head of his shaft circling her channel, pressing against her inner walls in a delicious taunt.
“Please, Henry,” she panted, her fingers clenching on his back.
He released her nipple and lunged up, claiming her lips with devastating ardor. Taking command of her mouth, he stroked his tongue over and around hers as he thrust his cock, hard and deep, into her body.
Georgie let loose a tremulous cry into his mouth, followed by a choppy laugh, her hips rising and her arms and legs squeezing, desperately pulling him close, and closer still, as she was swept into the sweetest, loveliest, most decadent orgasm of her life.
On and on it went, wave after wave, until she was lost, breathless and adrift in an ocean of sensations, the taste of Henry’s lips on hers, the sound of his soft laughter mingling with hers, the feel of his hard hands spread across her back and the wonder of his cock buried deep within her body.
Henry lunged back and thrust deep again, and once more.
“Georgie,” he growled, lifting his head and pulling against her legs gripping him tight.
She unwound her legs and planted her feet on the bed, cradling his hips as he jerked his shaft from her still convulsing cunny and surged to his knees. He threw his head back with a bellowing roar as his warm seed shot over her belly.
And for the first time in her misbegotten life, Georgie impulsively, selfishly, stubbornly, venally and wickedly wished she’d kept her legs locked, that she’d taken his seed into her womb.
Chapter Nineteen
“You’re dressed.” Henry looked up from the ledger open on the desk when Georgie strolled into his study just before noon.
His hair was slicked back from his forehead, his lips lifted in a welcoming smile and a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, giving him the look of a young man at his studies.
“I didn’t know you had the need for spectacles,” she said, crossing the room. “That certainly explains quite a bit.”
“What does it explain?” He whipped the glasses from his face and tossed them to the desk.
“Are you balancing the accounts?” Reaching the window, she pulled the heavy velvet drapes apart. “Are your coffers running dry from the drought?”
“Hardly,” he replied with a chuckle, swiveling his seat around to face her and stretching his long legs out before him. “Idyllwild is a pleasure estate rather than a means for capital.”
“I have certainly found my time here pleasurable,” she agreed as she swept her gaze over the rolling fields and hills that stretched out beyond the window. “Rain and wind and thunder notwithstanding.”
“I have never enjoyed stormy weather more,” he replied, his voice softening. “I was sorry to awaken this morning to clear skies and sunlight.”
“I would imagine your servants will arrive shortly.”
“Ah, so that is why you are dressed to the nines.”
“I can hardly prance about in your dressing gown before the servants,” she answered, turning to rest her hip on the window sill.
“I shall miss seeing you trip over the hem,” he teased, patting one muscular thigh in welcome.
The man truly was blind. How convenient he must find his short-sightedness as he blithely went about his life, viewing the world around him as he wanted to see it rather than as it truly existed.
Georgie wandered over and perched gingerly on his proffered thigh, wrapping one hand around his neck and tucking the other into the open collar of his fine linen shirt.
“You aren’t concerned my servants will treat you with anything less than respect, are you?” he asked, placing his hand on the small of her back.
“Not in the least,” she assured him with a smile.
“I’ve only brought along the six. Critchley, who you’ve already met…”
“A lovely man.”
“So it would seem,” he agreed. “And my valet, Davenport, who likely will not be at all surprised to see you here, seeing as he witnessed my temper upon waking to discover you gone and only a bloody stump left on the pillow beside me.”
Georgie laughed despite the rather hollow pit that was lodged in her belly and had been since she’d crawled from Henry’s bed after he’d made slow and sweet love to her, leaving him smiling in his sleep.
“I would have left Cook behind had I known you would take up residence,” he continued. “Your beef stew is far superior to hers.”
“And the other three servants?” she asked. “Is one of them by chance a maid by the name of Betsy?”
Henry grinned before leaning forward to plant a hard kiss on her lips. “You are the only maid with whom I want to dally.”
Georgie gave a soft harrumph to let him know she was not fooled. The Earl of Hastings would dally with any lady he pleased, or more specifically whichever lady approached him with a tumble in mind.
“There are two maids making the journey,” he said.
“I thought as much.”
“Sarah and Susan, twins I’ve inherited from Olivia,” he offered.
“Twins, is it? Lucky you.”
“They are the devil, those two,” he replied, missing the suggestion entirely. “Forever up to mischief of one sort or another.”
“Let me guess,” she mused, tapping her fingers against his neck. “The sixth servant is a footman. But surely you’ve two carriages making the journey, one for the earl and the other to carry the servants. And a coachman for each conveyance? A groom or two?”
“Just the one groom.”
&nbs
p; “Nine servants to care for one gentleman in a manor house no bigger than a cottage.”
“And his lady,” he reminded her, pulling her close and resting his forehead against hers. “His beautiful lady.”
“Oh, Henry, the nonsense you spout,” she murmured, careful not to breathe in his breath, his scent.
“This morning,” he began, his voice soft and husky. “Making love to you…I don’t know how to put into words the feel of you beneath me, wrapped around me, your lips on mine, the sound of your soft laughter as you climaxed around me.”
Georgie closed her eyes, feeling dizzy with the need for air.
“I thought the time before, when I took you on the floor, was the best coupling I’d ever experienced,” he continued, his hand on her back flexing.
“Because you controlled me,” she whispered. “You ruled me, dominated my will and my body.”
“It was more than that,” he said, pulling her closer, angling his head and bringing his lips to hover over hers. “I was in control of my desire in a way I’ve never been before. I unleashed the beast but held tight to the reins. And you accepted that part of me, reveled in it even.”
“Yes.” Georgie gave up the battle and drew a breath, sorrow and longing and bitterness seeping into her along with his minty breath and earthy scent.
“But this morning, loving you slowly, feeling every touch independent of the one that preceded it, of the one that followed, that transcended any experience, any fantasy I have ever had. I want you to know—”
Georgie pressed her lips hard against his and speared her tongue into his mouth, cutting off his words, knowing they would only come back to haunt them both.
“Ahem.”
Georgie yanked her mouth from his and jumped from his lap, spinning around to face the open door.
Critchley stood just over the threshold, his eyes trained on the ceiling and a smirk pulling at his lips.
“Critchley.” Henry rose to his feet with all the arrogance bred into him through countless generations, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down his patrician nose. “You ought to know better than to interrupt me in my study.”
“My apologies, my lord.” The ancient butler bowed his head in a show of abject misery.
He might have carried off the forlorn look had he not twittered beneath his breath and had his lips not twitched uncontrollably.
“Mr. Crotchety,” Georgie greeted as she walked toward him. “A pleasure to see you again.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Buchanan.” The old man studied the hand she held out as if he’d never before seen such an appendage before taking it between both of his. “Had I known you were planning to take tea with his lordship today I would have hastened the servants along.”
“Not to worry,” she replied, smiling at his attempt to find a reason for her presence that did not speak of debauchery. “We’ve yet to enjoy tea and would be pleased to have you join us.”
“I couldn’t,” the butler protested.
“Neither can I,” Henry said coming up beside her. “I must ride out to assess the damage from the storm. And we must continue our very interesting discussion of…er…”
“The part weather plays upon a master’s control of his servants,” she offered just to bedevil him.
“Right you are,” he agreed. “Come, you’ll ride with me.”
Georgie peeked at him from the corner of her eye. Of course he wore a wolfish grin, foolish man.
“Oh, but I do not ride, my lord,” she drawled, retrieving her hand from the butler. “Your lesson of this morning aside, I am afraid I never learned.”
“On account of her gimpy leg,” Critchley piped in.
Henry’s gaze dropped down to sweep over her lavender skirts as if he might see said gimpy leg through the layers of silk and cotton. “Your leg. Jesus, Georgie. That is why you—”
“Dismounted so quickly,” she interrupted, shooting a glance at the butler to find him once more staring at the ceiling. “Please do not concern yourself, my lord. Our impromptu riding lesson did not injure me in the least,” she assured him quickly, laying her hand on his arm.
“You are certain?” he persisted with a frown. “I hate to think of you in pain.”
“Honestly, my lord, my leg is paining me no more today than it did yesterday.” Which was certainly true. “Ride out to assess your land while Mr. Crotchety and I take tea.”
“I ought to check on the Porters’ cottage, seeing as how they are away.”
“Porter and his wife have not been in residence?” the butler asked, patently shocked. “But surely…you cannot have waited out the storm here? Alone? Together?”
“I’ve only just arrived for tea,” Georgie reminded him.
“Perhaps you might see to it now?” Henry prompted when his butler only stood staring at them with his mouth agape. “The tea.”
Without a word, the butler turned on his heel and hurried from the room.
“Where were we?” Henry asked, tilting her chin up with one finger, a mischievous grin pulling at his lips.
“You were riding out,” she replied, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow and wrapping her fingers over his forearm. “Come, I’ll walk you to the door.”
Covering her hand with his own, he laced their fingers together and led her from the parlor. As they turned toward the front door, Georgie decided she’d never seen a smaller hall. Good Lord, the door was right there, six, perhaps seven steps away.
Georgie shortened her stride, stretching the journey to eleven steps she counted off in her head as her heart slowed until she could have sworn it no longer beat beneath her breast.
“I shouldn’t be more than an hour or two,” Henry said as the footmen, a tall fellow with hair as red as her own and blotchy skin, opened the door.
Too soon. Oh God, it was too soon. “I’ll walk out onto the porch with you.”
“There is an assembly in Deerfield this evening.” His words seemed to come from a great distance though they walked through the door hip to hip.
“Yes,” she agreed, blinking against the bright sunlight.
“Perhaps you would like to attend?” Henry pulled his arm from beneath her fingers and hopped down the two shallow steps.
“With you?” Hope sprang, unwelcome and entirely unbidden, and Georgie followed him to the edge of the porch, her toes dangling over the paving stones.
“We could ride into the village together,” he replied, turning to smile at her and she took the first step down, caught by the twist of his lips and the merriment that shone in his eyes. “I’ll drop you off at the inn to change your gown and you can attend with the Misses Brookes, seeing as how they have recognized you for the fine gem you are. I’ll circle around and arrive after you.”
“Of course.” She ought to have known the earl would no more escort her to a country assembly than he would introduce her to his illustrious family.
“We’ll dance a reel or two.” Henry’s hands landed on her hips and he pulled her flush against him, his lips brushing over hers. “You ought to stand one step above me more often. Makes it deuced easy to steal kisses from you.”
“Borrow,” she whispered against his lips, her hands coming up to cup his face as she trailed her tongue over the seam of his mouth.
“Hmm,” he murmured in appreciation, accepting the invitation to deepen the kiss.
Georgie closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sensation of his lips pressed to hers, his tongue sinuously stroking over hers, his hands warm on her hips, his whiskers gently abrading her palms, and the silky glide of his hair between her fingers.
“Come ride with me.” He broke the kiss and lifted his head. “Come away with me my love and we shall all the pleasures prove.”
His words, the emphasis he placed on two of them, snapped Georgie back to her senses and she stepped back and up. “Ach, off with you, you tiresome creature.”
Henry grinned and released her, tossed a jaunty salute and turne
d away.
Georgie brought one hand up to shade her eyes, her gaze fixed on his retreating form, on the breadth of his shoulders, the shifting muscles of his backside and thighs, and the dancing of his golden curls in the breeze.
When she found herself counting his steps, she spun around and retreated into the house.
“Perfect timing,” Critchley greeted with tea tray in hand.
“That would make for a nice change,” she replied, striving to find a speck of amusement amidst the jumble of thoughts rioting around inside her head and the foreign emotions battering beneath her breast.
Critchley’s right brow arched up in inquiry and she wondered if he’d copied the gesture from his young lord before deciding it was likely the opposite.
“It seems that each time I think my timing spot on, I am proven terribly wrong,” she explained, hurrying through the parlor door so as not to force him to stand about holding the heavy tray longer than necessary.
“You’re young yet,” he replied. “It’s likely you’ll learn that time has a way of working itself out, coming full circle and landing you just where you were meant to be.”
“Why, Mr. Crotchety, you are a philosopher.”
“Don’t go telling anyone,” he cautioned, lowering the tray to the small table set between two rocking chairs. “Two sugars and more cream than tea, if I remember correctly?”
“You’ve a fine memory.”
“Young folks nowadays are in a hurry to grow up, to spread their wings and fly,” he said as he poured. “So certain they know the way of the world.”
“To be sure, I doubt I’ll understand the way of the world if I live to be a hundred years of age,” she replied, sitting in the chair that afforded her an unimpeded view out the window.
“And that is what makes you wise beyond your years.” He handed a cup and saucer to her and took the other seat, his bones creaking in an alarming fashion.
“You aren’t having tea?” she asked, balancing her saucer on her knee as Benedict had taught her during their first etiquette lesson.
“Bah, can’t stand the stuff.” He whisked a small silver flask from his breast pocket and held it out to her.
