Wanton Widows: Three Short Regency Romps
Page 4
“None of those. It will be a much more private event.”
“Dinner for two tête-à-tête? His voice was low and seductive.
“More intimate than that,” she answered.
He looked stunned. “There is little more … you want what?”
“I think we should spend a night together in anticipation of our nuptials.”
He hesitated. “And this is another test?”
“Yes.”
“And if I fail to pleasure you, you won’t marry me?”
“No. Are you scared?”
“No!” He stepped past her and plied the door knocker.”
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you to bed.”
“Now? Isn’t this sudden?”
“No time like the present!” His face was serious and his manner brisk.
The door opened and her butler bowed them into the house.
“Two glasses of port please, Sims,” said Sir Hercules.
Sims raised his eyebrow in question. “Madam?”
“Please serve them in the library. Thank you, Sims.”
She led the way. For long minutes, they stood with the width of the room between them, waiting for Sims to arrive and depart. As soon as the door closed after him, Hercules placed his glass on the mantelpiece and strode to Helena. Holding her gaze with his own, he took her glass and set it on the desk behind her with a click as the crystal met the timber.
He framed her face with his hands and kissed her. He tasted of aged port and desire. A stab of yearning flicked through her belly. Her mouth opened under his and invited him in. Their kiss instantly metamorphosed into raw lust. Hercules hauled her into his arms and she reached up to span his shoulders.
Her fingers stroked the nape of his neck where his soft brown hair lay in waves. His own hands drifted down her spine to caress her buttocks through her silk dress. Another jolt of craving flooded her body, coming to rest as a throb between her thighs. The mantelpiece clock daintily chimed the hour of one. Sir Hercules slid the dress from her shoulder exposing her breast, then trailed kisses down her neck to the top of it then suckled the puckered nipple with his warm mouth. Mmmm. She wanted more.
Helena tugged at his cravat knot then stripped it from his neck, abandoning it on the floor. She pushed at his tight coat and he stopped to assist her, shrugging it to the carpet. He undid the back of her dress while kissing her, then slid the gown from her arms. Her light camisole remained. She wore no stays tonight.
“We’re not going to make it to your chamber, are we?” he murmured against her lips.
“No!”
“The chesterfield or the floor, my lady? Your choice.” His voice was thick with desire.
“The sofa – now!” She drew the camisole over her head and threw it to the ground.
He lifted her into his arms and strode to the window enclosure, where the leather lounge stood framed by brocade curtains drawn back from the window, allowing the moonlight to pattern the sofa. He lay her on the shawl-drafted seat and paused to strip off the remainder of his clothes.
Hurry!
The moonlight played over his powerful body, highlighting the ridges and plains of his muscles. She stroked her hand from his shoulder, across his well-formed chest, down the rippled muscles of his abdomen to his cock. It stood erect and ready for action. She fondled it gently.
He sat on the sofa in the curve of her hips and kissed her, while his hand cupped her Mound of Venus and his finger gently probed her core. She moaned in appreciation.
She was ready – more than ready – for him. She tugged him on top of her. He slid into her with a firm stroke and she looped her legs around his to anchor him where she wanted him. He teased her with his cock – thrusting strongly then slowing and almost withdrawing, causing her to urge him back to her with legs and arms. In the half-light she could see his playful smile. Her arms looped around his shoulders, she raised herself until her breasts brushed his chest. She nibbled kisses down his neck then bit his muscled shoulder. With a deep groan, his look became intense. His thrusts grew rhythmic then more forceful and her breathing ratcheted higher. Starlight burst in her head and she gasped her completion. Hercules captured her joy with an open-mouthed kiss. Within moments he was groaning with satisfaction. He leant his forehead on hers as they recovered their breath.
“So, my lady, shall I have the banns called in St George’s, Hanover Square?” he huffed.
“No!” The word came out in a pant.
He recoiled from her.
She pulled him back into her arms, “You are …” She gasped to regain her breath. “…to get a special licence and marry me by the end of the week!”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Ah, success at last. So we are compatible?”
“It will be a marriage made in heaven!”
“Definitely a love-match. My wealth and your beauty.”
“On what shall you spend my money?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t need it.” A grin spread across his face. “I’m as rich as Croesus.”
Her understanding caught up with his words. “Then why?”
He smiled fondly. “I’ve admired you since I met you, but alas, you married Viscount Tremoyne. I was travelling on the Continent when you became a widow. When I returned I heard of your bombardment with marriage proposals by every fortune-hunter in London, so what choice did I have but to present myself to you as a candidate?”
Stunned, she gave a shaky laugh, then smiled with secret glee. “Love me again, my champion. This time on the Aubusson rug.”
If you’ve enjoyed these short stories, tell a friend or leave a review.
More books by Isabella Hargreaves:
The Persuasion of Miss Jane Brody
All Quiet on the Western Plains
Out soon:
Journey’s End on the Western Plains
(sequel to All Quiet on the Western Plains)
About the Author
Isabella Hargreaves has been reading historical stories since she was growing up in
Brisbane, Australia. That wasn’t enough, so she studied history and now spends
every work day researching and writing about people, places and events from the past.
It seemed the perfect match to combine her love of romance and history by writing
historical romances. She writes about strong, determined heroines and heroes who aren’t afraid to match them.
Find out more about Isabella and her books at:
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