Undone - Virginia Henley

by Virginia Henley

  On Friday, he went up to London to make preparations for Saturday night. For the masquerade ball, he planned to wear neither his military uniform nor his Argyll kilt, since both would make him too conspicuous. Instead, John decided to wear black doublet and breeches beneath a black cloak. A black panther mask from a long-ago Venetian _carnival_ would complete his disguise.

  When Saturday arrived he ordered flowers for Half-Moon Street, asked his cook to prepare a simple supper of lobster and champagne, and gave the servants the night off. He made sure he was one of the first to arrive at Burlington Gardens and was pleased when Will didn't recognize him.

  John stationed himself where he could observe those arriving, since he had no idea what costume Elizabeth would be wearing. The house began to fill rapidly with guests, and it was only because Bridget Gunning had chosen to masquerade as someone so like herself--and there was no disguising Maria's silver-gilt beauty--that he realized the female in black was Elizabeth. Her golden tresses hidden beneath the feathered headdress, coupled with the mask concealing her exquisite beauty, made her impossible to identify away from the other members of her family.

  The ladies were soon swallowed by the crowd, though Elizabeth seemed to hang back, hesitantly looking for someone. John came up silently behind her. "Leda will not be joined by Jupiter tonight."

  She turned slowly, looked up at him, and whispered sensually, "Your animal magnetism attracts me. I am unable to resist touching you." She slid her hand beneath his black cloak and ran her fingers over the musculature of his chest.

  Through the slits in the mask, her eyes glittered with a recklessness he had never before seen in her. He took firm hold of her roaming hand and reversed their direction, walking away from the ballroom rather than toward it. Her eyes became wary.

  "Where are you taking me?"

  "A swan is fitting prey for a panther. I have stalked you and captured you. Now I intend to drag you to my den and devour you."

  "I don't dare leave ... Mother is here."

  "No one will even notice. I'll bring you back in a few hours." His predatory glance swept over her feathered breast. "After I've plucked you!"

  Elizabeth gasped at the wicked devil's promise, then her eyes glittered like amethysts. "Pledge we won't leave London?"

  "I promise. I also promise you pleasure."

  She took a deep breath and nodded, unable to speak. Suddenly, she was so filled with excitement she wanted to scream and allowed him to lead her where he chose. Hand clasped, they slipped from Burlington Gardens unnoticed and ran toward his waiting carriage.

  The host and hostesses wore magnificent medieval costumes; Charlie's veiled steeple headdress lent her needed height and Will's long, muscled legs were showcased in knightly hose. Michael Boyle, with wide shoulder padding and red beard, came as King Henry VIII, and George Coventry was dressed as a cavalier. Whoever had told him he looked dashing had lied.

  Maria Gunning found George drinking a toast to Cat Cavendish and the newly titled Lord Duncannon, who were telling all and sundry of their engagement. She made coy, thinly disguised allusions about how she too longed to be a June bride, like Cat, to which George seemed oblivious. She clung to him like a cocklebur when they repaired to the ballroom, and after she had one dance with the young Prince of Wales, rushed back to Coventry's side as if she could not bear to be separated from him.

  George, more flattered than he had felt in weeks, hoped that perhaps tonight would be his lucky night. Feeling positively _cavalier_ when Maria brushed against him for the second time in as many minutes, he murmured, "I have my carriage outside, Maria. Would you like to go for a ride?"

  "I much prefer to stay and dance, my lord, but later perhaps I could be persuaded to let you drive me home ... alone."

  His arousal lengthened and hardened at the promise, and beads of sweat rose on his forehead along the edge of his Charles II wig. "It's devilish warm in here."

  "Yes, why don't we go and get a drink, before my icicles start to melt?" _Mother said to make sure he drank a lot tonight_.

  George took her fingers to his lips. "It is your heart I am longing to melt, Maria."

  "You have already melted my heart, George. Would you like to feel?" She took his hand and pressed it to her breast, where the white fur ended and an expanse of creamy skin began.

  Maria accepted a glass of wine but goaded George to stronger spirits. "Cavaliers were _real_ men, who drank _real_ liquor." She took a glass of whiskey from the footman's tray and lifted it to his lips. "I warrant you have a strong head for drink, my lord."

  "It is you who goes to my head, Maria. You intoxicate me."

  "You say the most romantic things, George." She saw her mother with the Princess of Wales and raised her eyebrows in a question. Bridget shook her head, and Maria remembered that her mother had told her not to make her move until Peg Woffington arrived. "Let's go back and dance, George. I long to feel your arms about me."

  At the cozy town house in Half-Moon Street, John and Elizabeth sat across from each other at a small table before the fire. He picked up a lobster tail and extracted it from its shell. Then he dipped a succulent piece in drawn butter and lifted it to her lips.

  She closed her eyes in appreciation. "Mmm, ambrosia."

  "Most fitting for a goddess."

  "I forgot Leda was a goddess."

  "Not Leda ... the goddess I refer to is Elizabeth."

  Her eyes shone with love. "Why do you always feed me?"

  "To whet your appetite for other things ... for me."

  "I'm always hungry for you." She licked the butter from her lips and lifted her napkin. "I mustn't drip on my feathers."

  "No." He moved around the table and began to unfasten the buttons on the back of her gown. His lips brushed her ear. "I told you I would pluck you. Stand up."

  She obeyed, but her knees felt weak as water. When they had first arrived, he had removed her mask and feathered headdress, freeing her hair, so that he could play with it as it cascaded about her shoulders. Now he removed the feathered gown and carefully laid it aside for safekeeping. Then he pulled her down into his lap and commenced feeding her lobster, kissing the butter from her lips between bites.

  She wore only a tiny busk that cupped her breasts and a half petticoat from the waist down. His hand slid up inside the shift to stroke the silken skin on the inside of her thighs where her stockings ended. To distract her he lifted the glass of champagne to her lips. The moment she took a sip, he slid a finger into her tight sheath and thrust in and out until she moaned with pleasure.

  Once he had brought her to her first peak of arousal, he removed his hand. Then he lifted his fingers to his mouth and tasted. "Mmm, ambrosia."

  She buried her face against his shoulder, aghast yet delighted that he thought her body delicious. "John, you are so wicked!"

  He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. "Not wicked, love, just enchanted by everything about you." Their food was forgotten as he removed her busk and petticoat then shed his own garments. He carried her to his bedchamber, laid her on the bed, then spread her glorious hair across the pillows. "You are so unearthly fair. To have you alone for a few hours is like paradise."

  "We cannot stay away too long. We mustn't fall asleep like we did last time."

  John's mouth curved. "I promise we won't sleep."

  The scent of narcissus and white hyacinths stole to her as he made love to her with his eyes. He lifted her foot and dropped a kiss upon her instep, then the slow, hot glide of his lips moved upward, kissing every inch of her skin until her body hungered for him. When he stretched out beside her, she was reeling from his foreplay and the overwhelming intensity of his dark beauty. He took possession of her lips and showed her how to make achingly perfect love with her mouth.

  His arms held her tightly as he rolled with her until she was above him in the dominant position. "Straddle me." He felt his pulse beat in his throat and the soles of his feet. When his rigid cock lay in her hot cleft, he knew that
one driving thrust would take him deep inside her. His jaw turned to iron as he controlled the savage urge to impale her. "Love me, Beth."

  She bent forward until her hair tumbled over the muscles of his shoulders and chest. She felt him buck as the rough slide of her tongue thrust deeply into his mouth. Then she heard herself moan as his hands cupped her bottom and his fingers dipped into the cleft of her bum cheeks. She rubbed her hot center back and forth along his shaft in a tantalizing rhythm that drove them both to the edge of delirium.

  "Take me inside you."

  His words brought her back from the brink. _We mustn't make a baby. That's what Will did to Charlie_!

  Without going inside, he thrust once along her cleft. He continued the movement, and her thighs tightened about his hips. She threw back her head as a wave of pleasure swept her body from her breasts to her toes. Her climax was strong and drawn out as ripple after ripple pulsated deep inside her sheath and up into her belly. Then she collapsed onto his hard body.

  His possessive hands caressed her back with long sensual strokes, circling her bottom cheeks with the tips of his fingers, while his marble-hard cock throbbed against her sensitive mons and his lips feathered kisses into the tousled curls at her brow. He whispered love words designed to inflame her desire to the point where she would yield to his body's demands. When he felt her tongue lick his flat nipples and she began to nip his flesh with tiny love bites, he quickly rolled her body beneath his and he straddled her in the dominant position.

  He gazed down at her lovely face, saw her eyes smoky with passion, her lips half parted and swollen from his kisses, and knew she lay in silken torment, aching for fulfillment. Every instinct told him that this was the perfect moment to make her his. He reached down and spread her hot cleft apart with his thumbs, then thrust the blood-proud head of his shaft slowly but firmly into her scalding sheath. "Open for me, love ... wrap your legs about me."

  With a small whimper she obeyed, arching against him with a need for she knew not what. For a frightening moment the pressure inside her seemed too much ... he was too big, too hard, too thick for her slim body. She gasped for breath, then miraculously he slid all the way inside her and held still. Amazingly she loved the fullness and the weight of him, and when he covered her mouth with his and thrust his tongue in deep, matching what he had done with his cock, she moaned with pure sensual pleasure.

  He moved slowly at first, then unable to help himself, began to plunge savagely with hot, drugging strokes until the night exploded. Fire snaked through his groin, and he spilled with a primal growl deep in his throat. They lay still, pulsating together in a mating that had been cataclysmic in its perfection.

  With a groan he rolled his weight from her and gathered her close.

  His lips reverently brushed her temple. "Did I hurt you, love?"

  "Yes ... no ... I wanted to scream with pleasure," she panted.

  "You did, sweetheart." His arms tightened protectively. "I don't think I can live without you. I want you to come and live with me at Sundridge. Do you think you could be happy there?" He placed his fingers over her lips. "No, don't answer now. I want you to think about this very carefully."

  Elizabeth's heart was singing with love and happiness as John bathed and dressed her. Then, her eyes slumberous with newly awakened sensuality, she watched him put on his black clothes. He tucked her hair beneath the black feathered headdress, and when he slipped a white flower into her _décolletage,_ she lifted her lips for one last lingering kiss before they returned to the masquerade.

  Peg Woffington and David Garrick came to the party as soon as they came off stage at Drury Lane. They did not change from the costumes they wore in _The Rival Queens_. Garrick made a beeline for Will Cavendish, whom he already knew, and Peg had no difficulty recognizing Bridget. "We look like rival queens," she jested.

  "We shall never be rivals. We are best friends. Do me a favor, Peg, and stick close to me, then follow my lead."

  The actress spotted Maria with a proprietary hand on the Earl of Coventry's sleeve and waved to her, then laughed as Bridget also waved. "I don't see Elizabeth."

  "The silly girl is no doubt helping her friend Charlotte look after the guests instead of helping herself by husband hunting."

  Across the room, Maria took her mother's wave as a signal and went up on tiptoe to whisper into her cavalier's ear. "George, the crush in here is making me feel faint. Why don't we find a secluded spot that is more private?" She took his hand and led him from the ballroom. They passed through a small chamber being used tonight as a cloakroom, then Maria opened the door to the dimly lit conservatory and led her eager partner inside. She hadn't taken him too far into its green depths before she reached out to stroke the bulge in his breeches. "I love your costume, George. Cavaliers were so ... rampant."

  "Maria," he gasped, "you make me feel rampant." He pulled her close and rubbed his arousal against her soft belly.

  She lifted her face, inviting his kiss, then sucked his tongue into her mouth. After a moment she pulled her mouth away and caressed her breasts suggestively. "In those days, ladies' gowns were cut deliberately low so that a gentleman could lift out her puppies and play with them."

  In a trice, George eased the silvery gown from her shoulders, and before it fell to her waist, he had her puppies in his hands, stroking and fondling them. Then he dipped his head and captured a little pink nose in his mouth.

  The conservatory door opened and Maria gasped, "Mother!"

  Stunned, George stared into the accusing eyes of a regal Elizabeth Tudor and feared the Tower of London.

  Bridget yanked Peg into the conservatory. "Shut the door quickly before the world sees my innocent daughter being _ravished_!"

  She staggered back in a momentary faint into Peg's arms.

  Peg thought that both Bridget and Maria had missed their calling by not following through on a stage career.

  George stepped away from Maria and moved as a supplicant toward an outraged Bridget. "My dear Mrs. Gunning, I would never ravish your daughter. I _love_ Maria. My intentions have never been dishonorable, I assure you, madam."

  Bridget recovered instantly and snatched the offensive. Staring him down, she demanded, "You intend to do the honorable thing?"

  "Indeed ... indeed, I was about to ask Maria to become my wife."

  "Oh, George, I would love to be the Countess of Coventry!"

  Maria's pets were back in their basket, tucked beneath their fur cover, and she looked the epitome of a virginal _debutante_.

  "And the wedding date?" Bridget had not yet blinked.

  "Er .. . perhaps Easter .. . yes, Easter .. . it's early this year."

  "Early?" Maria puzzled. "Isn't Easter the same every year?"

  George, startled at such a notion, found he could not bring himself to disagree with a Gunning lady on any subject just then.

  "Yes, indeed, the same every year ... right after Lent."

  As if she were delivering a dramatic line onstage, Peg stepped forward and held out her hand. "Allow me to be the first to congratulate you, Lord Coventry. Your bride will surely be the most beautiful countess London has ever seen."

  In a daze, George realized this was probably true. Gathering his wits to belatedly observe the proprieties, he looked at Maria. "I should speak with your father."

  "No need for that, Lord Coventry," Bridget assured him, "I speak for my husband. We are delighted to bestow Maria's hand in marriage. Shall we return to the party? News travels so swiftly, I warrant the secret of your proposal will soon be out!"

  The first person Maria saw when she returned to the ballroom was her sister, Elizabeth, in deep conversation with Charlie. She left George hovering at the entrance and rushed to her sister's side. "You may congratulate me," she said smugly. "George just proposed. I am to be the Countess of Coventry!"

  Both girls kissed her and wished her every happiness. Charlie went to tell Will, and Elizabeth took Maria's hand and led her back toward George.

&n
bsp; "Will my title of countess outrank Charlie's title of marchioness?" she asked eagerly.

  "No, Maria, the pecking order is duchess, marchioness, countess."

  "Damnation! Some people have all the luck."

  Elizabeth took Coventry's hand. "Congratulations, my lord. There's none I would rather have for my brother than you, George."

  He took her fingers to his lips. "You honor me, Elizabeth."

  Charlie found Will playing host in the supper room. "Your friend George just proposed to Maria Gunning!"

  "Well, I'll be damned. Your party will be deemed a roaring success by the _ton_. Too bad you didn't get here a minute sooner. John just left. Oh, well, he'll find out soon enough. I must go and congratulate the bridegroom. Misery loves company!"

  Charlie slapped him. Something she did on a regular basis.

  After the ball, when Coventry drove Maria home in his carriage, they were far from alone. Elizabeth sat silently in a haze of happiness for both herself and her sister. She did not wish to steal Maria's thunder by mentioning anything about herself and John. She had lots of time, because John hadn't formally proposed yet, though he had asked her to think about living at Sundridge. She couldn't wait to tell him yes.

  *Chapter Eighteen*

  When the Parliamentary session broke for lunch, George Coventry, as usual, gravitated toward his friend and rival Hamilton. Since his engagement Saturday night, George had come to embrace the idea of marrying Maria Gunning, the most beautiful young lady in Society. The ten thousand guineas he would collect from his bet with Hamilton would be icing on the wedding cake.

  "You didn't attend Will and Charlie's party on Saturday."

  Hamilton gave him a look of disdain. "I accept invitations to balls but I am a fucking _Duke of the Realm_, George. I do not attend masquerades and play silly buggers by dressing in costume."

  "I asked Maria Gunning to marry me... an Easter wedding."

  "The devil you say!"