Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  And if she begged for more?

  Well, he could kneel before her, slide a hand lightly up the inside of her calf and thigh until he could use a finger to part her curls and touch the feminine folds that protected her womanhood. And then he would simply add a finger or two and tease the nub therein until it was swollen and throbbing and she was no longer able to stand on her own. Then he would capture her limp body in his arms and gentle her back to real­ity. Slowly. Kissing her lightly and whispering assurances in her ear as his lips touched the delicate lobes.

  When he was sure she was brought to rights, he would calmly refasten her bodice and thank her for the opportunity to do her bidding. Then he could say he was looking forward to pleasuring her as often as she wished when she was his wife. Because, at that point, she would have to agree to be his wife.

  Wouldn’t she?

  And if it wasn’t acceptable for him to agree to her request, what then?

  Perhaps he should suggest a night she would find a bit too daring, too salacious in the hopes she would think better of her request and beg him to forget she ever asked. Not that he would ever be able to forget such a request. Or forgive himself for giving her the out if she took it. This was his opportunity to court her, after all. He might only have this one opportunity to prove himself.

  And then the reality of her request hit him in the gut so hard, he nearly doubled over.

  Yes, he was sure Josephine’s instructions had helped him to become adept enough to pleasure the marquess’ daughter, probably enough that she would feel thoroughly sated. But he would be unable to take her as he truly wanted, as his own, as his one and only lover for the rest of their lives. For he was quite sure Gabriel Wellingham was about to make an offer of marriage, and he was quite sure Elizabeth would accept, if for no other reason than she was expected to do so. And that meant that in the course of pleasuring her, of kissing her lips and breasts and suckling her nipples and stroking her woman­hood until she sobbed from the intense sensation of her body’s release, he could not take her maidenhead.

  He would have to leave her a virgin for her future husband.

  A feeling of pain mixed with jealousy gripped him. He knew he could no longer deny what she meant to him. He wanted this woman for himself. She could be my wife, he thought. It was true he wasn’t as rich as Trenton, certainly not as handsome as the Butter Blond, but he had a title with a decent income. He knew he could keep a promise of fidelity.

  And he was quite sure he could keep her satisfied in their bed.

  I want her as my wife.

  The devil!

  What the hell had happened to him in the past five days? He had managed to avoid the Marriage Mart for nine years and suddenly, in five days’ time, he had allowed this woman, a marquess’ daughter, to captivate him in a way no other had ever done before. This wasn’t simple lust he felt. Oh, he wanted very much to bed her, to bring her to ecstasy over and over until she cried out his name in that amazing way she said it. He wanted to bury himself inside her and spend an entire night— no, every night—taking his own pleasure at the very second after he was sure she had shattered into a billion tiny pieces of pure pleasure. The very thought of it had his cock straining against his buckskin breeches. Had they been anywhere but in the middle of Hyde Park, he might have stripped her bare right then and there, determined to prove to her that he would make a better lover than any of her other suitors.

  Certainly a better lover than Butter Blond.

  The mere thought of Trenton in bed with Elizabeth caused him anger. And grief. “May I inquire, my lady, as to who else you might have directed this same … request?” George stam­mered to get out.

  Had she asked Gabriel Wellingham? God, no! George could only imagine the earl taking a great deal of delight in accommodating her request. He would take a great deal more than that if he were given the chance, George thought with derision. Elizabeth’s evident nervousness suggested she had broached the subject with only George, but he wanted to be sure there wasn’t some other man out there who was left with the impression Elizabeth Carlington was a wanton.

  Her aquamarine eyes widened, her sudden indignation quite apparent. “How dare you?” she countered angrily. This was a mistake! Oh, what have I done? she thought quickly, wondering what she could say now to leave George with the impression she was simply testing him, or teasing him, hav­ing a bit of fun at his expense. But her sudden angry outburst precluded either of those choices now.

  The pink flush that infused her face was so sudden, George had to blink to ensure he had actually witnessed the change in her complexion. “Pardon, my lady, I only ask because I am … concerned … for your reputation,” he countered, his voice so quiet Elizabeth could barely make out his words.

  She sighed heavily and tore her gaze away from his, squeez­ing her eyes shut. “I just … I just want to know. Father said you could be trusted …” She broke off the comment, her eyes showing surprise when she realized the irony in her words. She shook her head.

  At first, George took umbrage at the comment. Why was it everyone in the ton found him so damned trustworthy? But he quickly realized again how the perception could be put to good use. Put to use proving to Elizabeth that he could plea­sure her. Prove to her he was worth consideration as a poten­tial husband. If he wanted her as his wife, he had better start courting her, after all.

  “I can be trusted,” George declared with a nod. “I will, of course, accommodate your request, my lady.”

  Elizabeth blinked. “You will?” she responded, her eyes once again wide. The aquamarine pools threatened to swal­low up George until she suddenly looked away. “Oh, whatever have I done? You must think me … a wanton! Please, can you forget I ever asked ..?”

  He reached out with his own gloved hand and cupped the side of her face, turning it so her eyes finally met his. No, I can’t! he almost said in response, thinking of barn doors and horses and how his cock was hardening. “Milady, I would be honored to make love to you,” he murmured, surprising him­self when he realized he was saying the words out loud. “But I promise when I do so, I will leave your virtue intact.”

  Lady Elizabeth’s eyes widened, her sudden inhalation of breath causing her bodice to rise in turn. “You … you would?” she whispered, her parted lips appearing as if they were beg­ging to be kissed, the tops of her breasts appearing as if they were begging to be caressed.

  George was nearly forced to close his eyes as he realized if she agreed to his terms, those breasts would soon be his to pleasure. Nodding, he stepped closer. “But, Lady Elizabeth, I can only do this if you can make me a promise,” he stated as he took one of her hands in his.

  Elizabeth watched him, her eyes locked on his and her breath held. “Go on,” she responded, finally inhaling.

  “When Trenton offers for your hand, as I am led to believe he will do in the next day or so, please think of your future happiness … and not just the money or his title,” he stated as he held his head high. “And know that should you decide not to accept his suit, I will offer for you. And I promise you right now, that should you agree to be my wife, I will never take a mistress nor employ a lady of the evening. As my wife, you will be honored and cherished for the rest of our days.”

  Awestruck, Elizabeth stared at him for several seconds. She wanted to protest—of course, she would consider her alternatives before simply agreeing to wed Gabriel Welling­ham! Actually, she already had. But until she discovered just how pleasurable—or not—lovemaking could be, she suddenly didn’t want to make a decision about marrying anyone. Even by Christmastime.

  And how could George even think she would agree to be his wife? Even if he was a cit and made as much as the earl was worth, she couldn’t possibly agree to marry outside of the peerage.

  Please, think of your future happiness.

  What an odd request from a man she had only met a few days ago!

  Odd, and yet so sincere.

  Realizing she needed to respond in som
e fashion, Eliza­beth took a deep breath. “I will, George. I promise,” she finally said with a nod.

  George did his best to keep his eyes from widening and a cry of delight from escaping his lips. He nodded in turn, his plans forming quickly in his head. “I will send an unmarked town coach to your house at six o’clock this evening. Make your excuses and leave your maid behind. We’ll share cham­pagne in the library when you arrive. Dinner is at seven. Wear your choice of garments, but know that I shall remove every one of them before the clock strikes ten. I shall see to it you are thoroughly pleasured by midnight and allow you to rest undisturbed until one. Then I shall help you to get dressed and personally see to it you are returned safely to your home by two.”

  George ended his quickly made up itinerary and then thought he should at least give her an out should she change her mind. She was a woman, after all, and once she gave this assignation some more thought, she would probably wish she had never brought it up with him. “Should you change your mind, simply decline the coach when it arrives.

  “Regardless of what happens, I will not change my good opinion of you.”

  Sometime during his description of the night’s schedule, Elizabeth felt her breasts grow heavy, their nipples becoming hardened pebbles. Somewhere deep inside, desire bloomed. She felt moisture form at the top of her thighs, tendrils of heat coiling in her abdomen. And she seemed to have difficulty breathing, although that could have been due to how tightly Anna had tied her corset that morning. I shall remove every one … She glanced up at him, her sudden intake of breath sounding as if she were offended. “If I am to be … naked,” she said the word very quietly, “What about you? Will you remove your clothes as well?”

  George struggled to maintain his pleasant look as he felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. “Have you ever seen an unclothed man?” he wondered, the words so quiet she had to lean in toward him to hear them. “Besides the statues we just saw at the museum, of course,” he added in a somewhat louder voice.

  She stared at George for a few seconds, a memory of see­ing her father atop her mother flash before her eyes. They had both been naked—her mother’s long legs wrapped about her father’s hips while his body bowed over hers, supported on arms that were taut, his face straining as if he were in agony. She had heard her mother’s moans from outside the room and thought perhaps she was in pain. But when she had opened the door and peaked through the crack, she realized almost immediately what she was witnessing. Her father’s movements suddenly stilled and he groaned loudly while her mother gig­gled in delight, her face full of joy. “I saw my father once,” she whispered with a nod. “Quite by accident,” she added, her face turning a deep pink with the admission.

  George nodded, silently wondering how that had hap­pened. “I should not wish to … frighten you by having you see mine.” He paused a moment and then added, “Although I have a very … fit body … and …”

  “Which is quite evident to anyone who sees you in eve­ning attire,” Elizabeth put in quickly, thinking perhaps it was better that George not be naked.

  What if I cannot keep my hands off of him?

  An eyebrow cocked and George’s expression turned to one of delight. “Why, thank you, milady. I do believe you have justified every pound I have spent at Weston’s with your compliment.”

  Elizabeth gave him a nod, her thoughts going back to her original query. And his quick reply. Everything he claimed he would do that evening was so wrong, and yet, she was … curi­ous. She felt desire. Perhaps not for him, exactly, but desire to know more about what happened in a bedchamber late at night. I shall see to it you are thoroughly pleasured by midnight. And yet, he promised he would leave her virtue intact.

  How could that be?

  He said he would make love to her, but didn’t that imply … something more than the kissing and touching she was imag­ining? Something didn’t quite make sense in all this, and she struggled to think while her body wanted his hands, his lips, his body all over it.

  She would be pleasured, but what of George? He had just promised she would be left with her maidenhead intact. Other than seeing her naked, what could he possibly gain by agreeing to her request? Was seeing her naked … enough? “You make a very generous offer, George,” she finally answered, stepping forward to place a hand against his cheek. A hint of stubble was already apparent despite the early hour. “But what of you? Of your … pleasure?”

  Stunned that she hadn’t dismissed the entire idea outright, George placed a hand over hers, lifting it so that he could gen­tly kiss the palm. “Just hearing you say my name when you are in ecstasy will be pleasure enough for me,” he replied, his voice husky at the mere thought of her naked body next to his. Lean­ing down, he kissed her lightly, using just his lips.

  Elizabeth returned the gentle kiss, wanting it to become something far more intense, more powerful, more punish­ing in the hope it could soothe the ache that had infused her body. How could she wait until tonight? How could she survive the overwhelming desire that was coursing through her body right now? But George finished the kiss as lightly as he had begun it, pulling away ever so slowly. He turned to lead them back to the curricle, but just as she was placing her hand on his arm, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her body to his as tightly as he could.

  As Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the hug, the feel of his hot, hard body against the entire length of hers made her feel as if she was being branded. The even harder bulge digging into her belly made her won­der if she might have some control in all of this; his body’s response was a reaction to her, she realized. But before she could truly enjoy the moment, George had pulled away and was straightening his coat and sleeves.

  “I … I apologize, milady.” His eyes were downcast. How could I allow myself that impropriety? Wasn’t it bad enough that he had not only agreed to her request to know more, but that he had described an evening of what some would con­sider debauchery?

  He was going to remove every stitch of her clothing! I’m a heathen.

  “Please, do not,” Elizabeth replied quickly, her head shak­ing with her words.

  “I promised I wouldn’t steal a kiss.” I am going to hell.

  Elizabeth had to stifle the urge to throttle him. “You can­not steal what is freely given,” she countered, her manner sug­gesting she might suddenly be a bit perturbed with him.

  A bit taken aback at her sudden ire, George considered her comment and wondered if he had annoyed her enough that she would call off the assignation. When she didn’t offer further comments, George finally nodded, holding his arm for her. “Thank you, milady.” Maybe I won’t go to hell.

  They returned to the curricle in silence, waking Anna as they climbed up. And for nearly the entire ride back to the Morganfield House, they said not a word.

  As Elizabeth had listened to George’s schedule for that eve­ning’s seduction—she could think of no other way to describe the way he had turned the tables on what she thought of as a simple request—her first reaction had been to look suitably horrified and say again, “How dare you?” and soundly scold him for his impertinence.

  But the rest of her body would have disowned her voice.

  How could his mere description of what he planned to do to her create such a cacophony of sensations through her body? And was he really going to remove every stitch of cloth­ing she wore? She would be naked! I’ve turned into a wanton woman! Like the statue they’d just seen in the museum—of Aphrodite as she prepared for her bath—except I’m not quite as fleshy, and I rather think my breasts are a bit rounder.

  Whatever was she thinking when she asked him to per­form such a demonstration?

  Obviously she was not thinking, she corrected herself, knowing that had she truly thought this through, she would have come to her senses and, when he asked why she seemed so nervous, she could have blamed it on the possibility that they might kiss while on their walk amongst the secluded path. Asking the man for
a demonstration of kissing, as she had done two nights ago, was one thing. Asking to be plea­sured just to discover what it was like to be pleasured—before she was suitably married—was ludicrous.

  Curiosity killed the cat. What will it do to me?

  As if in reply, a frisson coursed through her entire body. She gasped, stunned that the mere thought of George touching her would have such an effect on her.

  But one thing—no, two things—had been made perfectly clear during their discussion.

  First, George Bennett-Jones was an honorable man.

  He was not seducing her because he could. He was doing so because she asked it of him. What else would he be willing to do for her, if she just asked? she wondered. Did she have some kind of tantalizing affect on the man? You can trust George …

  Second, in a surprise she couldn’t have seen coming, at least not this soon in her relationship with him, he had said that if she didn’t accept Gabriel Wellingham’s suit, then he planned to ask for her hand in marriage.

  A few days ago, the news of Trenton’s plan to ask for her hand in marriage excited her, even thrilled her.

  Now, she wasn’t so sure.

  After his attempt at a passionate kiss in the gardens dur­ing the Weatherstone ball, she thought only to tolerate kissing for the rest of her life. And then George Bennett-Jones made it perfectly clear during Lady Worthington’s ball that kissing could be an art form. Who knew the mere press and suckling of open lips and the touching of a tongue against skin could incite such sensations? Such feelings of … intimacy? For he had kissed far better than she had ever imagined was possible.

  If she compared the two, she would have to seriously con­sider George’s suit.

  To be fair to Gabriel, though, he was an earl, she consid­ered. And he was rich as Croesus. What did Mr. Bennett-Jones have to offer? She didn’t even know what the man did to earn his money! He exuded self-confidence in a way that surprised her, given he was not a particularly handsome man. And he behaved as if he were a gentleman, a man of means. He had to be fairly well-to-do; his fine tailored clothing (he had said something about spending money at Weston’s) and new cur­ricle with its matched Cleveland Bays were evidence of that. And he had mentioned his home in Mayfair.