Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “A bit jaunty, I suppose,” Elizabeth murmured as she watched George regard her bonnet. He seemed to be studying it quite intently, as if he recognized it.

  “Yes, but …” he started to respond and then turned his attention to Elizabeth. “It suits you. Perfectly. I knew it would …” He stopped speaking suddenly and bit his lip. The expres­sion on his face was one of contrition, as if he had already real­ized he had been caught at having done something wrong and would have to own up to it.

  Elizabeth quick inhalation of breath confirmed she had heard and understood what he was talking about. “You’re the one who paid for the bonnet.” It wasn’t a question, merely an acknowledgement. “George! I went back to the shop and tried to pay for it before Mr. Peabody could send the bill to my father,” she said, a bit breathless. “Why, George? Why would you pay for my bonnet like that? It was most … improper,” she said, her breaths coming in short little gasps.

  George thought she might hyperventilate if he didn’t act immediately. The bonnet still clutched in his hand, he moved toward her and placed his mouth over hers, his free hand mov­ing to the back of her waist to pull her body hard against his. Although she was obviously surprised, Elizabeth soon allowed the kiss, indeed, even returned it a bit before George slowly pulled his lips away. He left his forehead pressed against hers, though, his eyes closed. “You did a great service for a good friend, my lady. I meant nothing more than to thank you for the consideration and graciousness you showed Mr. Streater.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes opened wide as she remembered Charlotte talking of her charity during the Worthington ball. She pulled her head away from George’s so she could see his face. “So, you didn’t intend it as a gift?” she half-asked. Who am I to question George’s propriety when I have asked him to demonstrate the pleasures that can be had in a marriage bed?

  “No, my lady,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Although I would welcome the opportunity to bestow gifts upon you when the circumstances allow it,” he hinted, hoping she might agree to be his wife when he proposed the following afternoon. Always promise her more, Josephine had said when instructing him about women.

  Elizabeth ignored the statement, still wondering about George’s association with a crippled soldier. “And how is it you are such good friends with Theodore Streater?” she asked, tak­ing her bonnet from George. She had wound her hair into a simple bun while George rolled her stockings onto her legs. Now she began pinning the bonnet onto the bun, taking great care to set as many pins as she could find into securing the bonnet in place.

  George couldn’t help but notice how she deliberately avoided responding to his last statement. “We met at Angelo’s Academy. He is one of my fencing partners,” he said with what could have been a shrug.

  Surprised at their association, Elizabeth thought a moment. “You mean, you … were … fencing partners,” she tried to clarify, thinking that a one-armed man would be unable to continue in the sport. She had seen swordplay. She had watched fencing matches. It always appeared as if a man needed two arms—one to hold the weapon and one to balance his movements.

  But George allowed a wicked grin as he shook his head. “We are still. He is a formidable opponent. I see to payment of his dues at the academy since he has not been able to afford such luxuries.” He hadn’t intended to impress her with his own charity as it related to Teddy; he had never considered that what he did for his friend was anything more than what any friend would do for another.

  But Elizabeth’s stance suddenly softened and she lowered her chin. “It’s very kind of you to do so. He is … he seems like a good man,” she said quietly.

  “He is,” George confirmed with a nod. “Now, my lady, if you are ready …”

  “Why me, George?” she asked suddenly. Her face was tilted up as she regarded him. When she saw his brows furrow, she continued, “There are at least a dozen debutantes look­ing to marry this year, George. Two of them have dowries far larger than mine and another two or three are far more beauti­ful to look upon than I am. There must be dozens of eligible daughters of cits looking to marry. Why me, George?”

  George stared at her, one brow furrowed in consterna­tion at her words. He couldn’t tell her she was his mistress’ first choice for him. He couldn’t tell her Teddy thought her perfect for him. And he certainly couldn’t tell her, despite his intention to avoid the matter entirely, he had fallen heels over head in love with her when he had first laid eyes on her. “My lady, if I wanted to marry a milk water maiden, I would have already married.” The retort came out more forcibly than he intended. He noticed her surprised look as she leaned back a bit at his words. She didn’t step away, though, holding her ground as if she was prepared to argue her point further.

  He doesn’t think me a milk water maiden, Elizabeth thought, her head still held in that angle that made her appear every bit as stubborn as she was. Which meant he had a com­pletely different opinion of her, she realized. “Pray tell, George. What is it about me that would compel you to offer for my hand when we have only known one another a few days?” When George didn’t reply right away, she gasped. “Or … per­haps I should wonder why you think it necessary to ask for my hand? For I must assure you, I do not think you should feel honor bound to do so …”

  In an instant, George took hold of one of her hands, lifting it to his lips to place a kiss on the palm. “You are a beautiful woman, milady …”

  “There are dozens of beautiful women in the Marriage Mart ..,” she interrupted him, her retort spoken with a roll of her eyes.

  “Who knows what she wants …”

  “Because I’m a spoiled brat, George!”

  “ … And is willing to take risks to see to it she gets it,” George continued as if he hadn’t heard her comment. He had one arm around her waist now, pulling her body closer to his.

  “I can be very stubborn,” she countered, her hands moving to grip his upper arms. Don’t you realize I cannot marry you? “However can you claim you want to ask for my hand?”

  George closed his eyes and touched her forehead with his own. “I want our children to be compassionate. I want them to realize what a privileged life they lead compared to the lives of others. I want them to learn that from you.”

  Elizabeth stared at George, her eyes wide with surprise at his words. Our children, she heard over and over in her head.

  Our children. I want our children to be compassionate.

  He truly has given this some thought, she realized. He is a fool to think we could marry, though. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled her head away from his and kissed the corner of his mouth.

  George regarded her for a moment, hoping she under­stood his meaning. He knew no other way to get his point across. “We really … we really must be going,” he whispered then, not wanting to let go his hold on Elizabeth. We would be going back to my bed, if I wasn’t so damned honorable!

  Elizabeth nodded. “I am ready,” she announced with a sigh, her hair sporting the ornate peacock bonnet. She pulled on her gloves. He really does love me, she realized. Damn him!

  George looked at her then, studying her face and noticing the wetness on her cheeks, the brightness of her eyes. “Why the tears, Elizabeth?” George asked quietly, his concern evi­dent as he took her gloved hand and held it in his.

  Elizabeth shrugged and ducked her head away for a moment. “I honestly don’t know,” she replied with a shake of her head, her gloved hand reaching up to wipe them away. “I didn’t know I was crying.” I want them to learn that from you.

  George nervously glanced at the clock on the mantle. One-forty. They needed to leave now if they were to get to her home in time to meet the two o’clock deadline he had prom­ised when they had set up this assignation. “Are you ready?” he wondered, his gaze taking in her suddenly worried expression and tense stance. “Let us go.”

  Was he joking? The man had her thoroughly discombob­ulated! His touch had been magic—every body part he had cares
sed with his fingers and his lips and his tongue and even just his breath still tingled—his kisses had been electrifying, his soft words had been comforting and enticing. She had been broken apart into a billion tiny pieces, made to experi­ence pleasures she had never dreamed could be possible, and was now barely put back together. And, on top of that, he had spoken of children, their children, and held her as she imag­ined a loving husband would hold his wife.

  How in damnation was she supposed to go back to her home and pretend like none of this had happened?

  “I … suppose,” she finally answered, her eyes finally meeting his when she was sure she had her reticule in hand. When he offered her his arm, Elizabeth regarded it for a long moment. She looked back up at his face and sighed. “Oh, George,” she whispered, her entire body suddenly pressed against his, her face resting in the small of his shoulder and the peacock feather in her bonnet colliding with his nose. Instinc­tively, his arms wrapped about her shoulders. “Thank you,” she murmured into his coat, the scent of sandalwood and amber teasing her nose as the steel band of his arms embraced her. It would be so easy to simply stay there for the night. If George would allow it, she would gladly remove all her clothing and lie with him.

  The morning would come soon enough, though, and if she wasn’t at Carlington House when breakfast was served, there would be hell to pay. “I shall never forget this night as long as I live,” she vowed as she finally pushed herself away.

  George allowed a smile as he reveled in her having held him. “Nor shall I, my lady,” he replied, again holding his arm for her. This time she took it, and they left the room and descended the stairs.

  George left her at the bottom of the stairs so he could retrieve her mantle from the vestibule. When he returned, he helped drape it over her shoulders. “I must be sure no one sees you,” he murmured as he led her to the door at the back of the house. “Should I tell my coachman to go to the front or the back of your house?” he asked as they strolled through the long hallway.

  Elizabeth barely registered his question, her senses all so much more … alive than they had been before. Things were brighter, more colorful. Sounds were easier to hear, and there were more of them. She could smell citrus and sandalwood and the scent of musk. The feel of the superfine wool under her fingers was somehow enhanced. She drank in sight of the portraits and moldings framing the hallway, the ornate dining room off to one side of the hall, and a beautifully decorated salon off to the other side. Near the back of the house, a parlor, golden from the candle lamps and fires lit within, looked out over a garden illuminated by a gas lamp.

  She was sure she wouldn’t have noticed any of it before.

  “The front, of course,” she finally answered, her voice quiet in the empty house. “I am expected, having spent the evening with my very best friend, Lady Charlotte,” she explained, her face lighting with a tentative smile.

  George allowed his own smile, secretly glad that if anyone must know of this evening besides the two of them and Jose­phine, Lady Charlotte would be the one. The woman would be most discreet. “And does Lady Charlotte know you have spent the evening with her?” he asked, wondering how many others might know that Elizabeth Carlington was planning to spend an entire evening, unchaperoned, in his company. He opened the back door and led her down several brick steps and into the garden.

  Sensing his concern for her reputation, Elizabeth gave him a smile. “She is the only one,” she responded, her eyes flitting about the path they followed. Mums and pansies bordered the paved walkway, their colors skewed by the gas light. “We are playing cards and trying on gowns,” she added, the activities sounding so … girlish. A frisson passed through her body as she considered what this night meant for her.

  George opened the back gate and the door to the coach. “It sounds as if you are having a delightful evening,” he replied, handing her into the coach. He climbed in after her, hoping he might sit on the same side of the coach as she.

  He was not disappointed.

  Elizabeth had moved to the opposite side of the coach, leaving plenty of room on the bench seat for him. Settling into the squabs for the short ride to Carlington House, George reached out a hand to cover one of hers. “Did I satisfy your curiosity?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. He leaned over and placed a kiss on the side of her head, just as the coach began its short journey.

  “Indeed,” Elizabeth breathed in reply. She could feel her face flushing as she remembered some of the things he had done to her that evening. Her body responded with a shiver, and she leaned closer to George. “And yet, you claim there is more. How can that be, George?” she wondered, her head held low. She had come to realize she could ask him anything and he wouldn’t seemed shocked by the query. How different George Bennett-Jones was from men in the ton!

  And how unfortunate she would not learn of the ‘more’ from him.

  George sighed as he squeezed her gloved hand. “If we are married, I shall make love to you as often as you’ll have me. The first time …” He paused and allowed his head to drop backward as he considered what to tell her.

  “I have heard it can be painful,” she stated, her eyes look­ing up to meet his. How bad could it be with George, though? She imagined he would be careful. He would be slow and deliberate and ask after her health.

  He nodded, the movement nearly hidden in the darkness. “But I can make it less so,” he claimed in a quiet voice. “And see to it you experience a wondrous pleasure even more complete than you felt tonight.” Boasting might not be his forté, but this was his last chance to stake his claim and make Elizabeth see the advantage of marrying him instead of Butter Blond.

  “And you?” Elizabeth countered quickly, aware their ride was nearly over.

  George furrowed his brows and regarded her for a moment. “Me?” he wondered, not sure of her meaning.

  “What will you experience?” she asked patiently.

  He thought at first she referred to the sensations of a man’s orgasm and then wondered if perhaps she was asking what he would experience the first time, should he be the one to take her virtue. “I honesty do not know,” he breathed in astonish­ment. “I have never … I have never bedded a virgin,” he added with a small shake of his head.

  Elizabeth stared at him for a very long time, surprised by his admission. So, he was not an experienced man, she real­ized, leaning over to rest her head against his shoulder. A wave of tiredness swept over her as his arm wrapped around her back and pulled her closer to his warmth.

  “May I kiss you?”

  Suddenly nervous and not quite sure why, Elizabeth lifted her head from his shoulder. Her eyes went wide at the sound of his voice. He seemed … sad, somehow. She didn’t answer but angled her face so his lips could take hers. They were firm and warm, pressing gently against her own bee-stung lips and then sliding ever so carefully across them. The kiss turned hard and possessive before his lips finally took purchase on her bottom lip and nipped it as he pulled away. In the darkness, she could barely make out his eyes as he did so, but she thought she saw a hint of sadness there.

  “You honor me, my lady,” he whispered, his ungloved hand cupping her cheek and his eyes taking in all of her.

  Elizabeth slumped against him, a frustrated sigh escaping. “Oh, George. When I asked if you would show me what plea­sures might be possible, I had no idea … I didn’t know it could be … like it was.” She struggled to get her words out. “And I cannot even admonish my married friends for not having told me, for then they would know that I …”

  George embraced her tightly. “Shhh,” he whispered into the side of her head. “Will there be anyone awake when you arrive?”

  “There shouldn’t be. I told Alfred not to wait up. Why do you ask?” she wondered, her awareness of his body so near it made her own thrum again. What has he done to me?

  George gave her a look of chagrin, only noticeable due to the light streaming in through one of the coach windows from a gas lamp they passed on the w
ay to Carlington House. “Any­one who looks at you will know,” he said in a low voice.

  Elizabeth’s eyebrow became an elegant arch. “Know … what?” she wondered, a bit of alarm in her response.

  George sighed. “That you’ve been kissed. Thoroughly … kissed.”

  The perfect ‘o’ formed as Elizabeth regarded him. Then her hand reached up to her mouth, her fingers gingerly touching the swollen flesh. “Is it truly that … evident?” she countered, one finger tracing the line of her lip.

  George inhaled sharply at the sight of her finger outlin­ing her cherry red lips. “God, yes,” he murmured, smiling as he said it. The coach ground to a halt, forcing him to shift her body so she didn’t end up sliding to the floor of the coach. “Forsham will open the door and hand you out. I will wait until I know you are safely inside,” he explained quickly. “And, if it is agreeable with my lady, I will call on you later this after­noon,” he stated, getting the words out as fast as he could for fear he would lose his nerve.

  Elizabeth considered his request. He had said he would ask for her hand in marriage. She wondered if he would do so once he spent more time considering their evening together. Perhaps a wealthy cit like George would change his mind and decide he preferred a woman who was more reserved. More refined. Perhaps this evening had been a test, and he had been waiting for her to turn demure and refuse his overtures and claim her request had been a mistake.