by Sahara Kelly
Paul brought the horses to a halt, and with one swift move lifted her right out of the saddle and onto his own horse, sitting her in front of him with her legs dangling over one side.
“I hoped that might be the case,” he said, settling her more comfortably and taking the reins of her mount from her hands. “Because I have discovered something myself over these last days.”
“What?” She looked up at him, her heart beating rapidly, her hands itching to touch him.
“I knew I desired you from the moment we met. There was something about you that captured my attention and made me long to see what lay beneath that delicate exterior. To discover the fire I know is there.” He kissed her quickly, a firm touch of his mouth to hers.
“Oh,” she breathed, eager for more.
“But somehow, as we became better acquainted, the desire grew to be more than just want, it became a need to know more than your body. I needed to know you, Harry. What you were thinking and why. To see you in a good mood, and watch you anger at something. To find out everything there was about you.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” He kissed her again, lingering this time, letting their cool lips warm each other. “And at some point, my sweet, it hit me. I have known many women in my time, Harry, but I’ve never known one like you. Because I never loved any of them. I do love you.”
What could she say? Harriet had no words; her heart was in her throat and tears shimmered behind her eyes. All she could do was seize his head and bring it to hers, and kiss him until she didn’t know where her mouth ended and his began.
She plundered him with her tongue, dueled with his and moaned in his arms when one of his hands delved beneath her cloak and pressed her close. If his horse hadn’t shifted at that moment, goodness knows where they would have ended up.
But the disturbance recalled them both to where they were, and Harriet sighed. “Let’s go home, Paul.”
“Yes,” he answered, his voice rough with need. “Oh yes, dear wife. It’s time.”
He spurred the horse onward, giving Harriet the reins to her horse so that it would stay at their side. She leaned against him, her arm around his back beneath his jacket, relishing in his warmth and the sense of protection she felt from the knowledge that they were now joined as one.
A shiver went through her at the thought.
“Cold, love?”
She smiled up at him in answer. “A little. But I shall be warm enough soon, I know.”
His teeth flashed whitely as the moon emerged from behind a cloud and illuminated his wicked smile. “I believe you are correct, my Lady.”
“I am, you know.”
“What, correct?”
“No. I am your Lady.” She sighed. “I rather like it, so far.”
“It will only get better,” promised Paul. “For both of us.”
Chapter Sixteen
Those words proved to be prophetic for both Harriet and Paul
It got better once they reached the warmth of the hall, where the Yule log continued to burn, lighting and heating the area. It got even better after they had made sure all was secure, and retired to their room. The Earl had returned earlier, said the one footman still awake, and the others had gone to their rooms over an hour before, at the end of what had been a rather noisy evening.
Oh, and could Mr. Paul please bring up more brandy from the cellar on the morrow. They’d nearly run out.
Paul, anxious to take his wife to bed, hurriedly agreed, thanked the lad profusely, and told him to turn in.
Harriet was already there when he entered, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it, heaving a huge dramatic sigh. “I refuse to leave this room, unless the house is burning down.” He glared fiercely at Harriet. “I’ve waited long enough, wife. Let’s to bed.”
Harriet chuckled and turned her back on him. “A romantic and appealing invitation. In that case, husband, be my maid and unfasten my gown for me?”
He groaned. “With pleasure.” Shedding his jacket, he crossed the room and began to unfasten the few ties that held the back of her dress snugly against her. And as it slipped free, falling from her shoulders, he saw that his surprising bride had chosen a fragile and insubstantial lightweight undergarment, which revealed the curves of her body all the way down to her beautiful bottom.
He groaned. “Don’t move.” His hand trembled a little but could not keep away from the rounded curves and he smiled at the little sound she made as he cupped her buttocks through the fabric and stroked them gently, running his fingers along the crease then smoothing down over the sides and back over the soft swell once more. “Beautiful,” he whispered, leaning forward and nipping her shoulder. “Beautiful.”
She sighed. “I want to see you, Paul.”
How could he refuse?
Paul struggled from his clothing, shedding waistcoat, cravat and shirt in seconds flat and dropping them into a pile beside him. Neatness counted, but not at times like this. He unfastened his breeches and managed to free one foot from boot and sock. Hobbled by his breeches, he hopped, staggered and reached for the other foot, until finally he was forced to sit on the edge of the bed and curse beneath his breath.
He kept his gaze on Harriet, who still had her back to him, her body all but naked under the flimsy stuff.
She was a true work of art.
Then she turned, easing the straps from her shoulders, letting them fall, the slow slide of her chemise revealing her delicious body inch by inch. As soon as it hit her waist, she raised her hands to her hair and removed pins, letting it tumble down, the movement thrusting her breasts toward her husband.
Paul gazed at the magnificent orbs, their tips tinted with deep rose, the nipples hard buds crying out for attention.
And if he could ever get his damned foot out of his boot and breeches, he’d be glad to oblige.
Unable to resist the lure, he stood, ignoring his sartorial manacle.
Reaching for her, he pulled her close, hearing her gasp as for the first time, his bare skin met hers. She gazed at him, the love in her eyes shining bright, licking her lips and driving him slightly insane. He was hard, pressing against her, and yet she had not pulled back or flinched. She was a virgin, but showed no modesty or hesitation, but met his exploring touches with ones of her own.
Her hands roamed his chest, learning his muscles, toying with the flat discs of his nipples and making him shiver for so many reasons he wouldn’t have been able to count them even if he had been so inclined. She reached for his head and pulled his mouth to hers, tentatively at first, and then with more passion, more desire than he could have imagined.
Then she moved away from him, licking her lips and eyeing the rest of him.
His cock thickened even more as her gaze lingered on it, then finally swept to the floor.
“It seems you have a slight problem with your boot, my Lord.” She glanced up at him then back down to the offending boot. “Perhaps as a good wife, I should offer to help.”
And then, to Paul’s utter and total astonishment, his nearly-naked wife of a scant two hours, lowered herself to her knees and proceeded to help him extract his foot from his boot and slide off his sock and breeches.
“There,” she said, tossing the clothes on the growing pile. “That’s better.” Harriet lifted her head, looking him straight in the cock. “Much better.”
If her movements thus far had surprised him, what she did next poleaxed him.
*~~*~~*
Harriet couldn’t resist the chance to put into practice some of what she’d read in Letitia’s shocking book.
While astounded at first, she had read on, finding that the descriptions—the details—all combined to send most delightful sensations through her body.
When confronted with the real thing, how could she not seize the opportunity to learn if it was as pleasurable in reality as it had seemed on the page?
As soon as her hand reached him, Paul sucked in an audible gasp, and she darted a quick g
lance upward to see his eyes wide and his mouth open. Experimentally she closed her fingers around him and squeezed, noticing that his eyes were now closed and his throat moved as he swallowed roughly.
She wanted to grin, and send Letitia a thank-you note. But most of all, she wanted to taste him. To learn all about this man she’d married, and to whom she had confessed her most profound affections. If she truly loved him, then she was going to know everything. And that was all there was to it.
Gathering her nerve, she leaned forward and slowly began to lick him, learning his flavour, the salty male tang of him. His muted groan and tiny movements of his hips toward her told their own story, one of encouragement. Truly Letitia’s book had been quite correct; this was indeed pleasing to the male of the species.
She ventured on, remembering the hints about sliding her hands the full length of his cock as she progressed from licking to gentle sucking, being cautious about keeping her teeth away from such delicate flesh.
He was hard, fascinatingly landscaped with ridges and slippery velvet skin that bunched in her hand and then relaxed as she continued to hold him tightly while caressing him with her mouth. It seemed that a certain spot, right beneath the ridge at the head of his cock, was the one that caused the most significant physical response. If one could call a hand landing on one’s head and grasping a handful of hair a response.
She decided that it was definitely a positive result of her actions, since Paul didn’t tug her head away, but ran his fingers over her scalp, as if to tell her how much he was enjoying her actions.
At last, those fingers tightened and he pulled free. “Harry, love, you must stop, or everything for me will end too soon.”
She released the tip of his cock with a final loving lick, tasting the drops of liquid she had read about as their flavor dappled her tongue. “Mmmm.” She sighed, but eased away.
“How did you…why…” He helped her stand, his hands shaking a little as he closed his arms around her.
She grinned at him. “I read.”
He eyed her, awareness dawning in his expression. “That book. It was Letitia’s book, yes?”
“There were things that I found of interest within its pages, yes.” Daringly she rubbed her breasts against his chest. “So many things, Paul. Things I never imagined would be so pleasurable.”
He smiled then, a look which combined love, desire and a thrilling dash of wickedness. “Well, perhaps this is as good a time as any to explore our mutual interest in finding pleasurable activities.” He pushed away her chemise. “I have one to show you.”
She barely had time to utter a tiny shriek as he picked her up, dropped her on the bed, forced her thighs wide apart and buried his head between them.
“Oh my God,” she groaned.
His mouth found her, hungrily sucking and licking and probing, mercilessly teasing that sweet spot she knew was the seat of her desire. His tongue was everywhere, spreading her growing dampness around like melted butter on a hot scone.
She felt tingles all over, centered in her spine, and her legs clamped against his head of their own volition. She was lost in the moment, dying tiny deaths of ecstasy against his face.
“Paul,” she cried, clutching at him, grabbing his hair, “Paul…”
He thrust his tongue deep and nuzzled at her core, driving her over the top—into madness.
She shook, the spasms rocking her violently, her release a tidal wave of sensation over which she had no control.
And just as they began to ease, a new sensation shattered her.
Paul’s cock was sliding into her body on that tidal wave, assisted by her own juices smoothing the way. She knew a few moments of pain and gasped, but then he was in, all the way in, filling her in a way she could never have imagined or learned from the pages of a book.
He stilled, his weight on his hands, and she opened her eyes to see his face, shadowed in the light of the sputtering candles.
“Are you all right, love?”
The care and affection in his voice nearly tippled her into tears, but she swallowed them down and nodded. “More all right than I’ve ever been.”
“I am going to move now,” he whispered. “You are to tell me if I hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
He smiled at her assertion. “You’re a most unexpectedly amazing and wonderful wife, Harry. I am most pleased.”
Suiting words to action, he began those promised moves, slowly and easily sliding in and out of her, his cock solid iron in her untried fire. And within moments she felt the rising of another release, stimulated by the size of him, the caresses against her inner muscles and the touch of his body against her most tender flesh, already aroused by his clever mouth.
Seeing her eager response, hearing her little moans of delight as he led her into a dance older than time itself, Paul hastened his thrusts, eager now, more demanding, more powerful.
She met him, opened for him, welcomed his cock into the places she knew had waited for him. Only him.
And it wasn’t more than a few moments later, that he thrust so deep she felt his warmth from her belly to her toes. He stilled—and on a harsh groan he reached his release inside her.
For a few seconds she held her breath as the sensation of his fiery seed filling her took her breath away. Then, suddenly and to her surprise, her own release crept up on her again, different this time, seemingly born deep within her, but encouraged by the throbbing cock still pulsating against inexperienced muscles.
She gasped for breath, her legs lifting to lock around Paul’s body and hold him closer, to prolong this unique moment when both of them whirled into an unearthly vortex of sensually erotic madness.
All too soon they sank to earth again, collapsing over each other in a tangle of sticky, sweaty flesh and limp limbs. Sated and exhausted, they lay there, waiting for their hearts to slow back to something resembling normalcy.
Finally, Harriet moved, tugging the hair trapped under Paul’s arm to one side. “Well, goodness. I can only echo your words. You are a most unexpectedly amazing and wonderful husband, Paul.” She stretched languorously and yawned. “I am also most pleased.”
He grinned and cuddled her into his body. “Happy Christmas, love.”
Chapter Seventeen
Nuptial bliss aside, dawn came right on time, waking Harriet from a blissful slumber curled into a messy heap with her new husband.
It would seem that dawn had little or no effect on the new Viscount, so she carefully disengaged herself without waking him, shivering a little at her nakedness and the residual stickiness on her thighs. There was little blood, she was pleased to note and what there was easily cleansed with water from the ewer.
She wished it had been warmer, but adding a log to the low fire might wake Paul. He needed his sleep, since today was Christmas Day, and his new status meant that there would be many changes in the offing.
Dressing rapidly, she did her best to drag her thoughts off the naked body beneath the quilt, and onto the tasks for the morning. She might be Lady Hayward, but there were other guests in the house who would require breakfast, and servants who might need direction.
Title notwithstanding, Harriet had work to do, much as she would have loved to linger in bed with Paul.
But there would be time for that. A whole lifetime, in fact, and with that happy thought in mind, she left their room and began her day.
Cook and the servants were already hard at work, reassuring her that they’d enjoyed a lovely Christmas Eve with their loved ones, and asking after hers.
She merely smiled and said it couldn’t have been better. And wasn’t that the truth?
The menu for the day was already set—several geese would be roasted, and there would be the usual chestnuts, vegetables, side dishes and all the trimmings. Mincemeat was simmering, scenting most of the house, and when combined with the fragrance of fresh bread, it set Harriet’s mouth to watering.
Apparently hers wasn’t the only one responding,
since a couple of bells rang in the servant’s hall, alerting them that their masters and mistresses were awake and ready to start their day as well.
She nodded the servants off about their tasks, shared a quick cup of tea with Cook, and promised to return for eggs and toast and some Christmas ham after she’d completed her work upstairs.
Returning to the hall, there was a quiet bustle in the air, as maids moved from room to room, valets opened and closed doors upstairs, and the murmur of voices softened the silence.
The Yule log responded to a good stoking with the poker, and Harriet nodded as flames erupted from the still smouldering monster log filling the hearth. There would be plenty of leftover charred wood and ashes to distribute around the area. The little packages would bring good luck throughout the year, and if there were any unburned or barely singed bits left over, they would stand guard in a bucket next to the hearth until next Christmas, when they would be used to light a new Yule log.
Even though there’d been no traditional lucky kindling this year, it had still been one of good fortune, reflected Harriet. For her, anyway.
Before she could mount the staircase to the second floor, a knock sounded at the front door.
It was Christmas Day, so it was quite possible visitors would be about, eager to extend the greetings to neighbors. It was the country, so Harriet thought little of walking past the hearth and opening the door.
“Good morning, Happy…”
She got no further before she was physically pushed back into the hall.
“Found you at last, you devil brat.”
Her uncle’s voice hit her like a brick and before she knew it, she was muffled by a cape of some sort.
“Quick. Tie up her hands.”
That was her aunt. As if she could fail to recognize the vicious tone of the woman’s snake-like hiss. How could she have been so stupid as to open the door so widely without paying attention?
