Angel's Guardian

by Scottie Barrett

  He scooped her around the waist, and plunked her down on the desk. The wood felt cool against her warmed bottom. He braced his hands on either side of her thighs. She had never been this close to him before. It was a dizzying sensation. Having shed only his jacket, his completely clothed state heightened her feeling of vulnerability. There was not a button undone on his black brocade waistcoat and his neckcloth, though slightly askew, was still neatly tied. The scent of him made her head sing with pleasure. Her heart beating in her throat, she circled her hand beneath his silken hair to caress the nape of his neck. He lowered his head and swept his tongue over the seam of her lips. His tongue dipped between her lips, mating with hers. So this is what it felt like to kiss the stern, unbending Major Draxford. Her imagination hadn’t even come close to how delicious it would be. She was wild for the taste of him. This, she supposed, was the inevitable outcome when a sensual spirit, which had been bottled up for so long, met the object of its desire. She clutched at his broad shoulders, her nipples brushing against his waistcoat. The friction was almost unbearably sweet. Inexperienced as she was she met the passion of his kiss with equal fervor, rubbing her tongue over his demanding one.

  “You said it should be my husband’s duty to introduce me to these matters,” she said in a breathy voice as she tugged loose his neckcloth.

  “A husband’s privilege,” he corrected, but he offered no gentlemanly resistance as she unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

  She traced the tip of her tongue along his chiseled jawline, then ran open-mouthed kisses over his bared throat, swirling her tongue over his delicious skin.

  His hands circled her waist and smoothed over her ribs to cup her breasts. His thumb drew shivering circles over her nipples. She leaned back bracing herself on her hands. The position thrust her breasts forward. His sun-darkened hands were in stark contrast to the white of her skin. She arched her back to press more firmly into his palms. He stroked to the tips of her nipples, and like magic both peaked to stiff points. He roughened his play, teasing and plucking and lightly pinching . Her lips parted and she panted softly as she watched his callused fingers tug at her distended nipples. He leaned in and sucked in one nipple. She combed her fingers through his hair. He left the nipple wet and shining before lavishing attention on the other one.

  He took hold of her ankles and pulled her so her bottom was at the edge of the desk. He bent her knees upwards and outwards spreading her legs open so her knees nearly touched the desk. As he gripped her, his thumbs rubbed her inner thighs. The cool air felt decadent against her quim. His thick black lashes lowered over his gray eyes as he focused on the glistening pink folds which were now exposed. “You are even more beautiful than I remembered.”

  She pulled in a shivering breath as he stroked her triangle of curls. She squirmed a bit as he dragged his finger slowly along her slit, so tellingly wet with desire for him.

  She stared up at his handsome face. “I fear I would do anything to please you.”

  His brow lifted with obvious sarcasm.

  “In the bedchamber,” she amended. She glanced around. “or the study, it seems.”

  His lips tilted into an arrogant half-smile. “I see no problem with that.”

  Then she proved the truth of what she’d admitted when the slightest nudge from him had her dropping one leg over the edge of the desk to allow him to explore her pussy more fully. He slid the tip of his finger inside her as they both watched. He thrust it deeper and she tilted her pussy up to take even more, eliciting a low growl from deep in his throat.

  She sighed as his other hand found the sweet spot which always brought her to climax when she daydreamed of him. It was a frustratingly fleeting touch and she bucked against his hand and whimpered. Instantly, he brought his thumb back, swirling and rubbing it with such precision that her entire body shook with pleasure.

  She moaned as he began plunging his finger in and out of her hot sex while lightly tugging on her sensitive nub with his other hand.

  His intense gaze remained riveted on her greedy pussy. “Minx, will you be this eager when I fuck you?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said as her pussy spasmed around his finger. She clutched at his shirt as she reached the delicious pinnacle with startling speed, far, far faster than she could attain it by her own hand.

  “Draxford,” she cried as she always did when she climaxed.

  He clasped her to him. “Nicholas,” he corrected. His stubble rasped over her hair as he rubbed his chin over the top of her head.

  “Nicholas,” she repeated in a whisper and clung to him tightly as her body continued to shudder. She tucked her face in the crook of his neck and breathed deeply of his blissful scent and wished she could stay in his protective embrace forever. Too soon he set her on her feet and she padded barefoot across the room. She slipped on her stays. The wooden busk that separated the cups had absorbed the fire’s heat. The warmth felt lovely against her skin. Holding the stays in place she walked over to him.

  His erection had not diminished. His fierce eyes studied her from beneath the shadow of his black lashes. Clearly, her eagerness had surprised him. He took hold of her shoulders and spun her around. He swept her hair forward over her shoulder and began lacing her up. It made her blush knowing he was viewing his handiwork again, her spanked bottom on full display.

  Angeline felt the heat of him at her back and her entire body tingled.

  Next, he slipped the gown over her head and stuck her arm into the sleeve and then followed suit with the other. She was letting him dress her like a doll. He fastened the length of tiny buttons at her back, then turned her around to face him again. She watched with fascination as he retied the bow at her neckline. The sheer size of his hands suggested enormous strength yet he’d controlled the punishment. The stinging spanking had been just hard enough to make her feel like a naughty school girl. Just thinking about it made her pussy clench with desire again. Her gaze feasted on his handsome face, the startling tattoo, the glossy black hair which fell across his brow as he concentrated on the task of clothing her. She pulled in a shivering breath, she would do anything to have him…

  Once she was fully attired, she strode quickly toward the door.

  “Be ready early tomorrow,” his deep voice commanded. “We are riding to a preacher.”

  She took a faltering step. She forgot how to breathe. Her head felt suddenly so light she worried she might faint.

  Trembling, she swiveled on her heels to face him. “Naturally, you would choose to do the dutiful thing.”

  “If I’d been dutiful I’d have kept my damned hands off you in the first place.” His voice sounded rough with frustration.

  Constance’s words rang in her ears. If you have any care for the man at all you will release him from this obligation. Now he intended on taking that obligation, of finding her a husband, and wrapping it around his own neck. It was chivalric suicide and she wanted no part of it. “Regardless, it is a sacrifice you need not make.”

  His lips canted into a sarcastic smile. “In fact, it’s the absolute opposite of a sacrifice. More like a sinner rewarding himself for his own misdeeds.” His broad shoulders stiffened as he watched her warily.

  Oh yes, she would do anything to have him…but instead she must do everything to lose him. The nasty whispers at the party meant for her ears confirmed Constance’s warnings. As a child of scandal she would taint him, and likely diminish his standing, his future. And it suddenly occurred to her she couldn’t visit that on Benjamin or the vicar either. Only a dissolute character like Hugh Stanbury would not suffer from the connection. “There’s still a chance that Mr. Stanbury will reconsider--”

  “Enough,” he growled. “We leave for Scotland in the morning.”

  There was no use arguing with him tonight. A quick peek out the door told her that her mother hen had withdrawn. Swallowi
ng back a lump in her throat, she stepped into the deserted hallway. Tomorrow she planned on having a debilitating headache.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was nearly impossible to stay abed with the sun streaming through the gap between the drapes. Why, of all days, did this one have to be so inviting?

  A scratch at the door sounded.

  “Come in, Tabby,” Angeline said, trying to make her voice sound weak.

  Tabby, carrying a ewer of steaming water in one hand and a bathing sheet tucked under the other arm, strode purposefully across the room to the washstand. After setting down the bath sheet she pulled from her cavernous apron pocket a fresh cake of soap and a bottle of her special lavender-infused hair tonic. Tabby turned and frowned at the sight of Angeline still abed. “I half-expected you to be up and dressed. What with you always begging the master to ride out with him.”

  Angeline gathered the counterpane to her chin. “Please give the major my apologies and explain that I have a megrim and intend on staying in.”

  Tabby’s frown melted into a sympathetic expression. “’Tisn’t a wonder seeing how Miss Stanbury makes you wear your hair so tight. It’s bound to give anyone pains in the head.” Tabby clucked and fussed over her a bit, fluffing her pillows and applying a damp flannel to her forehead.

  Once the door closed behind Tabby, Angeline peeled the wet cloth off her face and tossed it into the wash bowl. The warmth of the sun beckoned. She climbed out of bed, threw wide the curtains and knelt on the window seat. Wick was hitching the horses to the carriage. Perhaps she could convince Draxford into making her his mistress, then he could still secure an advantageous marriage. Lost in fanciful thinking, she was too slow to react when the door opened behind her. There was no chance of diving back into bed, so she rubbed her temples instead.

  Her theatrics failed to stir Tabby’s sympathy again. Pursing her lips in disapproval, Tabby began searching through the wardrobe. “The master asked if you were feverish. I put his mind at ease. I wager, a bit of fresh air will sweep that headache clear away.”

  When Tabby laid out Angeline’s prettiest, daintiest underthings, Angeline wondered if she’d been apprised of Draxford’s intentions.

  Tabby made a sweeping motion with her hand. “Hurry, now. A man only has so much patience. And be assured the major has less than most. I think he’s of the mind to take you in your nightclothes if you dally much longer.”

  Tabby bustled over to the bureau and snatched up the jar of pomade Constance had insisted she use to control her stubborn hair. “Major Draxford asked me to return this to Miss Stanbury’s room.” She pointed to the lavender hair rinse she’d brought earlier. “Says he wants you to remove every trace. I’ll send a maid up to get the fire roaring so you don’t go off with wet hair, elsewise that headache may turn into something far worse.”

  Her eyes glittered with mischief as she tucked the pomade jar into the pocket of her apron. “‘Tis curious. I don’t think he’d care if Miss Stanbury slathered the stuff from head to toe.” She shot a teasing smile over her shoulder, before stepping into the hallway.

  Angeline turned back to the window. Let him come and fetch me, she thought and then recalled with a blush his idea of discipline. Did she want to risk a repeat of last night’s reddened bottom? Oh, Lord, yes. She shut her eyes and moaned softly recalling his big hands on her. Fine, she’d given him his chance to back out and he hadn’t taken it. Angeline pushed all thoughts of self-sacrifice away and stepped down from the window seat.

  After shedding her nightrail, she splashed the now tepid water into the basin. The refreshing scent of Tabby’s concoction revived her. The rinse cut through the sticky pomade leaving her hair squeaky clean. When a soft rap sounded on the door, followed by a throat clearing, a decidedly masculine throat clearing, she yanked her dressing gown on over still damp skin and bade the man enter.

  Quint, with his eyes averted, waved his tinderbox to excuse his presence. Quint could build a blaze before most servants could strike a spark. Clearly, Draxford wanted no time wasted.

  The wood soon crackled in the hearth and Quint slipped silently out the door. Angeline took a seat on the rug before the flames, fanning out her hair to speed the drying. When Tabby returned, she grabbed up the bathing sheet and tried to hurry the process by vigorously rubbing Angeline’s head. The maid applied the same haste in helping Angeline don her russet traveling costume.

  Her scalp tender, Angeline winced as Tabby brushed her hair with hard strokes then fashioned it into a chignon. Tabby made a tsking sound when she pulled the hat from the cupboard.

  “Your aunt has been at it again,” she said. The hat’s trailing ribbons had been studded with silk butterflies and the crown with a plump felt bird. “I suppose it could be worse. I’ve seen her pin a nest…a real one to a hat of her own. And it weren’t no tiny sparrow’s nest either.” She placed the hat on Angeline’s head with a bit more force than necessary.

  Angeline glanced at her reflection and suddenly imagined her mother staring back. Her mother’s eyes had been the same shade of green. Not the earthy green of nature, but the cool green of envy and greed. Her mother had been a treacherous creature who had taken and taken, who had never loved anyone but herself. Angeline decided she was nothing like her mother in that respect. She may not always care for Draxford’s high-handed ways, but she loved him to the depths of her soul.

  “I should cut off those silly ribbons, at least,” Tabby said, startling her out of her reverie. “You don’t want to have those butterflies flapping when you ride.”

  Angeline pulled one of the trailing ribbons over her shoulder. A tiny bounce of the ribbon made the golden butterflies flutter. Constance would surely sneer at the hat. Thinking of Constance, sparked an idea. She snatched up her half boots and pulled them on without lacing them. She tossed a hurried thank you in Tabby’s direction then noticed the tears standing in the maid’s eyes. Were they tears of sadness or pride? She gave Tabby a quick hug and went in search of Constance.

  Constance had turned the small downstairs parlor into a secretary’s office, fitting it out with a desk where she wrote out the day’s menus or went over the household books.

  The door was ajar and Angeline poked her head in. “I wanted to apologize in advance for missing out on today’s lessons.”

  Constance swiveled her head to look at Angeline. The expression in her eyes said it all. Just as Angeline had suspected, Constance had known that the discipline meted out by Draxford had not been just wholesome guidance.

  Angeline felt her cheeks color. “I’ll be accompanying the major today.”

  Constance capped the inkwell and shut the account ledger. “I shall join you. Rain made it impossible to see much of the estate the last time he asked me along.” It stung, as it was meant to, to know that though she’d been desperate to go with him, he’d readily extended an invitation to Constance.

  “Yes, do come, Miss Stanbury.”

  Constance frowned at Angeline’s presumptuous invitation.

  The deed done, Angeline hurried to the breakfast room and sipped some tea and nibbled on dry toast and tried not to cry about having ruined her one chance for happiness. Once she heard Constance’s authoritative footsteps in the entrance hall, Angeline quickly joined her.

  The light rain of the night before had left no trace beyond the glitter of drops on the lawn. The early morning rays glanced off Draxford’s glossy black hair as he paced the courtyard. He took a long pull on his cheroot as he watched them descend the front steps.

  “Miss Stanbury has decided to join us,” Angeline said.

  He exhaled, his eyes narrowing behind the stream of smoke. “Is that so?” He glanced at Angeline and gave her a hard smile. Draxford thwarted was an unnerving thing. But she was certain that his anger would soon abate and he’d feel only relief.

  “Well, my first tour
of the estate was quite abbreviated,” Constance replied.

  “Are you certain you want to drag that dress through the dust?”

  Constance could not seem to meet his gaze, she looked down at her skirt and plucked at the pale fabric. “This old thing.”

  The front door opened and another Stanbury was disgorged from the house. Angeline hadn’t realized Benjamin had spent the night. Obviously, Draxford had sent someone to collect him from the garden.

  Benjamin squinted into the daylight. His uniform was wrinkled as though he’d slept in it and his hair stood up in tufts. Besides the ghostly pallor of his skin, which made his scars stand out vividly, he looked quite cheery for a man who’d been drunk off his feet only a few short hours ago.

  “Where are we all off to?” Benjamin pulled a flask from his jacket pocket and took a hearty swig.

  “Visiting the farms,” Constance answered.

  Benjamin took one more swallow then replaced the flask in his pocket. “Much rather we visited the colliery. I’d like to see that steam engine Drax had installed.”

  Draxford flicked an annoyed look in Angeline’s direction.

  He motioned toward Benjamin with his cheroot. “Dispense with the red coat. They live an isolated life on the hill, there’s no need to alarm them. I’m sure my valet can dig up something.”

  He ground out the cheroot with the heel of his heavy black boot and strode toward the stable manager. “Wick we won’t be needing the carriage. Saddle up Mr. Stanbury’s horse and the gray mare for Miss Stanbury. Miss Kent can ride the sorrel.”

  Both mares had similar temperaments, but he’d deliberately paired her with the one which always stuck close to the lead horse. And his stallion would most assuredly lead.