The Lord's Persuasion of Lady Lydia

by Raven McAllan

  ‘I want more,’ she said firmly as her muscles clenched around his digit. ‘More and yes more. All of you. Your thing… whatever men call it. I want you to show me it will fit.’

  ‘Soon.’

  Now.’ She grabbed his arm and tugged. It was like trying to move a rock. He didn’t budge.

  ‘Soon. I need you to be ready for me.’

  ‘If I were any more ready I’d… I don’t what, but I am ready.’ So very ready. A strange wetness spread between her thighs. That had only ever happened before when she read certain passages in books.

  Aha. ‘I,’ she said, gruffly and with not a little embarrassment, ‘am so ready. I am wet for you.’ She cranked one eye half open. He didn’t seem disgusted. If the gleam in his eyes was anything to go by, he was pleased.

  ‘So I can feel. Then, my love, let me make you truly mine.’ His finger left her and the air moved as he swung over her and, she saw through that half-open eye, positioned himself between her thighs.

  ‘Watch now,’ he invited in a low voice. ‘See how we mesh. But first put your ankles on my shoulders.’

  It seemed a strange thing to do, but he was the one with experience, after all. Lydia complied and watched as he pushed her skirts up and then slowly angled his staff… thing?... whatever… towards her and then…

  Then her senses reeled.

  It… he… nudged the opening of her channel with its rounded head. Began to push.

  ‘You will never fit,’ Lydia said desperately as her muscles tightened without any help from her. ‘Best stop before you get hurt.’ Or I do.

  ‘Relax and watch me. Feel me, enjoy me.’ Harry bent his head and once more sucked her nipple firmly into his mouth.

  As his tongue circled the hard nub and shafts of pleasure went all through her, inch by precious inch he moved ever further inside her. Strangely her body seemed to let her channel expand and welcome him inside.

  Then he paused. She moaned. ‘It’s working – why stop?’

  The veins in his arms stood out and she recognised the strain on his face as something precious to be privileged to see.

  ‘This will hurt, love. It will, but …’ He pushed. ‘Not for long.’

  Strong, angry pain hit her like a swarm of bees intent on inflicting as much damage as possible. On a rampage, with death in mind. Hers.

  ‘Sweet hell, it does… you must…’ she babbled, unheeding of what she said as she tried to force him out of her.

  ‘Relax and wait a second. It will ease, I promise, and never again come.’

  ‘You need to… no wait, No, not wait, move… show me… oh yes, show me…’ She cried with relief as a sweet heat filled her and the sheer agony of moments before faded as rapidly as it had begun. ‘Oh,’ she said, wonder in her voice. ‘Oh, I like it. Show me what else, please.’

  ‘My pleasure. Now let yourself go, float and feel and come for me. Scream your pleasure, my love – let it out.’

  That was no hardship. As Harry began to move in her, her arousal increased, rolls of ecstasy pulsed through her and over every inch of her.

  When the shakes began Lydia thought she heard Harry praise her, but then liquid heat filled her inside, he shuddered, and thrust even stronger into her.

  Lydia fell over the edge of an abyss and let herself float on waves of something new and perfect.

  She came back to earth, secure in Harry’s arms with her skirt down, and the edge of the cloak over her upper body. She had a surreptitious peek down to where his placket was now closed and sighed.

  He chuckled. ‘Another time. After such a perfect time, sadly, we now need to move on.’

  ‘I fear we might be too late for food,’ Harry said as Lydia sat as close to him as was possible while he tooled the reins. ‘We have a stop to make as well. How about I pull up at the next farm, and we buy bread, cheese and apples?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Lydia said in a satisfied voice. ‘I confess I am ravenous. Is that what lovemaking does to one?’

  Harry chuckled. ‘To us, anyway. But you were ravenous during it as well.’ She batted him on the shoulder.

  ‘Brute. Was I? Should I be?’

  ‘Oh yes. And never change; it was perfect. However, I fear you may find it difficult to walk tomorrow.’

  ‘I may?’ Lydia asked, somewhat puzzled. Oh, she had lots of tiny, delicious tingles, not really aches, that reminded her in the best way possible what they had done, but nothing to worry about. Not even the red marks on her breasts where he had rubbed his stubbly cheek and then kissed the heated stingy spots better. ‘Why do you say so?’

  ‘Ah, we were both somewhat enthusiastic, my love, but I might be better able to cope…’ He broke off and cleared his throat.

  Lydia burst out laughing. Everything was so perfect, even his confusion. If she could hold a note she’d even be tempted to sing. ‘Careful, I thought a gentleman never made love and told?’

  ‘Minx, I was about to say I probably do more physical exercises than you, but on reflection that’s not much better, is it?’

  ‘No. Ooh, are you in a lather trying to decide how to be polite and honest? Never mind, I understand. I should ache where…?’ Now it was her turn to stop talking and bite her lip.

  ‘True,’ he said ruefully. ‘So let me just say you might well ache in unusual places. A hot bath should help.’

  ‘Right-oh. Well, whatever, it was worth it.’

  ‘Good, I agree.’ Harry turned the carriage into a driveway, which led a few yards further on to a long, low, whitewashed farmhouse.

  Everything was in its place and even the roses around the outhouse door looked neat and tidy. ‘Oh, is this where we stop?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Harry pulled up outside the farmhouse as a small, rosy-cheeked lady bustled out to greet them.

  ‘Ah m’lord, they’re all ready for you. Let me get Hoskins to get the crate.’

  ‘Crate,’ Lydia murmured. ‘For bread and cheese?’

  He swivelled in his seat. ‘No, for your betrothal present.’

  A loud squawking was heard as a tall, wiry man appeared carrying a large, sturdy, wooden crate. ‘Here’s the chooks m’lord, twelve of em. Should be good layers ‘n’ all.’

  ‘Thank you, Hoskins, and do you think we could trouble your good lady for bread and cheese and a couple of apples? We have had no time for lunch.’

  ‘Chickens?’ Lydia said in a startled voice, once the farmer and his wife disappeared inside. ‘As a betrothal present?’

  Harry nodded and kissed her gloveless hand. Neither of them had thought to pick her glove up after she threw it away in her fit of pique. ‘You told me you were going to retire to the country and have chickens and no man. As you have the man, I thought you best have the chickens as well.’

  She fell in love with him all over again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time they got home, with the chickens still squawking in their prison, and having eaten as they drove, it was well into the evening. The drive had been fun, Harry decided, as finally the first houses of Shaldon came into view and his tired horses pricked up their ears and increased their pace.

  Lydia had fed him chunks of bread with a rich, creamy goat’s cheese inside and interspersed it with pieces of apple. They’d almost broached the ale, until Lydia reminded him they had no jug, and instead bought a glass of milk from a passing milkmaid.

  Lydia sighed and glanced up at him.

  ‘What’s wrong, love?’ he asked, as he pulled hard to the right on the reins to turn a corner. ‘That was heartfelt.’

  ‘We’re almost home. I suppose I have to move across the seat and act decorous. What I really want to do is stand up and shout you are mine.’

  He chuckled. ‘I feel the same but, for now, decorum, eh? Just a little while longer. I have an idea, if you are agreeable, for once we have sorted Jeremy out. I’ll come around later.’

  Much later. When Millie is asleep later.

  ‘Leave the small sitting room window unlatched.’
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br />   ‘Of course.’ They reached the lane outside her house and Harry helped her down as he kept one eye on his tired horses. They were well behaved but, on occasion, the smell of the river was enough to make them a little antsy. He couldn’t say he blamed them; sometimes it was rather pungent. This time, though, they stood patiently as he said his farewells to Lydia. Somewhat of a brief parting, in case anyone watched, and then Harry waited until she disappeared inside before he climbed back into the carriage and made his way around the green to Orchard House.

  Jem ran out to take the horses. ‘I wondered if you was lost. There were another letter for you, not marked urgent, mind, so it’s in the study. Your bath is ready – it might be a bit chilly now, mind. Ma’s left a stew, like you said, and I’ll be back early for tomorrow.’

  Harry nodded his thanks. ‘Perfect. I’m off for that bath, my supper, and a dram. Until the morning.’ He let himself inside and made a note that, if was going to have to appear as the lord he was more frequently, he’d need Foster here sooner rather than later. It was as well he’d made arrangements for his arrival. In the meantime, the bath beckoned. It might not be deep or overwarm, because Jem must have filled it hours earlier, but it was enough to cleanse him.

  He sank under the water, let his head fall back, and relaxed. Ten minutes later he realised it was good thing the water wasn’t too hot or he would have fallen asleep there.

  With a sigh hard enough to rattle the shutters, Harry stood up, let the water drip from him before he stepped out, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around his waist. His banyan would do until he’d eaten and then he’d dress comfortably to meet Lydia. His mind on things they needed to discuss and the hasty visit he’d paid to one of his many relatives in London before he left – the Bishop – Harry dried himself absently. He dressed swiftly – a banyan only needed to be pulled over his head and his arms thrust into the sleeves – remembered the letter Jem had told him about, and detoured to the study to pick it up on his way to the kitchen and his supper.

  His stomach growled as he filled a plate with the rich, aromatic stew, sat down at the table, opened the letter – which had been forwarded from his country estate – and began to read as he ate.

  The spoon dropped into the bowl, meat and vegetables went all over the table, and his banyan and the letter were splattered with gravy. Harry mopped at his banyan with the non-food-covered hem, used it to wipe the letter, and swore long and ripe. Immediately, his appetite left him and he stood up. The chair fell to the floor and he picked it up and stood it on all four legs once again, with a muttered ‘oh, for hell’s sake, what next?’

  He needed to go to Lydia. As he made his way towards the hall and the stairs to his room, he happened to look out of the window, noticed it wasn’t yet fully dark – the days were getting lighter rapidly – and swore again. He’d have to wait at least an hour so he might as well finish the stew. Otherwise Mrs Troup might deem he thought it uneatable, or decide he was sickening for something.

  To make yourself eat when food was the last thing you wanted wasn’t easy. Nevertheless, Harry forced the stew down, reread the letter, and dressed. Thence to pace his study until the clock chimed eleven and it was dark enough for him to make his way along the narrow lane and through Riverside House’s garden gate. This time there was no Millie to intercept him and no nosy, obnoxious ladies inside to try and trip him up. He walked silently across the grass, opened the door Lydia had left unlocked, and went indoors to shut the door and the curtains. Then he lit the lamp and settled down to wait. It was a matter of minutes before the door from the hall opened quietly and Lydia came in.

  Like him, she’d changed. She wore a soft gown of a deep-blue-green that enhanced the flecks in her eyes. She frowned when she looked at him. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked immediately. ‘Who has done what? Do I need my bow and arrow?’

  He stood up and gathered her close for a long, lingering, loving kiss. She swayed towards him and Harry gave in to a tiny moment of temptation and squeezed the gorgeous globes of her bottom before he reluctantly broke the kiss, took the necessary steps to reach a seat, and settled back in a chair with her on his lap.

  ‘This, my love, is what is up.’ He fished Jeremy’s letter out of his pocket and handed it over. ‘You might need a drink.’

  Hmm? She began to scan the untidy writing. ‘Good God, he has a terrible fist, does he not? Was he never taught how to form his letters?’

  ‘He knew better than his tutor, it seems,’ Harry said grimly. ‘Can you decipher it?’

  ‘I think so.’ She scanned it quickly. ‘No. Never.’ She dropped the sheet of paper in her lap. ‘The man is deranged. If I read this aright he is trying to say that I’m in London. He has asked for my hand in marriage, I have agreed, we are to be married forthwith, and you must congratulate him, and hand over his fortune. But surely he must have seen our original betrothal in The Times, must he not, if not the latest letter? This doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I doubt it. He sent this to me in Rutland, before it was announced, and they forwarded it to me here. He’s too tight to pay for a speedy courier so it came by the regular mails. I imagine now he will be wondering what next. He doesn’t know either of us is here, so I think he plans to get what extra money he can and then do whatever he deems necessary to take you, I suppose you could say, from me. By fair means or foul, and more than likely foul.’

  ‘Bastard, or whatever really bad epithet is acceptable,’ Lydia said fiercely. ‘He might be your kin but he is no gentleman.’

  ‘Bastard will do,’ Harry said gravely, though he feared his lips twitched.

  She glowered. ‘So what do we do? Apart from me shooting an arrow through… oh yes, I meant to ask you, what do gentlemen call their…’ She waved a hand towards his cock. ‘Their hardness?’

  Their conversation had taken on a most surreal direction. Was it proper to talk about such things, even to your affianced? Harry shrugged mentally. Whether it was or not he intended to continue with it.

  ‘A cock.’

  ‘A cock?’

  He nodded.

  Lydia’s eyes widened. ‘Like a male chicken?’ she continued in a choked voice. ‘I thought I had misheard you before and was too polite to ask. Oh my, is that where the expression cock a hoop comes from?’ She collapsed in laughter, and her giggles, as she shook, rumbled through him. ‘No wonder you bought me one with the chickens as a betrothal gift. Is it a spare, just in case?’

  Harry had no option but to join in with her laughter. ‘I was right – you are a minx. Who knows? But I think it’s best you leave his privates alone.’

  She pouted and spoiled it by rolling her eyes, and then groaned. ‘How come I can never do that without looking stupid?’

  Harry flicked her nose with his finger. ‘Because you aren’t a spoiled young deb, and pouting is their favourite pastime.’

  She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. ‘Oh, that’s good then. But you know? You are a spoilsport. May I just threaten him?’

  ‘I suppose that will be acceptable. Now, if you are agreeable, this is what I think we should do.’ He swiftly outlined his plan. ‘Do you agree?’

  ‘Of course.’ She sounded surprised he would even ask. ‘I also have a plan.’

  ‘You do?’ He mistrusted the mischievous expression on her face.

  ‘Oh yes – come with me. My plan involves me, you, and a bed. I think I need to learn more.’

  So did he.

  ‘Lead on, my love, I’m in your hands.’

  She smirked. ‘Not yet, but you will be soon.’

  It was several hours later than he had anticipated before Harry reached his own bed, curled up under the covers, and grinned like an idiot. Who would have thought how eager a pupil Lydia would be?

  How, when he’d bent down and kissed her clitoris, she would shriek, moan, gasp, and come immediately. Or, when she had recovered, insist she do a similar thing to him.

  To come in such a clever mouth as hers was an honour and one he in
tended to savour as often as… Well, as often as he came inside her channel, if he had any say in the matter. Harry rolled onto his side and shut his eyes. He’d need his wits about him in a few hours’ time.

  ****

  ‘How on earth are you so bright-eyed?’ he grumbled as they climbed on board Bert’s boat. His own eyes were gritty from the lack of sleep and he thought he probably looked as half awake as he felt. He followed Lydia round the outside of the tiny cabin to a thwart and sat down before Bert senior cast off. It had been agreed he would ferry them straight to the docks’ offices That should mean they were there well before Jeremy’s – or the so-called Mr Gentry’s – appointment and negated the chance of them being spotted.

  ‘I slept the sleep of the happily sated,’ Lydia said and squeezed his arm. The sky was dark and lowering, waves were dancing over the water, and the mouth of the estuary looked as if a giant heaved under it.

  Not the day for a boat ride.

  Lydia rested a large canvas bag on the seat next to her and put her reticule in her lap. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Harrumph.’ Harry eyed both receptacles with a black look. ‘Why didn’t you let me carry that?’ He pointed grumpily to the bag. ‘I feel less a gentleman now.’

  ‘Rubbish – you just feel tired, worried, and out of sorts, my love,’ Lydia replied sunnily. ‘And there is no reason. We will win. I am so looking forward to this. Yes, I promise I’ll stay hidden. Yes, I promise I won’t do anything silly. And yes, I promise not to come out until you tell me I can do. But do you know how satisfying it is to be part of it all?’ She did a little jiggle on the wooden thwart. ‘For once I am not hidden or denied my chance to show I mean what I say. To stand next to someone I love and be as one with them. Jeremy is not going to ruin our happiness. I won’t let him.’

  ‘My love, together we will slay dragons, to say nothing of snakes.’ Harry kissed her palm and curled her fingers over the spot as he so often did. ‘But you will do as I say.’

  ‘I promise.’ She gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘He has no chance.’

  The boat lurched and she grabbed Harry with a gasp, and a yell of pure joy. ‘I love this; it’s fun and exhilarating,’ she shouted as spray went over the tiny cabin top and showered them. ‘I wish it were like this more often.’