A Shocking Delight

by Beverley, Jo

  His hands stilled.

  Oh, yes.

  She continued the slight movement, looking at the wall, at the dragon’s mouth consuming its tail. It seemed deeply meaningful.

  Consummation.

  Hunger.

  Eternity.

  He was part of her, familiar and complete in his heat, his smell, his intimate shape. His hands on her back. His mouth on her breast. Union.

  A perfect tumult of shocking delights.

  Then he gripped her hips and took command, moving her around him, sending off rockets, blanking her mind to everything except hot, heart-pounding pleasure. She thought she’d reached the pinnacle, reached her limit, even, but he drove her higher and higher into the sun.

  She felt as if she’d flown on dragon wings and was slowly circling back down to earth. They rolled together to lie, entwined, sticky, sweaty, panting, replete.

  “By the stars,” she whispered. “I had no idea.”

  He shook his head against her shoulder. “Nor had I. That you could do that to me. Or I’d have made Nicholas take you away.”

  He didn’t sound angry, but he meant it.

  He still meant it!

  She stroked her beloved’s damp hair. “Don’t regret, don’t. There’s no obstacle we can’t overcome. Certainly not Crag Wyvern.”

  His hand stroked her. “That’s the least of our problems, love.”

  She smiled at the word “love,” but didn’t misread it. “Then tell me what the problems are, David. We can defeat every one.”

  He looked at her. “Money can’t solve everything.”

  It was as if he could read her mind. “I’m not sure about that, but perhaps one of the problems is smuggling? I listened through a gap in the wall.”

  “Of course you did,” he said with a sigh. “Is there any possibility that you’ll learn caution?”

  “I can be cautious when it’s called for, but discard it when appropriate. I go for what I want, David.”

  “As your father does.”

  She shrugged. “It comes from him, I suppose. But my mother, too. You’d rather I be hesitant and fearful?”

  “I’d rather everything was different.” He pulled her close, but said, “Believe me, Lucy, this is a truly dangerous mess.”

  “You think your wife will be in danger from smugglers, like the one near Purbeck? You’re an earl.”

  “Don’t chisel away at this.” He rolled off the bed and looked around at the chaos of their discarded clothing. “As well everyone here is discreet. Would you like a bath?”

  “A wash will do.”

  He was pulling on some clothing. “We can do better.”

  Barefoot in breeches and shirt, he gathered up his other clothes like a man putting together a barricade from bits and pieces. Then he came to her, his expression unreadable. He put a finger beneath her chin and kissed her, tenderly, but with worrying restraint.

  “It would have been wiser not to do that, my love, but I can’t regret it. I can only hope you don’t. I’ll be back soon.”

  Chapter 30

  He left and Lucy contemplated her wicked legs, naked except for her plain cotton stockings and embroidered garters. She suspected there were reactions appropriate for this situation—perhaps Aunt Mary could have stated some—but doubted hers would fit.

  She should probably be shocked at herself. Instead she was delighted that she’d overcome his reluctance and been proved right by his overwhelming desire. Proved right by his declaration of love. He’d called her his love twice, and he’d meant it.

  She was sure she should be fearful of her sin being discovered, and especially of being with child. She might be if she wasn’t so certain of David’s love. If necessary, they would be married within days, and even if not, they’d be married soon.

  She didn’t want to rush, however. She wanted to savor every moment. She’d like banns to be read.

  Aunt Mary Did Not Approve of banns. Well-bred people did not declare their intimate intentions before the congregation. Banns were more common in the City, however, where even well-bred people didn’t see shame in saying they planned to marry.

  Yes, she and David would declare by banns on three consecutive Sundays at their respective parishes their loving intention to wed. Then they would marry in all the joy Betty and James had shown, with her friends and family around.

  The issue of Crag Wyvern could not be dreamed away. It was an unpleasant house and she couldn’t imagine living here all her days, but something could be done. It, like smuggling, seemed a minor issue with everything else so perfect.

  They’d have to wait until after her father returned from his honeymoon. Thank heavens it would be short. She knew he’d approve of David once he knew him, and he’d be cock-a-hoop to be leading his daughter down the aisle to become a countess.

  She’d seek his advice about the situation here. The wealthier the earldom became, the more easily the people here could be turned from smuggling to legal work. The land could provide only so much. There’d need to be trade and industry for true wealth, and her father was a wizard at such things.

  Hydras, dragons, and now wizards.

  Perhaps myth and magic were true after all, for she and David were solidly at the heart of their own magical circle now. Her father would join them there. His daughter would be a countess and his first grandson would be a future earl. She supposed there was a secondary title to go to the infant heir, the dragon’s son.

  “My grandson, Lord Inchworm.” Lucy giggled as she collected her scattered clothing.

  David still had concerns, but nothing could resist the magic they’d created here.

  * * *

  David went to the Roman bathroom that was attached to the Saint George bedroom and turned on the taps. The big bath took a while to fill, but the metal cistern on the roof was kept full and in sunny weather the water became warm enough for comfort. In colder weather fires could be lit beneath to heat it, but he limited his indulgence in that.

  He’d had the pictures on the tiled walls painted over, for they were in keeping with the old fountain figures—a dragon raping a woman. That had been part of the Mad Earl’s tormented obsession with Lady Belle. The tile design in the bath remained. He’d tried having it painted over but the paint hadn’t lasted.

  When he could afford it he’d have it retiled.

  When he could afford it.

  In theory he should now be anticipating Lucy’s dowry, but this wasn’t going to progress well. Of course they must marry and there was nothing he wanted more, but as soon as her father heard of their intentions, he’d do anything to prevent the wedding.

  Potter, more than most men, would understand the overruling power of love, so he’d know what he was up against. He’d be ruthless, and he wouldn’t care how many he harmed in the process as long as his daughter was safe.

  David also wanted Lucy safe, and happy, but he didn’t see the way.

  As water poured into the bath he tried to find the best path. When would Potter find out that Lucy had left London and come here? Even if he had alert spies, at least a day, then another day for orders to come back. That meant Potter couldn’t use tomorrow night’s run to do damage. His simplest action would be to have Captain Drake captured or killed. David didn’t doubt that Potter was ruthless enough for that.

  One way to forestall him was for them to marry by license. He disliked the thought of a hasty wedding, with all the suspicions it would arouse, but that would settle the matter. He doubted Potter would attempt to murder an unwelcome son-in-law, and if the Horde were cautious for a good while, he’d not be able to use that. Perhaps Lucy could convince him she was happy.

  If she was.

  She was ruled by love—and lust—at the moment, but she’d reacted to the Crag with all the horror he’d expected. She’d even struggled to reach it.

  He tossed one of his aunt’s herbal sachets into the water, hoping rosemary and lavender could soothe him, and went on to his bedroom next door. He took
off his clothes and put on his robe, then found his winter one for Lucy. Far too long. He took out his sharp sheath knife.

  Fred Chumley knocked, but walked straight in. “What did . . . ?”

  “I’m about to have a bath,” David said, hacking off about a foot around the bottom. “This is for the lady.”

  “Ah. Yes. I heard something. Came with Nicholas Delaney?”

  “You’re thinking that Nicholas is unlikely to have brought me a whore and might be displeased if I’ve debauched a lady of his acquaintance. Firstly, I don’t give a rat’s arse whether Nicholas is pleased or not, and secondly, he probably brought her here with this in mind, being an interfering bastard.”

  “Ah. Right. I’ll make myself scarce then, will I?”

  “An excellent idea. In fact, go down and warn my aunt that I’ll be bringing a guest to her later.”

  Fred’s mouth opened and shut, but then he said, “Right,” and quietly left.

  Wise man.

  David hadn’t realized how much fury simmered beneath the wonders and delights. He raged against Potter for daring to interfere, and that by doing so he might put many people at risk. But he was also angry at the woman he loved for insisting on having her way, for storming over all obstacles.

  But that was part of why he loved her. And love her he did, enough to truly become insane, for he’d just taken her virginity. Taken didn’t seem quite the right word, and she’d shown not a trace of distress, but she deserved tenderness now.

  Tenderness and loving care.

  It would be his honor to give her that at least, before the heavens fell.

  * * *

  He returned to the Ouroborus room and found her in her shift, neatly tied, thank the Lord, with the rest of her clothing stacked. She still looked deliciously wanton. Her smile was so open and bright he wanted to groan.

  He wanted to do other things, but he wasn’t going to, for a great many reasons.

  He had to ask. “Regrets?”

  She blushed but said, “None at all.” She didn’t add the expected, “You?”

  That wouldn’t be an oversight, not with Lucy. He’d made his regrets obvious, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care because she was sure any problems could be brushed away like . . . like an ant.

  He tossed the brown robe to her. “Put that on. Your bath should be ready.”

  “Already?” she said. It only just touched the ground but was wide around her.

  “I like baths.” He should resist, but couldn’t. He picked her up in his arms, explaining, “Your feet would get cold.”

  * * *

  Lucy settled into his arms happily, not mentioning her shoes, which were on top of the stack of clothing on the bed. As they left the room, she said, “I’ve never been carried like this since I was a child. You’re strong.”

  “You’re light.”

  “But not insubstantial.”

  “As insubstantial as lead,” he agreed, but smiled back. “I doubt you’ll be horribly shocked, given your familiarity with erotic Indian pictures, but the inside of the bath is illustrated in an unpleasant manner.”

  “Like the fountain?” she guessed.

  “How did you know about that?”

  “The illustrations, remember? Aunt Mary had removed it, but not before Clara had seen it, so she told me.”

  “Are there any young ladies of the ton who retain their innocence?”

  “Probably Lady Iphigenia. A lucky escape?”

  “On the contrary. I pine for an innocent, wilting bride.” He nudged open a door and carried her into an extraordinary room.

  “Heavens above!” she exclaimed. “That’s not a bath. That’s a pool!”

  He put her down on the tiled floor from which steps went down into a huge basin, which was half-full of water. He went to turn off a gargoyle-headed tap.

  “A small pool. It’s eight foot long and four foot wide.”

  As the water stilled she peered at the illustration. The dragon was definitely having improper relations with the lady, but was the lady screaming or in ecstasy? Lucy felt she might have looked similar in their recent lovemaking.

  “Is that a cold bath?” she asked warily.

  “Cold baths are said to be very invigorating.”

  “Do we need invigorating?”

  He smiled. “Or to cool the blood. But no, it will be warm enough for comfort.”

  “Where does all the water come from?”

  “A cistern above, warmed by the sun in good seasons, and by a stove beneath in harsher times. The one good amendment to the Crag by the Mad Earl. He was obsessed by a search for fertility and eternal life. A few years before he died, he decided daily bathing would do the trick and went to extremes. I’ll leave you to enjoy it.”

  Lucy wasn’t having that. She shed the robe. “I might drown.”

  “It’s not even two foot deep.”

  She sat on a marble bench and began to undo one garter. “I’d feel safer if you stayed.”

  “‘Safer’ is not the word that comes to mind.”

  She couldn’t help but chuckle. She felt such power, such potency. She unrolled the stocking and tossed it aside, then started in on the other. When she glanced up again, he was still and very intent. She stood and took off her shift, completely unembarrassed by nakedness. Then she went down the two steps to test the heat of the water with her toes. “Perfect.”

  “We try.”

  Smiling at his hoarse tone, she continued down, then sat in the scented water, which was just warm enough and lapped the tips of her breasts. Her nipples were still sensitive enough to take pleasure from the water. They even looked larger and pinker. Remembering the pleasure he’d brought, she glanced up at him. “Isn’t it a bit late for caution, my lord earl?”

  His eyes still held that darkness that warned of trouble, of trouble she did not yet understand, but she didn’t relent. In the end he took off his robe and came to join her in the water, taking her into his arms.

  “This is much better,” she said, slithering against him into a cozy arrangement. “I’m less likely to wallow, and the possibilities are endless.” She ran a wet hand over his wet body, learning the feel of muscle over bone. She traced a faint scar, jagged over his right ribs. “How did this happen?”

  “Someone with a knife making trouble.”

  “And you intervened?”

  “Someone had to.”

  “The earl?”

  “It was before I became earl. I’ve not led a completely tame life, Lucy.”

  Of course he hadn’t. And wouldn’t.

  “Do I need to learn nursing skills?” she asked, noticing a puckered scar on his shoulder.

  “They probably wouldn’t come amiss.”

  “I’d think this was from a pistol ball. You haven’t dueled have you?”

  “I’ve never needed to devise danger.”

  She frowned at him. “No broken bones from climbing cliffs?”

  He laughed at that. “No more than you have from climbing stairs, love. I live a charmed life.”

  “I’d rather you live a safe one.” She circled the scar with her finger. “Who shot at you?”

  “A boatman.”

  “A fisherman?”

  “One of the excise officer’s men.”

  She heard a challenging note in it. He expected her to be shocked. She was, a little, but she should have expected it. “I knew it. You’ve dabbled in your father’s trade. In Melchisadeck Clyst’s. How could a hot-blooded lad resist?”

  “Are you going to scold me for it?”

  “If I’d been around at the time. It’s not a game.”

  He kissed her. “I know that, love, but sometimes the need is irresistible.”

  Is . . . ?

  He tasted her with soft kisses, seemingly simply for the pleasure of it and she almost purred, half-floating in warm water and sweetly cherished.

  “This is heaven,” she said, and he smiled.

  “Perhaps I’ll have clouds and angels
painted on the ceiling here.”

  “Do we really want to be observed by angels?”

  “Unfair, you think?” he said. “Them being unable.”

  “Are they?”

  “You imagine much bawdy frolicking amid the heavenly clouds?”

  “Never before, but now I wonder where the cherubs come from.”

  He hooted with laughter and she caught it from him so they rolled in the water, slipping and sliding against each other.

  Her sliding hand touched his manly part and she looked through the water at it, long and thick in the nest of hair. She wanted to explore, but felt that would be wrong in some way. As if it were still private to him.

  He captured her hand and brought it to his mouth. He kissed her palm, eyes on her. “Don’t play with the dragon.”

  “Why not?”

  “The lady beneath us might be a warning.”

  She remembered the mosaic image and matched it against her memories of ecstasy.

  “I think she might be enjoying that.”

  “Being impaled by a dragon?”

  “Her dragon.”

  “Hades, you could be right. The Mad Earl might want to portray Lady Belle as succumbing to pleasure under him.” His hand cradled a breast, his thumb stroking the sensitive nipple. “Let’s test the theory.”

  Lucy anticipated a pleasant impaling, but he delighted her with hands and mouth. The gentleness was new and wondrous, as was sliding her hands and legs over him, seeking, and finding, ways to delight him. Until passion overwhelmed thought and she drowned in a steamy pleasure beyond all control or observation.

  When she drifted lazily, her body light in the water but cradled against his, she said, “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Pleasure or horror?”

  He laughed against her hair. “I wasn’t observing, but you screamed, and I hope it was pleasure.”

  “I screamed?”

  “Quietly.”

  “A quiet scream. What a lot of interesting abilities I have. It was definitely pleasure. I like this bath. Thank you, Crag Wyvern.”

  “But the rest remains.”

  He wasn’t speaking only of the house.

  She shifted to look at him. “What’s the biggest barrier, love? What stands tall between us and infinite delight?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “I think I deserve to know. We’re past secrets.”