The Greatest Lover Ever

by Christina Brooke

  Lady Harriet smiled muzzily up at them. “You’re together,” she pronounced. “I’m so glad.”

  He could only stifle a laugh when Georgie turned pink. She said hurriedly, “I had to rouse Lord Beckenham in case any of you needed to be carried.”

  Beckenham sent a significant look toward Miss deVere, who seemed to have fallen asleep or lapsed into unconsciousness, one slim hand gripping the neck of the brandy decanter. “It seems you were right. My presence was not superfluous, after all.”

  Miss Trent gazed up at him through bleary eyes. “My mama,” she pronounced carefully, “is going to kill me.”

  Beckenham regarded her not without some sympathy, which was really quite gallant of him, he thought, considering this exploit had interrupted a truly magnificent evening. Right now, he could be in Georgie’s bed, nuzzling those delicious thighs.…

  He shook himself, glanced at Georgie. “I’ll have to make two trips. We can’t all fit in the boat at once.”

  “If you put Miss deVere in the second boat, I can row that one,” said Georgie briskly. “We shouldn’t lose any time.”

  He argued politely with her but to no avail.

  She touched his arm, saying in a low voice, “Please, let us not tarry. I have a dreadful feeling about this. If we’re discovered, all of their reputations will be in jeopardy. Mine as well.”

  He gave in, stooping to remove the brandy decanter from Miss Margo deVere’s slackened grasp. He slid his arms under her and heaved her up.

  She moaned and shifted in his hold, blasting his face with brandy fumes.

  Beckenham recoiled with a wince. Excessive inebriation was off-putting at the best of times, but in a young lady … He hoped the silly chits would learn their lesson. They would all have very sore heads on the morrow.

  He looked forward to that with some satisfaction.

  He slid an arm beneath Miss deVere’s knees and gingerly picked her up. She didn’t weigh much. He jerked his head toward the others. “Can they walk, do you think?”

  Georgie bent over Lady Harriet. Gently, she patted the girl’s face. “Come, Harriet. You must come with me now.”

  With Georgie’s assistance, Lady Harriet clambered to her feet, then swayed. Georgie supported her with one arm around her waist.

  “Miss Trent, can you walk?” She looked down at the girl, who was smiling as if the world was a very happy place.

  “Of course,” responded the girl with owlish surprise.

  After a few failed attempts, that pattern-card of propriety gave a huge, exasperated sigh and rocked forward until she came to her hands and knees. Then she shuffled a couple of paces to the stone table in the center of the room. Planting first one hand, then the other on the tabletop, she inched her way upright and slowly raised herself to a standing position. She tottered, and Georgie quickly reached out to steady her.

  Beckenham and Georgie exchanged glances. “Right, then,” he said. “Let’s be off, shall we?”

  Georgie went first, supporting both Miss Trent and Lady Harriet. Beckenham followed with his fair bundle.

  When they’d managed to load the boats, Georgie conferred briefly with Beckenham. “The question is,” she said slowly, with a glance back at the grotto, “if Violet is not here, where on earth is she?”

  “In bed back at the house, if she knows what’s good for her,” said Beckenham, adding in a graveled undertone, “where I wish we were, right now.”

  Only by the gleam in her eye did Georgie acknowledge that piece of frivolity. “No, Lady Charlotte said Violet went to the grotto.”

  He snorted. “Making trouble, as usual.”

  “I don’t know. Why would Lady Charlotte fetch me and not one of the matrons if she meant to cause trouble?”

  He didn’t have an answer to that. “Check on Violet when we get back, and then you may be easy.”

  She nodded. Each of them took command of their respective vessels and rowed the miscreants back to shore.

  As he rowed, he thought a little guiltily of the expectations he’d raised in the youthful bosoms of these young ladies, not to mention the bosoms of their doting mamas. If cleaning up their mess tonight was the only punishment the universe meted out to him, he might count himself lucky.

  And when the rocking motion of the boat became too much and Miss Trent hurled up the contents of her stomach, Beckenham could only be thankful she did it overboard.

  * * *

  The following morning after breakfast, Georgie asked Violet to walk with her in the rockery. A most prosaic term for the glory of a man-made wilderness full of cool, overgrown pathways and the skip and chortle of water cascading over artfully arranged stones.

  As soon as she was sure they couldn’t be overheard, Georgie said, “You know, of course, about the bustle last night.”

  She’d found Violet asleep in her own bed when she looked in on her. The relief had been monstrous.

  Her sister ducked her head a little to avoid a low-hanging branch. “Yes. No doubt that is why they were not at breakfast this morning. What will happen to them?”

  “Oh, nothing too terrible, I hope. At least, their mamas will probably mete out punishments, but Lady Arden and I hope to keep the matter quiet. The house party is over, however. Everyone is leaving today.”

  On reflection, she and Beckenham had agreed the incident in the grotto gave him the perfect excuse to bring the house party to a discreet close. Clearly, the behavior of Lady Harriet, Miss Trent, and Miss deVere had tainted the entire endeavor. Lord Beckenham could not be blamed for declining to consider marrying any of the ladies present.

  She hesitated. “Violet, why did Lady Charlotte tell me you were at the grotto, too?”

  “Oh.” Her sister’s blue eyes flickered to her and away. “Well, G, if you must know, I agreed to accompany them. It seemed—” She flourished a hand. “—I don’t know, as if I would be holding myself above the others if I refused. Even Lady Charlotte was going, initially. She must have thought better of it, too.”

  Thank goodness Violet had acted with some common sense. “So you did not go.”

  “You know I did not. I decided it would be too great a risk. Besides, I do not like strong spirits and I knew Margo had filched the brandy. Drinking it was the main purpose of the jaunt.”

  Georgie had to be satisfied with that, she supposed. One couldn’t rely on Violet never to get into trouble, but her sister was an intelligent girl, clever enough to weigh the benefits of a venture against the consequences of getting caught.

  Yet there was something about Violet’s manner—an unease, perhaps even a furtiveness—that made Georgie suspicious.

  A sudden thought occurred. Violet’s bedchamber was next to hers. Had Violet heard … something last night?

  The mere notion made Georgie flush to the roots of her hair.

  She cleared her throat. “Violet, there is something I must tell you.”

  Was it her imagination, or did her sister’s shoulders drop, just a fraction, as though in relief. “What is it?”

  Georgie spied a conveniently placed stone bench and said, “Let’s sit down.”

  The day had warmed considerably, it seemed.

  “Are you well, G?” said Violet. “You look awfully strange.”

  “Yes. Well.” She cleared her throat. “What I’m about to tell you will strike you as rather shocking. Well, not shocking, precisely. Surprising.”

  Georgie smoothed her hands over her skirts. Her palms felt clammy inside her gloves. She knew, of course, that Violet had most definitely not formed a tendre for Beckenham. That lessened her guilt but only slightly.

  “I’m all agog,” said Violet. “Pray, do not keep me in suspense.”

  Georgie licked her lips. She felt a sheen of perspiration on her brow. Why had she chosen to make this disclosure outside, on such a hot day? “First, I owe you an apology.”

  “An apology?” Violet laughed. “What for?”

  “I’m getting to that,” said Georgie, a little cros
sly.

  Violet clasped Georgie’s hands. “Shall I save you the trouble, my dearest, darlingest G? You and Lord Beckenham have discovered you are in love—finally—and are to be married, as you should have been six years ago.”

  Georgie felt her jaw drop as her sister went off into peals of laughter.

  “Stop it, Violet. It is not funny. You knew all this time? But why didn’t you say something?” The torture she’d been through, struggling to be fair to Violet, tamping down her jealousy, living with the pain of longing lodged like a huge splinter in her chest.

  Her sister sighed and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, chuckling still. “Oh, G, what good would that have done? There is never telling you anything, is there? Besides, if I’d refused to participate in this charade, how could I have brought you and Lord Beckenham together?”

  Georgie felt like an idiot for not seeing it before. She’d been so tangled up in her own angst, she hadn’t realized her sister had played her like a fish on a line.

  Violet flicked her handkerchief. “Why do you think I participated in this degrading house party? Why do you think I begged you to come with me? True, I did not engineer my mother’s illness, but I would have found a way to drag you here even if she’d been able-bodied, I assure you.”

  The shock of it suspended Georgie’s faculties. She didn’t know whether to shake her devious sister for all she’d put her through or hug her instead.

  She settled on the hug.

  “You wretched girl!” She laughed, but her eyes brimmed with tears, too. “That business with the bluebell. That night, in my bedchamber back in Brighton, when you said—”

  Violet put on a high, light voice, mimicking herself. “With my fair looks and Beckenham’s dark coloring, we would make a fine pair. I wonder you didn’t strangle me.”

  They both erupted into giggles again.

  “Clever puss! You had me fooled indeed,” said Georgie. Her heart felt extraordinarily light. She’d never been so happy to be hoodwinked.

  “You cannot know how relieved I am that you have resolved your differences at last,” said Violet. “I thought I might have to take extreme measures.”

  It was on the tip of Georgie’s tongue to ask Violet what “extreme measures” might have entailed, but she wisely held her peace.

  “So,” said Violet as they strolled back to the house, arm in arm. “When is the wedding, hmm?”

  “I don’t know,” said Georgie. “If I had my way, it would be as quick and as quiet as possible. We will attract enough attention as it is.”

  She picked a leaf off a shrub as they passed it and twiddled it between finger and thumb. “You and I will have to leave Winford tomorrow, I suppose, or it will look rather strange to the other guests.”

  Violet stopped short, but almost immediately resumed her easy gait. “Why bother about them? Everyone will gossip once you announce your engagement anyway.”

  “That’s true. Still, I want to minimize the scandal-broth as much as possible.”

  She didn’t say it to Violet, but she didn’t want to be responsible for tarnishing Beckenham’s reputation any more than necessary. Their marriage would be a nine days’ wonder, but no more than that, if she could help it.

  When she said as much to Beckenham, however, he wouldn’t hear of her leaving with the other guests. He frowned. “Out of the question.”

  The part of her that always objected to his autocratic dictates fired up, but before she could do more than open her mouth, he smiled at her. “I refuse to be parted from you now. Who knows what trouble you might find before I can put that ring on your finger?”

  He’d already sent an urgent message to the Duke of Montford asking him to arrange a special license for them. It would be only a matter of days before they could tie the knot.

  “In the meanwhile,” he said, dipping his head to nuzzle behind her ear, “you and I shall make up for lost time.”

  She gasped, abandoning the promptings of her better self to revel in the sensation of his lips cruising over her skin. “Whatever you say, my lord.”

  He laughed, soft and low, nipped gently at her earlobe. “Who are you and what have you done with Georgie Black?”

  “If I am quiescent, it is only because your commands accord with my own inclinations.”

  She didn’t even bother to remind him that it was broad daylight, that they stood in his library, that anyone could come upon them at any moment.

  Most of the guests had already left. Only a few of the single gentlemen remained, perhaps a little bewildered by the mass exodus from Winford that had taken place without warning that day.

  Georgie was so wrapped up in Beckenham, the entire household could have broken out in purple spots and she wouldn’t have noticed. She was vaguely aware of Lady Arden’s sharp eyes upon her, but she didn’t want to tell her the news. Not quite yet.

  That night, Beckenham visited Georgie’s bedchamber once more. He immediately took up where he’d been obliged to leave off the previous evening.

  His slightest touch set off fireworks in her blood; the expert way he used his mouth on her was almost too pleasurable to bear. He set about loving her with the same intense focus, skill, and dedication that he did everything else. She reached climax so easily, so violently, so many times, she actually thought she might die of bliss.

  “I wish I could pleasure you half so well,” she told him with a tinge of chagrin at her lack of experience.

  That made him laugh so hard, she had to clap her hand over his mouth out of concern that someone would hear.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” she said, frowning. “You must have had a lot of practice to make you the greatest lover in the history of the world. This is only my second time.”

  Gripping the wrist of the hand that had covered his mouth, he pinned it down on the pillow next to her head as he rolled to loom over her.

  She felt a surge of excitement at the slight restraint, at the dark, intense fire that replaced the smile in his eyes.

  “Ah, Georgie, you make me insane with desire just by breathing.” He said it a little roughly, as if it was not an easy admission to make. “What we have is infinitely rare. This degree of passion is new for me, too.”

  Something burned behind her eyes. She’d known deep inside that what lay between them now was special. Hearing it from him made her heart swell in her chest.

  He reached down between them, and the broad tip of his member pressed between her slick folds. As he slid, hot and hard inside her, she finally, irrevocably, surrendered the last piece of her soul to him.

  Dear Lizzie,

  Pray, do not scold me for failing to write. How do you and Dartry go on? Of course, I shan’t miss your wedding, silly. I would not miss it for the world.

  I am desolate. He is gone and I do not know if I shall see him again for some time. If he should ask, you will keep forwarding his letters under cover of your own, won’t you, dearest? And if worst comes to worst, well … No. I refuse to look on the dark side. Something must happen. It has to.…

  The news of Georgie’s and Beckenham’s second engagement did not take Lady Arden by surprise.

  “Delighted to hear it,” she said briskly. “I could wish that you’d both behaved so sensibly six years ago. However, I am glad you have finally resolved your differences.”

  She kissed them both, and Georgie had the vague suspicion that perhaps Violet’s hand had not been the only one helping their cause along.

  “A pity your papa was such a muttonhead as to leave Cloverleigh to Violet,” commented the older lady.

  “I am right here, Lady Arden,” said Violet, who had been sitting quietly, embroidering in the window seat.

  “Yes, yes, I know that. But you cannot be offended, for you take no interest whatsoever in the place.”

  “I’m not offended,” said Violet. “I have never pretended to love Cloverleigh like Georgie does. If I could give it to her, I would, but my trustees won’t let me and I don’t inherit u
ntil I am married or five-and-twenty, whichever comes first.”

  “It hardly matters now,” said Beckenham with a shrug. And Georgie could tell he meant it.

  When his dark gaze rested on her, she felt like the most adored woman in the world. A parcel of land, no matter how beloved, did not even weigh in the balance.

  Lady Arden cleared her throat ostentatiously and Georgie gave a guilty start.

  “I trust your wedding will not be too far distant,” said the older lady dryly.

  “As soon as the special license arrives,” said Beckenham, still not taking his eyes from Georgie. “Montford will bring it.”

  “Will he?” Lady Arden said it coolly. There was quite a history between her and Beckenham’s former guardian, the Duke of Montford. Georgie didn’t know the details, but it was generally accepted that Lady Arden was Montford’s long-standing mistress.

  Before Georgie could remark, however, Lady Arden clapped her hands together. “Well, thank goodness that’s settled. Now, about Violet’s come-out in the spring.”

  Beckenham bowed. “I believe that’s my cue to depart.”

  “Yes, yes, off you go.” Lady Arden shooed him with her hand. “I see I shall get no sense at all from Georgie if you stay.”

  Feeling a little sheepish, Georgie managed not to blush too hard when Beckenham took her hand and kissed it before he strode from the room.

  “Georgie, he is smitten,” Violet hissed as soon as he was out of earshot. “And so are you! See how she blushes, Lady Arden?”

  It seemed to Georgie that everyone must know that she and Beckenham were lovers. Lady Arden was right. The sooner they were married, the better.

  “Very likely,” said Lady Arden. “But we are to discuss you, today, Violet. I had word from your mama that she will remain in Bath for the present, but she still wants you to return to school once your stay here is at an end. She doesn’t feel her health is equal to chaperoning you at the moment.”

  “Violet can stay with us,” volunteered Georgie.

  “Oh, no!” said Violet. “I’m sorry, Georgie. It’s a kind offer, but you and Beckenham must wish to be alone.”

  “Yes, and what’s more, Violet needs someone who will keep a strict eye on her.” Lady Arden observed Violet thoughtfully. “I’ve half a mind to take you to Scotland with me.”