Third Son's a Charm

by Shana Galen

  He pushed his trousers over slim hips and tight thighs, then stood still while she explored his member. She ran her hand up and over it, sliding her hand around it, though it was almost too wide for her to close her fingers. The blond hair at its root was soft and springy, and she touched it, then delved lower to cup the sac hanging beneath.

  He inhaled sharply, and she smiled up at him. “You like that.” Determined to torture him more, she continued her exploring, but she had not gone far when his knee nudged her legs open farther and pressed against that intimate part of her. Now it was her turn to inhale sharply as he rocked gently against her, causing warmth to spiral into her belly.

  Her hand moved faster on his rod, and he finally caught her wrist to still her. “You don’t like it?” she asked.

  “I won’t last long if you continue.” He gave her shoulder a slight push and she fell back on her elbows. He came down beside her, his mouth on hers, one hand on her belly, the other cupping her breast. His rough hands on the tight bud of her nipple sent shivers through her, and when the hand on her belly drifted down, sliding into the crease between her legs, she let out a low moan.

  He continued to kiss her while his hand stroked between her legs, causing fire to race up her body as she strained for the pleasure she knew he could give her. One of his thick fingers entered her, and her hips bucked. He released her breast and cupped her cheek. She opened her eyes and found him looking down at her.

  His expression was so tender, so loving her heart hitched. She loved him so much. And this—this exquisite pleasure between them—was the expression of that love. She had never loved anyone like she loved Ewan. There would never be another man for her.

  He traced her cheek, holding her gaze while he slipped another finger inside her.

  “Oh yes,” she moaned. “Oh, but that feels good.”

  The heel of his hand pressed up, sliding over the tight little bud there. Lorrie opened her legs wider and he nodded his approval. Then, with what seemed infinite patience, he slid his fingers in and out, brushed his hand or his thumb over her nub until she was gasping for breath. “Please. Please.”

  Nothing existed now but the two of them. Nothing and no one else mattered.

  His gaze still hot on hers, he flicked his thumb over her once, then twice, and Lorrie felt the world shatter. Her entire body convulsed in pleasure, and yet she could not look away from his eyes. He was her anchor. If she dared break contact, she feared she might splinter from the spasms rocking her body.

  Finally, finally, the room stopped spinning and the wracking pleasure ebbed. Ewan slid his fingers from her, and Lorrie could not stop a cry of loss.

  “Shh,” he said, moving to nudge her legs open even wider—as though she were not splayed wantonly enough. Then it was not his fingers but his large, hot member pressing against her entrance. Remembering the pain of their first mating, Lorrie clutched at the bedclothes.

  * * *

  Ewan entered her slowly and by degrees. It was no easy task, as he wanted to drive into her and feel her slick walls close around him. But Ewan believed his patience would be well worth the effort. She had looked utterly beautiful when she’d climaxed a moment before. Her eyes had been so green, her cheeks so perfectly pink, her rose-tipped breasts straining upward to rub against his chest.

  Now he could see fear of the pain from their first joining in her eyes. He had penetrated her with no more than the tip of his member, allowing her time to adjust. But even as he tried to be patient, her sex clenched around him in anticipation.

  Her body knew what she needed. Ewan prayed he did as well. He slid further into her tight sheath, and she clenched again. He groaned, his jaw flexing as he tightened it. Rocking against her gently, he watched as she loosed her hands of the white-knuckled grip on his coverlet. Her arms came up to caress his back. With a low growl, he pushed deeper inside her.

  Now it was her turn to moan. Her hips rose to meet his, taking more of him than he’d been ready to give. “Lie still,” he ordered.

  “I can’t,” she said breathlessly. “You feel so good.” Her hands kneaded his back, then slid down to grope his arse. His cock jumped, and she made a sound that almost had him losing all control.

  Her hips rolled under him, and he did his best to hold her body still as he rocked inside her, giving her a little more of him, inch by inch. She shuddered beneath him, and one look at her flushed face told him she was close to climax again. God, how he wanted this woman in his bed—now, tomorrow, forever.

  Her tongue darted out of her mouth to lick her kiss-swollen lips, and he could not stop himself from burying himself in her to the hilt. He closed his eyes, anger at his clumsiness warring with the pleasure of feeling her body close around his. Before he could open his eyes to beg her forgiveness, he heard her sigh and felt her hips rise to grind against him.

  Little vixen.

  He opened his eyes, pleasantly surprised to see her writhing not in pain but in search of more pleasure. He would give it to her, now and always. He slid out and then in again, her tight body closing around him as though it had been made for him. As he drove into her fully, she cried out in pleasure, rising to meet him. Ewan tried to move slowly, to maintain control, but the sounds she made and the way her hips pistoned against him drove him mad.

  He had been afraid he would hurt her, but she was proving no delicate flower. She was taking as much as he was giving. He gave her more, thrusting hard—the way he liked it. Her breasts bounced with the movement and her fingers dug into his arse so hard it almost hurt.

  “Yes,” she said on a moan. “Like that.”

  Still holding himself back, he slid deeper than he had, angling up to press friction against her center. He knew the moment his efforts had succeeded. Her eyes widened and she rose up. He thought she might kiss him, but the vixen went for his shoulder, biting him hard before falling back and screaming loudly enough to alert the entire club to their activities.

  Not that he cared. That bite was his undoing. He lost all sense of control, battering into her until he spilled his seed, hot and wet inside her. The orgasm seemed to go on and on and finally he realized it was not her shouts he should have worried about.

  It was his own.

  When they were both quiet, breathing heavy in each other’s arms, Ewan buried his face against the sweet skin of her neck. She was more than his match, more than he could ever have hoped for.

  And she deserved more than a wedding by special license.

  Reluctantly, Ewan pulled away from her and sat. Her body, pink and slightly damp, beckoned him back, but he resisted. There would be time to take his fill of her after they wed, time to indulge in all the fantasies he’d dared not allow to cross his thoughts, time to take her hard and slow and so gently it left them both limp with pleasure.

  “Get dressed,” he said, rising.

  Lorraine opened one eye. “I thought it was wonderful too.”

  Ewan suppressed a smile. He supposed he might also need time to develop sweet, romantic words to give her.

  He pulled her up and dumped her chemise over her head. Pulling the fabric down until it covered her body, she uncovered her eyes. “Are you taking me home?”

  “Yes.”

  “And if I don’t wish to go?”

  “I won’t leave you here, and I plan to speak to your father.”

  He dragged on his trousers, well aware that her shocked silence would not last.

  “I beg your pardon? Shouldn’t you fetch the license first? Rather, why do we need to speak to him at all? He has already given his opinion, and I for one do not need to hear it again. Why would you speak to him?”

  As usual, he did not know which question to answer first. “I will inform him,” Ewan said, opting to answer her last question. “That I will marry you with or without his blessing. I’ll give him a chance to see us wed properly.”

&nbs
p; She stared at him, her green eyes glittering like emeralds. Bloody hell, he hoped those were not tears making them so shiny. “You mean like in a church?”

  He nodded.

  “With banns and guests and attendants?”

  Good God, he hadn’t thought of all that, but he could not backtrack now.

  “He will say no.” She grabbed Ewan and hugged him. “But thank you for asking. You never do take the easy way, do you?”

  Ewan supposed he didn’t.

  At least not intentionally, but to his surprise the duke not only agreed to see him when, after ensuring Lorraine returned safely to the house through the servants’ stairs—he should have installed a permanent lock and key on those—Ewan darkened the duke’s door. The butler returned from the duke’s library and motioned Ewan to follow him.

  Ewan was so surprised he almost wished he’d worn a cravat.

  When the library door opened, the duke turned from the window, where he’d stood gazing into the small, struggling garden. He nodded at Ewan and looked back out the window. “This is by far the coldest spring I remember. Look.” He pointed out the window. “The trees are still bare and the leaves brown. I have to wonder if we’ll even have a summer or a single flower.”

  The butler closed the door behind him, and Ewan crossed his arms. He had never been one for meaningless chatter, and he had nothing to add to the topic of flowers or spring. “I want to marry your daughter.”

  The duke turned to face him. “I did not think you had come to discuss gardening. But I did hope you would not bring up a topic we have already put to rest.” He put his hand on his desk and slid a folded paper toward Ewan. “This is your salary. Take it and we can conclude our business once and for all.”

  Ewan didn’t even lower his gaze. “I want Lady Lorraine.”

  The duke’s gaze remained on Ewan. “I am offering you payment for services rendered. That is all.”

  Ewan wanted to turn and go. He wanted to walk away, acquire the license, and ride hell for leather back to London to steal Lorraine away. But she wanted a wedding and banns and attendants.

  He tried not to shudder.

  “I do not need your blessing, but I would like it. The lady has already agreed. She wants announcements and guests and a church.”

  The duke raised a brow. “I can keep her from you.”

  Ewan didn’t even bother giving a response. No one could keep Lorraine from him, and the duke must have known his words were empty threats.

  “What do you want?” Ridlington finally asked. “Do you want a wedding with all the fanfare?”

  Ewan gave him a stony stare. “I want her happiness. Nothing else matters.”

  The duke sighed. “So do I.” He rounded the desk and slapped Ewan on the shoulder. “You don’t know how pleased I am to see you and hear you say you will not give up.”

  Ewan narrowed his eyes. Was the duke feeling well? He did not smell of spirits.

  “You are not the man I would have chosen for her, but you are the right man after all. You love her, and that makes all the difference.” The duke stepped back. “You do love her, do you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then love is what matters.” He pointed to Ewan. “Do not let anyone tell you differently. I had to learn the hard way. Too much pride to fight for the woman I wanted and loved. I had to make sure you were smarter than I.”

  “I have your blessing?” Ewan asked, still uncertain.

  “Yes.”

  The library door opened, and the Duchess of Ridlington entered, followed by Lorraine, who looked as surprised as Ewan.

  “You have my blessing as well.” The duchess left Lorraine at his side and crossed to stand beside her husband. Lorraine elbowed Ewan in the ribs when the duke took the duchess’s hand in his.

  “When would you like to have the wedding?” the duke asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Ewan said.

  Lorraine gave him a look of exasperation. “You know it will be at least a month before all the banns may be called.”

  “And there is Lorrie’s trousseau to think of,” the duchess added.

  “One month then,” Ewan said. When the women looked as though they might protest he held up a hand. “No more.”

  “Lieutenant Colonel Draven has offered to assist Mr. Mostyn in opening a pugilism club. I believe he is eager to marry so I might be able to assist him,” Lorraine explained.

  “I believe that is one reason he is eager,” the duke muttered. “A pugilism club is all well and good, but you needn’t ask Draven for help. You will have Lorrie’s dowry as well.”

  Lorraine gasped. “Really? Even though I am not marrying the man you chose?”

  “We want your happiness, dear,” the duchess said. “But we wanted to make sure this was not another passing fancy. If you love him—truly love him—so do we.”

  “Oh, Mama, I do! I really do.”

  “I see that.” The duchess gave the duke a look that spoke more of love than any Ewan had ever seen. Then she tugged her husband’s arm. “Let’s give the two of them a few moments to discuss details.” She wagged a finger at Ewan. “Just a few moments and just a discussion.”

  He bowed slightly.

  When the door closed behind the duke and duchess, and Ewan and Lorraine were alone, Lorraine twirled into his arms. “I confess I am shocked at this reception. When I found my mother in my bedchamber, I thought she would thrash me. I cannot think what has come over the two of them.” She looked into his eyes. “Do you think they’ve fallen in love again?”

  “Probably.”

  She brought a hand up to his cheek and rested it lightly against the bristle. “Do you think we shall ever fall out of love?”

  He took her hand and placed it on his heart. “Not so long as this is beating.”

  Lorraine’s eyes widened. “So you can be romantic!”

  “Only when it’s what I truly feel.” And before she could say more or her parents could return or the madness of wedding preparations could begin, he took her lips in a kiss designed to show her exactly how romantic he could be.

  Twenty-four

  Neil could have killed the Protector. Not only did the bloody fool want to leg-shackle himself, he felt the need to drag Neil, Rafe, and Jasper into the fray as well. Why not make all the men of Draven’s troop attendants and be done with it? His men had suffered through more dangerous missions, although all the weeping ladies in the church definitely ranked this task one of the top five most miserable.

  Neil could see Stratford and Phineas grinning at him from the third pew. They obviously thought it amusing to see Neil and Jasper shifting uncomfortably while the vicar droned on. Rafe, for his part, stood beside Neil looking as cool as a stream in spring. But then Rafe was a master at dodging matrimony. He was probably not standing here imagining himself in Ewan’s position.

  Neil glanced at Ewan, who towered over his pretty bride, her small hand in his larger one. He couldn’t see Ewan’s face, but he could see Lady Lorraine’s, and she was smiling so brightly he almost needed to shield his eyes.

  Ewan had looked the same when he’d asked Neil to stand up for him. The Protector had been doubly pleased because not only would he wed the woman he loved, but he’d heard the Earl of Pembroke had thrown Francis out of Pembroke House and cut off his allowance. Neil might have had some part in making sure the earl knew of Francis Mostyn’s latest transgressions.

  The Protector’s beaming smile caused Neil the moment of weakness that had led to his agony at present. He had not been able to refuse Ewan’s request to serve as an attendant, even though he not only detested weddings, he detested pomp and ceremony. If Neil had been in Ewan’s position, he would have said the vows in front of two or three witnesses and been done with it.

  That would not have won Ewan much applause from his bride, and that was why Ewan had agreed
to suffer through this ritual. Neil would not have left one of his men on the battlefield, and this wedding was tantamount to an offensive. Neil couldn’t retreat now. God knew Ewan needed reinforcements to shore him up.

  God also knew they could all be drinking at the Draven Club right now, enjoying peace and quiet and a lack of weeping, if Ewan hadn’t fallen in love.

  Poor man. He’d probably never have another moment’s peace and quiet again. Lady Lorraine was pretty and amusing, but in one hour the chit said more than Ewan ever said in a year.

  To each his own, as the saying went.

  For Neil’s part, he’d stick with peace and quiet. After surviving years of chaos and commotion on the battlefield, Neil relished what little peace he could carve out of life. It wasn’t much. The nightmares still haunted him, as did the echoes of the men he had left behind—the ones he’d had no choice but to leave, the ones he had shoved a knife into, the ones whose blood he had felt warm on his hands as their lives drained away.

  The people in the church erupted into cheers and clapping, and Neil started, his thoughts still anchored in a smoky battlefield where the mud would be stained red for years to come.

  Beaumont’s hand landed on his shoulder, warm and reassuring. “It’s over,” he said.

  Neil didn’t know if Rafe referred to the wedding or the memory of the battle. For Neil the war would never be over. Marriage, babies, a family—those tenets of normal life were for other men, men like Ewan.

  And oh how, for one fleeting moment, Neil envied his friend.

  Order Shana Galen’s next book

  in The Survivors series

  No Earls Allowed

  On sale March 2018

  Read on for an excerpt from book 2