She could feel the low rumble of his voice all the way through her. “You—inside me. Now.”
“Just another minute,” Julian murmured.
It didn’t take another minute. As the quivers grew to a tumult, Georgiana bit down on her hand to keep from screaming. As if knowing that she would shatter if he pushed her any further, Julian shifted until he was beside her again, holding her gently as the shudders of satisfaction ripped through her. As the last ripples calmed, he slid firmly inside her and began to move. She moaned once with relief at having him where he belonged. But that comfort didn’t last long, for she was so sensitive now that his every touch created havoc.
Her hunger rose with each stroke, her frustration with each withdrawal. She met each thrust fiercely, drawing him more deeply inside her until ultimately even he could resist no longer. He smothered a hoarse cry against her throat and exploded inside her just as she also toppled over the edge.
***
Georgie had locked her legs around him—the girl’s flexibility was quite remarkable—so even if he’d wanted to pull away, he couldn’t have done so. Julian figured it would be wise to let her have that much of a victory; he was fairly sure he’d made his point.
Except that he couldn’t remember exactly what he’d been trying to prove.
To tell the truth, he couldn’t have moved even if he’d been completely free. He wanted never to withdraw, never to leave her. More to the point, he could barely lift his head enough to watch her. The effort was worthwhile, though, just to see Georgie’s distant, unfocused stare as she slowly came back to earth.
She gave a little hiccup of a sigh, shook her head as if to clear it, and eventually relaxed, freeing him. “That was nice, Julian.”
“Just nice?” he teased. Reluctantly, he pulled away and then shifted a little and drew her close to his side.
She didn’t answer.
“What’s wrong, Georgie?” He watched her eyes. “Are you having second thoughts about this plan of yours?”
“No…” But her voice was uncertain.
“Well, you should be.”
“Not all gentlemen are like you, are they, Julian? I mean they aren’t careful with women.”
He kissed her hair and snuggled her closer. Though disillusioning her had been necessary for her own good, and he was very glad that she’d finally gotten the point, he wished he hadn’t had to demonstrate. “Some men don’t see any reason they should care what their partners feel. That’s true.”
“Well, then,” she said firmly, “you’ll just have to help me decide which lovers to accept.”
Julian was speechless. Exactly where had his oh-so-careful lesson gone wrong? She was supposed to still be shuddering in horror at the thought of finding herself in bed with some cruel libertine. She was supposed to give up the entire idea—not try to turn him into her procurer!
“Georgie, if you think I’m going to arrange…” He swallowed hard and forced a laugh. “Sorry… I was a bit muzzy for a moment there. I didn’t realize you were teasing.”
“I wasn’t,” she said firmly.
“Well, I won’t do it. How the hell would I know, anyway? I’m not in the habit of watching people make love.”
“But you know what kind of men they are. Your friends, I mean.”
“Being honorable in a card game or a boxing ring isn’t the same thing, Georgie.” And if she thought for a single moment that he would run down a list of his friends, choosing which one of them should make love to her next…
The thought made his head spin. It was bad enough just to know that she intended to take lovers; the very idea of helping to select who and when was enough to choke him.
“You know which ones are gentle and thoughtful and kind—like you.” She smiled brightly at him and reached under the pillow. “That’s all settled, then. I found something today that I want you to look at.”
“Nothing’s settled—and what are you up to now? You haven’t already made a list, have you?”
“No, because I don’t know who to put on it. But that’s a really good idea, Julian—I’ll start collecting names, shall I? My friends talk about gentlemen all the time. And then you can help rank them.”
He stared at her, his jaw slack.
She held out a book, a small, slender, calf-bound volume. “I found this down in the library today. I thought it was the most amazing thing.”
Obviously they weren’t done yet with the idea of her list—but Julian was too boggled to even try to make her see sense just now.
Keep her too busy to make a list, his body suggested.
He sat up just enough to flip through the pages. She wasn’t joking about the book being amazing; it was full of woodcut illustrations of couples in intimate embraces. “I’m surprised this was in the library at all. It’s not the sort of book you want some aged relation’s eyes to fall on when they come to visit.”
“It was on the top shelf, pushed way into the back.”
“I see. And I suppose you stumbled across this only because you were ransacking the room for more sermons to improve your mind?”
He was beginning to anticipate exactly when her dimples would flash, and he wasn’t disappointed. “I was checking for dust,” she said demurely.
“Of course you were. Such a good little housewife.” The image of her in an apron and cap—and nothing else—tantalized him. To take his mind off it, he deliberately returned his attention to the book.
That’s not going to help, his body warned.
He turned a page. “Does this belong to your uncle?”
“No, I’m quite certain it doesn’t.” Her voice was airy.
“Oh, that’s right. You told me he doesn’t live here. Where does he live?”
Georgie didn’t answer. “I had to sneak the book out of the library tucked in my unmentionables, and I’ve been reading it all day. Well, looking at it, actually, because there’s not much to read.”
The mental image of Georgie’s method of smuggling would have been enough to stir a dead man to lust; what it did to Julian was downright painful. He turned the book sideways and looked more closely, trying to distract himself from his arousal. It didn’t help, though, for the book had fallen open to a position he’d never heard of before—and one he wouldn’t mind trying. If anyone could bend into that particular shape, it would be Georgie…
No wonder she’d been such an eager little thing tonight, after spending all day with this sort of literature.
“But I don’t understand how some of these things work. I mean, look at this one.” She flipped through the pages and held the book out to him again. “How can they possibly enjoy this? They’re not even looking at each other.”
He felt himself growing harder at the very idea.
All right, there are limits, his body whispered. I’m past mine.
“Like this, minx.” He set the book aside and spooned her into his body, her back nestled firmly against his chest, his hands cupping her breasts as he shifted her to just the right angle and entered her once more.
“Oh,” she said. “Yes, now I see. That’s quite an interesting…” Her breath caught. “…sensation. Oh, Julian!”
He had to admit he liked that one himself, for he found it marginally easier to maintain control. He could go on making love to her all night, like this—except that she was right; not being able to look directly into her face, to kiss her and catch her words on his lips, to see her eyes dilate as she climaxed, robbed him of the best part of the joy of making love to her.
He interrupted their play and pulled her on top of him instead, so he could teach her how to take charge of her own satisfaction. And only after she had once more come apart in his arms did he roll her onto her back and very slowly take everything he wanted, building to the strongest release he had felt in his entire life.
Nothing, he thought, could ever be as fulfilling.
He was almost dozing when Georgie said, “Once I’m established as a mistress, I’ll hear all
the gossip, and I’ll know all about everyone—so I can even help you find your heiress.”
He’d forgotten that particular notion of hers—that he needed to marry someone who would bring money with her. Not that it was a bad idea, he thought. At least if he married an heiress he wouldn’t have to fret about what demands the Old Man might make of him next.
He wondered, for an instant, if his grandfather was playing an even deeper game than he’d realized. The fact that the shrew didn’t have a fortune might actually be a benefit in the Old Man’s estimation—for the match meant that not only would he get hold of the corner of land he wanted so badly, but his heir would remain financially dependent on him… and therefore could be pressured for anything else the Old Man wanted.
I’ll think about that some other time, Julian told himself. Right now he was utterly exhausted… He’d rest just a little, and then perhaps he should go back across the garden. Surely by now Colford would have gone home and Thorne would be sound asleep…
But his body rebelled at the idea of leaving her.
“And perhaps,” Georgie went on brightly, “your wife won’t mind if you have a mistress. Most women don’t, my uncle says. So you can keep right on teaching me.”
“Your uncle shouldn’t tell you these things.” Every time she said something about her plan, Julian got a bad taste in his mouth—and it was getting worse every time she mentioned the scheme.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want Georgie to be his mistress—and he was rather sure that if he ended up married to the shrew he’d need a mistress. But what really made him feel ill was that he didn’t want Georgie to take lovers. Ever. No matter what.
He tried to open his eyes. “Your uncle is right, you know. Perhaps when he looked around for a husband for you, he could have made a better choice—but one man would be much safer for you than a string of lovers. You really should…”
She really should what? Marry? What was he thinking? That door was closed; he’d shut it for her himself the moment he’d climbed into her bed…
Remorse slammed through him.
Better me than the footman, he reminded himself. But the excuse didn’t help; he was the one who was responsible.
Surely there were men who were open-minded enough to understand. And Georgie was such a taking little thing—there would be a gentleman who would marry her anyway. Probably hordes of them, Julian thought.
But could her husband forget that she hadn’t been a virgin? Would he overlook her lapse, or would he throw it up to her? Blame her? Even punish her for it?
And no matter who she chose—even if her husband was a lamb who never blamed her for a moment—Julian had to admit that outcome wouldn’t satisfy him, either.
It wasn’t just that he wanted Georgie to be safe from harm—though of course he did. The truth was that he didn’t want her using her new knowledge with any other man, even with a husband. He didn’t want any man to know Georgie’s sensual side, to experience her playfulness, her humor, and that all-gone look in her eyes as she climaxed…
Any man… except for him.
That was the fact. The plain, simple, undeniable truth. It didn’t come as a shock; he supposed he had known it all along—perhaps ever since she’d made her crazy proposal. He just hadn’t wanted to think about it in quite those terms.
The problem was, what was he going to do about it?
There was only one course of action—only one thing that an honorable man could do. In the morning, he would talk to his grandfather. Perhaps Thorne was right, and if Julian made his case in a reasonable way, the Old Man would go along. He could get the land by some other means, after all—including marrying the shrew himself, if he felt so strongly about it.
Then, once he’d settled matters with the Old Man, Julian would hunt down Georgie’s uncle for a long talk about her future.
Only then—after he’d eliminated all the obstacles—could he come back to Upper Seymour Street and ask Georgie to marry him.
With his mind at ease, he snuggled her close. He would close his eyes and rest for a bit, and then he’d go back to Thorne’s house. Unless, of course, Georgie found another illustration in that incredible book and wanted it explained…
Maybe he’d buy her a copy of her own to keep under her pillow. As a wedding gift.
***
Georgiana nestled close against Julian’s warmth, but her heart felt chilly.
Your uncle could have made a better choice, he had said. One man would be safer for you… You really should…
Marry, he’d almost said. He might as well have spoken the word, Georgiana thought; the meaning was clear enough. His tone had been casual, as if he’d been giving her advice about a horse or a new dress. Of course, the idea of who she married probably mattered just as little to him as those other things would. Even less, perhaps, than the horse.
This, she told herself firmly, was exactly why mistresses were not supposed to get attached to their lovers.
Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for her to help him find an heiress to marry so he could afford a mistress, too. Because if he was to care more about his wife than he cared about Georgiana…
He should care more for the woman he married than for a mistress, she told herself fiercely. But though she believed that with all her heart, she wasn’t sure she could put the idea into practice. She wasn’t at all certain she could make love with him whenever he was free to come to her, and then smile and pretend it didn’t matter as she watched him go back to his wife and perhaps give her a child…
No. She couldn’t do it.
She had been taken off guard; she had never dreamed that she would come to care so deeply for Julian. Her lack of experience had worked against her. So she would simply have to be more careful in the future and never allow herself to become so involved again. And when the time came that Julian married, she would have to say good-bye to him.
But that time was not yet. For right now, he was still hers.
At least she’d thought ahead today. She had told Mary that she would want to sleep late in the morning and not to hurry about bringing her chocolate. Of course, Julian would still need to be out of the house before the kitchen staff began to stir, but Georgiana would have a bit more time to figure out what to do about things like sheets. She certainly couldn’t use the ink trick again, but she had no idea what she would do instead.
At any rate, she wasn’t going to worry about that until dawn came and he left her. In the meantime…
She wriggled suggestively against him. He shifted a little, pulled her closer, and rested his chin on her hair. She twisted round and pressed her breasts against his chest. He only murmured something—she thought it sounded like “Greedy wench”—and draped an arm across her, holding her still.
Georgie tried every technique she’d learned in the past two days but ended up admitting defeat—for nothing she did won a response. Obviously she wasn’t finished with lessons just yet.
So she curled up and listened to him breathe. There would be another night, she told herself. And, if she was lucky, another… and another…
She slept, secure in Julian’s arms.
***
Julian found himself walking through the pages of Georgie’s book, vaguely aware that he was dreaming—for the book had somehow grown larger and come to life. All the figures in the illustrations were real now, and they were all Georgie and him. No wonder he was so tired…
He heard something rattle, and then light shot through the room and struck his face like a blow just as he dragged his eyelids open. He wanted to curse. What was his batman doing opening the curtains in the middle of the night? But if it was the middle of the night, why was it light already?
Someone was making an infernal amount of noise; that was sure. Were they being attacked? He couldn’t for the life of him remember where he was—someplace in France, perhaps. It must be one of the rare times that they’d been billeted in decent housing, for he could swear he smelled chocolate and may
be freshly baked bread as well…
He opened his eyes. Beside him, Georgie was sitting up, her arms crossed over her chest, with the sheet clutched in both hands and drawn up to her chin. He grinned and eased closer, stretching out an arm—and she hauled off and smacked him across the top of his head.
Julian opened his mouth to protest—but before he could get the words out, he saw the enemy drawn up in battle lines at the foot of the bed. Two women stood there—a maid, complete with apron and cap, and an elderly woman wearing black, with a ring of keys jangling at her waist.
That might have been what he’d heard rattling, he deduced—the housekeeper’s keys. Unless it had been the curtain rings after all… or the china pot, cup, and saucer that sat on the tray the maid was still holding. She didn’t appear to have a very good grip on it, and her hands seemed to be shaking. The rest of the commotion must have been the maid having hysterics; she was quiet now, but her mouth was still gaping open as she stared.
“Master Julian?” The housekeeper sounded both astonished and horrified.
But not, Julian thought, any more shaken than he was. “Mrs. Mason? I thought Thorne had pensioned you off.”
“Mason and I were ready for a slower pace but not a complete…” She drew in a stern breath. “That, young man, is entirely beside the point! What are you doing here?”
Julian thought she probably didn’t need—or even want—to hear the answer. He rubbed his chin and looked around. Full daylight was streaming in the windows. It must be at least three hours past dawn. He’d apparently had the first thing resembling a full night’s sleep he’d managed since the start of the war.
And just look where it had landed him.
“Miss Georgiana,” the housekeeper went on, “what do you have to say for yourself?”
Georgie bit her lip and cowered a little.
“That’s enough, Mrs. Mason,” Julian said, and put his arm around Georgie. “Now if you’ll take yourself away for a while…”
“And leave you in this young lady’s bedroom? I should think not!”
From the doorway came a man’s voice. “What seems to be the—Master Julian!”
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