by Lauren Smith
“Damned carriage dresses,” he muttered.
He moved down her body, shoving her skirts up to her hips. Laughing softly, he muddled through the mountain of petticoats and undergarments until he found her hot center. He stroked her sensitive bud, teasing her relentlessly before finally slipping a finger into her, torturing her with pleasure. Gillian threw back her head, moaning at the delicious invasion. She arched her hips, urging him to push in deeper.
“You’re so lovely,” he breathed as he leaned over her. “So much that it hurts.” The air between them sparked with invisible lightning as he leaned down and kissed her. His hand was still between her thighs, and she panted for a climax. He unfastened his trousers and moved back over her, sliding into her, filling her with his every inch. When their hips met and he was finally seated inside her, his kisses turned ravenous. His demanding mastery of her mouth made her body quake with hunger.
“James, please, stop teasing me.” She clutched his shoulders, pressing beneath him, desperate to encourage him to move.
“I could stay like this forever,” he murmured in her ear. “You are the one for me, love. There can never be anyone else.”
His words rushed through her like a wondrous wind, sweeping her away with an explosive thrill. She felt the same, the desire to stay this way forever, to bottle it up and keep it just between them. If only…
The realization that this moment would end was dispelled as he began to move inside her. She ceased to be Miss Beaumont or Gillian the lady’s maid and became a being of feeling and emotion, of light and heat. Rationality was obliterated as she curled her arms around him.
As their bodies joined, passion pounded deep inside her heart, moving outward until it filled her head to the breaking point. With a dull roar she shattered into a million glowing stars. Yet he didn’t stop. He continued to thrust inside her as she quivered around him, the aftermath rippling through the most secret part of her. She could taste the salt on his skin, the sweetness of his mouth, and she focused on holding him within her, feeling one with him in a way she’d never dreamed. He came with a low cry and buried his face in her neck, covering her with breathless kisses. Their soft breaths mixed, and she couldn’t resist savoring it, knowing it couldn’t last.
“One of these days,” he panted, trying to catch his breath, “I’m going to strip you bare slowly and take my time, make you come apart in my arms over and over again.”
The soft glow of joy from their lovemaking was dimmed by his words.
“Is that bad? Should I not have—?” Lord, she was a wanton creature who was too base. What must he think of her, being too aroused so fast?
“No!” He laughed as he rose and settled down beside her. But when he saw her face, his laughter died and he cupped her cheek. “No, it’s wonderful. You are so free with me. Do you know how rare that is?”
Gillian shook her head. “You must have been with many women.”
“I haven’t,” James said. “Not fully. Before you, there’s only been one other woman.”
“What?” She sat up a little beside him. Their legs were still tangled, but she didn’t try to pull away.
“I suppose it’s not very roguish to admit, but I’ve only been with one woman before you. She was a local girl near my estate. I was a boy. My father had just died, and she comforted me. After that I just never…” He paused, seeming to struggle for words. “I’m not a saint. I’ve enjoyed the passions of women since then, just not fully. I never felt close enough to any of those women to want to open myself up like that again. Until you.”
Gillian stared at him. She had spent the past week convincing herself that he would move on, that he could be with many other women, that what they’d shared had only been special to her.
I’ve been so wrong about him. So very wrong.
“Gillian?” He whispered her name, worry etching lines in his face. “What is it?”
“I…” She blushed and put a hand on his chest, toying with the buttons of his waistcoat. “I’m honored that you shared that with me.”
Shadows covered his eyes. “But you still hesitate to let me court you?”
“No. I mean I do, I would like to, but it would never work between us. You must trust me when I say I cannot be the woman destined to be the Countess of Pembroke.”
“Then there will never be a Countess of Pembroke while I’m alive, not if I cannot have you. Listen to me, Gillian.” He cupped her cheeks in his hands, his eyes and voice so full of confidence. “I am not a man who cares about his reputation. Just because I have a title and I live in London doesn’t mean I care about looking good to the ton, because I don’t.” He stroked the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks. “I only came here today hoping to find you. Whatever you are worried about, I’m positive it won’t matter.”
But it would. He just didn’t realize how much. But Gillian knew that a servant and a peer marrying would tarnish his reputation and destroy his sister’s marriage prospects. Any political ambition he might have would die as well. He would be cast out, ostracized.
“If you won’t give me forever, will you give me this week at the house party?”
A week. Could she take that risk? Have seven wonderful days to be with him the way a lady would be with a gentleman? To live a fantasy, if only for a while, knowing she would never have another such chance? It was a risk, but she didn’t want to refuse. What memories they could make in a week would last her a lifetime.
She nodded. She couldn’t have refused him, didn’t want to refuse him.
“Excellent,” he said and placed a kiss on her brow. “Let’s get ourselves in order and ride back. Dinner will be soon, and you will need time to prepare.”
Gillian almost said she needed very little time, but she couldn’t forget that now as a lady there were expectations as to her hair and gown. She would have to look her best in terms of hair and clothing. She was never more thankful than in that moment for the fine gowns Audrey had insisted she bring along for herself.
“Yes, of course.” She took one last look of longing out across the golden meadow and the forest beyond, then back at James. Her James.
One week to pretend he is mine. It will be enough.
Dinner was a dreadfully dull affair from James’s perspective. He had to spend the entire evening next to a young woman of his acquaintance, Miss Venetia Sharpe. She was a nice enough girl, but her naked ambitions always sent him running. He had no desire to marry a woman who would push him into a political career because it would further elevate her own status.
He sought out Gillian farther down the table, and their gazes briefly locked. He smiled at her as he remembered how they’d made love in the meadow. A blush reddened her cheeks, and she returned his smile, although she soon ducked her head and turned to speak with her companion.
“My lord?” Venetia leaned closer, her perfumed scent distracting. It wasn’t unpleasant, by any means, but it wasn’t Gillian’s sweet scent of rosewater and something feminine and natural.
“Er… Yes.” He reached for his wine goblet for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. Already his senses were beginning to become unsteady. He would be lucky to stand after a dinner like this.
“I recently began a correspondence with your sister, Leticia. She’s a lovely woman, and when we return to London, I hope that you and she might join me for a ride in the park.”
James was tempted to praise the woman for her brazen attempt to connect herself more firmly to him. If he was seen riding with Venetia and his sister, it would set tongues wagging that he would likely be marrying the girl.
“That sounds nice. I’m sure Leticia would be delighted to ride with you.” He carefully chose not to confirm his own presence in that particular activity. He leaned forward and glanced down the length of the dinner table at Gillian again. At least twenty people were here at Rochester Hall for the party.
Gillian was seated between Charles Humphrey, the Earl of Lonsdale, and Jonathan St. Laurent. She seemed to
be talking rather animatedly whenever Jonathan addressed her, but each time Charles spoke she blushed and glanced hastily back to her dinner plate.
A flicker of jealousy shot through him. The man was fair in looks and most amiable. He was one of James’s friends, but he was also a damned rogue and a reckless seducer. James didn’t want his woman anywhere near such a man. Gillian glanced around and caught his eye, offering a small smile. This time when she blushed, he knew it was because of him.
An elbow jabbed him in the ribs. Venetia stared at him in shock, looking all too innocent.
“My apologies.” He realized then that the humming sound in his ears, one which had been annoying him, had been Venetia’s voice.
“My lord, I really must tell you that your distraction is most upsetting.” Her announcement drew the attention of the guests surrounding him, and his face flamed. Across the table, Lucien Russell, the Marquess of Rochester, his host, was trying to hide a snigger behind his wineglass. His wife, Horatia, was frowning at him, but then she winced and touched her belly.
James knew that many men would have shut their wives in for at least two months prior to their delivery, but Lucien hadn’t. He’d confessed to James earlier that day that the thought of his wife lying on a bed for two months was unconscionable. It would drive them both mad.
“I truly am most sorry,” James said to Venetia. He was relieved as the next course arrived and everyone looked toward the rich bread pudding and a tower of red and blue jellies that were carried in. Several people applauded at the sight, and James took the opportunity to steal another glance toward Gillian.
Ten people separated them, and he could barely stand it. If he had to survive an entire week without sitting beside her at a meal… Perhaps he could convince Horatia to change the seating arrangements each evening. It might give him a chance to sit closer to Gillian at least once without offering offense to Miss Sharpe. She’d clearly set her cap for him and wouldn’t be deterred.
As dinner came to an end, James was ready to flee to the billiard room along with the rest of the gentlemen. He would find a way to get to Gillian tonight, once the lamps were doused and most of the servants had gone to bed.
He paused in the hallway as the ladies withdrew from the dining room and proceeded toward the drawing room. Gillian looked his way. He smiled again, trying to ignore that boyish rush of hope each time she smiled back.
“You’d best watch yourself, Pembroke,” Lucien said as he joined James in the hall.
James glanced toward Lucien. “I beg your pardon?” The redheaded devil was grinning.
“I see you’ve got your eye on one lady, but another is out to leg-shackle you.”
James sighed and then laughed. “The claws of Miss Sharpe are long indeed. I thought I wouldn’t survive past the third course.”
Lucien patted him on the shoulder. “Come and play a game. You can forget all about scheming ladies.”
The billiard room was full of gentlemen pouring glasses of port, and at least four men were ringed around a lacquered box, plucking cigars out. Charles lifted one to his nose and sniffed, then grinned and tossed it at James. James caught it as he and Lucien joined Charles.
“Long night ahead, I should think,” Charles said.
“How so?” James asked.
“The ladies will be up late. They were all a little too lively. It means we will be up late to keep a watchful eye on them.” Charles’s tone held a hint of mischief.
“True.” Lucien’s eyes strayed to the door. James realized he had to be thinking of his wife and her condition.
“Lady Rochester still has a month before the birth, doesn’t she?” James wasn’t sure how delicate he ought to be when speaking of her condition.
“Before the birth, yes, but…” The man’s eyes were shadowed with worry. “She’s been having pains today, and I don’t like to be too far from her.”
“Hence our role as night watchmen.” Charles chuckled. “Jonathan, bring that port over here.”
Jonathan retrieved a set of glasses as well as the bottle and carried them over on a tray. He set them down on the table near the billiards.
Lucien reached for an empty glass and poured himself a healthy amount of port. “Excellent—”
The door to the billiard room burst open, and Gillian rushed in, breathing hard. Her cheeks were flushed, and her bosom heaved against her tight bodice. James frowned. Something was wrong. Gillian wasn’t the sort of woman to storm into a billiard room.
“My lord!” she called out to Lucien. “Lady Rochester, her water has broken.” She stared at Lucien as every man in the room leapt to their feet.
“Horatia?” The glass slipped from Lucien’s hand and shattered at his feet.
“The baby, it’s coming early. You must fetch the doctor at once.”
“Early?” The word was a harsh whisper. Even men knew a little about babies and that a babe born too early would have to fight to survive.
“Yes.” Gillian turned to James then, her gaze beseeching him to help. Lucien was too shocked to react.
“What can we do?” James asked, his heart racing.
“The doctor. We need the doctor,” Gillian repeated.
“I’ll fetch him,” Jonathan volunteered.
“Yes, go now, Jon,” said Charles. “Hurry.” Jonathan sprinted from the room. Charles looked to James and nodded in Lucien’s direction in a silent command, which James immediately understood. Both he and James grabbed Lucien by the arms and jolted him into moving.
“Come on, old boy, let’s go upstairs and see what we can do,” Charles murmured soothingly to Lucien. The once notorious rogue, who’d faced a duel against his own best friend, was now pale-faced and shaken. The rest of the men returned to their drinks and cigars, knowing it was best to stay out of the way unless called upon.
James, Charles, and Lucien followed Gillian up the stairs to a bedchamber.
“She’s in bed resting, my lord,” Gillian said. “But she’s asked for you to come inside.”
James was a little surprised. Men usually stayed out of the way, or at least he’d been told that was the proper thing to do. But if Lucien felt about Horatia the way James did about Gillian, he wouldn’t want any woman he loved facing this moment alone.
Lucien was shaking as he turned to his friend. “Charles, you helped when your little sister Ella was born, didn’t you?”
“I did.” Charles’s normally jovial manner had vanished. “It was a birth late in my mother’s childbearing years, and we feared neither she nor Ella would survive. I was lucky enough to witness what was done, and I learned from one of the maids how to help.”
“Until the doctor is here, could you help us? We have no one trained in birthing here. My mother is visiting my brother Lawrence and his wife, Zehra, in London. I don’t want Horatia to face this alone if you know what to do.”
“Of course.” Charles and Lucien entered the bedchamber and closed the door.
Gillian turned to James.
“What can I do?” he asked her. “There must be something.”
She nodded. “Get the footmen to bring boiling-hot water and as many clean cloths as they can. And a blade, one that’s been cleaned by the fire’s edge. We’ll need that if the babe comes soon.”
He swallowed hard. “A knife?”
“Yes. There is a cord that must be cut when the babe arrives.”
“Right…Well, I’ll get the knife and the rest.” He grabbed her by the hips and pressed a hard, desperate kiss to her lips before he ran to find the servants.
8
Gillian touched her lips, lost in the sudden rush of emotions she felt in James’s kiss. Then a cry from the room behind her had her rushing back inside. Horatia was crouched beside the bed, and groaning in just a nightgown.
Lucien gripped one of her hands, his other arm at her lower back. She panted and puffed out several quick breaths and then relaxed. Audrey hovered nearby, her hands wringing fretfully.
“Does it h
urt much?” Audrey asked her older sister.
“Ah!” Horatia clenched down on Lucien’s hand.
He winced. “God’s teeth! Where does a woman find such strength?”
“I think it’s safe to say it hurts a great deal,” Charles said to Audrey. “Why don’t you see if we can’t get some chips of ice or cold cloths soaked in water?”
“Right.” Audrey turned to Gillian. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes, my lady, I can fetch them,” Gillian reassured her.
“Thank you.” Audrey hugged her and then turned back to her sister.
“I think I need to lie down…catch my breath,” Horatia gasped. Lucien helped her onto the bed. She lay on her side for a moment before she groaned and then rolled onto her back, legs up. Gillian rushed to cover her parted legs with a blanket.
“Lucien, did you have a birthing chair prepared?” Charles asked.
“No, we weren’t ready.” Lucien’s face was pale as marble.
“That’s alright.” Charles looked to Horatia. “You can lie on your side for the birth if you want to. If you feel the need to push, push,” Charles said. “If you need to get up again and move about, we’ll assist you,” he instructed. There was a tenderness there that Gillian had never seen in the Earl of Lonsdale before. He was usually focused on seducing women and getting into trouble, though not necessarily in that order, but right now he was solely focused on helping Horatia deliver a healthy child.
Lucian took a seat beside Horatia. He held one of her hands and stroked her hair back from her face, murmuring softly to her. Charles moved next to Horatia on her other side, holding her free hand and checking his pocket watch. Gillian stepped outside and found a couple of upstairs maids waiting.
“We need some ice from the icehouse, broken into chips, and some cold water and cloths.”
“Yes, miss.” The maids dipped in curtsies and rushed away. When Gillian came back in, Audrey and Charles looked her way.
