Inside. Perhaps, just a little. But a little was so good, she was sure that a lot would be even better. And before she knew it, she had pulled herself forwards, up and on to him. She felt a moment’s difficulty, a stretching of her body and a fullness that seemed to go on and on to the very centre of her being. She squeezed his hips with her thighs, riding him, feeling the slip and pull of their bodies and pressing her palms flat against his chest to hold him still so she could do what she wanted, moving harder and faster, falling forwards on to his mouth, tongue to tongue in time to the rise and fall of her hips. She found she could tighten her muscles and control his response, making him groan under her. And then he clutched her hips and thrust upwards, hard, and something broke inside her until she was shaking as violently as he was, inside and out. Slowly, the insanity that had gripped her subsided and she relaxed and lay still on top of him, feeling his arms stealing around her to hold her close.
He sighed, smiling and untying the ribbon of her bonnet that had slipped uselessly down her back. ‘I do not know why men are so enamoured of virgins. Sometimes, a small amount of experience…’
‘For their heirs, silly,’ she whispered in his ear. Perhaps he had forgotten that fact. When she raised her head to look at him, he was staring up at the sky as though he was not quite sure what had happened to him. ‘They fear a woman who has strayed once will make a habit of it.’
‘Or they fear they will suffer from comparison,’ he admitted, with unusual candour.
‘That need not be your fear,’ she said, blushing. ‘If what has just happened is any indication, you will be first and only in all ways that matter to me. You are magnificent, Reighland.’
He stroked her back. ‘And I will not be searching for a mistress to share my rides. I am imaging some long and very interesting picnics taken at various places about my properties.’
‘That sounds pleasant,’ she said. ‘You did promise me a picnic, you know. And riding makes me hungry.’ She gave an experimental flex of her muscles.
‘Apparently, riding makes you insatiable.’
‘It makes you peckish as well.’ She could feel him rousing within her.
He was laughing now, kissing her, pressing his face into her neck. ‘Never mind your father, and the ton and titles and propriety. Marry me, Priscilla. Do it because you want to.’
‘Yes,’ she said with a smile. ‘I think I should like it very much.’ He was moving under her in a way that made her forget that she had ever been frightened of him. He was large, but he was gentle when he needed to be. And she was having the most unusual and inappropriate thoughts about the anatomy of a man who would be her husband, and was already a peer of the realm. It felt deliciously wicked, in a way that she had not felt since she was young and foolish, daring and unafraid of being hurt. No matter what might happen, she was quite sure that Robert would not harm her.
‘What is it, wench?’ he growled. ‘Are you laughing at me?’
‘Not at you, precisely, your Grace.’ But she was laughing, thinking of all the shocking things they were likely to do together.
‘Then stop it immediately. The succession is very serious business.’ He reached under her skirt and gave her a playful swat upon the bottom, then surged up into her again with a groan of pleasure.
‘We cannot be seeing to that, now,’ she murmured against his lips. ‘You have not married me yet. Perhaps we should stop this, lest we create a by-blow and not a little duke.’
‘Stop?’ He rolled with her until her body was trapped beneath his, then redoubled his thrusts. ‘In a while, perhaps. Long enough to get a special licence and drag you before a vicar.’
‘A bishop,’ she said breathlessly. ‘You are a duke, after all. I want a bishop at St George’s.’
‘I will marry you before a druid in the woods, if that is what you wish,’ he grunted. ‘After that, I will lock our bedroom door and you will not wear a thing more than my ring for at least a week. Perhaps two. Dear God, you are sweet. I am undone when I am with you.’ To prove the fact, he spilled into her with a sigh and a shudder of pleasure.
‘And suppose that is not to my liking?’ she whispered.
‘Then I will give you what you want. Whatever you want, to make you happy. To make you love me.’ He kissed her, fervently, ardently, with all the desperation of a lovesick youth. ‘No more games, Priss. Say you’ll have me. You’ll not regret it, I swear.’ His voice was soft, urgent and totally sincere.
She pushed a hand between them and ran a finger down his chest, worming it through gaps in waistcoat and shirt until she could touch the hair on his chest. ‘I want a horse.’
‘Done.’
‘Two, then. A curricle and team of matched Yorkshire Trotters. And a high-perch phaeton to drive in Hyde Park.’
‘Yours. All yours.’
She smiled up at him. ‘And I would trade them all to hear you say that you love me.’
‘I think that I do.’ He seemed as surprised as she was. ‘I am sure of it, as a matter of fact. I love you, Lady Priscilla.’
It was the strangest feeling, being close to him like this, smelling flowers and hearing his breathing in her ear and the soft sounds of nature, all around them. She was happy and at peace as well. ‘And I love you, Robert.’ She smiled and said it again. ‘I love you.’ She raised her head and kissed him again. They belonged together. He had been right all along. And of all the mistakes she had made in her short life, being wrong about Reighland was the one that she was most glad of.
Chapter Thirteen
The time was passing in a whirl and yet it seemed to drag on without end. The banns had been read twice. The church had been reserved, the flowers ordered and a menu chosen for the wedding breakfast.
The only thing Priss had not managed to achieve was an invitation for her sister. Her father would not permit it and crossed the Hendricks name off the guest list when she’d tried to add it. When Veronica had found her handwritten offer she had removed it from the outbound post and reminded Priss of her duty to uphold the family honour.
She would have to go to Reighland with it, she suspected. She was sure he saw the Folbrokes regularly. He must see Mr Hendricks, and perhaps Dru as well. It would annoy Father to no end, but he would submit to rank and let the duke have his way.
That would be the best thing about marriage, she was sure. A rich and powerful man was offering it to her with a twinkle in his eye, daring her to take advantage of his good nature and make him wield his power for her. Robert seemed like a most reasonable man, and she would have the latitude to visit where she wished and to avoid whom she pleased, even if it was her own father. The Duchess of Reighland could see Dru whenever she wanted.
Well, perhaps that would be the second-best thing about marriage.
Priss stared at her smiling reflection in the mirror, as the modiste crouched at her feet, setting pins in her wedding gown. But she could not help but smile when thinking about all the pleasant things she might do with her soon-to-be husband to reward him for his efforts on her part.
Robert had been very proper with her, since that day they had lain together in the flowers. They had not been alone at all in weeks. But when he looked at her, there was something smouldering, deep behind his eyes, that gave the lie to the propriety of his speech and actions. It said that the title and lands were as nothing compared to the winning of her. He was as eager for this marriage as she had become. Even if he’d been a boot boy, the look would still have been in his eye and he’d still have made her feel like a duchess.
Yesterday, she had received a carefully wrapped package from him containing a large and boring book, and a chemise so fine that it could be slipped unnoticed between the pages. There was another note that duplicated the last. ‘Wear this, and think of me.’
And as before she could think of not
hing else. She had been a fool to have worried about Robert’s dark looks and considerable size. She still thought of him as rugged rather than handsome and his manner was sometimes blunt to the point of embarrassment. But she had learned from Gervaise what a pleasant face and pretty manners were worth, once the doors were closed and friends and family far from earshot.
Now that she had joined with him, the thing that had once frightened her had become the focus of many pleasant thoughts. She wanted it. She needed it. She wore his gifts whenever she was able, even though they were exquisitely arousing. And she had taken to touching herself at night, to gain some relief. While she did it, she thought of how much better it might be, if it could be his hands moving on her body. He must know what she was doing, she was sure. It explained the note.
When they were alone again, she would tell him how she felt. Because of him, she was young and alive, for the first time in months.
One more reason she needed to talk to Dru. She was happy and in love, and longed for a confidant to share the news. She doubted that Veronica would care one way or the other. Perhaps she would not even understand the words. There was no question that Ronnie had married Benbridge for social status, power and wealth, but there was no sign that she had looked further than that.
Priss would have all those advantages with Robert as well, but it was better that there was a deeper fondness. She was eager to see him again, if only to hear his voice and to laugh at his jokes, which were never quite jokes. She wanted him to stand a little too close to her and say the wrong thing, even if he knew the right thing, just to annoy and amuse her.
They would go back to his house in the country and the horses that he was so proud of, which were better than the boring beasts her father allowed her in the city. There were miles of unexplored land to gallop over, and logs and fences in need of jumping. He would not be bothered to lecture her about the need of maintaining a safe and sedate pace so that she might display herself in the right light without mussing clothes or hair. In fact, he would make sure that she never returned from a ride in the proper condition she’d set off in.
The modiste helped her off with the nearly completed gown. And when she had been dressed again she met Ronnie in the front room of the shop, where she had been paging through La Belle Assemblée and sipping chocolate. They arranged for the delivery of wedding clothes and exited the shop, walking up Bond Street toward the printers, where invitations awaited her approval.
In the past, shopping with Ronnie had been an endless tedium. But today, each new errand increased Priss’s happiness. Even conversation with her father’s wife was enjoyable. Clearly, love was utter madness. But it was also quite delightful. Priss wondered why she had resisted it for so long.
And then she glanced up the street and saw him.
Gervaise lounged against the side of a building, watching her as she made her way towards him. Veronica was oblivious, of course. She had never met him and would not see the obvious risk. She would lead Priss right past the man and think nothing of it. An explanation would mean stopping dead in her tracks for a series of questions and answers. It would call even more attention to the possible meeting.
She could tug on her stepmother’s arm and demand to be taken across the street. But she suspected that, if Gervaise meant to make mischief, he would follow them. Far better to brazen it out and act as if he meant nothing at all to her. But as they came closer, each step was an agony. An agony that she dare not reveal.
Priss schooled herself, looking ahead and not to the side, focusing on her destination some streets ahead. It was like being trapped in one of her nightmares. The weight of a man’s body seemed to press down on her chest, cutting off her breath. As they passed him, she answered some foolish question of Veronica’s and heard the thinness of her own voice, as though it came from a great distance. Ronnie was too preoccupied with her shopping to notice the difference.
There. It had been hell. But they were past him and she had managed the cut indirect. Unlike Robert, Gervaise should understand the significance and leave her alone. He was making no move to follow her now.
From behind her, she heard a laugh.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Of course, rebellion in the north must be put down with all due haste. There is far too much latitude given to the working classes. And the troops in York…’
Robert did his best to ignore the long-winded rant of his future father-in-law. It would not do to provoke the man in the middle of his own house, especially not when it might further upset his fiancée at her engagement ball. But the earl was trailing him from card room to dance floor and back, and would not leave him alone.
It had not been Robert’s intention to spend the whole of the night in male company. He had not seen Priss as often as he’d liked in the last weeks. Now that he could spend time with her, it was clear that the girl was suffering from wedding nerves. She looked tired and worried. But she was as beautiful as ever in a gown made of something gold and shiny, which went well with her hair. He had told her she looked like an angel, for the ribbon in her hair did rather remind him of a halo.
He had expected some sort of thanks in response. Or at least a blush. But instead she’d looked at him as though he were mad and said that all of London knew there was nothing the least bit angelic about her.
He suspected it was the nonsense that had been appearing in the papers that was bothering her. If he were to believe it—which of course he did not—his future duchess was being seen all over town in the company of her old lover. Things would settle down, once they were married and the rumour spreader realised that they had done no good with them.
There was no point in letting the words of meddling fools cause pain. The taunting would only increase, if one responded to it. Such pettiness could be endured and ignored. Soon they would be married, Parliament would be out of session and they could go back to the country and the horses, which were simpler.
Of course, horses could be false jades as well. But when he was with them, there was never a question in Robert’s mind as to who was to ride and who was to be ridden.
When they were alone, he would remind Priss that peace was almost within reach, but for now he had managed to calm her as they had waltzed together, making her laugh and pulling her too close until she had slapped his arm with her fan and scolded him for being impertinent.
‘I cannot help myself,’ he’d whispered. ‘It has been weeks since I’ve had you. And two weeks more to wait until I will have you again. A man has needs, you know.’
That should have resulted in a glib comment or perhaps another scold. But instead she’d looked even more worried and echoed, ‘Two weeks. How will I bear it?’ as though she were speaking some thought that she’d meant to keep hidden. Then her grip had tightened on his arm and she’d said, urgently, ‘Let us not wait. You have the licence. We could run away tonight, if we wished, and be married first thing in the morning. It would be done then and you could have me all to yourself, as often as you liked. Please, Robert? Could we elope?’
It had been quite flattering to see her so eager for him. And strange that he had been the one to remind her of the need for pomp and circumstance, now that the invitations were on their way. She had looked so disappointed that he had suggested that perhaps a clandestine meeting might be arranged.
But she had shaken her head, refusing to leave her house, even to come to his. He must speak to Benbridge about it, if the man would ever leave off talking politics. ‘Who is that man that Priscilla has been talking with?’ he interrupted, finally out of patience.
‘What?’ Benbridge was clearly annoyed to be bothered with anything so mundane as his own guests.
‘I saw a tall slender man with pale hair offering her a glass of punch just now.’
Benbridge turned his head. ‘I see no such person.’
&nb
sp; Nor did Robert, at the moment. But the man had been there earlier. He was certain of it. ‘He stood up with her earlier, a while after I did. He seemed a bit of a fop.’ And an excellent dancer.
Benbridge gave another cursory scan of the crowd. ‘He is not here now, at any rate. But if it is a concern to you, you had best ask Priscilla to introduce you to him.’
‘Perhaps I shall do that,’ Robert said. Although at the moment, he could not manage to find Priss amongst the dancers either. ‘If you will excuse me, I think it is time for me to speak with her.’ Perhaps it was past time.
* * *
‘Why are you here?’ Priss demanded. It had not been bad enough that Gervaise had appeared at her engagement ball, making her worry which of the guests knew him, and which did not. That had made her nearly dizzy with panic, just as she felt each time she saw him on the street.
Now, when she had gone to search for Robert, trying to find him before the gossips did, Gervaise had been the one to follow her into the hall.
‘I am here because you invited me, Priscilla, ma chérie.’
‘Leave off with that immediately, you horrible man. I am not your chérie, and never was.’ She glanced around her, relieved that they were alone. The solitude would not last for long; she must get him out of the house before they were discovered in a tête-à-tête. ‘Do you not notice that I cut you each time you accost me? Why do you continue to follow me? It should have been clear after the first day that I do not wish to renew our acquaintance. And I certainly did not invite you to my home.’
‘Of course you did.’ He removed an invitation from his pocket and flashed it to her so fast that she could not see if it was an outright forgery or a genuine card that had been addressed to another and altered. Again, she felt as though she was trapped in some bad dream, one where she had been foolish enough to send a card to him, creating the problem, just as she had by eloping.
Lady Priscilla's Shameful Secret Page 15
