by Jenn LeBlanc
She looked like herself, except her hair was long and brown, and of course she wasn’t really herself, was she? She wasn’t in her hometown, she wasn’t in her apartment, she wasn’t riding in a cab on the way to work, she wasn’t even in the 21st century. She exhaled sharply. She was this woman’s daughter. She sat up. The woman downstairs is my mother.
She shook her head, driving away the thought. The woman downstairs had seemed cold and distant after that first startling outburst. If they had at one time been irrefutably connected, wouldn’t her body feel some physical twinge when they came together again? She didn’t feel the slightest sense of recognition, and shouldn’t she? She hoped that the connection between a mother and a daughter wasn’t so easily disrupted.
She remembered the feeling every time she had returned home to see her mom; she would feel a small tear in her belly until she was warmly embraced by her, repairing the damage of separation. She still felt that tear, so the woman downstairs could not be her mother.
Her mother had been so safe, so warm, the epitome of what motherhood should be. She knew she probably embellished her memories as they pertained to her parents, since she’d been so young when they were killed, but that didn’t matter. The underlying feelings, the basic sense of connection, was still there. She already had a mother, and that woman was not Mme. Larrabee, regardless of heritage and ancestry.
She felt dangerously adrift, and she needed something tangible. She had no control over herself, her future—anything. She couldn’t even decide what she was eating for lunch—it was simply made for her like it had been when she was a ward of the court. But she had become used to having complete control of her life since leaving the system. Nobody told her what to do, and if they tried, she fought against it and generally won. She sighed and huddled on the bed. She hated being handled. I can handle myself. Or maybe—maybe I can’t. How could one small person become so irretrievably lost, and why did it have to be her?
Stapleton jumped when the door to the parlor opened.
“You may retrieve His Grace,” was all M. Larrabee said.
Stapleton bowed and walked back across the great entrance to the study. “Your Grace, Monsieur Larrabee has requested your presence in the parlor.” Stapleton held the door for the gentlemen.
Shaw was sitting in the chair nonplussed. Gideon stood, clapped him on the shoulder, then reached out to his brother.
“Blargh!” Perry spat as he was yanked unceremoniously to his feet.
“You are a mess. You could have waited until after their decision to get soused, could you not?”
“Four,” was all the reply Perry gave.
“Time to pay the executioner,” Gideon jeered at him. “Come, Shaw, you won’t want to miss this.”
Shaw nodded in agreement and helped Gideon straighten his brother’s jacket.
Mme. Larrabee looked at the three men with a great deal of satisfaction when they entered. The look eased Gideon quite a bit. He walked directly to M. Larrabee and stood tall, his shoulders squared, his hands clasped behind his back, causing M. Larrabee to step back a pace. Perry came to stand beside Gideon, attempting the same stature, but coming up just a bit shy, as foxed as he was.
“We have decided to accept your offer, with a few caveats of our own,” Larrabee said. Gideon and Perry gave him twin cautionary looks, causing him to back up another pace and clear his throat.
Mme. Larrabee nudged at his back. “First,” he began, “we expect to be apprised of our daughters’ progress. We do not wish to be removed entirely from their lives.”
“And second?” Gideon asked with a glare.
“Second, you must inform the suitors that the girls are no longer available, and make reparations directly, making sure they will not seek remuneration from us.”
“And?” Gideon prompted again, expecting a laundry list of petty requests.
Larrabee stood straight and looked into Gideon’s eyes. “C’est tout.” His hand cut the air in a gesture of finality.
Mme. Larrabee hit her husband on the shoulder.
“Yes?” Gideon encouraged.
“Yes, Your Grace, eu, we would request a room pour la nuit. It is quite late and we have traveled a great distance. If you have accommodation, may we rest?”
Gideon thought for a moment. He couldn’t very well kick them out without a word. He would—after all—be their son-in-law, though they weren’t aware of it. Misguided as they were to their daughters’ upbringing, he would not begrudge them shelter.
“Stapleton will show you to a guest suite. Of course, in consideration, and because we have not yet formalized this arrangement, I would request that you do not leave the suite unaccompanied. I will have a footman attend you, and please be aware that should you leave the suite at any time, I will be informed.”
“Of course, Your Grace. We will abide by your graciousness and hospitality.”
Gideon nodded. “We can make the arrangements on the morrow. I have a man in town who can draw the necessary guardianship paperwork.”
Perry groaned, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “Excuse me, I believe the lamb is not sitting well. I must bid you all good-night,” he said, then practically scampered from the room.
Gideon called for Stapleton, and the crowd retired.
Gideon disrobed and crawled directly into his bed, throwing the heavy counterpane aside as he stretched and settled the many sheets over his body. He was too exhausted to even bother dressing in his cotton sleeping trousers. He had no plans to leave his room until the following morning.
He snuffed the last candle over his headboard and was settled on his stomach for some much needed sleep when he heard first the outer door, then the sitting-room door, and finally his bedchamber door open and close quietly. He lifted up on his elbows, expecting to hear Ferry traipsing across his room. Then, realizing Ferry would have come from behind the fireplace, his breath caught.
“Gideon,” Francine whispered, and with that one small word he was rock hard. He jerked up, trying to discern her figure in the darkness. He heard her trip on something, a tiny cry escaping her lips. He moved to help her, then realized he was trapped in the bed by his nakedness. His breath hissed as he inhaled.
“Gideon,” she whispered again, “are you still up?”
He shook his head. Still? Not still. Again—yes, but not still. “Yes,” he grumbled. “What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I had to see you,” she whispered so softly he could hardly hear her.
Leaning forward, he grasped her hand, trying to stop it from moving across his body as he felt her fingers passing over the blankets, coming dangerously close to the evidence of his arousal. “You shouldn’t be speaking, and you shouldn’t be here,” he said.
“And yet, I am.”
“You definitely should not be in here,” he said, attempting to convince her again that she should leave. “Mrs. Weston will have an apoplexy when she discovers—” He drew in a resolute breath as he felt her other hand on his chest and the weight of her body on the bed.
He let go of her wrist as she moved toward him. “Lord take it, Francine, you must leave, you simply must. This is terribly untoward, you cannot—” He was cut off again by her hand, this time against his mouth. He thought his cock would burst from the pressure pulsating violently to his loins. He groaned, and her lips caught the noise before it had a chance to escape, her tongue teasing timidly.
He reached up in the dark to find her shoulder to push her away, but her arm wasn’t where he guessed it would be, and he ended up with the soft mound of her breast cradled in his hand. She gasped and pressed her lips harder against his as he opened his mouth to her.
The woman above him was not acting like an innocent. He marveled at the thought as he momentarily yielded to her pleasures. Larrabee said he hadn’t received confirmation of the consummation of her marriage; Gideon had assumed that meant that she wasn’t yet married, but what if she was? What if Hepplewort had already clai
med her? Gideon could never marry her, and she had been lost to him before this began—but for tonight, if she was married and he made love to her, he would cuckold that bastard for terrifying his innocent wife.
“Stop thinking,” she whispered.
“Hush.” Gideon found a new source of passion. His thumb circled the hard point of her breast through the fabric of her nightgown as her breath wilted in a sigh. He rolled her beneath him in one swift move, twisting the blankets about them, placing one of his thighs between her soft legs. He spread her below him and she whimpered. He shifted achingly slowly, settling his heavier points into her supple curves. With one hand on her hip he moved the other to her nape, gently caressing the hollow below her ear with his thumb.
She opened her mouth to him and he took, plunging into her, tasting the satiny inside of her lips and the slick underside of her tongue, feeling a powerful shudder wrack her body from her head to her toes. He suckled her lower lip, tasting the essence of the drunken pears from tonight’s dinner, which even now lingered. He drew her lip between his, teasing it with his tongue before letting it go then licking and nipping at the other. He felt her hands on his back, the pressure of her touch making him aware of his muscles twisting beneath his naked skin.
He shifted against her, the hardness of his body settling further into her pliable form. Moving his hand from her hip, he skimmed across her belly and up the center of her body between her breasts, pausing to feel the flutter of her heart as she arched into him, digging her nails into his shoulders. He winced and leaned up on one elbow, keeping his hand on her chest as he looked down into the darkness that enveloped her. He wanted desperately to see her. He imagined her silky skin shimmering in the moonlight, and the thought caused him to press his hips into her involuntarily. Blasted curtains! he thought, with a deep-seated moan. He preferred to sleep in total darkness, not waking until Ferry came to open the folds to the morning light. He never thought the darkness would bestow him such disadvantage.
Grasping both sides of her head as he balanced over her, he took her mouth again.
Her mind centered on the hard shaft that stroked her sensitized skin through the fabric. As Gideon moved he kissed her cheeks, eyelids, and forehead, drawing a path of heat over her face with a long slow burn that made her gasp for air.
He pushed his fingers into her hair, holding her head back as he trailed kiss after kiss down her jaw. With his tongue he lit a fire down the curve of her neck until he found the hollow at the base of her throat, where he rested his lips, quietly groaning against her, pausing for what seemed an interminable expanse of moments. His entire body tensed in check.
“Francine, I am very much past the point where I can rationalize,” he growled, the vibration of his baritone resonating through his chest and sinking into hers, firming her nipples. “You either need to find your way out of my bed, or I will find my way into you.”
She felt the blood rush to her head at the delivery of that sentence and nearly balked. His strength, which currently surrounded her, was evident and a bit overwhelming. She felt every muscle wrapping his bones and pressing into her, the length of every band held at bay over her. She had never felt so fragile in all her life. But then— Doesn’t he realize this is why I’m here?
Her response was to bend the leg not caught beneath him, wrapping it around his waist, urging him on. His hardness inched closer and closer to where it was made to be, and every increment brought the cadence of her heart to a stronger rhythm. This is it, she thought. Finally, tonight, right now, this is it. The warmth of his breath against her neck loosened the muscles of her throat, forcing a sound of carnal ecstasy to escape her lips.
She moaned that final plea and his senses unraveled. Rising above her, he kicked their legs free of the blankets and reached down with one hand, dragging the hem of her nightgown up until his knuckles rested against her exposed knee. He breathed deeply of the scent caught in the hollow of her neck.
His hand traced her knee to the crease that led around the back, into the softest skin of her leg. He trailed his calloused fingers up her thigh, drawing her leg up slowly as the nightgown slid on his forearm.
“Gideon,” she said, almost sotto voce. It drove him.
“Again,” he said gruffly. “Say my name. Again.”
“Ahh, Gideon!” It left her lips in a cry that caught as he reached the crease just below the soft roundness of her buttocks.
He pushed his fingers between her legs and she was wet—for him. Drenched in passion for him. He held a triumphant smile in the darkness as she gasped again and her hands flew to his shoulders, pressing him back slightly, sobering him as another, smaller cry escaped her lips. With great difficulty he raised himself on his elbow, releasing her hair and bringing his hand away from her womanhood.
She clenched his shoulders. “No, please, please, please, Gideon. Don’t stop,” she breathed. She gasped sharply as he carefully placed his hand on the side of her hip and stroked the juncture between leg and belly with his thumb. Her body started to tremble at his pause and withdrawal.
Gideon thought about what he’d learned this night, how she must be terrified of moments like this. How Hepplewort must have taken her by force and how difficult it must have been for her to soften and come to him. “Francine. Sweet, lovely Francine. We should not—”
“No more,” her voice wavered as she whispered. “I am only scared, because—just—don’t stop,” she begged. “I want you, Gideon. I want to feel you inside of me, filling me.”
He was shocked. She ignited a fire that no power on Earth could repress. He felt unbound from his senses, his emotions grazing the surface of his skin, raw and unprotected. His head dropped to her chest as he uttered an agonized sound, his brain wrestling with her fears and his conscience. Slowly, surely, he moved his hand to the triangle of curls at the base of her belly and smoothed them with his fingertips. He felt her thighs open to him instinctively. He turned his head and took one nipple into his mouth, wetting the fabric of her gown with his tongue, teasing with his teeth.
She jerked at the shock of the wet heat, the sensations racing from her breast to her belly, concentrating inside with a tingling pressure that threatened to burst. She opened her eyes wide, straining to see his head bowed over her body through the inky darkness, but she couldn’t. She reached for his disarrayed locks and immediately tangled her fingers, stroking and pulling and pushing, urging his mouth over her breast. He moved to the other, where an equally powerful shock sent her hips thrusting forward into his hand.
His mouth teased at her nipple, gathering the intoxicating threads of energy. She felt his fingers unfurl and shift as his palm flattened against her, and she pushed back. Never in her life had she been closer to another human being. Never in her life had she been so naked, her emotions laid bare. The darkness intensified rather than softened. She felt her entire being on display for him, as though he were reaching in to stroke her very soul.
He slipped farther into her curls, searching to find that which lay protected within. The first touch sent another jolt to her belly as he gently encircled the crux with his thumb, caressing and teasing mercilessly. Her heartbeat quickened against the lips pressed to her chest as his hand slid even farther down, until one finger slowly smoothed through the soft folds, leaving his thumb to stroke the delicate nub.
Oh God. Oh God. She could feel the callouses, the hard flesh, the bend of his finger. She closed her eyes and felt. Simply felt. The texture of his hand was so different from everything of her. He moved slowly, practiced, almost perfectly, so steady it was maddening. She squirmed, only to have him restrain her with his weight.
Gideon moaned at the hot wetness enfolding his finger. How can she still be a virgin? Even though he couldn’t see, he closed his eyes to concentrate on his other senses. Letting his hands speak to him. If Hepplewort had his way, certainly she would have been loosened. He shook his head, panting heavily against the warmth of her flushed skin. Perhaps she is merely tense from
fear. He stroked her, feeling her saturate with desire until he reached the precipice which he could not sustain without taking her.
“Please.” she said. The word came on a breath.
Soaring down the peak like an eagle in flight, the last vestiges of propriety left his consciousness. He quickly moved his other thigh between hers and spread his legs, pushing her open for him. In the same moment he swept her nightgown up over her head, tugging it free from her arms and flinging it across the room.
He placed one hand at her nape, the other coming to the small of her back. Carefully tilting her pelvis for his intrusion, he kissed her throat with searching, open kisses, breathing deeply as he attempted to control the forward thrust of his hips. Every muscle in his body trembled as he reined his advance.
He felt the head of his manhood encompassed by her folds, and his lips drew back across his teeth, sending a hiss of breath against her neck. His mouth parted against her neck as though to bite her, but he never pressed the sharp edge of his teeth, only the pliable pressure of his lips as he drew against her.
He moved forward slowly—then felt an undeniable resistance. Through the haze of his desire he gradually comprehended the meaning of the barrier and froze in pained abeyance as the reality of the matter set in. He shook his head. His eyes opened wide as he lifted above her, trying desperately to see her through the veil of blackness.
Her eyes flew wide as he began the advance, the pressure intense as her body stretched to accept him. Then she felt the sudden twinge that threatened a searing pain, followed by his nearly imperceptible retreat. No… No, no, no. She reached down, grasping his hips. Digging her nails into his buttocks, she urged him forward. “Please,” she begged.
He froze. His breath quickened, his entire body tensed, and her nails dragged over his flesh as he pulled back from her, causing Francine to cry out a great sob of defeat.
