by Jenn LeBlanc
He waved his hand at Gideon.
She stood on the third step, but was so diminutive she still had to look up to meet his eyes.
“There is a position available in my household,” he began to say, but the girl turned away from him and ran back into the house.
Gideon and his companions leaned sideways, peering through the open door as she vaulted up the interior staircase, taking two at a time.
“My, but she’s spry for a tiny gel,” Smyth mumbled. He shrugged his shoulders when Gideon looked at him. “I guess she don’t want the position, Yer Grace.”
Gideon turned back to the manor and a few moments later he saw the girl running back down the stairs with a small sack and a blanket. He grinned.
“Well then, I guess we’re off. One more thing, Hepplewort. Your behavior will be reported to the House of Lords, as well as the London Society pages and all the gossip sheets. If you know what is best, you won’t step foot off this estate again. Ever.”
Hepplewort seemed to understand his sincerity. He shriveled and looked down as Gideon advanced on him. “I know you, I know the things you’ve done, and if you think for one minute that you can continue, you’re sorely mistaken. Consider yourself never to be heard from again, by anyone, anywhere. Is that understood?” Gideon stood over the man as he cowered on the stairs. He wanted desperately to take revenge for Lilly, but this was not the time.
Hepplewort nodded and dragged himself into the house, half walking and half crawling. He kicked the door shut behind him, leaving Morgan tied to the horse out front.
Francine smiled at the tiny maid whose face shone brighter than the sun.
“Oh, milady! Ye’re my hero! Ye’ve rescued me and I canna thank ye enough!”
Francine laughed and hugged her. “It was you who rescued me. I couldn’t possibly leave without knowing the name of the girl who buttoned me into such fine boots.”
“Yes, milady, I thought as them boots might come in handy. I’m called Melinda.”
“Well, that is a beautiful name. Shall we?”
Melinda smiled and handed her the blanket. “I thought mayhap ye could use this.”
Francine grinned and Gideon wrapped the soft blanket around her. She turned to him as he once again jumped up to his horse and pulled her cautiously across his lap.
Perry, Smyth, and Gentry followed suit.
Smyth grunted and put his hand down to Melinda and she grasped it, the strong man pulling her tiny figure up astride the horse in front of him with ease.
“Oh my,” she exclaimed as she wiggled in her seat, “but this is a big animal.”
Smyth’s jaw dropped as he paled and they all laughed, turning to leave.
Francine wrapped her arms around her duke, her Gideon, and closed her eyes. She wasn’t afraid anymore. She was with him. She had been numb for so long and because of him she could now feel. She’d traveled through space and time and found the love of an eternity. She was content knowing that she belonged in his arms and she knew, somewhere deep inside, that she wasn’t going anywhere.
Riding nearly straight through to London they arrived late, surprising Gideon’s household. The staff had not expected them back since they believed he’d return to Eildon after retrieving Francine from Gretna Green.
Sanders yelled for the servants to make up rooms since Perry insisted on staying at Roxleigh House in case a reprisal from Hepplewort came, but Gideon stopped the butler’s orders. “The main guest suite is already prepared. Lord Trumbull can sleep there. We’ll all retire immediately. There’s no need to fuss about in the dead of night.”
“Your Grace, the lady needs a place to rest as well. If Trum—”
“She will stay with me. There will be no discussion on the matter,” Gideon said as he pulled her close.
“Your Grace—”
“That will be all, Sanders,” Gideon said. “You are overstepping your bounds. I will not endure another word. Show our new maid, Melinda, to a room on your way to the third floor.”
Sanders straightened and walked slowly toward his quarters without a sound. Gideon shooed the rest of the servants away and they went skittering for the darkness like a disbanded troupe of chattering mice.
“Gideon,” Perry said.
“Not you as well,” he said, looking at his brother with a distinct lack of patience.
“Let me have my say,” Perry said. “I understand your need, and for tonight I believe we can turn a blind eye, but on the morrow she should return to the guest suite, and behavior should return to some semblance of propriety. I understand this situation is rather out of the norm, so I give you leave—”
“You give me leave?” Gideon boomed as he released Francine and approached his brother.
Gentry reached for his master’s arm but Gideon shook him off without effort.
“Rox,” Perry said, attempting to quell the angered duke. “We are all on the same side here. Nobody is going to deny you—tonight. We all need rest,” he continued slowly, “and I understand that you need to know she is safe and the best way to do that is to have her close. I, as her guardian, give you leave,” Perry pronounced each word carefully, “to see to that.”
Francine reached out to Gideon, and her small hand on his shirtsleeve brought him back to her in that moment. “Gideon,” she whispered before covering her mouth and looking from Perry to Gentry apologetically. “Your Grace, we should rest, we should all rest. We can talk in the morning, but for now, please, let’s rest.”
He nodded, wrapping his arms around her frame. He looked at Perry and nodded, then shook his hand and Gentry’s before taking Francine to his suite.
Perry watched as they ascended the stairs. “Her safety here in this household will be your sole responsibility until we return to Eildon,” he said, looking at Gentry. “But for tonight, she is as safe as she could possibly be, so you should get as much sleep as feasible.”
Gentry bowed. “Yes, milord,” he said, before turning and melting into the darkness.
Perry ran his hands through his disheveled hair, disrupting it further as he heaved a sigh and walked up the stairs toward the guest suite. He shook his head as he closed the door behind him, taking in the scent of his ward and his brother’s betrothed. Lavender and rain, he thought, scoffing. “I hate lavender and rain,” he mumbled. Two days from a proper bath and she still held that scent. As if it wasn’t the oil but her very essence. He grumbled as he fell to the counterpane and kicked his boots off without a further thought to undressing. He was well asleep within moments.
The next morning, Ferry walked into the duke’s bedchamber, swept the heavy drapes open, and turned.
Gideon heard his approach and flung the counterpane over Francine. “That will be all, Ferry,” he called out from the shelter of the bed.
Ferry looked at the overlarge mound on the bed and strode quickly for the door. “I beg pardon, Your Grace,” he said as he left. Shutting the door behind him, he grumbled. Someone could have warned me, he thought as he leaned back against the door, trying to catch his breath.
Gideon looked down at Francine as she stirred beneath the tent of blankets. She was still quite disheveled, but lovely as ever. He had undressed her and placed her in his bed, watching as she drifted off to sleep. He sat in a chair next to the bed, not wanting to close his eyes for fear that he was in the throes of madness and she would disappear the moment he turned away. His heart beat stronger and his chest filled with pressure as he watched, until he could no longer stand to be so far away. He’d put out the light and crawled into bed, molding her to his form.
Gideon threw the counterpane aside, his gaze roving over her. He didn’t believe she was ready for a second encounter with him, though he could feel to the depths of his soul that he was, and just the thought stirred him. He groaned and rolled from the bed, tucking her in carefully. He donned his robe and walked to the door of his chamber and opened it swiftly. Ferry fell back into the room in shock.
“I beg pardon, Your Grace
, I didn’t expect—”
Gideon waved him off. “Have a bath prepared here for Lady Francine and run mine in the bathing room,” he said quietly. “Have one of the maids attend her. The new girl, Melinda.”
Ferry nodded and walked away.
They bathed and dressed in separate rooms, but she stayed in his chamber as he finished readying for the day.
“I do wish we could have simply returned to Eildon,” Francine said as Gideon straightened his shirt and pulled his waistcoat off the stand next to his bed.
He looked up at her, and the waistcoat fell back to the stand. “Truly?”
“Of course, why do you ask?”
“I guess I thought you enjoyed London.” He walked over to her.
“Well, yes. I thought London was nice for a visit. But I have come to love Eildon. It’s peaceful and beautiful, and the light is different. It’s clear, and the air is clean and sweet, not foul. It just feels different, and I really miss Mrs. Weston,” she said with a smile.
He took her up in his arms and kissed her. “You cannot know how that pleases me, and I shall endeavor to return us home as soon as possible. Within a sennight should be reasonable. I’ll make sure Shaw is finished with his work, and there will be the ball to celebrate the posting of the banns in six days, and—”
“I thought that was going to be in a week,” she said, moving to the fireplace.
“Actually, now I think on it, five days is plenty of time to make arrangements. Then we will leave directly.”
She laughed and picked up the paper slipped under the door, reading the headline: Dashing Duke saves blushing bride from Evil Earl with lascivious lovemaking. Francine laughed and glanced back at Gideon. “Oh my,” she said, her hand hovering in front of her mouth.
He read the paper over her shoulder. She imagined him turning beet-red with steam shooting from his ears, but instead she was greeted with a devilish grin as he grabbed her by the waist, turning her to him and leveling a passionate kiss on her lips.
“Gideon!” she exclaimed as she broke free.
He laughed as he nuzzled her, pulling her back into his strong arms. “Well, my sweet, I wouldn’t want to make a liar out of the author, and we cannot hide from the gossips. The way I see it, this is fantastic press considering what it could have been. The ball in four days will be the most sought after event in the ton, not to mention the wedding ceremony and banquet back at Eildon. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh, I see. Now it’s four days? Gideon, honestly, I don’t care about all this ceremony, you know that.”
“I know, but you can’t argue with the fact that you have become the most celebrated ruined woman in all of London.”
“No, you can’t argue with that. After all, you were determined not to ruin me for the sake of my reputation, and this turn has you gloating. I will never live this down.”
“Of course you will. In a fortnight we shall be old news. After all, we are far removed from Society at Eildon, and they much prefer the fodder they can keep an eye on.”
She smacked playfully at the arms around her waist and moved to leave the bedroom, but he held her steadfast against him.
“Gideon, I have plans to make. You are a most demanding gentleman. I have less than four days now to plan—”
He cut her off, leaning in to kiss the edge of her ear.
“God, Francine, I am reaching my limit. I had hoped to give you time to recover before—” He sighed heavily and released her with great difficulty, clenching and unclenching his hands.
She turned on him. “The last thing I want from you is time, or distance. The time I want is with you, touching me, and the distance—none.”
“Well,” he said, his passion loosed by her words, “I don’t believe an hour will slow down your progress too terribly.” He moved toward her again.
“An hour?” she replied breathlessly, leaning her head back as she sank against him.
He shrugged. “Well, maybe a bit longer.”
She exhaled, the air drifting across his ear and sending a shiver down his spine, awakening his senses and his need. His hands traveled her form, investigating the rise and fall of her chest with every breath, the goosebumps that rose under his calloused fingers as he drifted over her soft skin. He measured the heartbeat in her neck with his kisses, softly licking and nipping, feeling the tempo increase beneath his smiles.
He drew her back to the bed and sat at the edge, undoing all the ties, buttons, stays, fastens, laces, and binds that kept her from him.
She turned under his attentions, her eyes wide with nerves as her trappings all fell away, landing in a pool of soft, multicolored fabrics at her feet. One hand fluttered to her chest and the other below her waist and he reached for them, pulling them aside slowly.
“I told you never to hide yourself from me.” He lifted her hands, kissing the marks on her wrists, then placed them on his shirt. “Undress me,” he said in a voice which was no more than a pleading whisper. He shook from the effort to slow his movements.
She blushed violently and pulled him up from the bed.
He smiled as he bent his head to her. The kiss warmed, drove, opened, and revived her.
She pulled at his waistband, feeling for the clasp hidden inside, and his hips jerked forward. The tension from his rising erection slowed her progress. Her fingers moved nimbly down the placket and his breath quickened against her hair. Feeling his muscles tightening, she released him and looked up into his face anxiously.
He smiled, patient.
She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and he held his hands up as she unhooked the sleeves and tossed the linen to a chair. Her gaze drifted over him before finally resting on his face, searching his expression. Her first time had been in a field of flowers, under the dappled sunlight, like a dream. Now she was here, in his bedchamber—his bedchamber, she thought.
He smiled as she hooked her thumbs in his waistband and pushed his trousers down. He sat again at the edge of the bed and kicked his shoes off while she pulled each pant leg by the ankle, then tossed them aside.
The she was looking at the bed behind him, through him, around him, but never quite at him.
He stood again and closed the gap between them.
She shut her eyes, concentrating on the feel of her naked skin against the full, bare length of his. The slightest move sent shivers through his muscles. Her nipples rose to tight peaks as they grazed his chest, and trails of pinpricks spread like wildfire beneath the surface of her skin. Her breath hitched as his fingers traced up the backs of her arms from wrists to shoulders, straightening her spine as they progressed, at last raising her face to meet his kiss.
“Gideon,” she breathed nervously. She looked up into his eyes. “Gideon, I…I am…”
He quieted her by brushing his lips back and forth across hers. “You have naught to fear from me. We will be slow,” he whispered, kissing her lower lip, his hands reaching around her waist. “And I gentle.” He drew her up against him carefully, aligning their bodies to fit together as he turned. He lifted her then, placing her in the center of the large bed, and stood proudly, allowing her perusal.
She watched his breath come and go, his strong arms held at his sides. She could see his willful restraint and it reinforced her desire. She implored him to join her with her eyes, and the bed sank from his weight as he mounted the bed. He crawled over her, kissing his way up from her toes, drawing soft whimpers from her. He lowered himself over her, matched part for part.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered.
“I— I’m just nervous. I guess. I mean. Ahhh.”
“What can I do?” He lifted her hair and spread it across the pillows around her, smoothing it out.
“Just touch me,” she whispered. “Just keep touching me and don’t stop, not ever. Not for a moment.”
“That,” he said softly in her ear, “I can do.” He spread her legs beneath him with one knee. He caressed her nipple, causing her to arch into him. His hand sk
immed down her side to her knee, lifting and wrapping her leg around his waist.
“Gideon, slowly. Please, slowly,” she whispered as she was opened to him. She pushed at his shoulders and he shifted over her, making her skin tingle. Her fingers tensed against him as he entered her with painstaking caution. She felt herself stretching to accommodate him and she squirmed. The feel of his skin sliding across hers, his spicy scent, salty taste, the sound of his exertion as he breathed, and the warmth of his breath drifted across her senses.
Gideon groaned as he felt her ease around him, and his momentum increased.
She watched his expressions change, feeling the network of electrical webs spreading then condensing. Her mouth opened wide as she inhaled, over and over, trying to gain more oxygen, her moans turning to screams as the quickening enveloped her.
Gideon urged her on, holding steady and deep, feeling her pulsing flesh drawing his release. He shuddered, his hips thrusting as he cried out, their hearts racing in matched cadence. He rolled swiftly to his back, pulling her with him.
She squeaked at the rushed movement and collapsed on him. He smoothed her hair back from her face, spreading it across her back, then lifted it and blew a stream of air across her warmed skin, drawing goosebumps and making her sigh.
“You have me spent. How do you do that so easily?”
He smiled. “It’s not me, but you. You bring this out of me.”
She smiled shyly, studying him from beneath her long eyelashes. “You simply can’t keep doing this to me.”
He held her tightly. “I can, and I will. And what’s more, you will enjoy every minute of it.” He placed a kiss at the tip of her upturned nose.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered, her fingers at her kiss-swollen lips.
Gideon walked into his study to find Perry and Shaw deep in conversation. “Gentlemen,” he acknowledged, reading the story from Miss Witwick’s Society Pages again. He laughed and handed the paper to Perry as he sat as his desk. “You may have to send these to us at Eildon after we leave. I’m finding them quite enjoyable.”
