by Anna Small
“What happened to you? Were you once mauled by tigers?”
“Close. A very enthusiastic countess once clawed my shoulders at a most inopportune time. Her husband got me with a rapier point when he decided to defend her honor.” He paused for a moment, as if reliving the memory. “Come to think of it, he was rather a little late for defending her honor.”
“Did my…” She gulped, not knowing if she really wanted to know the answer. “Did Jonathan ever participate in these antics?”
He laid his right hand across his heart, but there was a sly gleam in his eye. “Your brother is a most exemplary man who kept his nose buried in his schoolbooks, while yours truly was out carousing like a tom cat.”
“Really.”
“Must we discuss Lockewood anymore? It rather stifles a man’s ardor if he’s forced to consider his brother-in-law.” He removed his watch fob and began unbuttoning the fall on his breeches.
Georgiana had the sudden urge to flee from the room, but something building inside her kept her firmly where she was. She was as intrigued as she was anxious, excited as she was alarmed. When she looked at him, she could still see the boy, forever a smile on his lips, always a prank or joke for her. How she’d looked forward to her brother’s homecoming from school at Christmas, for he always brought Jack Waverley with him. She would tag along when they were shooting or riding, and once even heard a whispered tale of something about one of the scullery maids she couldn’t wait to tell Mamma. Jack had bribed her with sweets not to tell that she became ill for two days.
And now he was her husband.
He was no longer the big-eared, skinny youth who pulled her hair and made little boats for her dolls to sail around the pond. The humorous look still occupied his eyes, and she suspected it would never vanish, but there was something else there now, too. It was as if he’d grown up and was both amused and horrified at the prospect. He had shaved that morning, but dark whiskers now shadowed his face, making him look even more roguish than ever before. She wondered how his rough jaw would feel against her skin, and trembled. She couldn’t stop trembling.
She turned away before he unfastened his breeches. Her fingers were stiff and useless as she fumbled with her stays. Her inept fingers tangled the laces into a knot.
His hands were on her shoulders, heavy and warm. She’d always admired his hands. They seemed so capable and strong. He’d held her hand a hundred times, but this was different. He was not touching her now in the way a youth protected a little girl. There was a possessiveness to his grip that had never been there before.
“I hope you are not embarrassed, my dear Georgie—I mean, my dear Mrs. Waverley.”
“I’m not to be Mrs. Waverley in the bedchamber, either.” She tried to make her voice sound crisp, but the words rushed from her in a single breath.
“I will call you my lovely one, then. Because that’s what you are. My God,” he breathed. “You’re so beautiful, Georgiana.”
A gasp strangled in her throat when his lips, unmistakably his lips, brushed against her ear, sending a thousand sparks flying throughout her body. She’d forgotten how to breathe or stand or think… She sank back into his arms just as his hands left her shoulders and wrapped around her waist.
“What…what are you doing?”
“You wanted love-making, did you not?”
His lips trailed deliciously hot kisses down the side of her throat. A shiver coursed through her and this time, she did wobble as she stood.
“I don’t know.” She’d forgotten everything they’d discussed. At supper, it had seemed so practical and simple. Consummate the marriage. It was an arrangement between old friends, for heaven’s sake. A physical act as old as time, predictable and mundane.
If it were so mundane, why did her body feel as if a thousand tiny explosions were searing her from the inside out? Why had she lost the sensation of firm ground beneath her feet?
“Well,” he began, turning her to face him and holding her against his bare, hard chest, “if you like, I can make this very quick and less satisfying for you, though infinitely easier on me.”
She wasn’t sure what he was talking about but sensed he was teasing her. Her chin lifted as some of her confidence returned.
“I do not want it to be easy for you.”
“Then you must not object to my…appreciation for your many charming attributes.”
Before she could ask what he meant, he undid her laces so quickly the stays dropped from her body and landed between them.
“It would be much nicer if you’d let me kiss you.” His voice was soft and low, lulling her into a dreamlike trance. One of his arms remained around her waist, and she was grateful for the support. His other hand trailed up her arm and skimmed her breast, causing her knees to bend as she nearly fell backward at the shock of his touch.
She didn’t want the night to end. Didn’t want any of it to be quick and, heaven forbid, easy on him. His lips were inches away, and she stared at them, mesmerized. “We should not kiss. I don’t want to fall in love. Remember what we said?”
The moment she said the word kiss, it was the only thing she could think about. Had it only been a few weeks since she’d greeted Jack at her brother’s home, eager to start their journey and resume their friendship? They’d gone from old acquaintances to husband and wife in the space of a heartbeat. A wave of gratitude swept over her. Were it not for his sacrifice of his bachelorhood, she might be having this same evening a year hence, but with Herbert Richmond or someone equally as loathsome fumbling at her instead of Jack with his sure, knowing hands.
“I remember. But do you think people fall in love over a mere kiss? I have it on good authority your sister-in-law did not kiss Lockewood once until they were betrothed. Do you think they didn’t love each other until the very second they kissed?”
She swallowed to moisten her dry throat, but it didn’t help. “So…if we kiss, we will not fall in love?”
“Not in the least. It is another part of lovemaking. I’ve kissed hundreds of women and not fallen in love with even one of them. And you wanted the full experience, did you not? I mean, if this is going to be our one night together, you might as well make the most of it. Do you not agree?” He tilted up her chin with the tip of his finger.
She hadn’t meant to look from his mouth to his eyes and then back to his mouth again. In truth, she couldn’t help but stare at it. His lips were full and soft, as much as she’d seen them drawn back in a sneer or in anger. The scent of wine lingered on his breath, and the chocolate they’d eaten. She’d barely touched hers, but he had eaten as heartily as if he had not a care in the world.
“Then…” She inhaled slowly, her breath catching in her throat. “Kiss me, Jack.”
A grin touched his lips, then vanished just as quickly. The last thing she saw before her eyes closed was the sight of his heavy lashes lowering over his gray eyes. His warm breath breezed across her lips before his mouth joined hers, and she froze in her shock and delight.
She’d thought his lips would remain pressed to hers and unmoving, but they were caressing, drawing her lower lip between them. She gasped for a breath, not realizing she was holding it, and his tongue entered her mouth. A quivering rush of warmth flooded her limbs, leaving her legs weak and trembling. Dazed, she collapsed against him, and he slid his hands beneath her arms and raised them around his neck.
She’d been kissed before. Edward had attempted it once or twice, on the desperate ride to Gretna Green what seemed like an eternity ago. But his breath had reeked of stale wine and tobacco, and she’d turned from him. Edward had been almost wild, groping at her, but Jack’s hands on her back were steady.
His tongue stroked alongside hers, and when she responded, he groaned low in his chest, like a bear she’d once seen at a fair. The rumble seemed to come from deep inside him and echoed in her head. She lost track of time and would not have been able to say if they had been kissing for a minute or if an hour had passed. Each caress of his
hand on her face, his lips brushing across hers, awakened new sensations she had never before imagined were possible.
He broke away abruptly and before she could wonder why, he removed his breeches and stood naked before her.
“Oh…my.”
She wobbled but regained her footing. The only naked men she’d ever seen were the marble statues in the British Museum. But ancient models of Greek and Roman gods were nothing compared with a breathing, flesh and blood man. Who would have thought such a broad chest could sit atop a slim waist and muscular thighs? Or a chest could be as smooth as oiled marble, but with a mass of dark hair trailing down a navel to the object she could neither look at nor tear her gaze from?
“Have I appeased your curiosity?”
She nodded mutely.
As if he waited for her signal, he swept her up into his arms so quickly she forgot to compare him to a marauder or anything else. All she could do was hold onto him as he carried her toward the bed.
Chapter Eighteen
One sweet caress blended into another, each more daring than the one before. Georgiana alternated between clutching him and pushing him away, excited and terrified and then thrilled again as his lips traveled over her throat and between her breasts. When had he removed her chemise? But no, it still clung to her damp skin. He’d tugged on her ribbon ties and slid the garment to her waist. She crossed one arm over her chest but he pushed it aside so quickly she wasn’t even aware she’d done so.
“Hold onto me.” His breath seared her throat.
She lifted trembling arms and pinned them around his neck. His mouth sought hers and she was powerless against his invading tongue and urgent lips. He’d wedged himself between her thighs, until her hips felt as if they’d snap their joints. The demanding hardness of his arousal mixed with the gentle caress of his hands until she was lost in a swirling waterfall of emotion. She was gripping him too hard; he broke the kiss, his mouth an inch above hers.
“I won’t bite,” he whispered, and she laughed, mildly hysterical, but also ready to explode with the rush of desire his touch inspired. “Don’t fight me, my dearest.”
“I’m not…”
“You are. You’re struggling against me. Just…just breathe.”
“Give me a moment.” She struggled to match the rhythm of her breathing to his. Every inch of his body was covering hers. How could Jack be so heavy yet so light at the same time? Her fingers tangled in his hair, luxuriating in the soft waves from his heated scalp. His whiskers rasped lightly against her forehead.
“How are you now?” Each strained word puffed from his lips.
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Good. Your moment is up.”
She cried out with the shock of it, and he lay on top of her, heavy and still, propped on his elbows. She was vaguely aware of his sweaty palm on her cheek, her hair, smoothing her forehead and skimming her eyes and the bridge of her nose. He was whispering something soft, almost melodic. She detected the soothing words she’d heard him murmur to her cat once, when it gave birth to a litter of four kittens on top of a favorite gown she’d left on the floor.
She blinked, and the sharpness vanished. It wasn’t a pain, exactly, but she was aware of the strange sensation of being connected to him. Surely that single thrust couldn’t be all there was. Restless, she shifted beneath him, and he grimaced.
“Are you hurt?” The idea she could hurt powerful Jack Waverley was laughable.
“No.” A drop of sweat rolled down his nose and onto her cheek. “I was waiting for you to get used to it.”
She sucked in a shaky breath. Moved a slight inch or two. “I think I’m used to it now.”
“Thank God,” he murmured, and kissed her.
A steady, low throbbing ache had begun exactly where his body pinned hers. The slightest movement even from his breathing stirred an ember of passion that expanded into full-blown fire. Her breathing quickened, and she released his neck. She’d always enjoyed watching his hair sweep around his face, and now twined it through her fingers, holding the silken strands like tiny ropes. He continued to gaze down into her eyes, although his eyelids flickered as if they would close a few times.
“Shall I move at all?” Her voice caught in her throat.
“By all means, love. Move as much as you like.”
He moved the slightest bit, and she arched against him spasmodically. He gave a grunt of satisfaction and covered her mouth with his, sucking lightly on her tongue while his body stroked smoothly into hers.
She forgot about the exuberant French woman who’d scarred his back with her fingernails in a moment of passion and did the same, digging into his velvet soft skin and kneading the granite muscles that quivered beneath her questing fingertips.
He was gasping her name now, but it wasn’t Georgie or any childhood nickname. It was her full name, spoken by a man to a woman. He was no longer her brother’s teasing friend but her husband, her lover. She nearly cried with the realization of it and knew that somehow, inexplicably, she had been waiting for this moment all her life.
“Something has happened.” Her voice broke in a joyous cry of release. His arms eased about her, and his kiss softened to a mere caress. She trembled violently, rocking against him as the force of her climax astounded her. He laughed softly and kissed her forehead.
“Not a bad first time, eh?”
His voice broke through the stillness. They’d kicked off the coverlet and sheet, and his skin glowed in the lamplight. She dragged her foot lightly over the back of his calf, and he trembled.
“Not bad at all. I expect you’ll congratulate yourself later.”
She caught a glimpse of his grin before his face disappeared to nestle between her cleavage and throat.
“I’ll let you thank me later.” His strokes resumed, bolder now, and she lifted his head and framed his face with her hands, to better watch his reaction.
His brow furrowed and his mouth gaped open, and then his eyes closed tightly and he groaned.
A rush of heat flowed deep inside her, and it occurred to her that, while they married for the convenience of doing as they pleased the rest of their lives, there was the chance they could conceive a child.
He rolled onto his side, his chest heaving against hers. His lips were warm and languorous on her mouth. She hadn’t stopped marveling at the infinite variety of kisses. He was absolutely right. His kisses were a thing of wonder. Soft as a feather one moment then firm and demanding another.
She sighed as he lazily stroked her breast, kneading it with his fingers as if it were a plaything.
“Is it always like this for you?” She instantly regretted her words. Did she really want to imagine him bedding anyone else? The shock of that truth struck her to the core.
“You mean as noisy?”
A dusky glow of moonlight filled the room, blurring the edges of furniture and walls. In the semi-darkness, she had the luxury of studying his face. The hard curve of his jaw softened and his mouth wore a bruised look about it, as if he’d been boxing. The sudden need to kiss him fought against her sensibilities, but she held back, not wanting him to tease her.
“No, not noisy.” She lowered her eyelids, suddenly too shy to look at him, even though their bodies were still pressed together. “I meant…” As earth-shattering, heart-rending—“thrilling, I suppose.”
“Thrilling?” He slid his hand down her waist to her hip. “I must say, Georgie…Georgiana, this was the most thrilling moment of my life.”
“Truly?” She picked up his hand from her hip and held it between them. Her fingers were lost inside his large, wide palm.
“Shall I say you’re the only woman in the world for me?”
She swallowed nervously. How had she turned a perfectly normal friendship into something teetering on the edge of disaster?
“I wouldn’t want you to make up pretty things to flatter me.” She turned abruptly on her side, scrabbling for the sheet to cover herself. She heard him sigh, but h
e could have laughed.
“You’ve gone and done it, Pudding Face.” He scooted close and drew her to him again.
“Done what?” She scowled, but it was lost on him, because he couldn’t see her.
His arousal pressed into her bottom, and she writhed away from him, but he clasped her in his arms, his laughter now audible.
“Your platonic experiment is a disaster. You may as well admit it. I will not hold it against you.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs, and she knew he felt it because his hand had captured her breast. He turned her over to face him and lifted her thigh around his hip. As their bodies touched, she clutched his shoulders before she could stop herself.
“Admit what?” But it was a breath whispered against his lips. His tongue slid against hers and she arched toward him. His strokes were slow and gentle, and she stifled the moan rising to her throat, lest he think she was being wanton.
“We two are not meant for mere friendship.” His lips vibrated against hers. “You are in love with me now.”
Tears filled her eyes. He was mocking her. He was the same, teasing Lothario she’d always known he was. He was probably enjoying the satisfaction of thinking he’d triumphed. That what he’d said all along would happen had, indeed, happened.
“You are mistaken, Jack. We are only friends. I’m just…just a little overwhelmed. It’s France…and the wine. That is all.”
“Of course, it is. Blame everything on the wine. I always do.”
She found his lips again, kissing him feverishly as the force of her desire tumbled her headlong into a black, empty chasm.
****
His breathing slowed in heavy sleep. His arm lay heavily across her, and she lifted his hand to her lips. She almost kissed him but decided against it in case he awoke.
The first streaks of purple light signaling dawn peeked through the gently blowing curtains. They’d rise soon, ready to begin their new lives as a married couple. Only, they wouldn’t have a life like Jonathan and Sophie’s, where words of love were freely spoken and the anticipated birth of a child brought them closer. What kind of life would they have together?
