Gifford's Lady

by Claire Thornton

  'We're dripping on the floor,' Abigail whispered.

  'You should have thought of that before,' Gifford retorted.

  He carried her up to her bedchamber. He set her down in the middle of the floor, closed the door, took the lantern out of her hand and placed it on the dresser.

  They looked at each other. Abigail's wet hair appeared as black as Gifford's as it hung in ribbons around her shoulders. The green muslin dress clung to every curve. Gifford could see her nipples jutting against her bodice. Water dripped steadily from her hem to create a circular puddle around her. Drops of rain ran down her face, shimmered on her eyelashes and her lips. He wanted to taste her all over again.

  Abigail gazed at him. She looked at his face, then lowered her eyes to look at his torso. She took a couple of steps closer to him to touch the rain drops which glistened on the black curls which lightly dusted his chest. Her hesitant touch was exquisite torture in his state of total arousal. Her lips parted slightly with fascinated, breathless anticipation. Her gaze dropped lower. His waterlogged breeches did little to hide his erection. It was her turn to stand completely still.

  Gifford's breath locked in his throat. His heart hammered against his ribs. Very, very slowly, Abigail laid her splayed hand flat in the centre of his chest. She leant forward and kissed him, quite close to his nipple.

  He groaned, his self-restraint destroyed. He seized the open sides of her bodice and ripped it down. Material tore, buttons bounced and rolled on the floor. Abigail's eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't protest. She let him push the gown over her shoulders and down her hips to the floor. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her away from the pile of soggy material. She was left standing in her front-lacing, boneless corset and chemise. Her corset strings were soaking wet and resisted his impatient fingers. He muttered a curse and pulled a sheathed knife from the waistband of his breeches.

  Abigail's lips parted with mild shock as the knife blade gleamed in the lantern light. Gifford cut delicately through the corset strings, re-sheathed the knife and laid it safely on the dresser. The front of her corset hung loosely open. Abigail hadn't moved an inch when Gifford turned back to look at her. The rain, falling on the cobblestones below the open window provided the musical accompaniment for the suspense-filled moment.

  'You're so damn beautiful,' Gifford said huskily. T...am?' Abigail whispered.

  She didn't see him move, but suddenly he was towering over her. He touched his hands lightly, almost hesitantly to her sides. There was nothing between them but her flimsy chemise. She quivered with nervous, eager anticipation. He lifted his hands, slipping them beneath her loosely hanging corset. His palms grazed the outer curves of her breasts. For several seconds he remained perfectly still. Her breasts rubbed

  tantalisingly against his hands in rhythm with her quickened breathing.

  Her gaze locked with his. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Tension coiled deep within her. Her breasts throbbed with unfulfilled need. She moved from side to side, instinctively pushing herself against his unmoving hands. He responded, cupping her breasts in his large, warm palms, circling her erect nipples with the side of his thumbs.

  A soft cry escaped her lips. She could feel the effect of his caresses deep in her core. Her body clenched and ached in unfulfilled yearning. She reached out to him, holding on to his upper arms to anchor herself in the physical, emotional maelstrom he deliberately created within her. His biceps bunched beneath her clutching fingers. He bent his head to kiss the upper swell of her breast. She cupped her hands behind his head. His breath against her damp skin was warm and intimate. His lips caressed her, the tip of his tongue teased her. She moaned. Her body turned to liquid fire. She ached, quivered, then pushed herself restlessly against him.

  He slid a supportive arm around her waist as he rid her of the corset. Her rain-soaked chemise stuck to her skin. He tipped her against his chest so that he could reach around her to grip the chemise between his two hands. Abigail felt the hard muscles surrounding her bunch and flex as he ripped the flimsy garment apart. He stepped back, peeling the almost transparent material away from her breasts—and then she was naked.

  She experienced a flicker of uncertainty. Of shyness. Her hands fluttered to her breasts, but he gently caught her wrists and drew her close to him. His damp chest

  hair teased her pert nipples. He put her hands on his shoulders and bent his head to claim her lips. He kissed her gently until she lost her hesitancy and pressed up against him. She kissed him back, claiming his mouth as eagerly as he claimed hers. Instantly he deepened the kiss. His hands moved urgently down her body to hold her hips hard against him. His wet breeches felt rough against the bare skin of her thighs. His erection pressed insistently against her stomach.

  When he'd kissed her in the yard, Abigail had been assailed by so many different sensations she hadn't been specifically conscious of his arousal. Now she was acutely aware of how his body reacted to hers.

  He felt so big and hard. Such a powerful, virile man. He was so strong. So much larger than her in every way. A flicker of apprehension slipped into her mind. She knew nothing. Gifford knew everything. What they were doing must be completely familiar to him—yet it was so unfamiliar to her. What if he hurt her? What if she failed to please him?

  He moved down her body and his mouth closed around her nipple. He sucked hard on it, then nipped and tugged at it with his teeth. Abigail cried out. Her nervous doubts burnt to nothing as her level of arousal became even more intense. He manoeuvred her towards the bed, kissing and touching her every inch of the way. He tore back the covers, picked her up and deposited her in the middle of the mattress.

  She sprawled on the cool linen, naked but for her stockings. She was so hazed by impatient desire she'd lost any sense of shyness. She watched openly as he stripped off his breeches. His lean, muscular body res-

  onated with barely contained virile energy. His arousal jutted proudly as he turned towards her. Her mouth went dry. She licked her lips with nervous anticipation as he joined her on the bed.

  His firm skin was warm where he touched her. And though they'd never been in exactly this situation before, the feel of his hard body close to hers was not unfamiliar. She put her hand on his shoulder, welcoming his weight as he bent over to kiss her. His lips teased her mouth, while his fingers teased her nipple.

  She moaned with pleasure and rolled a little towards him. Without conscious thought on her part, her leg bent so that she could rest her inner thigh against him. He muttered something. It sounded almost like a groaning laugh. He lifted his head to look down into her eyes.

  'This is nicer lying down,' she breathed, too overwhelmed by her feelings to censor her words.

  'It is?' Gifford stroked his hand lazily down her side to her hip, then returned to cup her breast. He bent to flick her nipple with his tongue. 'Why?'

  'Because... be-cause...ohhh...' She sighed and arched up towards him as his tongue continued to play with her nipple.

  'Abby?' he prompted her, lifting his head. His hand slid down to her hip once more, then onto her thigh. He pulled her closer to him.

  'Because it doesn't m-matter if my legs melt!' she gasped.

  Gifford groaned and moved lower. He kissed her ribs beneath her breasts, then his lips caressed her

  belly. His hand rested on her knee, then his fingers began to stroke up her inner thigh.

  Abigail panted, melted and burned with new delight. His hand moved higher. She tensed, automatically closing her knees together. He kissed the soft skin of her stomach, both distracting and frustrating her. She moved restlessly beneath him. He was filling her with need, but it wasn't her stomach that most craved his touch.

  His hand moved higher, tangled with her dark auburn curls. Abigail held her breath. She was on the edge of a precipice. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to plead with him, she wanted...

  He stroked her. Parted her. Her hips jerked beneath his hand. Her breath jolted out of her
lungs on a ragged moan. This was not what she'd expected. In a distant corner of her mind she was amazed at her brazen loss of modesty. She'd expected something less...less intimate than this. More—more...

  Her thoughts splintered, her legs dissolved as he caressed her hot, swollen flesh. Then tension returned to her muscles and she began to rock against his hand as the urgency of her need increased. He inserted a finger inside her and she stilled, startled by the invasion.

  He was inside her, but...

  Even in her state of dazed arousal, Abigail was confused. She put her hand on his side, and discovered his body fairly vibrated with the rigid tension in his powerful muscles. He jerked and swore when she moved her hand up over his chest.

  He didn't sound angry. More as if he was fighting a battle with himself. With the effect that she was having

  on him. Abigail liked that idea. She was thrilled that she could have such a strong impact on him. Especially since he was doing something to her which she definitely hadn't been prepared for.

  His finger was still inside her. His thumb rested on the mound of her curls. It was very intimate and strange—and not particularly satisfying in her current state. Or, at least, he was arousing needs he wasn't fulfilling, which was very frustrating.

  Her hand explored his chest. She found his nipple and teased it, wondering if it would feel as good to him as it did to her.

  'Dammit!'

  An instant later she was flat on her back and Gifford was poised above her. Even in the shadows thrown by the lantern light she could see the dark tension in his face, the blazing fire in his blue eye. His thighs were between hers. His arms braced on either side of her body.

  Well, good. According to her limited education on the subject, this was how he was supposed to do it. She put her arms around him. Her heart beat up into her throat with excitement and some nervousness as she waited for him to make his next move. She felt the hard, blunt tip of his erection nudge her hot, swollen flesh. His chest heaved. He shuddered and was still again. Abigail's gaze locked with his, looking for answers in his face. Looking for completion.

  He pushed inside her, paused—and thrust deep.

  Abigail gasped. She clutched his back convulsively. He filled her. Hurt her, momentarily, until her body began to adjust to his. He was face to face with her,

  looking at her, as he had done so many times before— but not when his expression was fierce with arousal. And not when his body was so deeply embedded in hers.

  His muscles shook with tension. His body was hot and slick with sweat, even though cool rain still fell outside the open window.

  He closed his eye and bent his head, hiding his face from her. Abigail's confusion grew. Obviously her education on this subject had been totally inadequate. Perhaps it was like dancing. There was a set of preordained steps you were supposed to follow. It seemed very unfair that no one had told her what she was supposed to do next. Perhaps they'd thought she'd never need to know.

  'Horses move more,' she said, in a slightly disgruntled tone. 'I thought—'

  Gifford's large body started to shake uncontrollably. He rocked over her. Gasping, groaning and half-laughing. His weight settled more heavily on her. He was still hard within her, but he trembled, choked, struggled for self-control.

  'You're 1-laughing at m-me!' Abigail was mortified, close to tears.

  'No, I'm not.' He kissed her neck, his mouth hot and hungry against her skin. Then he lifted his head to look down at her face, flushed now with embarrassment as well as desire.

  'I was trying not to hurt you,' he said gruffly.

  'Oh. I'm sorry,' Abigail said in a small voice. 'You should have explained. I thought it was my turn to do

  something. You bow. I curtsy. But I don't know what—'

  He cut off her words with a hot, demanding kiss. 'So...I'm not hurting you?' he said hoarsely, a little while later. 'No.'

  'Good.' He pulled gently out of her.

  'Oh!' Abigail's thighs tightened against his hips. 'Ohhhh!' she sighed with satisfaction as he pushed back into her.

  At first his strokes were slow and careful. He watched her intently. She closed her eyes, holding tightly to him as she surrendered to the inexorably building tension within her. Her body throbbed and tingled all the way to her toes. Her pulse raced. Her breath came in ragged gasps. His power filled her. Consumed her. Sent her spinning into a vortex of ecstasy.

  She moaned and shuddered, her body jerking spasmodically with the strength of her exquisite release. Gifford's completion quickly followed hers. She felt the pulsing intensity of his climax as he pumped his body ever more urgently into hers—till at last he shuddered and groaned and let his weight subside on top of her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Abigail returned slowly to the world. Gifford's hot, heavy body pressed her into the mattress. He was still inside her, but now he was completely relaxed.

  At last he stirred, lifting himself away from her. He pulled a sheet over them, then slipped an arm around her. She snuggled against him, her head resting on his shoulder. For a while neither of them spoke. Abigail savoured the moment. She had never known Gifford to be so peaceful or relaxed. She listened to the soothing sound of the rain and let her mind drift.

  'Horses move moreT said Gifford suddenly, a disbelieving note in his voice.

  It took a few seconds for Abigail to comprehend what he'd said—and why. She stiffened with embarrassment.

  'Just what do you know about horses in this... ah...context?' he asked in astonishment.

  Abigail cringed and rolled away from him, but when she reached the edge of the bed she realised she was stark naked. She lay rigid with mortification, unwilling to get up and expose herself to him. Her whole body was on fire with self-consciousness. It was bad enough

  that she'd lost all self-restraint in Gifford's arms—why on earth had she allowed herself to become so indifferent to propriety that she'd said such a shocking thing?

  'Abby?' Gifford's arm circled her waist from behind.

  She jerked and pressed her face into the pillow, covering her exposed cheek with her hand. She wanted to hide from him.

  'Abby?' He fitted his long body around hers, spoon fashion, and nuzzled her neck. His kiss was leisurely, warm and relaxed. His teeth tugged gently at her ear-lobe. Her body still glowed with the aftermath of their lovemaking. Despite her embarrassment she couldn't help responding to the tenderness of his caresses.

  At last she sighed, and leant back against his chest.

  'You're laughing at me,' she mumbled, still hiding her face with her hand.

  'No, I'm not.' He stroked her stomach in slow, languid circles, then moved his hand upwards to cup her full breast. He weighed it gently, lifting it slightly against the pull of gravity. His thumb played idly with her nipple.

  Abigail began to melt. It was hard to remain embarrassed when he was making her feel so good.

  'I just want to hear more about this stallion you compared me to so unfavourably,' he murmured provocatively.

  'You...!' Indignation burned away the last remnants of her mortification. Abigail tried to flounce over on to her other side to face him. Unfortunately she was so close to the edge of the bed she nearly fell out.

  Gifford grabbed her and moved them both nearer to the middle of the mattress.

  'Get off me!' Abigail tried to push his hands away. 'You haven't got any finesse!'

  'If I had less,' he began, grinning, 'perhaps I'd have fared better in comparison with—'

  Abigail launched herself at him. She pushed him on to his back and half-sprawled across his body as she clamped both her hands over his mouth.

  'Be quiet!' she said crossly.

  He shook with laughter beneath her and his arms closed around her, holding her prisoner. She heaved in a deep, frustrated breath. It was quite difficult to concentrate when she was so acutely conscious of the way her breasts were squashed up against the hard muscles of his chest. Not to mention the distracting sensation of other
parts of his body against her inner thigh.

  She repositioned herself gingerly and glared at him through narrowed eyes.

  'You aren't going to laugh—or say anything improper—if I take my hands away, are you?' she said warningly.

  She felt him grin against her palm. She sighed. She should have known better than to expect any quarter from him.

  She removed her hands anyway, and laid her head on his chest. Looking down at him made her neck ache. His words were extremely aggravating, but the way he touched her told a different story. His tender caresses made her forget—or at least push to the back of her mind—the significance of what they'd just done. She would worry about the consequences later.

  He pushed her damp hair back from her face, then lazily stroked his hand down her body, over the curve of her bottom and along her outer thigh. She was still wearing her stockings, though they'd sagged below her knees since she'd first put them on. He hooked a hand behind her bent leg and dragged it possessively up his body. Then he slipped his fingers inside the top of her stocking. His possessiveness and the casual intimacy of his gesture made her quiver responsively.

  'Tell me about this stallion,' he persisted, a smile in his voice.

  Abigail sighed. He obviously wasn't going to be diverted from the subject. 'My father kept two horses,' she explained. 'They were carriage horses, I suppose, but mostly he used them on the farm. Two mares. And he wanted to breed from them. He borrowed Mr Woodford's stallion. Mr Woodford was one of our neighbours. I happened to be going for a walk...' Her voice faded away.

  Gifford chuckled. 'So your education in this area is entirely based on the amorous activities of your neighbour's stallion?' he said. As he spoke he massaged her back in slow, seductive circles.

  'Miss Wyndham was very interesting, too,' Abigail replied drowsily.

  'Miss Wyndham?' His hand momentarily stilled against her back in his surprise. Abigail wriggled, in an unspoken demand that he continue to stroke her.