The Lady’s Secret

by Joanna Chambers

  When she shook her head he felt a troubling pang of conscience. Now was the time to ask her—properly—if she was sure.

  But he didn’t. Selfishly, he didn’t want to stop. He wrapped his arms around her and said instead, “I’ll try to make it good for you, Georgy. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I don’t care if it hurts,” she said, her eyes wide and unflinching. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

  She took his breath away with those words, and with the passionate will in her gaze. She was formidable. He gathered her closer. “All the same,” he murmured against her lips, “I’ll try.” And then he rolled her onto her back and came over her, caging her with his bigger frame.

  He set his mouth to the vulnerable sweep of her throat in an open-mouthed kiss that drew a breathy moan from her, then began a slow descent down her body with his lips and hands. He lingered on her breasts, kissing and licking the sensitive undersides, then suckling her nipples hard. She clasped his head, emitting incoherent sounds, her hips restless beneath him. Her scent, her soft skin, the sounds she made, all of it was driving him mad with desire.

  He moved further down, tracing her ribs and belly, allowing his tongue to dip in the navel that had entranced him. As he descended, he felt her seize a little, her thighs going rigid with tension. He ruthlessly suppressed his own desperate lust and touched her thigh gently.

  “Open your legs, Georgy. Let me see.”

  “What?” she breathed.

  “Let me see you. I want to see.”

  She did as he asked. She opened her legs—a little—and he slid down, using his hands to push them farther apart, planting a trail of kisses along her inner thigh. The skin there was unbelievably soft.

  “Nathan!” She gasped his name, not quite in protest, but close. She did nothing to stop him though, her fingers tangling in his hair even as she tensed.

  He pushed her thighs wide and used his thumbs to spread her damp folds, opening her to him. Her scent was heady and feminine. Her little moan seemed part capitulation, part plea. “I’m going to bring you pleasure, if you’ll let me. Do you trust me?”

  He looked up at her for an answer. She gave a strangled sort of laugh and let her head drop back. He laughed too, a little huff of good humour and tenderness that was new to him.

  Slowly he lowered his head, cleaving her quim with a sweep of his tongue that crested on the sensitive pip at the apex of her sex. She lurched against him with a cry of shocked pleasure, then subsided, tensely waiting. He drew back, nuzzling her thigh again before coming back and beginning a leisurely exploration of the most secret part of her body. Such a beguiling contrast between the wet silk of her folds and the hard contours beneath. He made his way slowly back to that miraculous little pip, letting his tongue dance around it while she panted and writhed beneath him. Then he delved back down to press his tongue right inside her, doing with his tongue what he wanted to do with his cock.

  She moaned and shifted her hips seekingly, her hands moving into his hair, her thighs tense. She didn’t resist him at all. She didn’t seem appalled by what he was doing. Surprised, yes, a little embarrassed, but so open, so willing.

  She was wet now, her flesh puffy and aroused under his tongue. He was able to push her harder. He fucked her with his tongue, grinding his hips into the sheets, his cock aching so hard he wondered if he might not just disgrace himself by spilling himself before he could get inside her.

  And then she was coming. She pulsed and quivered under his mouth, hips bucking, fingers clutching his hair. She cried his name out as she came, racked by a long deep climax. If the expression on her face told the truth, it was her first.

  He rested his cheek on her soft trembling thigh for a moment, before moving over her again, looking down at her sated face. Her cheeks were flushed with pink, and she wore a silly smile that made him smile too.

  “That was wonderful,” she said. “You were wonderful!”

  He laughed softly, flattered despite himself. He’d made lots of women come before but he wasn’t sure any woman had ever looked at him as Georgy did now. She looked so free and happy. He didn’t feel as though he’d debauched her, he felt as though he’d done something good.

  “What now?” she asked, smiling dreamily. Her hands crept up his chest, tentatively touching the rough hair, her thumbs grazing his nipples. He closed his eyes, enjoying her light touch. “Do you want to—you know—” Instead of completing the sentence she pushed her hips upwards in invitation and he groaned.

  “My god, Georgy, I’m so ready for you I fear I’ll come in half a minute. Will you forgive me if that happens?”

  She laughed softly. “It won’t matter. Not after what you just did.”

  She opened her legs wider and tilted her pelvis, pressing her damp warmth at his hard, aching cock. He heeded his body’s demand, pulling his own hips back and seeking her entrance, grateful that she seemed to understand what the act entailed despite her lack of experience.

  She was unbelievably tight. He’d never bedded a virgin before and he hadn’t quite realised how it would be. He’d imagined she would just be a bit tighter, but he had to push hard to gain entrance. She winced when he breached her, a hiss of pain escaping her that had him drawing back and looking down at her anxiously.

  “Don’t stop,” she said, pulling him back towards her. She tilted her hips again, drawing him in, and just like that he was lost. After the first seemingly impossible resistance, he slid deeper into depths that were warm and wet and welcoming, that caressed him from the base of his cock to the tip. And then it was all too easy to continue, despite knowing that she wasn’t enjoying this part as much as the last. Not that she let him know—she rocked her hips to his and pressed kisses to his shoulder. She welcomed him. And when he felt his orgasm begin to rip through him, it took every bit of willpower he had to pull out and spend himself on the sheets rather than giving in to the desire to hold her tightly and empty himself into her body.

  Even without the pleasure of coming inside her, his orgasm was incredible, as long and intense as hers had seemed earlier. He buried his face into her neck and groaned her name.

  Chapter 20

  When Georgy woke, it was already dark. There was a moment of wondering where she was, then she turned her head and saw Nathan’s sleeping face inches from her own. In that instant, the flood of memory drenched her. Her heart sang and her stomach clenched, both at once. At first she didn’t know whether to feel regretful or elated—but as she lay watching Nathan’s still, shadowed face, elation took the ascendance.

  Nathan slept soundly, his handsome face peaceful. She could have watched him forever, but the world was on the other side of the door. It made its presence felt now with the tread of feet on the floor above them. Georgy was painfully conscious that she had not yet spoken to any servant but Mrs. Lowe, and even that conversation had not gone beyond an introduction.

  She sat up, careful not to disturb the covers too much. The dark shapes of their clothes littered the floor and the fire had burned down in the grate. What time was it?

  She slid out of bed, her skin prickling with the coolness of the air as she padded to the mantel to light a candle and check the clock. Just past five o’clock. The rest of the servants would be wondering whether the master’s new valet was ever going to emerge to request a bath be drawn for the master or to ask for a hot iron. They’d be questioning what sort of valet dined with his master and drank his brandy and didn’t do a stroke of work. At best they’d be thinking the new servant was too big for his boots.

  She didn’t want them wondering about her too much. It was time to make an appearance in the servants’ hall. Nathan slept on as she silently dressed, pulling her male garb on and tidying hair that was already growing too long with a smudge of pomade. She tiptoed out of the room and found her way down to the kitchen. Most of the servants were already at their meal, chattering around the table as they ate. A few scullery maids bustled around.

  T
he kitchen was warm, fragrant with the smell of just-baked bread and rich, savoury meat. The noise stilled as the inhabitants became aware of Georgy standing in the doorway, and their faces turned to look at her. For a long moment, no one spoke.

  “Good evening to you all,” she said at last, stepping forward. “I am his lordship’s new valet, George Fellowes.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Fellowes.” This was Mrs. Lowe. She smiled at Georgy, then turned to look at the man who sat to her right, at the head of the table. He was a small, thin, entirely bald man. No eyebrows even.

  “Mr. Fellowes,” the man said, rising to his feet. His voice was crisp and authoritative. “I am Mr. Fenton, the butler here. Will you have some dinner?”

  It wasn’t really the question it pretended to be. As he spoke, Mr. Fenton glanced at the servants on one side of the table and already they were rising, moving plates, shifting down to create a space on Mr. Fenton’s left.

  Georgy murmured her thanks and took the proffered seat. A moment later a maid brought a plate of mouth-watering beef stew. Another brought a basket of bread rolls. She took one, breaking it open and inhaling the good smell of it with pleasure, realising suddenly how very hungry she was. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  Gradually everyone began to chat again. Mr. Fenton engaged Georgy in a conversation about the London household, over which he had apparently presided over a decade before.

  “What does his lordship wish to do about dinner this evening, Mr. Fellowes?” Mrs. Lowe asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Georgy replied in perfect truth. “His lordship is resting at present. However, I suspect that if you arrange a tray of whatever his lordship particularly likes, he will be content with that. I shall be happy to take it up when it is ready.”

  Mrs. Lowe nodded. “Very well.”

  Georgy’s plate was whisked away and a dish of treacle tart was delivered. It was sweet and buttery and she spooned it into her mouth with an appreciative noise.

  With pudding finished, the rest of the servants rose to return to their work. Georgy rose with them, but Mr. Fenton detained her with a hand on her arm.

  “Wait, I have something for you. I will just fetch it. Have some tea.”

  She sat down again while Mr. Fenton went through to the butler’s pantry. A maid brought a tea tray and set it before Mrs. Lowe who began to arrange cups and saucers.

  A few minutes later Mr. Fenton was back, a letter in his hand. He placed it in front of her. It bore familiar handwriting: Lily’s.

  “It arrived for you this morning,” Mr. Fenton said, sitting back in his place and turning his attention to his tea. “I would have given it to you earlier had I seen you before now.”

  Georgy was too preoccupied to notice the implicit rebuke. She picked up the letter and broke the seal, trying to appear calm as she opened the paper and scanned the lines inside. Her throat closed up as she read, and despite her efforts at maintaining a calm expression, something in her face must have betrayed her distress.

  “Are you perfectly all right, Mr. Fellowes?” Mrs. Lowe asked.

  “I—yes, of course, ma’am.” She tried to regain her scattered wits, keeping her eyes fixed on the letter as she folded the paper with obsessive care and tucked it inside her coat pocket. “Just some surprising news. Would you excuse me? I will return for his lordship’s tray.”

  Without waiting for a response, she stood and strode from the kitchen. Out of sight, she pelted up the stairs, emerging onto the corridor that led to Nathan’s bedchamber. She sank to the floor on shaky legs and blinked hard, casting anxious glances around her. God, there wasn’t anywhere she could go, even for a single private moment!

  Here then. It would have to be here.

  She opened the letter again and read the contents for the second time.

  Dearest George,

  We’ve had word from Harry. He was attacked at an inn where he was staying. The man would’ve done him in, but the innkeeper came and chased him off and then called a physician, thank god. Harry was stabbed and one of the wounds went bad—he had a fever for a while but is almost recovered, he says. Max has gone to fetch him—he managed to borrow a carriage, since Harry can’t ride.

  He was attacked, George! And now I’m worried about you too. Come home. Please. Anyway, Harry will need you when he gets here.

  Send word soonest,

  Lily

  He’d been stabbed. And then he’d had a fever. God! And he still couldn’t ride.

  Georgy felt wretched with guilt. She’d been mooning over Nathan and all the while, Harry had been near dead. How could she have allowed herself to be so distracted? She’d done everything she could to find evidence—and failed. She should have been on her way home by now. But no, she’d let Nathan persuade her to come to Camberley. And why?

  Oh, she’d groused about being forced to come here but if she’d really wanted to get away she could have done so. There would have been some opportunity. If nothing else she could just have walked off and found the nearest town. The truth was, she’d come here because she’d wanted to. And why? To be seduced, of course. She’d wanted to be seduced.

  Well, she’d got her wish.

  But now it was, as Lily’s letter said, time to go home.

  Once Georgy had calmed down, she returned to the kitchens to fetch Nathan’s dinner tray, then walked back upstairs. She shouldered her way into the bedchamber to find Nathan already awake. He was sitting up in bed, the sheets rumpled at his waist, one long leg poking out.

  He smiled at her and her heart clutched.

  “I wondered where you’d gone,” he said. “I’d hoped it was the kitchens. Clever girl—I’m starved.”

  She stared at him and flushed, holding the tray in front of her like a shield. His smile faded as he took in her expression.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing, my lord,” she said in her Fellowes voice. She turned and busied herself putting the tray down on a small table.

  “There’s not enough there for both of us.”

  “No. I’ve already eaten with the rest of the servants. Shall I fetch your dressing gown, my lord?”

  “No! What is this about, Georgy?”

  She glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

  He glared. “Why are you acting the servant again? I thought we had moved past this. We’ve just made love, for god’s sake! I thought—” He broke off, making a sound of frustration. “Do you regret it? Is that it?”

  She met his eyes, unsure what to say. Did she regret it?

  “Well it’s a bit late now,” he said angrily when she stayed silent.

  “I need to get back to London,” was her only response. “Tomorrow. I can’t wait here any longer. When I get back, I’ll be going home and you’ll be looking for a new valet—we won’t be seeing each other again. And…” She swallowed against the absurd lump that had formed in her throat. “And—well, there you are.”

  Nathan compressed his lips. A muscle leapt in his cheek, and his eyes burned as he stared at her. “You’ve changed your tune, haven’t you? Not so long ago you were telling me how extraordinary my performance was.”

  She felt her cheeks burn. “That doesn’t mean I want an encore,” she said tightly.

  “No? Why?”

  “I don’t have to give you a reason.”

  “You just gave me your virginity. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  Anger leapt in her. “Why should it? Does it mean anything to you?”

  “Of course it does,” he retorted angrily.

  “Oh really? What? Are you about to propose marriage?”

  “Of course not!”

  “No, I didn’t think you were.” She turned from him and busied herself loading food onto a plate for him. “So why on earth are you annoyed with me?”

  “Why do you think? We’ve just finished making love and now you’re telling me you don’t want any more to do with me. How do you expect me to react?”

  She returned
his gaze. “I don’t know. With relief? Indifference?”

  Nathan swept the bedcovers aside roughly and stood up. It was an effort to tear her gaze away from his lean, naked frame. Not that he was looking at her; he was poking around on the floor, looking for his drawers. When he found them, he pulled them on with clumsy movements. Then his shirt. Only then did he turn his gaze back upon her.

  “I’m not relieved,” he said shortly.

  “Why?”

  “Why so many questions? Why can’t we just—” he made an impatient gesture, “—go on? Didn’t you enjoy it? You seemed to enjoy it. In fact, you seemed to enjoy it more than anyone else I’ve ever taken to bed, virgin or no.”

  She felt a fierce flush rise up her throat and stain her cheeks, a strange mixture of anger and pleasure warring in her.

  He stepped towards her and placed his palms on her shoulders. They felt warm and heavy and she couldn’t help but relish his touch. “You said you enjoyed it,” he added.

  “And I did.”

  He frowned and asked, more calmly, “Then why the rush back to London? Why can’t we enjoy each other a bit more?”

  She stood there, her inner thighs still aching from what had happened earlier. He was warm and half-naked, his male scent just barely, tantalisingly, reaching her. His hair was sleep-mussed, his smile back now, though wary. She drank in the nearness of him and saw him doing the same to her, his eyes travelling over her, the wary smile growing as he observed her helpless reaction to him.

  “Georgy…” He took a step towards her and began to lower his head but she broke away, averting her gaze from his too-comely form.

  “I enjoyed it, but it’s over now. And I don’t have time to indulge myself any further. I need to get back to London now. I must.”

  For a moment she wondered if she saw a flash of hurt in his eyes. But when she looked more closely she saw it was anger, not hurt. He was annoyed at being thwarted. From the instant he’d discovered she was a woman, he’d been scheming and plotting. He might not even find her all that attractive, she thought glumly. She was just another orrery to him—a novelty, something to play with a few times before he stuck it in a corner and forgot about it. She would do well to remember that.