Madcap Miss

by Claudy Conn

  She could make out the shape of the bed, four posters against the back wall to her right side. She stood, unable to go any further. This was a bad idea. What was she—mad?

  She turned back to the door, and suddenly a hand was over her face, her nose, her mouth, and as a scream lit in her throat.

  “Hush now …” he said, holding her against his solid, unmovable body.

  She calmed down and then became flustered as he removed his hand and turned her shoulders so she was facing him.

  He was naked. All rebukes for scaring her were stuck in her throat. Even in the dark, even with the embers sparking into submission in the fireplace at his back, she could see that he was completely naked and that, like a stallion ready to mount a mare, he was certainly hung.

  She sucked in air, quickly. She had to breathe, or she was going to pass out. She had been insane to think this was something she could do. What was she doing here?

  “Is there something, beauty, I can help you with?” His voice was low and husky and traveled through her veins right up to her brain and blasted all coherent thought and speech into oblivion.

  She shook her head because she couldn’t speak.

  “No? And yet, here you are,” he answered, his voice a primal sound, the sound of a predator who had latched onto its prey and didn’t mean to let go. He was savoring the moment. That single moment before the kill, she thought.

  Did she want to be that prey? Was she that prey already? No. She was the one who had come for him. She was the hunter … or at least had been.

  “I … I …” she whispered.

  “I know,” he answered and had his arms around her as he bent and covered her mouth with his own.

  His kiss exploded inside her, and she morphed into someone wild with abandon. She molded herself to him. She kissed him back with a fever that clearly said she knew what she was doing. She wanted this. No doubts—they had been expelled as his velvet tongue joined with hers.

  He had her pressed up against the door as his kiss turned into many, as his kisses traveled over her neck, as he dove into the neckline of her nightdress and exposed her breast and groaned to lick at her nipple.

  She was a tart, she told herself, indeed … and loving every moment of her lapse in morals. Morals? What was wrong with being like this with the man you loved? Nothing. This was just where she wanted to be.

  “Aye … I have been wanting you from the moment I clapped eyes on you.” He moaned the words into her ear as his teeth nipped her lobe gently. “You were made for me, just for me. I need you, Felicia, need you more than I can say.” He picked her up then and carried her to the bed to place her down none too gently.

  Her nightdress was flung off, and he was on his knees on the bed, looking down at her, his manhood thick and swollen with his desire.

  She swallowed. It was one thing to hear vague details of lovemaking from your friends and quite another to execute it in the flesh. He must have had so many experienced women. She would bore him with her innocence, she thought, as she bit her bottom lip and doubts swirled around her brain.

  “You pierce my mind and my heart with your exquisite eyes—your innocent eyes,” he said on a low breath. “I am a cad to take you, but unless you pull away, Felicia, I can’t seem to help myself now … now that you are here with me.”

  “I am here because it is what I want—have been wanting.” Was that her voice? Were those her words? How had she dared? Her hoyden had gone berserk and was running amok. Her independence was going to cost her, but then, all worthwhile goals were costly. There were consequences, always consequences for one’s actions, and when those actions went against the world’s beliefs, well, then, would she be prepared to pay? Ah, it was more than the heat of the moment that wrenched her answer ‘Yes’; it was her heart.

  His mouth closed on hers, and his hands fondled her into a mass of need. She needed, she wanted, and she wasn’t in control any longer as she arched high over the bed in desperate response to his ministrations. His fingers traveled over her nipples, and he groaned, “Your beautiful, full breasts drive me mad, my beautiful girl, my sweetness.” He bent his head and began suckling there, and she felt a build-up of tension throughout her body creating an arrow of desire that shot straight between her thighs and made her wriggle and press herself into his free hand, which had cupped her there.

  He moved her cleft with that cupped hand in a way that made mewling sounds escape her lips. She was no longer thinking. All thoughts were gone as his touch turned her into a red-hot mass of need, need of him, of his touch, his licking at her nipples, his finger … slipping into her in a way she had never imagined possible.

  His kisses were on the move, down her belly, where he nipped here and there and made her body convulse towards him. He sounded feral when he told her, “You are hot, wet, and ready for me, love, and your body—so responsive. I want you, sweetheart … want you.”

  She couldn’t speak even if she knew what to say. She wanted him, yes, more than anything, she wanted this.

  He had her knees bent up, moving her like a doll in his hands, and then, all at once, she felt a moment of fear as he bent his head between her thighs and she felt his teeth nip at her there.

  Oh—oh my. She couldn’t make more than animal sounds as his finger joined his teeth and his tongue and turned her into a moaning, wiggling, aching, and crave-filled, flesh and blood woman.

  He pulled away after a few moments and straddled her so that his huge, throbbing rod rested on her belly, and he took her hand and said, “This … is for you, love.” Then he moved her hand gently over it.

  Oh, but she loved the magic feel of him in her hand. She had grown up with horses and had seen stallions mate with mares. There were things she knew about because a child always learns a great deal by watching. Still, she had never expected this all-consuming need to touch … to stroke, to hold.

  It was what she did; she followed his lead, allowed him to take control of her fingers, and then he took his hand away as hers closed around his pulsating shaft. She wanted more stroking, more touching … more!

  And then he gave it to her as he placed the tip of his huge shaft at her cleft and rubbed there. He made a hard sound in his throat as he positioned himself and whispered to her, “Now, Felicia, now.”

  He shoved himself hard and fast into her opening, and she thought he would never fit as he tore through her virginity and made her his own.

  The pain was sharp, and she winced, but it was over very soon as he moved inside her, filling her up, pressing against the walls of her warm sheath.

  He had her rump in his hands and raised her up. She moved with him, taking her cue from his ministrations, and he said her name and encouraged her. “Yes, Felicia … oh, yes, like that, oh, damn, but you are perfect. Perfect little beauty, you …”

  He moved in her hard and fast, and that build-up she had felt when his fingers had pulled at her nipples and his mouth had found her opening and worked her there was stronger than ever, and she arched as something new took over her body.

  She climaxed in a thunderous explosion. She shuddered with the aftermath over and over again. Her body convulsed all around him with tremors blasting her with sensations as the walls of her opening clenched still at his hardness inside her.

  He made a wild sound as he shot his seed inside her and then whispered praise into her ear. He held her tightly and kissed her neck and ears and lips and said quietly after they had both regained some air, “Are you hurt, little madcap? Did I hurt you …?”

  “Hurt? No, that was wonderful. Can we do it again?” she brazenly asked. She had, she knew, already gone over that ‘no-no line’. So why not go over it again?

  He laughed, and it was a wonderful, joyous sound as he gave her rump a little spank and said, “Mine … this is mine, little innocent.”

  “Oh, yes, and perhaps … I may say the same one day soon,” she teased.

  He stopped then and frowned but then nipped at her lip and said, “Fair en
ough.”

  And then all such talk was gone as he took her hand to his wet and throbbing manhood and showed her yet another thing or two.

  ~ Fifteen ~

  ALL LIFE HAD forever changed for Felicia Easton.

  She soaked in the tub that had been prepared for her early the next morning and marveled at her audacious behavior the night before. She had left Ashton as he slept, although that had not been easy. He had held her tightly to himself, and while she had not wanted to leave the warmth of his embrace, she knew she had no choice but to do so.

  Sleep was elusive as she relived their lovemaking.

  Gazing out the small window at the new morning she wondered what challenges she would now face. Did he love her? He had been wildly possessive and hungrily attentive to every need—to both their needs—and she had found heaven. Sweet life—why were women denied such pleasures with censure if they were discovered?

  She had taken her life into her own hands just as she had always done. She had with the flash of a single, irreversible decision made in the heat of a desire, in the space of a moment, changed her life’s course. She knew now that her days and nights, her mind, her body, her needs, had become riveted to a man who meant the world to her—and perhaps that was not wise.

  No regrets. One should never have regrets, even if a decision proved ill. Regretting anything was a waste of time. One simply had to move forward.

  Their union had been magical. He had been gentle and tender, and yet he had swept her into another universe with an erotic handling of her body, with uncontrollable touching, and with primal need and passion. She would never know such passion from any other living person—of that she was sure, because she had given so much more than her body. Her heart, her spirit, her mind’s focus were all centered in him.

  He was her one. She had known it when she had crept into his room and seduced him. It wasn’t the other way around—no, how could it be, when she was the one that had gone to him and nearly demanded his attentions.

  Would he now think her a loose woman, not fit for anything but a bed? Would he? She must not allow him to think so, and, somehow, she did not think him the sort that would believe such a thing. She had been a maid, after all.

  He on the other hand was so many things—just the sort of things she had never thought would attract her. He was a rogue of a man, very experienced, and she was sure with a list of ladies he had made love to over the years. Was she just one more?

  Wanting to mean more to him was not enough. Hoping to be so much more to him, still, not enough. She had taken this course to infuse herself in his mind, and then … well, now he was infused in hers.

  He had laughingly told her she had the air of a duchess.

  She had smiled and told him, “Nonsense, Ashton.”

  “Ashton? Why do you persist in avoiding the use of my given name?” He frowned down at her.

  She smiled, “Glen, then, but my airs are my own and have nothing to do with royalty.”

  “No, you don’t understand, my dear heart. You have all the best traits … beauty, character, conviction. You may not have been born a duchess, and yet, you are one all the same.”

  Did he believe that, or was it the affection of the moment?

  She had laughed it off and told him, “Well, being a duchess is not something I think I would like. In fact, the formality of the entire thing would leave me quite blue-deviled.”

  His eyes had gone dark for a long moment as he seemed to be considering an answer, but he said only, “No, we cannot have you blue-deviled, ever, but you know, your sentiments are what make you perfect for such a title.”

  Perfect? He had repeated this to her over and over during the course of their lovemaking, but she wasn’t—was she?

  No, she was a liar.

  She still had not told him the entire truth. She still had not even told her him her real surname. What would he think of her? Oh, she would have to confess the whole … soon. Very soon, but for now, for this moment, with the hot water soothing her loins and allowing her to drift into the memory of their night, well, that was all she wanted to think about.

  * * *

  Lady Daphne was not enjoying the lovely morning or the promise of a ‘new day’.

  She pushed her breakfast away with some disgust, for she had just sustained another visit from young Scott’s father. The squire had been in a terrible mood, she was at a loss as to what to do next, and the hour was not even ten o’clock yet.

  He had ranted and raved and told her this problem had to be dealt with but offered no clue as to how they should handle it. He said if he didn’t know it was a bad idea, he would send off the Bow Street Runners to find and return the wayward children home.

  Bow Street Runners, indeed! She had snorted at such a suggestion and advised him that nothing could produce a scandal more than such action.

  It was time, she believed, to send for her dear Freddy. He would know what to do. He always took things in stride and handled them to perfection. It was, however, entirely possible that he would tell her to wash her hands of the miserable affair. Not their problem to worry about, after all, and if he did tell her that, he would have a very good point. She had better not write him, for he might just take her home, and for all her irritation she was loathe to allow a scandal to attach itself to her despicable brother.

  What, then?

  Drat her brother and her loyalty to him, and damn the love she felt for him. Drat, drat, and double drat!

  It was at this auspicious moment that the Easton butler arrived with a silver salver upon which rested a note.

  He bent and apologized, saying, “My lady, I am very sorry, but it appears that this arrived for you yesterday and was somehow set aside.”

  She thanked him and took the sealed envelope. She saw her brother’s handwriting at once and asked, “How was it waylaid?”

  “The new day girl. I was in the back helping with Cook, and the flighty thing forgot to tell me that it had arrived.”

  “Very well, but do speak to her about this lapse.”

  “Indeed, m’lady. I already have.”

  She smiled and after watching his retreat returned with a sigh to her brother’s missive and read:

  Dearest Daffy, best of all females,

  Ha, she thought, and continued to read.

  I am delayed. Perhaps you should return to London, for I have a notion that if I keep you kicking your heels at Easton with a countrified green girl, you and your Freddy will have my head!

  Forgive me. Tell the child I shall try and fetch her before the end of the month and mean to make it up to her with a grand London season.

  Yours,

  Glen

  “Well!” said his enraged sister out loud. “This is too much. Best of all females, am I? This is intolerable. How dare he put the poor Easton child off like that, for he doesn’t know she has run off, does he?”

  She sighed and answered herself under her breath, “What to do?”

  Well, she couldn’t very well hobble back to London to advise him that his ward had run away with a local squire’s son. It also made no sense to stay on here either.

  What she needed to do was find her brother and drag him about by his ears until he took charge of this awful situation.

  She would run him to earth, yes, she would. But how? Where the devil was he?

  In this mood, she rose from the table to hunt out the butler and find out where the letter had come from. Ha! Did Glen think she could not track him down? She had been doing so for years and had the knack of it. Yes, by faith! She would track him down and have at him.

  ~ Sixteen ~

  AS FELICIA GAZED across at Glen Ashton, she could not help but remember their night and wanted nothing more than to find safety in the fold of his arms.

  He had invited her on a morning ride, and she had accepted with a joy that had permeated every fiber of her being, but now she was worried. He looked … troubled.

  He had helped her into her saddle and had
whispered her name as though reciting a quiet benediction.

  As they rode, he laughed at the anecdote she had recited to set herself at ease, and she dimpled at his response, for he had announced that she was a ‘rough and tumble’ miss but that he liked her just as she was. She smiled and answered him, “Yes, I suppose I have always been that—rough and tumble. It is so much more fun than being prim and proper and doing what is expected simply because it is expected.”

  “Ah, no doubt those Godwin ladies have infected you with their modern writings?”

  “Godwin? I have not read their works, but now you have intrigued me, I shall,” she said and laughed. “No, my infection is self-inflicted. I do not see at all why women must do this or do that and not be allowed to do so much. It makes no sense to me, especially since those rules are put in place by men.”

  He laughed and said quietly, “You are a treasure.”

  She beamed to herself, for just then she was somewhere in a ‘make-believe world’, and reality, for the time, need not concern her.

  They trotted along for a time, both apparently pleased to be out for a ride and both pleased with one another, although when Felicia glanced at his profile she saw immediately that something was on his mind.

  Should she ask? No. She would wait, and as she made this decision he reached over, touched her gloved fingers with his own, and said, “You know, all I can think of, Felicia, is stopping our horses, and pulling you off yours and—”

  “Ah,” she said, stopping him. “But there is the ‘but’ in there, for I hear it clearly.” She was a bold-faced woman to speak thusly with him, but straight talking was so much better than going around in circles.

  He laughed. “Of course there is a ‘but’. Do you think that is what I want for you?”

  “What do you want for me?” she bantered. “Or have you already set me aside with just the one night?” There, she had put it to him. She felt the blush burn her cheeks, but it was the question uppermost in her mind. Out in the open. Now she would know.