Geoffrey’s frown deepened and he reached between them, disentangling their hands. Though appreciative of Sinclair’s efforts on his and Abigail’s behalf, Geoffrey did not appreciate reminders of how bloody engaging and charming the Earl of Sinclair happened to be. Geoffrey gritted his teeth. “Very well, thank you again, then.”
Abigail’s brother stepped forward. He slapped Geoffrey on the back with a hard thwack, the casual gesture belied by the hard glint in the other man’s eyes. “Hurt her, and I’ll kill you, Redbrooke.”
“I promise to care for her,” Geoffrey vowed.” He’d make it his life vow to fill her every day with the joy she deserved.
Nathaniel placed his hands on Abigail’s shoulders, and gave a gentle squeeze.
She nodded. “I know, Nathaniel.” She leaned up and placed a kiss on her brother’s cheek, and just like that, she became Geoffrey’s to care for and love for the remainder of their days.
In matters of the heart, a gentleman should honor the emotion called love.
4th Viscount Redbrooke
~33~
The fingers of dusk edged out the day sky, and met in a vibrant explosion of violet and crimson hues that filled the night’s horizon.
Abigail’s stomach lurched as the Duke of Somerset’s barouche rocked to a halt in front of Geoffrey’s townhouse. She released the curtain and it fluttered back into place.
“Are you ready to go in, love?” he whispered against her ear.
She jerked her gaze over toward Geoffrey.
Her mouth went dry under the sudden realization that she’d need to face Geoffrey’s mother. The proper lady had never looked at Abigail with any hint of warmth or kindness. “Your mother will be displeased,” she murmured, wishing she could remain unaffected by the older woman’s disdain. Except this was Geoffrey’s mother, and the woman’s opinion mattered because of it.
Geoffrey brushed back several loose strands of hair that had fallen around Abigail’s shoulder. He placed his lips to her wildly fluttering pulse. “Mother is never pleased,” he whispered.
She slapped at his arm. “You are incorrigible. Your mother—”
“Will be attending one event or another this evening.”
A cowardly sigh of relief escaped Abigail. No matter how small, Abigail welcomed the reprieve.
The driver opened the door and a soothing, spring breeze caressed her face.
Geoffrey leapt down, and tucked that small, unopened package under his arm. Next, he turned and helped Abigail from the carriage.
Once on the pavement, Abigail tilted her head to the right and shifted her lower back in attempt to stretch the cramped muscles. Then, she placed her fingers on Geoffrey’s coat sleeve and followed him up the steps of the impressive townhouse.
She looked at the familiar stone steps and the white stucco façade, remembering back to a vastly different nigh, and a chill stole through her.
Geoffrey touched a hand to the small of her back. He whispered close to her ear. “Don’t. Please, do not let that be what you think of whenever you are here. It would break me, Abigail.”
The front door opened.
Geoffrey guided her inside where they were greeted by the severe looking butler who’d bore witness to Abigail’s humiliation a fortnight ago.
“Ralston, may I introduce you to the Viscountess Redbrooke.”
Ralston’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. He swiftly remembered himself and bowed. “May I wish you felicitations on your nuptials, my lord?”
“Nuptials?”
As one, Abigail and Geoffrey’s gaze swung upward to the top of the long staircase to where the viscountess stood in a burgundy satin evening gown.
Abigail swallowed. It would appear her reprieve was to be far shorter lived than she’d either anticipated or hoped.
The viscountess swept down the stairs. Her skirts snapped and swirled angrily about her ankles. “Nuptials?” she hissed. “Nuptials?”
Abigail curtsied. “My lady.”
Geoffrey’s mother looked through Abigail like she was nothing more than an apparition haunting the townhouse. The regal viscountess’ attention fixed on Geoffrey.
Geoffrey caught Abigail’s hand and gave a faint squeeze in unspoken support. “Mother, remember yourself,” he bit out.
Her mouth opened and closed in way that reminded Abigail of a bass fish she’d once caught. The fish had flipped and twisted upon the ground, before she’d taken mercy upon the creature and tossed him back into the sea.
Abigail held her palms up. “I know you do not approve of me, for very many reasons,” she began. She took a deep breath. “But I love Geoffrey, my lady. And you are most assuredly right, in that I’m improper, and wanting in many ways. And yet, I cannot help but love him.”
Some emotion filled the viscountess’ eyes. She snapped her skirts aside, and marched down the hall without a backwards glance for Abigail or Geoffrey.
Regret slammed into her, as she and Geoffrey continued onward toward her chambers. What had she expected? That Geoffrey’s mother would graciously welcome Abigail into the family’s fold?
Geoffrey winked down at Abigail. “Well, I do say she handled that remarkably well.”
She tried to muster a smile, and he must have seen something somber in her expression for he cursed. “I am sorry, Abigail. You don’t deserve such a cold welcome. I’ve not prepared the staff. I hadn’t really considered anything beyond making you my wife.”
They stopped beside a closed door. She reached up and caressed his cheek. Gone was the well-ordered gentleman with too many lists. “And I haven’t considered anything beyond how much I love being your wife.”
He shoved the door open, and Abigail entered. Her eyes went to the wide four-poster bed at the center of the room. The Staff not having expected guests had left the hearth cold. She turned about the pale green and golden gilded room.
Geoffrey bowed. “I will send someone to assist you, my lady.”
Before she could protest, Geoffrey took his leave.
The door closed on a soft click.
“Hmph,” she muttered. She circled the room, trailing her fingers along the rose-inlaid table that rested alongside the bed, and moved over to the shepherdess figurine atop the fireplace mantle. Abigail picked it up and turned it over distractedly.
The day had moved in such a speedy blur, she’d not considered her fears of that night—until now.
The figurine trembled in her fingers and she set it down quickly lest it tumble to the floor. Abigail sucked in a deep breath. She came to Geoffrey without her virginity. She’d given that gift to another, and yet, she remained largely untried in matters of lovemaking. The night she’d been discovered in Alexander’s arms, had been quick, and painful.
To give her hands something to do, Abigail again picked up the expensive porcelain trinket. She caught sight of her reflection in the full-length bevel mirror across the room. Bright red color splotched her cheeks. Her toes curled in the soles of her slipper as she cringed at the idea of doing…that, with Geoffrey.
The door opened, and she turned to greet the maid Geoffrey had sent. “Thank you for…” Her words faded. “Oh.” The shepherdess tumbled to the hard wood floor and fell with a loud thump.
The head popped off one of the sheep at the shepherdess’ feet. Abigail blinked down at it, and then forced herself to look at her husband.
Geoffrey stood at the closed door with his arms folded across his broad chest. He leaned his hip against the wall. He appeared so blasted comfortable and unaffected and sophisticated while Abigail stood like a bumbling fool with a shattered porcelain shepherdess at her feet. A broken shepherdess.
He grinned, displaying two perfect rows of pearl white teeth. “Oh.”
“You aren’t a maid.” She clasped her hands in front of her
“Good of you to note,” he said dryly.
The color in her cheeks heightened. She stooped down to pick up the broken figurine. A gasp slipped from her lips when she stood up, and
the poor figurine tumbled to the floor. This cost the shepherdess with golden ringlets her head. Geoffrey stood a hairsbreadth away. Abigail slapped a hand to her chest. “Goodness, you mustn’t sneak up on a person like that.”
He frowned. “Viscounts do not sneak.”
“You do.” She glanced at the shattered glass. “The figurine…”
“I don’t give a jot about the figurine.”
Oh dear, she fanned herself. “It is warm in here? Isn’t it? Yes, a bit warm,” she said, not allowing him an opportunity to respond. “Which is odd because when I first entered the room, I was chilled, but no longer. Now I seem…”
“Warm?” he supplied with wry amusement in that one word response.
She nodded her head emphatically. “Yes, very. Warm that is.” Abigail clamped her lips closed. You are rambling, Abigail.
Geoffrey reached for her, but Abigail danced out of his reach. She craved Geoffrey’s kiss, desired his touch, but loathed the idea of ruining the beauty of this moment with the harsh, pained swiftness of their coupling.
“I-ah…I should turn the bedcovers down.” She turned hopefully to Geoffrey. “Perhaps it is best if we call for someone to turn down the…” Geoffrey crossed over to the bed, and folded the coverlet down.
“There.”
Abigail chewed the inside of her cheek. “Perhaps dinner?”
He arched a chestnut brown eyebrow. “Are you hungry?”
“No,” she answered without thinking. “Er…” She fanned her cheeks again. “I thought you might care for supper,” she finished weakly.
Geoffrey touched a hand to her shoulder and she jumped. The backs of her knees bumped against the mattress, and she sank into the hastily turned down bedding.
“Abigail, are you nervous?”
“No,” she squeaked. Abigail grasped the Jacquard patterned coverlet and fisted it in her hands. The truth of it was in spite of her scandalous past, she remained largely inexperienced in the matters of lovemaking.
Geoffrey stared at her with a warm, gentle patience.
She sighed. “Very well, yes, I am nervous.” Her gaze fixed on the fabric of his white cambric shirt and she lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “You must consider me er, proficient because, because…” Her voice cracked and she stood quickly, and slipped past him. “Because.” She wet her lips. “I’m not, however. Experienced that is.” Abigail furrowed her brow. “Well, in the strictest meaning of the word I suppose one could argue I am in fact. Experienced, that is.” She studied the tuft of brown hair that peeked from the opening in his shirt and then forced herself to look at him. “But I find I don’t like it, Geoffrey. I’m afraid you are to be disappointed.”
***
Geoffrey bit back a grin at the dejected slump of his wife’s shoulders.
Abigail may have lain with another, but she remained innocent in nearly every sense of the word. She belonged to him, and nothing that had happened before this moment mattered. None of it. This marked the beginning of their forever.
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you laughing at me?”
Geoffrey coughed into his hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Abigail’s glower deepened, indicating his paltry efforts were futile.
“Well, not at you, sweet, Abby. I could never laugh at you. Come to me.”
“I’m already right next to…Oh!” Her eyes rounded, giving her the look of an owl as he pulled her close.
Geoffrey released the magnificent combs that held her midnight black tresses in place, and tossed them to the floor. Her hair tumbled like a silken smooth waterfall about them. “Oh,” he whispered against her cheek.
Geoffrey turned her around, and began to unfasten the buttons that lined the back of her pale yellow gown, one at a time. He placed his lips along each piece of magnificently smooth, flesh, until only her thin shift shielded the graceful curve of her back from his eyes. The gown fell in a fluttery heap at their feet.
Then, in short order, he proceeded to divest her of her shift and stays, placing his mouth to each sacred part of her body. “I must. Admit.” He spoke between kisses.
Her legs wavered beneath her, and Geoffrey caught her in his arms, and carried her the remaining way to the bed. He lowered her down upon the turned down sheets.
“Admit?” she moaned, arching her neck.
“As to the meaning. Of. That. Oh.” He cupped the generous swell of her pale white breasts. The pink peaks that crested her stunning flesh pebbled under his scrutiny. Geoffrey’s gaze moved over her. In her stunningly lithe, curved naked glory, Abigail rivaled the goddess Athena in beauty. He closed his mouth around the tip of her right breast. He drew the bud deep, and gently sucked the tender flesh.
Abigail’s hips arched. “Oh! You…mustn’t,” she gasped, even as her hands came up to clasp his head close to her. “It isn’t at all. Proper, that is.” Her words ended on a keening cry.
Geoffrey pulled away, and she reached for him. He tugged his shirt overhead and tossed it to the floor, where it landed atop her discarded gown and stays. He bent down to remove his breeches just as Abigail jerked her legs up. His eyes widened as she caught him in the groin. Geoffrey hissed.
He collapsed atop the bed, his breath coming fast.
“Oh, dear!” Abigail cried. She scrambled to her knees alongside him and began to run her hands down his person. “I told you, I’m rather awful at all this. I’m sorry.” She reached out and her fingers brushed his manhood. “Geoffrey! Are you all right?”
“Fine,” he said between clenched teeth. If she touched him again in that seductively innocent way, he’d lose control.
“Are you certain? Because you groaned rather loudly…oh.”
Geoffrey removed his breeches and threw them over the side of the bed.
Abigail peeked down at his manhood, and her cheeks flamed the red of a ripe summer berry. She fanned herself again. “Oh, dear.”
He grinned, and reached between them. His fingers found the hot, moist nub of her center.
Her moan blended with his shallow breathing in an erotic symphony. Beads of moisture dotted his brow, and trickled down into his eyes. He ignored the sting and continued to work her. His fingers explored. Teased. Tempted. Until Abigail writhed with a wild abandon under his ministrations.
“Geoffrey,” she cried. “Please!”
Geoffrey nudged her thighs apart and settled himself between her legs. He paused with his hard, aching shaft at the threshold of her womanhood, and then on a swift plunge entered her.
Abigail cried out. “Oh, my. Oh, dear.” She panted heavily. “That didn’t.” He began to move inside her in slow, rhythmic strokes, easing her to the feel of him sheathed within her center.
Abigail reached up and brushed the sweat back from his brow. “Hurt.”
His body stiffened, and he went immobile as he hovered on the cusp of shattering in her arms. “I’ve hurt you.” He made to pull out but Abigail frantically shook her hand and wrapped her legs about him, firmly anchoring him close.
“No! It didn’t hurt. It felt…feels, rather delicious,” she gasped as he began to move inside her again. And again.
Geoffrey increased his rhythm, driving into the hot, molten warmth of her, and Abigail met his wild thrusts.
“Geoffrey!” she cried. “I believe…that is…I think...something…oh my….!” A soft scream burst from her lips as she came undone in his arms, bucking wildly, and then Geoffrey joined her, falling over the precipice of desire. He turned his body over to that which he had craved since the moment he’d stepped upon her hem. He spilled his seed deep inside. His harsh, guttural groans blended with her high, breathy moans.
Geoffrey collapsed. He rolled off Abigail, and pulled her close to his side, unable to open his eyes, unable to think, or move, or….
“Geoffrey?” Abigail whispered. She turned on her side to face him, and tapped him on the chin. “Are you sleeping?”
“I’m not,” he said. His body stirred again, filled with desire for
her.
“Was I, that is,” she cleared her throat. “Was it acceptable?”
A languid smile formed on his lips. He reached for her.
“Again?” she squeaked.
He caressed the generous curve of her buttocks.
Her eyes widened as he stirred against her.
“Again,” he whispered. “What do you have to say to that, wife?”
She smiled, and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. He parted her thighs and reentered her. Her mouth fell open. “Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.”
Then, he proceeded to show her the true meaning of that single utterance.
***
Abigail woke a short while later. Geoffrey stroked his hand up and down the curve of her hip, and she leaned into his touch. “Have I told you I loved you?” His lips caressed the sensitive flesh where her neck met her ear, and she giggled as his breath tickled her skin.
“You have,” she assured him. In fact… “Eight times.”
Geoffrey rolled onto his back and pulled her against him. “You’ve counted?”
She nodded against his chest, a delicious shiver ran down her languid frame as he turned his attention to the swell of her breasts.
“Is that all?”
Abigail fought through the thick fog of desire that clouded her senses, confused his words. “I-I’m c-certain of it,” she managed on a gasping breath as he moved his tender ministrations higher, to the nape of her neck.
He pulled back and flicked his finger along the tip of her nose. “Well, that will never do. I love you.” He kissed her lips. “I love you.” He kissed her again. “I love you.”
She leaned up, and rested her arms upon his muscled chest, liberally sprinkled with springy brown hair. “Can one die of happiness?”
He snorted, and rubbed smooth circles over her back. “I certainly hope not.”
A smile played about her lips.
“You do know you’ve still not opened your gift,” he said casually.
She blinked. Her gaze flitted over to the now thoroughly rumpled looking package. The top of the box had been crushed on top. Abigail scrambled up onto her knees.
Geoffrey reached for her, but she swatted him away. “Behave.” She opened the box, and the air left her on a whoosh.
Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous Page 26
