His thigh muscles clenched, his balls tight and aching with a lust he couldn’t remember experiencing for a very long time. For a moment he felt almost like a green boy having his first fling, the need was suddenly so intense. His thickened shaft strained against his drawers as he waited.
“Here,” he said when she couldn’t quite manage the buttons.
He flicked open the buttons with a practiced hand and let his heavy arousal spring free, its engorged, vein-covered length straining toward her in supplication.
Her breathing quickened and she swallowed hard. Suddenly she looked uncertain.
“Do you want to stop?” he asked, his tone guttural.
She hesitated, then shook her head. “No.”
“Then take me in your mouth. Slowly at first; you don’t want to go too fast.”
After drawing a ragged breath, she straightened her shoulders and leaned in. She touched him first with her tongue, a tentative brush along the tip that made him jolt as if he’d been hit by electricity.
Alarmed by his reaction, she pulled back. “I’m sorry. Did I do it wrong?”
“No. God no, you did it just right.” He clenched a fist at his side. “Please, continue.”
A little frown of concentration creased the spot between her eyes in an expression of determination that he was beginning to recognize. She curled one little hand around his shaft to hold him steady; then she opened her mouth and licked him again, starting again with the tip, then up one side and down the other.
He shuddered, a drop of semen leaking from the slit. But rather than quail, she caught it on her tongue and swallowed. “Hmm, salty. You taste like the sea.”
Glancing up, she met his eyes.
He expected her to look away. Instead, she opened her mouth and brazenly drew him in. She suckled him, her lips warm and slick around the head of his shaft, her tongue swirling this way and that with moves that made the blood turn to steam in his veins.
Taking her fingers in his, he pumped her fist over his shaft from center to base, showing her how to stroke him while she suckled. As she caressed him, she grew bolder, her eyes closing as she drew on him as if he were as sweet and delicious as a stick of hard candy.
He held himself steady, resisting the urge to thrust deeper into her mouth. “More,” he groaned, as his hands came up to cup her face. “Take more.”
She paused briefly, then widened her mouth and let him push another inch inside.
“That’s it,” he urged. “Relax and take me.”
Gently, careful not to do more than she could take, he began to thrust slowly in and out of her mouth, the sounds of her moans and the wet heat of her tongue driving him to the brink. He tried to pull out, his climax upon him, but she tightened her hold and wouldn’t let go.
Without meaning to, he released in her mouth, hot spurts of his seed shooting into her throat. She gulped, working hard to swallow as much as she could manage. He thrust shallowly once, twice more, then forced himself to pull free, his shaft limp, body gloriously replete.
He couldn’t remember when he’d been better satisfied by a woman’s mouth. Had he ever? If she weren’t already his bride, he would have set her up as his mistress, since she had all the makings of a damned fine courtesan.
He waited, suddenly worried at her reaction. Had he gone too far?
But then she looked up, swallowing again as she fought to regain her breath. “Was it all right?” she whispered. “Did you like it?”
Shocked and not a little relieved, he pulled her up and into his arms. “No, I didn’t like it. I loved it.”
She smiled, shyly but with a hint of naughty delight. “Good. Is it very wrong of me to admit that I did too?”
Laughing, he kissed her. “No, sweetheart,” he said when they came up for air. “It’s not wrong at all. Not in the slightest.”
Chapter 17
For Esme, the next three weeks passed by in a pleasant haze, each day seemingly better than the one that had come before. Without any particular consultation on the subject, she and Gabriel fell into an easy, enjoyable routine.
When the weather was clear, they took long walks and often went down to the beach, where she sketched or painted while he read a book or played a game of fetch with Burr.
The dog, who had never really bonded with anyone but her, had quickly become Gabriel’s faithful and devoted slave. Were she a different sort of person, she might have been jealous. Instead, she was simply happy to see what good friends man and dog had become.
As for Gabriel’s promise to strip out of his clothing for her again so she could draw him, the cooler temperatures had not been cooperative. Still, that didn’t mean that she hadn’t drawn him at all, her sketchbook filling almost daily with new renderings.
On other occasions, Gabriel took her to see some of the nearby tidal estuaries. She delighted in observing the tiny fish and other aquatic creatures that made the rocky, shallow pools their home. She added them to her collection of sketches as well.
Another favorite out-of-doors activity was riding. Gabriel was an excellent horseman and together they would gallop over the moors, the wind tugging at their hair and clothing like a mischievous child. On particularly sunny days, they liked to stop where the cliffs overlooked the sea and partake of one of Mrs. Canby’s delicious picnic nuncheons while the majestic blue-gray waves rolled and crashed beyond.
On the days when they were not so lucky and cold rain drummed on the roof and cascaded like rivers from the eaves, she and Gabriel would stay inside, cozy-warm by the fireplace. Usually they both read or else took turns at the writing desk penning a variety of letters: she to her family and friends, and he to his friends, his steward at Ten Elms, his servants and his London man of business.
And when they weren’t doing any of those things, they had sex.
Lots and lots of sex.
She’d quickly grown used to being kissed and caressed awake each morning, his mouth and hands busy arousing her so that she was slick and aching with desire by the time he sheathed himself heavily inside her.
He took her at bedtime each night as well, awakening her lust in ways she’d never imagined possible as he brought her to completion over and over again. In fact, he’d told her to stop wearing a nightgown to bed, since, in his words, “it only got in the way.”
She never knew what position he might choose or when he would decide to show her a new one. Front, back, side, up, down, on her hands and knees, her legs over his shoulders, her legs hooked over his arms—he was always showing her something different.
He liked a variety of places too, not content to confine their lovemaking to her bed or his own. Chairs, tables, sofas, the floor. He’d even had her once standing up, her back pressed against the wall, her legs locked tight at his waist as he thrust hard and fast within her until she’d had to press her mouth to his shoulder so the whole house wouldn’t hear her cries of fulfillment.
And then there were the times during the day when he would shock and surprise her. Like the afternoon they’d been reading on the sofa, the tea Mrs. Canby had delivered still steaming in the pot, when he’d gone over and locked the door. Picking a clean napkin up off the tray, he’d twisted it lengthwise, then told her to open her mouth.
“So you won’t have them all coming down on us when I make you scream,” he’d explained as he put the napkin into her mouth, then tied the ends at the back of her head. “Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to make you climax so hard you won’t be able to stand straight for the rest of the day.”
And he had, using his mouth and hands on her first in ways that had left her half-dazed and frenzied with need before he’d seated her on his lap in a chair and pumped into her from behind. Using his knees to spread her wide, he’d penetrated her so deeply she’d felt as though they’d been joined into one, each thrust longer and harder and more earth-
shattering than the last, until finally she reached her peak, her screams mercifully silenced by the cloth in her mouth as a dark, powerful bliss splintered her apart.
Perhaps she ought to have found him too intense, his sexual demands too much for her to satisfy. But the more times he took her, the more her own cravings grew.
She ached for him, wanting him even when he wasn’t inside her. She reached for him, curling herself against him as they slept side by side at night, and again during the day, even if was only to hold his hand. She’d come to their marriage expecting nothing—actually less than nothing—and fearing the very worst.
But day by day she fell deeper under his spell, enjoying more than his touch, but his company as well. His clever mind and his sharp wit. His unexpectedly generous nature and his willingness to share—everything, that is, but personal details about himself.
Despite their closeness, she still knew almost nothing about his past or his family, whereas he knew practically everything about her own. They talked freely about her family as she regaled him with stories and anecdotes that made him smile and laugh. But the few times she’d ventured to ask questions about his own family, the most he would tell her was that his parents were dead and that he didn’t see much of his other relations. She’d learned better than to ask why, since he grew moody if she pushed. And so she’d let it drop, far too happy and content to risk starting an argument with him. She didn’t ask about the future and he didn’t bring it up, the days drifting one into the other.
“Shall we go into town today?” he asked her over breakfast that Friday. “The market will be open and I thought you might enjoy seeing a little more of Cornwall than our own small corner. We could even have a meal at the inn if you’d like.”
So far, she’d had no complaints regarding their isolation, but he was right: it might be nice to spend a few hours in a town surrounded by people again.
Smiling at him over her tea and scones, she agreed.
The main thoroughfare in Truro was crowded when they arrived. Tradesmen, shopkeepers and farmers were gathered in the market square to hawk their wares, while townspeople and visitors wandered among the wooden stands in search of produce, livestock, artisan-made goods, services and the best bargains to be had. Merchants and shop owners displayed their goods as well, in hopes of luring customers inside rather than out.
Esme watched a pair of women stop to ogle a display of hats in the window of the local millinery, while a trio of sailors disappeared inside a tavern in search of a pint and a game of cards, no doubt. With her hand tucked securely around Gabriel’s arm, they wandered, enjoying the noise and smells and vibrant pulse of life.
When she paused to admire a length of fine blue-green silk that the merchant claimed had only just arrived from the Orient, Gabriel purchased ten yards. And when she oohed and aahed over a selection of toffees and sugared fruits, he bought her large handfuls of each that the candy maker was delighted to wrap in heavy paper and brightly colored ribbons.
As for Gabriel, he bought nothing for himself, though he did stop to consider a rather handsome pocket watch made from rare Cornish silver.
After moving on, much to the watchmaker’s disappointment, they started in the direction of Truro’s best inn, where Gabriel told her a rather decent meal could be had. He was checking the busy street for an opportunity to cross safely, when someone called his name, the sound ringing out above the throng.
“Northcote! I say, Northcote, is that you?”
Gabriel turned his head, a smile creasing his cheeks when he caught sight of a slender, brown-haired man of medium height threading his way through the crowd toward him. “Mark? Mark Dennis!”
Moving swiftly, Gabriel took several steps forward and caught hold of the other man’s hand. They exchanged an enthusiastic handshake while Esme looked on. They laughed, clearly pleased by their chance meeting.
“By God, it’s good to see you,” Mark Dennis said. “How long has it been?”
“Two years at the very least, maybe three. But that’s what comes, I suppose, of you taking a position at an estate in the north county. How are the cold wilds of England, by the by?”
“Cold and wild.” Dennis laughed. “But really, I cannot complain. A younger son only has so many options, and there are far worse fates than being private secretary to an earl. Besides, we cannot all end up peers like you.”
The smile faded slowly from Gabriel’s face. “True. Though had I the chance, I would happily trade it all if it meant having Matthew back. He was suited for this life and would have made a far better viscount than I ever shall.”
Dennis looked suddenly abashed. “Christ, what a great clod you must think me, saying something with so little sensitivity. I’ll understand entirely if you wish to turn your back now and forget we ever met.”
Gabriel recovered quickly. “No, never that. Besides, it would rob me of the opportunity to harass you over all your other past sins. Pray, think no more of it.”
Dennis reached again for Gabriel’s hand and shook once more. “You are an excellent friend, Northcote. Excellent and generous of spirit, no matter what anyone else may say to the contrary.”
The two men shared another round of smiles, once again in complete accord.
Before anything more could be said, Gabriel remembered her and swung around, a look of sincere apology on his face. “Forgive my lack of manners, my dear. It was not my intention to neglect you.” Reaching out, he drew her forward and slipped an arm around her waist. “Allow me to do the honors and present you to my friend and former schoolmate, Mark Dennis. Mark, my wife, Esme.”
“Wife!” Dennis’s expression was so surprised as to be almost comical, but he recovered quickly. “What extraordinary news.” His face split into a wide smile. “I am thrilled, thrilled for you both. Lady Northcote”—he paused and made her an elegant bow—“what a genuine delight to make your acquaintance.”
“It is for me as well, Mr. Dennis,” she said, smiling back. “I am always happy to meet a friend of my husband’s.”
“Well, I don’t know that you’d want to meet all of Northcote’s friends, or that he would want you to either. But it’s lovely of you to say so all the same.”
She laughed, taking an instant liking to Mark Dennis. He had an open, amiable manner and a genuine warmth and irreverent intelligence that put one instantly at ease.
“So what brings you to this part of the country?” Gabriel asked.
Dennis briefly lifted his eyes skyward. “It’s my great-aunt, if you must know. Every few months, she claims to be at death’s door, saying how it’s only a matter of days until the grim reaper pays her a call and claims her eternal soul. She’s nearly blind and about as ill-tempered as a badger. But she’s rich, so Mama insisted I make the pilgrimage just in case the old girl decides to leave me something substantial in her will.”
He gave a humorless chuckle. “She told me only this morning that I don’t have my fawning down near so well as my multitude of cousins, so I expect the only thing great-aunt will leave me is a thinner pocketbook for having made this trip. Still, if it gets my mother to quit writing, begging me to visit dear Auntie, then it will be time and funds well spent.”
“Ah, the tribulations of family,” Gabriel said. “Thank God I so rarely have to set eyes on mine. Now, Esme here, she’s got enough relations to populate a good-sized village.”
“There are not that many of us,” she protested.
Gabriel sent her a look. “Oh, come now. You’ve six brothers and a sister, their assorted spouses and children, your mother, aunts and uncles and cousins, plus their spouses and children. I’d say you might even qualify as a large village. You certainly have enough people to form a cricket league.”
She frowned, considering. “Well, I will admit that we do all rather fill up Braebourne at Christmastide. What a blessing the house is so vast.”
“Braebourne?” Mark Dennis chimed in. “Do you mean the Duke of Clybourne’s estate?”
“Indeed,” Gabriel said. “Esme is the duke’s youngest sister.”
Dennis’s brown eyes alighted with deepened interest. “Then this is even more of an honor, Lady Northcote.”
“Are you acquainted with Edward?”
“The duke? No. But I have corresponded with one of your brothers, Lord Lawrence. He has been assisting my employer with some legal matters this year past.”
Esme brightened. “Then I shall be sure to mention you to him when next I write. He will be vastly glad to hear that we met.”
“I am not so certain of that, but you are very kind,” Dennis said.
“That is Esme, kind to both man and beast.” Gabriel glanced down at her, and for a moment Esme lost herself in his eyes.
Just on the edge of her vision, Mark Dennis shuffled his feet and coughed. She looked up to find him smiling at her, gentle speculation in his gaze.
Dennis set a fist on his hip. “So, you are staying at Highhaven, I presume. What brings you here this time of year, other than an eagerness for some bracing sea air, that is?”
Absently, Gabriel rubbed a hand against the small of her back. She didn’t even think he realized he was doing it, he’d grown so used to touching her.
But Mark Dennis noticed.
“Actually, we’re newly married and are here on our honeymoon,” Gabriel said.
“Blister it.” Dennis shook his head in disbelief. “Leave it to me to be the one to interrupt your private time alone together. You ought to have told me to take myself off rather than letting me blather on and on when I’m sure you’ve other things you’d much rather be doing.”
“Of course we would not, Mr. Dennis,” Esme said. “You and Gabriel are old friends, school friends, if I remember right, and it is only natural that you should wish to renew your acquaintance. In fact, why do you not join us now for a repast? Gabriel and I were just on our way to the inn for a meal. You must come with us so that the two of you can continue to catch up on everything that has happened since last you met.”
Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square Page 19
