Setting her glass on the edge of the railing she stood up, the shawl fluttering to the ground in a spill of white as she stretched her arms above her head and muffled a yawn. It was hard to believe she’d once stayed out dancing until the bleary hours of dawn. At Hawkridge she’d been asleep in her bed before midnight; earlier if her chosen reading material failed to interest her. Then up with the sun to greet the day, an enchantingly novel concept that had eventually become routine.
I miss it, she realized with some surprise. The quiet lull of country life, something she’d once thought so boring and mundane, was now more appealing than the glimmering allure of high society.
How...unexpected.
Bending to retrieve her shawl, she froze still and stiff as a statue when she heard the bedroom door open followed by the creak of a floorboard as someone walked into the room. Hardly daring to breathe, she left the shawl where it was and flattened herself against the wall, the delicate fabric of her muslin gown catching on the rough plaster.
Heavy footsteps grew closer...and closer...and then, without warning, they turned and headed in the opposite direction.
When she heard the door open and close Georgiana sighed with relief. Being fondled by a stranger wasn’t top of her priority list, even if it was just a bit of harmless fun. But no sooner had she stepped away from the wall than the curtain was abruptly swept aside and the glass doors were pulled inward to reveal the tall, rangy silhouette of a man standing on the balcony threshold.
“There you are.” Sebastian’s teeth flashed white in the darkness as his black gaze fell upon her. He’d removed his blindfold - because of course he had, scoundrel that he was - and Georgiana felt an unwanted tingle between her thighs when she saw the possessive gleam in the obsidian depths of his eyes. “Stretching the rules a bit, aren’t we?”
“I could say the same for you,” she bit out, jumping quickly to the side when he stepped onto the balcony and closed the doors behind him. The quiet click of the tumbler falling into place sent a shiver racing down her spine. Her little hideaway had seemed like such a brilliant idea when she’d first discovered it, but now it felt more like a cage...one she was trapped in with a very large, very hungry lion.
“I’ve never been one to follow the rules. Neither have you, if I recall. Sweet little Georgie. Always so prim and proper in public. If only they knew how you behaved behind closed doors.”
Her stomach quivered when he gave a rare, teasing smile and reached out to tug on one of her cat ears.
“And how is that?” she said archly, ducking her head to evade his grasp.
“Wild.” He took a step forward. She took two in retreat and felt the hard edge of the railing pressing against the small of her back. “Wanton.” As he’d done that morning he closed her in with his arms, hands bracing on either side of her trembling body as he stared down at her with an expression that was caught somewhere between amusement and desire. “Wicked.” His lips kissed the side of her neck as he leaned in close and whispered, “Don’t you want to be wicked with me, Georgie?”
Oh, she did. She really, really did.
“No,” she whispered.
“Liar,” he growled before his mouth claimed hers in a searing, punishing kiss that said one thing and one thing only: you’re mine.
Her cat ears went flying off the edge of the balcony as his fingers dove greedily into her hair. She struck her fist against his chest, a pitifully small token of resistance that said: I don’t want to want you, but I do.
Then her hands were clinging to his neck and his lips were scorching a fiery trail down towards her breasts and if she wasn’t leaning against the railing she had no doubt she would have collapsed on the spot, so great was her need to be touched. Not hesitantly, as James had done, as if every kiss were a question. She wanted to be taken. She wanted to feel. And if Sebastian was the only one who could do it, if he was the only one who could bring her to life, then so be it. To hell with the consequences. She’d deal with those later.
He suckled her nipple through the thin fabric of her bodice, tongue swirling round and round the erect bud as her head lolled to the side and she arched her back, silently begging for more. He blew gently across her breast before biting the tip just hard enough to elicit a startled gasp. Her eyes opened to discover him staring fiercely down at her, pupils dilated with a desire so potent it was like a living, breathing thing inside of him, fighting to be free.
“Aye, that’s right,” he rasped. “I want you to know it’s me tasting you.” His head dipped to her other breast and she moaned an incoherent response when he took her nipple between his teeth. “I want you to know it’s me touching you.” He looked at her again, his feral gaze unblinking as he lifted her skirts and skimmed his fingertips up one long, quivering thigh until he found the waistband of her knitted silk drawers. One tug and the they were loosened enough for him to slip his entire hand beneath.
“Don’t look away,” he ordered when her lashes grew heavy with lust. “Look at me, Georgiana. Look only at me.”
Helpless to resist the magnetic pull of his voice, she did as he commanded.
She looked at him as he parted her damp curls.
She looked at him as he began to slowly stroke her glistening flesh.
She looked at him as he slipped one finger inside to stretch and tease.
And she looked at him as he brought her closer and closer to the brilliant release she so desperately craved.
One final stroke and it was upon her, that brilliant, all-consuming flash of light that could only come from within. With a mewling cry she pressed her face into the cove of his neck, fingers frantically latching into the dark curls of his mane as her hips bucked and shuddered against his hand.
When the tiny aftershocks of blissful desire finally faded so too did the veil of oblivion she’d conveniently wrapped herself in. With a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head she stepped back from Sebastian as far as the railing would allow and, unable to meet his gaze for fear of the smugness she would almost certainly see there, stared down at her knotted hands instead.
“That was a-”
“If you say mistake I’m going to pick you up and toss you over the edge of the balcony,” he said flatly.
Startled by the violent threat, she glanced up. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“No, but I’m more than willing to throw you in the pond if you don’t come to your bloody senses.” His mouth curved in a wolfish grin as his gaze dipped to her breasts where her nipples were still hard and aching from his tender administrations. “Naked, of course.”
Was it a testament to her foolishness or his arrogance that her belly tightened with anticipation? It doesn’t matter, she told herself silently. Because this is not. Going. To. Happen. Again.
Maybe if she used all capital letters it would actually mean something, for Georgiana was not the sort of woman accustomed to losing control. Not of her emotions and not of her body. Yet, in one fell swoop, Sebastian had managed to do both. He’d robbed her of her inhibitions. Stolen her common sense. Left her vulnerable and defenseless and - though she dared not admit it, even to herself - the tiniest bit hopeful.
She and Sebastian weren’t children any longer. They were full grown adults, their demeanors forged by time and circumstance. She was no more the young, naive debutante she’d once been than he was the carefree, philandering duke. She’d been watching him closely since the house party began and not once - not even when Lady Cheltenham accidentally rubbed her bodice against him or Lady Green (a married woman twice his age!) tried to draw him into a wildly inappropriate conversation about the nude statues in Vauxhall Gardens - had his attention wavered from her.
The intensity with which he watched her was both alarming and oddly flattering. To still capture his attention after seven long years...maybe she really had meant something to him. Maybe she still did. But that didn’t explain why he’d chosen another, or what he was doing here now.
“Sebastian, I-”
“We’re done,” said Georgiana, using the distraction Ginny provided to slip beneath Sebastian’s arm. She paused in the doorway to look back at him over her shoulder, a wistful smile gracing her lips as she let herself imagine, just for a moment, what might have been if things had turned out differently seven years ago. “We’ve been done for a very long time.”
Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “Georgie-”
“Goodnight, Your Grace.” Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, she turned away and followed Ginny out the door.
Chapter Eight
Georgiana managed to evade him for the next two days, but Sebastian wasn’t deterred. Not when he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, they belonged together. Now all he had to do was convince Georgie of the same.
It wasn’t just their physical connection - although that was not to be understated. When he thought of the tiny mewling sound she’d made deep in her throat when she had clenched tight around his finger...his hands clamped down on the reins, causing the horse he was riding to flatten both ears and toss its head.
“Sorry mate,” he apologized, a grimace contorting his features as his swollen cock pushed against the hard leather of the saddle. He’d thought an early morning ride around the grounds would help clear his head and center his thoughts; unfortunately it seemed to be having the opposite effect.
Slowing to a walk, he stood up in the stirrups to adjust himself and gave the gelding its head. They meandered slowly down a narrow, tree-lined path that ran parallel to the west end of the manor, its peaked roof just visible through the thick green foliage.
Once the tightness in his breeches had eased Sebastian allowed his thoughts to return to Georgie, mouth curving in an arrogant grin as he imagined the way her eyes flashed whenever he dared to use the common moniker.
What could he say in his defense? He liked to challenge her, just as she enjoyed challenging him. It had always been that way between them. Like for like. Tit for tat. She kept him on his toes as no one else ever had. Mostly, he suspected, because she didn’t give a damn that he was a duke.
He could be the King of England or the court jester and she’d despise him equally. It was one of the things he loved best about her. For he did love her. Truth be told, part of him always had. He’d just been too afraid to realize it...and now he was afraid it was too late.
Everything eventually expired if it wasn’t tended to. Even love. And while his feelings for Georgiana had sustained the test of time - had, in fact, grown stronger with every passing year - he feared the wall she’d built around her heart could prove to be too high and too strong to overcome. But damned if he wasn’t going to try.
He’d tear the wall down brick by brick if he had to, knowing that every bead of sweat, every drop of blood, was only bringing him closer to the woman he loved. The woman he’d wronged.
The woman he refused to live without.
Hedgehogs, Georgiana decided as she crouched behind the gardening shed with a rake in one hand and a bucket in the other, were highly impertinent creatures.
“Come out of there, you rascal,” she said, poking the end of the rake into a hole that ran underneath the shed. “I’m trying to help you.”
Unfortunately, it seemed the hedgehog did not see it that way. With a loud, huffing sigh Georgiana sat back on her heels and regarded the task at hand with compressed lips and a furrowed brow. When Eleanor had asked her to be on the lookout for hedgehogs in the garden - and to subsequently rescue any she might find - she had failed to mention how stubborn the little buggers were.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” Exasperated, she gave the hole another poke. “I’m trying to save you.” While no doubt looking like a complete lunatic in the process, she thought silently.
If only Lady Portia could see her now. The gossiping hen would laugh herself into a fit if she came across Georgiana, elegant lady of the ton, tromping around the yard in her nightgown, wrapper, and oversized leather boots she’d borrowed from one of the footmen. Her hair was loosely bundled on top of her head with tendrils trailing down on either side of her temple. She hadn’t even bothered to put on gloves and her hands, always so carefully groomed, were caked with dirt and stained green with grass.
“The things we do for family,” she muttered under her breath.
Before she’d left Hawkridge her eccentric sister-in-law had made her promise that if she found any hedgehogs in the garden - where, unbeknownst to Georgiana, they apparently lived in grave danger as the mortal enemies of gardeners everywhere - she would promptly remove said hedgehog to a safer location.
‘They prefer gardens and hedgerows the best because that’s where the largest grubs can be found,’ Eleanor had informed her. ‘But they’re safest in a meadow or field. Just make sure there is plenty of shade, as they’re not very fond of the sun. And if you find one in distress, do bring it to me at once. They are very delicate creatures that require specialized care’.
“Delicate my arse,” Georgiana grumbled under her breath. The hedgehog she was after was a large, rotund fellow who had been discovered gleefully digging through the gardener’s carrot patch. Georgiana’s maid had undoubtedly found it odd when, upon her arrival at Swiftmore, she’d asked to be informed of any hedgehog sightings, but she had dutifully honored the request and had woken Georgiana at dawn to inform her that ‘one o’ those creatures ye mentioned is havin’ a crack at Mr. Gregor’s vegetables and he’s none too pleased about it’.
So here she was. The granddaughter of a duke. Sitting on her rump in the damp grass trying to coax a prickly rat - ahem, insectivore - out of its hole and into a bucket. Lips compressing into a firm, flat line, she brushed the back of her hand across her forehead. The only thing worse would be if-
“I don’t know if I even dare ask,” an amused voice drawled from behind her.
-he showed up.
“Go away,” she said frostily, not bothering to turn around. “As you can see, I am busy.”
Two mud splattered Hessians appeared beside her. “Busy doing what, precisely?”
“That’s none of your business.” Setting down the bucket - but keeping hold of the rake - Georgiana sprang to her feet. Hair flew into her eyes and she flicked it impatiently away as she glowered up at Sebastian.
Courtesy of his little performance on the balcony last night she’d hardly gotten a wink of sleep. For what felt like hours she had tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position that eased the ache between her thighs. An ache that Sebastian, devil take him, had put there. And that wasn’t even the worst part. No, the worst part was that she’d let him put it here. Even though she’d sworn up and down she wouldn’t. Now here he was again, popping up like a scratch she could never quite reach.
Or a boil that needed lancing.
“What are you doing out here?” she demanded, her grip on the rake tightening.
“I just finished a morning ride,” Sebastian replied, inadvertently drawing her gaze down to the smoke gray breeches that clung to his muscular thighs like a second skin. “What are you doing out here?”
With a blink, Georgiana forced her eyes up. “I told you, that’s none-”
“Of my business. Yes, I heard you the first time. Unfortunately, I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.” He glanced at the rake, then at the bucket she’d left leaning against the shed. “Perhaps I can be of service.”
“You’ve helped enough already,” she muttered under her breath.
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“It sounded like one to me.” One side of his mouth lifted in a rakish leer. “Do you know that you make the most delicious little sound when you co-”
“Be quiet,” she hissed, heat flooding her cheeks as her gaze flicked left and right.
“Relax. There’s no one out here but you and me and whatever poor unfortunate soul you’re trying to stuff inside of that bucket.”
“If you must know, I’m attempting to rescue a hedgehog.”
His eyebrows pulling together over the bridge of his nose, he looked at her as if she’d just admitted to chasing after Cornish pixies. “A what?”
“A hedgehog,” she said impatiently. “Surely you’ve heard of them. Long snouts. Sharp quills. Tiny little ears.”
“I know what a blasted hedgehog is,” he scowled. “Why the hell are you trying to rescue one?”
Why the hell indeed?
“Because of Eleanor. My brother’s wife,” she explained with a sigh when Sebastian only seemed more confused. “She has a - let’s call it - penchant for animals. Hedgehogs in particular. Apparently they’ve grown quite rare in this part of the country and she asked that if I found any in the garden to relocate them to a nearby meadow or field. So that’s what I’m doing.”
“Hedgehog rescuing. I’ll be damned.” Sebastian gave a bemused shake of his head before rubbing his hands briskly together. “All right. What do you need me to do?”
Now it was Georgiana’s turn to stare. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”
“Have you ever caught a hedgehog before?”
“Have you?” he countered, one brow lifting.
He had her there. And if his smug expression was any indication, he knew it.
“Hand me the rake,” he said. “You take the bucket.”
Lips pursing, Georgiana did as he requested. If he wanted to help that badly, who was she to stop him? “I almost had the bugger, but he ran across the lawn and disappeared into that hole,” she said, pointing. “I haven’t been able to get him out since.”
A Duchess for all Seasons: The Collection Page 24
