“What would you do?” he asked.
“I would rain curses upon them. I would visit them in the dead of night and release a wild boar in their houses. I would see them on their knees in the town square begging for your forgiveness.” Ruthlessness shrouded her words with an ominous promise.
He smiled in spite of himself. She was her father’s daughter. “I understand now,” he said.
“Understand what?”
“Why Lady Eleanor came to you for help. You are a protector by nature and a formidable woman. More so than anyone realizes.”
The ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “Would you please tell Mother? She seems to think I must marry in haste because I require protection. You’ve seen the gentlemen who come to call. Tell me the truth. Would any have been able to best the men in the alley and protect me?”
He declined to answer her question and focused on what made his heart pound faster. “Marry in haste?”
“Indeed. Mother wants me to pick a likely candidate at the Stanfields’ yuletide house party.” A sly smile spread her lips. “Can we hide here together until it’s over?”
“I’m afraid we won’t be trapped here for long.” Garrick turned to stir the soup to hide his reaction at the thought of spending days—and more to the point, nights—alone with Victoria. The feeling approached an intense longing. But he longed for the impossible.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Starving.”
He doled out the watery soup into two clay bowls, and they set about eating. Her surprise couldn’t be contained on her first bite. “This is not nearly as bad as I expected. Where did you learn to cook? From your mother?”
“At the orphanage. All the boys rotated through a set of chores. One week was kitchen duty. One week was caring for the gardens. Another week was spent cleaning and maintaining the house. I’m quite handy.” He’d had to be or risk getting beaten.
“You have skills I could never dream of.” She shot him a teasing smile, harkening back to their conversation that morning outside Sir Hawkins’s study door. It seemed a lifetime ago.
They finished the soup. Garrick cleaned the pot and bowls in the brook and gathered clean water to heat for their ablutions. Flakes drifted like stars from the slice of black sky visible through the treetops. The snow had been a piece of good fortune. Several inches had accumulated to cover their tracks, but the rate was slowing. Was it wrong to wish to be buried in the cottage with Victoria for weeks?
Foolishness is what it was. He was bound to protect her and return her unhurt and untouched to Sir Hawkins.
Victoria was stoking the fire when he returned. There was enough wood to keep them warm until morning. She stood and swayed slightly. Her dress hung like a sack, and he spotted the bundle of padding she had worn underneath across the foot of the bed.
“Go on and lie down while the water heats.” He settled himself in one of the stiff-backed wooden chairs and tried not to think about how much more comfortable the bed would be, especially with Victoria in it.
The rustle of clothing sounded, and this time he kept his gaze fixed on the fire. One lapse was one too many.
“Might I beg a favor?” Her voice was soft and hesitant. “Without my maid, I can’t quite…”
He mouthed a curse to the gods of temptation and went to her. She presented the column of buttons up her spine and neck. He worked the top button free of its loop. His intention to make quick work of the task was forgotten. His fingers trembled and fumbled with each button.
The unveiling of her graceful neck was slow and sensuous and utter torture. By the time he reached the top of her shift and the laces of her stays, he was fighting the urge to lay a kiss where her neck and shoulder met.
Onward he worked until all the buttons were finally freed and he was trapped in a fever dream. He’d imagined undressing Victoria many times over the years; he’d just never expected to be in this position and unable to touch her.
“There. All done.” He took a step back and clenched his hands behind his back.
“I can’t sleep in my stays. Would you mind loosening the laces?” She glanced at him over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed, and her blue eyes glittered in the firelight.
He hesitated, gathering his self-control like a shield.
A half smile tipped her lips as she shrugged the bodice off her shoulders. “Come now. You’ve seen me in less. Much less.”
Embarrassment burned through him. He pulled at his collar and wondered if steam was rising off his shoulders. “I’m terribly sorry about this morning. I’m not sure what happened. I should have—”
“Stop!” Her smile vanished, and she glared at him a moment before turning her face away. In a less vehement tone, she continued, “I could have screamed or swooned or simply closed the curtain all the way. I didn’t. I harbor no regrets and hope you don’t either.”
“Victoria.” He was at a loss for anything else to say. Neither of them moved.
“Do you ever think about it?” she whispered.
“About what?”
“The kiss.”
The kiss. He was an expert liar when his life was in peril, and this moment certainly felt charged with danger. Yet… “Every time I see you. Every bloody day and night.”
The telltale movement of her shoulders signaled her increased rate of breathing. He, on the other hand, was frozen and light-headed from lack of air.
“My stays?” Her voice was remarkably calm, and he didn’t speak for fear of betraying how deeply she affected him.
He did his duty, no matter how much it pained him, and loosened her stays, making sure his fingertips didn’t stray to her skin. A single touch would be his undoing. Without waiting for his retreat or asking him to avert his gaze, Victoria pushed her dress and stays to the floor in one fluid motion and whirled around.
He reeled backward but didn’t get far in the tiny cottage. His arse hit the table, and he clutched the edges, grateful for the support when she stepped out of her clothes toward him. Firelight danced off her skin, the thin cotton doing little to conceal her lush form.
He opened his mouth to protest, but only a rumbling groan of surrender emerged.
“I might have died tonight if it weren’t for you.” She pulled the pink ribbon at the neck of the garment. Excruciatingly slowly, the ribbon unfurled, and the fabric parted.
The shadowy valley between her breasts drew his gaze, and he swallowed. The curves of her breasts were tempting him toward another bout of insanity. Her chemise slipped off one shoulder and sagged low enough for one nipple to peek over.
“I don’t expect a reward. Especially not this,” he said roughly.
“You don’t want me?” Any boldness she projected fell away in a blast of insecurity that had her biting her lip and looking away. “You kissed me in the alley. Why?”
As smart and defiant and reckless as Victoria might be, she was still an innocent with tender feelings. Would it be so terrible to reassure her of her attractions without compromising her?
His conscience mocked the weak justification even as he stepped forward, wrapped his arm around her, and pulled her flush against him. Her nearly naked body molded itself against him like molten metal.
She trailed her hands up his arms to loop around his neck and tipped her head back, her request as clear as an engraved invitation. The moment he’d dreamed about was upon him, but his imagination hadn’t done it justice.
He cupped her cheek with one hand, his thumb glancing over her cheekbone, and lowered his mouth to hers, the touch gentle yet packing a punch that stole his breath. Her lips were soft and parted on a sigh.
Time wrinkled, and they were back in her father’s study, picking up where they’d left off two years earlier. Except with fewer clothes and complete privacy and one bed beckoning from the corner.
The kiss metamorphized from gentle to wild like the progression of a storm. She grabbed his lapels and shoved his jacket off his shoulders without breaking their con
nection. He clawed at his sleeves until he was free and tossed his jacket to the floor.
Their tongues danced. The give and take was painfully erotic and evocative in ways that made his cock throb. He firmed his hold around her waist, picked her up, and reversed their positions, setting her on the table.
She let out a breathy exclamation, her nails gripping his shoulders. He worked his hips between her knees and maneuvered her to the edge of the table. She bit her lip and worked her body even closer, until her legs were wrapped around his hips and the thick length of his cock was pressed against the juncture of her thighs.
“So you do want me. Your cock is hard,” she said in a husky, playful voice that made him even harder.
A slight laugh huffed out of him. “Where did you hear such language?”
“I’ve read things. And heard things.” Her lashes swept down before she once again boldly met his eyes. “But I’ve never actually experienced such things, and I want to. With you.”
“You should only be experiencing such things with your husband.” Even as he said the words, he rocked his cock against her, cursing the fabric between them. He wanted her naked and laid out on the table for him to devour and fuck.
“Do husbands not experience such things before marriage?”
“That’s different.”
“Because I’m a woman and you’re a man?”
“Because you are a lady, and I am not a gentleman. Society might look askance at a lord’s bad behavior, but you would be ruined, Victoria. You would be ostracized and hurt. I couldn’t bear that.”
“I’m already ruined in the eyes of society by being alone with you all night. You can’t say you don’t want me. Your gaze on me this morning at the modiste said differently, as does your body right now.”
Even as his body clamored for satisfaction, he leaned closer and placed his forehead against hers. “You know I want you, Victoria. I have always wanted you.”
He more than wanted her. He loved her and had loved her since the day Sir Hawkins had brought him home and she’d greeted him like she’d been waiting for him all her life.
A half sob escaped her throat. She grabbed his nape and kissed him. A kiss of fire and pent-up need. His reaction equaled her intensity but was tempered by the knowledge there was a world outside the cottage that would judge her harshly for giving in to her passions. But could he give her a taste? He could satisfy her even if he was left bereft.
“Love, would you let me…?” He kissed her and ran his hand from her knee up her thigh, tugging the hem of her chemise higher.
Her skin was soft and supple under his callused palm. When his fingertips grazed the soft hair of her mons, she tensed, and he stilled his advance. He broke their kiss and skimmed his lips over her jaw to tug her earlobe between his teeth. She moaned and let her legs relax, welcoming him.
“I can satisfy you without taking your maidenhead.” He ran a finger over the silk of her folds. She was wet. So wet, the temptation to unbutton his breeches and release his cock nearly ground his best intentions to dust. She was ready and willing to be filled by him.
She propped her hands behind her and leaned on them. Her chemise rode high on her thighs, giving him a tantalizing glimpse between them. Her chemise drooped under a breast, framing the perfection. Her nipple was dark pink, delicate, and ruched, and it begged for his mouth. She was a picture of wanton desire.
“Thomas.” Her husky whisper brought his gaze to hers. “Please.”
Chapter 6
Victoria wasn’t quite sure what she was begging for. Yes, she had read a multitude of inappropriate texts on the subject of male-female relations. Even the anonymous diary of a courtesan that had scandalized society when it was printed in the midst of the season. She didn’t consider herself a complete innocent. Yet the need coursing through her made her feel callow and overwhelmed and desperate.
She couldn’t even blame the buzzing warmth of the brandy. The food and conversation had blunted any mind muddling it had incited earlier. She was in full control of her faculties. His gaze on her body was heated and intense, his expression taut, emphasizing the harsh planes of his face. What did he see?
She glanced down. Her breath caught, hardly recognizing herself. Her legs were spread, and his hand was between them, his fingers stroking her to the edge of insanity. Her breast was uncovered, her nipple pebbled. She had never been so exposed to another, physically or emotionally.
She drew her hands into fists on the table, fighting the urge to cover herself. Thomas would take care of her. He had always taken care of her. His fingers were thick and agile, his confident touch different from her own shy explorations.
“How will you satisfy me?” The question came from a place of uncertainty on her part, but a sly smile tipped his lips as if he thought her teasing him.
“How would you like me to satisfy you? With my fingers or my mouth?”
She gasped. The courtesan had made mention of a lover giving her a kiss between her legs, but Victoria had assumed it was an uncommon practice. “I didn’t know gentlemen gave ladies such treatment.”
Thomas’s eyebrows rose. “As I’ve warned you before, I’m no gentleman.”
“Perhaps not by birth, but you are a gentleman in every way that counts.”
“Our current position would indicate otherwise.” He dipped his head and captured her nipple between his lips in a move reminiscent of his nickname, Hawk.
She surrendered. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she let her head fall back. Pleasure spiraled from where his tongue flicked her nipple and collided with the sensations his fingers were evoking between her legs. Never had she felt anything so exquisite. Or overwhelming. Her arms trembled and began to fold, but he swept his arm around her back for support.
He worked alchemy between her legs. He rubbed the most sensitive spot while one of his fingers played at her entrance. It was the best possible torture. If he asked, she would confess all her secrets.
Like how much she loved him, had always loved him, and would always love him.
Instead, he pushed his finger inside her the same time he lightly bit her nipple. Any complex thought was stamped out by a single chant. More. She needed more. Wiggling her hips, she attempted to get closer, but he tightened his arm and kept her from driving farther onto his finger.
“Give me more.” Her voice was breathless and hoarse, as if she’d spent the evening begging him for mercy.
The noise he made was pained. “I want to, but I can’t.”
With shallow movements, he pumped his finger in and out of her in a rhythm that she recognized even though it was her first time. She grasped his shoulders, the solidness of him reassuring her. If she fell, he would catch her. Of that she had no doubt. Her legs quivered. He transferred his mouth from her breasts to her lips and kissed her.
She inched closer to the fog-shrouded precipice and the mystery beyond, finally succumbing. Pleasure dizzied her, and she buried her face in his neck. Her body clamped his finger and wished for more. She drifted back to earth like a falling leaf. Exhaustion swamped her in the aftermath.
Thomas fixed the bodice of her chemise, tying the delicate ribbon, and stepped from between her legs to sweep her into his arms. He carried her to the bed and tucked her under the thick quilt.
She could barely keep her eyes open. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
“For what?”
“For not returning the favor.” She grazed a finger down the length of his cock, hard and pressing against the front of his breeches.
He jerked his hips out of reach. “Ah. I didn’t expect you to, love.”
“It’s only fair.” Her eyes were leaden, and it would take a herculean effort to open them. Just as she was drifting to sleep, her mind poked her back awake with a detail that felt important. “You called me ‘love.’ Twice.”
“Rest. We don’t know what tomorrow might bring.”
The questions she wanted to ask—would the men from the alley be looking for th
em and did he love her—popped like soap bubbles, disappearing entirely as sleep claimed her. A sleep interrupted by the unusual surroundings and the fact she wasn’t alone.
She stirred once to see Garrick on his haunches stoking the fire and another to find him looking out the small, grimy window with a predator’s stance. Both times, she drifted back into a restless darkness marked by dreams alternately fearful and erotic.
Diffuse morning light brought her to full wakefulness. The fire still crackled and warmed the cottage, but a different kind of heat radiated next to her. She turned her head on the pillow. Garrick was stretched out next to her on top of the quilt, his arms crossed over his chest.
Sleep blunted the angles and edges of his face, and she could see hints of the boy he’d been before tragedy had taken his parents. The suddenness and totality of his loss made her heart ache.
Not only had both his parents died, but he’d lost his home and village and everything familiar. One week he’d been safe and secure in his place in the world, and the next he’d been thrown into an orphanage with no one to love and no one to love him.
She turned on her side and drank him in. His dark hair was thick and wavy and mussed. Her fingers twitched to push a stray lock off his forehead. His sleek eyebrows, blade of a nose, and strong jaw could have been carved on a coin. The curve of his lashes and the surprisingly sensuous fullness of his lower lip softened what was otherwise unrelenting hardness.
He wasn’t handsome by ton standards, but he was attractive in a way she couldn’t quantify. He had the face of a battle-tested knight. What lady could resist giving him her favor?
Her gaze wandered over the strong column of his throat to where the hard planes of his chest and a peppering of dark hair peeped out of his shirt. His biceps bulged where they crossed over his chest. She stared at his fingers for a long moment, remembering the magic they had wrought. Heat enveloped her, and she pushed the covers to her waist and continued her examination, her head propped on her hand. His stomach was taut, and his… She swallowed at the ridge visible in his breeches. Had he been in such a state since their encounter?
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 135