Her heart pounded. Her body ached for whatever it was that came next. There was liquid heat between her thighs.
No, she must not go. There was danger in that path. More danger than she would ever fear from one such as Lord Hexford.
Chapter 6
Later that evening, Angeline prepared for bed. She relaxed in a scented, hot bath, had her abigail, Margaret, wash and towel dry her lustrous red-gold hair, then donned a fine linen gown. With her toilette complete she settled herself under her duvet with a book. Over and over she tried to read, to concentrate, to obliterate the thoughts of Geoffrey from her mind only to find it impossible. She could only think of the strength of him, the aroma of his spice-scented cologne mixed with the smell of leather and man. She remembered the feel of him against her, the heat of his kisses against her lips, her ear, her neck, her breast, the warmth of his large hands holding her firmly, securely, safe from all else, save himself. If there was one thing she was most sure of, it was that she was not safe with him.
But did she want to be safe? Did she want to die virgin? Did she dare to grasp an opportunity to see what life and intimacy could offer her? Her body already ached with need again, just with the thought of him. Deep down in her stomach she was tight, there was dampness between her legs, her mind constantly replayed the images and sensations of the afternoon and their previous evening together.
Jumping from her bed to dress, she crept down the back stairs like a thief in the night, only jewels were not her quarry—sexual satisfaction, fulfillment were.
Geoffrey had already been at the cottage for half an hour. There was a small fire in the grate, more for light than heat in the late spring night. A lantern burned in the window. The sheets were rich, finely woven, and cool to the touch. The room was scented with lavender. A nice touch, he thought, knowing how Angeline wore the scent so well and often. Even now, he only had to inhale to have sensuous thoughts and responses to the promise the assignation held. Surely she would be pulled back to him. Surely she could not ignore the yearnings of her body and the promises of secrets shared and experienced.
The door flung wide as Angeline entered the room, all wrath and fury. “You bastard,” she hissed. “You son of a bitch. How could I sleep after what you did to me? How can I even push you from my brain? And you even dine at my house all arrogant sexuality and command. Taunting me. Teasing me. Throwing innuendos right in front of my father.” The room vibrated with her rage and distress.
Angeline was a mass of sexual energy that Geoffrey could hardly wait to hold, make love to, be inside of. Her hair was windswept, her face aglow, her eyes afire. She must have nearly run to the cottage, to his arms.
“Angeline . . .” he murmured as he strode to her in two quick steps, wrapped his arms tightly round her, then set his lips hard, relentlessly against hers. He held her while she fought him, wiggling, squirming, pushing him away with hands splayed across his chest. But he would not relinquish her; he held her tighter, kissed her that much harder until finally he felt the resistance wane.
She could not hold out. He was too much. Too big. Too hot. Too male. Too sexual. Even now she could feel his arousal through her skirts, could feel the dampness renew between her legs. He wanted her in the most primal way and, much to her dismay, she wanted him just as desperately. She conceded as she slid her arms up around his neck, parted her lips for his intimate intrusion. Her senses, now acute, were tortured further as his tongue entered her mouth and searched the warm wetness of it. Once found, titillating members danced, snaked, entwined about each other. Angeline was ablaze, ready to go wherever this master of seduction would lead her.
Geoffrey moved his hands over her body, searching for buttons to unfasten, pushing fabric out of the way, gently groping to touch her everywhere, to rid her of the garments that hindered his desire to consume her.
When the layers fell to the floor, he groaned as his hand came up to cup her desire-swollen breast. “Magnificent,” he muttered as he trailed blazing kisses down her throat, over the top of the firm orb to take possession of the nipple that puckered tightly when his hot mouth fell upon it. He leaned her back over his arm to push her nipple deeper into his insatiable mouth. He suckled hard, feeling the tension mount in her body, feeling her grasping him for dear life.
He slid his hand down over her mons, slid his fingers between her cleft, heard her groan as he touched the nib, the pearl of her passion. Farther he moved until his fingers slid into her wetness. Tighter he held her as her body quivered from his intimate touching. Easily two digits found their way inside her.
He lifted his head from her breast to return to her lips. “My God, Angeline, you are so very ready for me. How passionate you are. How completely delectable.” He swept her up into his arms, then turned to lay her on the bed. He pulled her slippers, wet from the dew of the night, from her feet, then stepped back to look at his conquest.
“You are truly beautiful, my angel. I thank you for keeping yourself pristine for me. It shall not go to waste,” he assured her as he pulled his shirt from his pants, then over his head.
Angeline, drugged from his more than familiar attentions, lay upon the bed in wanton repose, her eyes watching every move the marquess made with no protest. As he bared his chest, she scanned his person intimately, caressing his muscles with her gaze. As he unbuttoned his pants, her eyes followed the event, only to be stunned and shocked by the size of his sex when it sprang free. Geoffrey finished removing his clothes as Angeline quietly commented with great trepidation, “My lord, I do not think you shall fit. Either you are much too large or I am much too small.”
The bed creaked as Geoffrey invaded it, drawing his soon-to-be lover into his embrace. “There is no doubt I shall fit, my angel. A woman is built to accommodate a man’s size no matter the length or girth. But I promise to be careful. I shall not rush you. You will be more than ready when I take you.” With no further hesitation, he stretched the length of his nakedness against the length of hers. His hands smoothed along her back, drawing her closer. His lips took possession of hers once again. He moaned as he felt his manhood slide against the tender, virginal flesh of her stomach.
Angeline was drawn again into his heat. She could feel him everywhere. She tried to maintain an emotional distance from the intimate events, but it was impossible. His kisses, his touching, his body’s hardness crushed against all of her softness destroyed any pretense she had hoped to maintain. There would be no stopping the experiences that would come. In reality, did she even want to?
Geoffrey shifted on top of her, settling his marble-hard staff against the entrance of her sheath. “I want to be inside you, my angel. I want to feel you wrapped around me. We will take it slowly but I cannot wait for long.”
Then she felt the intrusion, subtle at first. What an odd sensation, she thought. He moved slowly in and out of her, conquering only the outer areas of her portal. The movement, the friction, heated her further.
“Oh, Geoffrey,” she murmured, “it is too much.”
“Angeline, it is not enough,” he responded, then pushed in just a little deeper, groaning from the feeling of her womanly wetness surrounding him. “I must go farther, my angel. I must go deeper. There will be some pain. I cannot avoid it nor can I take it from you. But I will distract you so it will be minimal,” he promised, his voice gruff, thick with his need. He thrust deeper until he met the barrier, her maidenhead still intact after two and thirty years of life. His brain flushed with satisfaction, appreciation, and possession. This is mine, only mine, he thought. She is mine, now, forever, she is mine.
Again he pulled out of her, only to thrust in up to the barrier once more. He heard her gasp, felt her body pushing up to him, wanting more of him.
“You are getting impatient, my angel? You like the feel of me between your legs, deep inside your velvet sheath. But there is more of me to fill you. You have
not had it all just yet.” Holding onto all of the control he could, he moved his hand between them.
“There it is, my angel. This rosebud of yours. Let me see where it will take you. Then you can take me.” His nimble fingers stroked the nib, the luxuriant honey from her continuing passion moistening his movements.
“Geoffrey. Stop. I can’t stand it. I shall burst. Please stop. Geoffrey!” screamed Angeline, her body now heaving violently, pushing up to him, contracting, shuddering, trembling, erupting around him.
“Let go, Angeline. Let go so I can come to you. Come to me, my angel,” he rasped, then felt the beginning throes of her climax as she fractured in his arms. Without hesitation he drove himself hard and deep into her, destroying forever her claim to virginity, marking her permanently with his ownership, regretting the scream from the pain his need inflicted upon her.
But he chose not to let up, not to let her dwell upon the hurt. “Let me stroke you, Angeline. You will forget the pain, you will feel only pleasure now, there will be no more pain.” With these quiet but passionate assurances, he had her. Stroking deeply, feeling her relax once again. With the encouragement of her body, once more responding to his amours, he moved to a quicker pace, his breath coming hard and heavy now, his control unwinding rapidly. Angeline was now a part of the intricate, intimate dance, pushing her hips up to meet his, grabbing his back, her nails sinking deep into his flesh. “Yes, Angeline, yes,” he moaned.
Then, out of the nature of a woman, she wrapped her legs around his hips, driving his manhood to her very core. Impaling her to the hilt. He shattered from the sensation, thrusting wildly, gasping for air, feeling her beneath him also falling to pieces in his arms. With every movement, the wave of release washed over them again and again until, finally, their bodies could stand no more, exhaustion taking over.
Geoffrey fell to his elbows, trying to keep his weight from crushing her. His breath still heavy, he could hear her gasping as well. “Angeline,” he whispered into her ear, “are you all right?”
Her hands fell from his back. Her legs dropped onto the bed; still she gasped for air. “Is it always like that? So intense? So violent?” she queried between deep inhalations.
“It gets better,” he vowed. “We will learn what the other likes and we will get better, longer, deeper,” he said as he rolled the two of them onto their side and pulled her close to his chest.
“Impossible,” she contradicted. “I cannot imagine any more.”
“Angeline,” he said softly, “you are only at Lesson Two. There are many more lessons to go before you will know all.”
“My lord, I shall not survive,” she said breathlessly.
“I promise you, my lady, you shall, and you shall love every minute of it.” Geoffrey nuzzled her neck and drew her even closer. He was rewarded by the shiver that passed through her body.
So this is what the poets speak of, he mused. To be with one person knowing you shall never want another. What a remarkable thought for a rake such as he. He would never have ventured a sovereign upon it.
Beside him, Angeline slept, her body, rosy with their lovemaking, cuddled closely against his. The cottage had the musky scent of sex, his scent, her scent, mingled together as their bodies had been only moments before. Satisfaction spread a smile across his face. True satisfaction was his at last. He had only to bring her to heel upon the subject of marriage. In that matter, too, he would surely have his way. Whatever it would take would be done. She would be his. She would bear his children and reign supreme over his household, well, supreme except for himself, that is. He was certain, now that she had experienced the joys of mating, he could control her with her own needs and desires.
Chapter 7
Angeline was most relieved when she arrived at luncheon to find that the marquess was not present. She had no patience to deal with the scandalous rake today. Her body ached all over; it was even difficult for her to sit down on any but the softest seat. It was all his fault.
But when she thought of the prior night, his lovemaking and her wanton enjoyment of it, she became all aroused again. Her face heated and flushed. Her breasts swelled and ached. And the moistness returned between her thighs.
It was just too much by half. The bastard. What had he done to her? She was never before like this. How was she to get over it?
Even her father had noticed her lack of grace. When he had inquired about her stiffness, she had told him she had pulled a back muscle while working in the garden. She was not sure he believed her as his face reflected a most unusual grin.
It was Geoffrey’s fault. She would never again go to him. She hoped she would never even see him again since he now had gotten what he wanted from her.
She barely made it through the midday meal, tolerating the mundane discussions her father would bring up, keeping rein on her thoughts about her recent experience and her own unleashed passion. No sooner had she put down her dessert spoon than Thomas knocked upon the door, entered and announced, “Lord Colburn, my lord, my lady.” Then he was there, walking through the door with his sexual arrogance, making her heart flutter, her face flush, her body heat up all over again.
This would not do. It just could not continue.
“Angus,” said the marquess, striding over to the head of the table with hand outstretched. “I had a few free moments this afternoon so I thought I might ask to take your lovely daughter for a ride. I have even brought a mare from my own stables for her. What say you, my good man?”
Arrogant, arrogant bastard. Angeline fumed silently. Ride a horse? I can barely stand up and walk because of him.
“Well, Geoffrey,” returned the earl, looking most self-pleased as he turned to his daughter, “I think that a famous idea. Angeline, go up and put on your riding habit. We must not keep the marquess waiting.”
“But, father, I do not wish to go. I told you I’ve pulled my back. I should let it rest,” pleaded Angeline with as much dignity as she could summon under the circumstances.
“Nonsense, my girl. The exercise shall do you good. It will work out that kink in no time at all. Now get moving. Geoffrey is waiting.”
Angeline rose stiffly from her seat, glaring at her nemesis as she headed for the door. Geoffrey’s face held a smug smile. Oh, I wish I could just slap him, she brooded.
Fifteen minutes later, she emerged from the manor’s front door to find Geoffrey holding the reins of two uncommon horses. The Arabian black was huge, frisky, and surely a stud. How appropriate for her belligerent besieger. The second was a smaller chestnut mare who continued to ignore the nudges from the stud despite his refusal to accept the rebuff.
After Angeline descended the stairs, Geoffrey gently took her hand in his. Rather than kiss her fingertips, he turned her palm up, then proceeded to place hot, wet kisses on her naked wrist.
“Geoffrey. Anyone may see,” protested Angeline as she pulled her hand away while trying to retrieve her spiraling senses.
“Good day to you, my lady. I could not go a whole day without the pleasure of your company.” He put his hands round her waist, then easily lifted her into the sidesaddle.
Angeline winced as her bottom hit the slightly cushioned leather. This was not going to be a pleasant ride, nor an easy one. “The last thing I wish to do today is ride a horse,” she spit at him.
“I would expect not, after how I rode you last night, my angel. But it was the only idea I could credit within such a short period to abscond with you for a couple of hours. We will take our time. You’ll get used to being in my saddle.” His knowing smile dazzled her but also served to irritate her all the more.
“Oh, you villain,” she cursed him, then mumbled further, more unacceptable expletives beneath her breath.
Geoffrey, gaining his horse, made a clicking sound while he kicked his stud in the withers. The black moved out, the mar
e following with little urging from her rider.
They rode in silence for some time. Angeline continued to struggle in her saddle trying to find the most comfortable, least painful position, to no avail.
Geoffrey led them over her estate, then onto his. He circled round the lake by the cottage, coming to a halt in a small clearing at the water’s edge. The surrounding trees shielded all eyes except those that might be across the lake where the cottage stood, and Geoffrey was positive there was no one there at present.
After dismounting, Geoffrey came to her side, caught her once more at the waist, then lowered her from her saddle. But instead of setting her straight onto the ground, he held her close to his chest, looking deeply into her eyes, his own green orbs dark and dangerous. Brushing his lips lightly across hers, he slid her down his chest, over his aroused sex, until her feet touched the ground.
“Will I ever get enough of you, my Angeline?” he queried softly as he bent low over her ear.
“I am not your Angeline. And you’ve had about all you are going to get of me, my lord,” she countered harshly, trying to stem the sensation of heat the feel of his manhood always seemed to instill in her.
An Improper Seduction Page 6