by Lynne Barron
“I saw it first, Margery,” the lady behind her called out as she hurried to catch up with the first.
Holy hell, if Margery was gently rounded in all the right places, her companion was downright voluptuous.
From the flowers on her bonnet to the scalloped hem of her skirts, the lady was adorned in varying shades of pink silk and lace. Her dress skimmed over an amazing bosom swelling above a wide ribbon wound around her waist. Her generous hips swayed with each step she took, sending her skirts flowing from side to side.
As she came abreast of him riding on the edge of the street, she peered up at him from beneath the brim of her bonnet. Her eyes were enormous, as green as her friend’s dress and surrounded by dark lashes that fluttered as she blinked. Her mouth was a red bow, her nose small and dainty. Dark curls framed her flushed cheeks.
Henry drank in the ladies’ combined beauty, waiting for his cock to catch up with the signals his brain sent rollicking through his blood.
“You’ve spent your pin money for this quarter,” Margery called back.
“I will simply charge it to Papa’s account,” her friend replied, her eyes never leaving Henry as he slowed his mount to keep pace with her faltering steps.
“You know perfectly well Papa has told Mrs. Peabody she isn’t to allow us to charge so much as a peppermint stick to his account.” The lovely vision in pink turned away with a flutter of her hands, skipping to catch up to her sister.
Henry shifted in the saddle, beyond frustrated to realize his shaft lay soft and limp within his trousers.
“Damn it to hell.”
“Such language, Lord Hasty,” a husky voice called out.
Swiveling around in the saddle Henry found Georgiana Buchanan gliding to a stop just beyond his horse’s flank. In her customary fashion she’d adorned herself in yards of silk and lace, from the frilly edge of the modest square-cut bodice of her lavender gown, to the wide ribbon cinched around her waist, to the layers of ruffles and furbelows of her full skirts.
Atop her head she wore a ridiculous concoction of straw, flowers, ribbons and bows, hiding her glorious hair but for one long spiral that had escaped its pins to flutter over her shoulder.
“And in front of two young ladies.” She smiled up at him, her eyes shining in the sunlight that had yet to be chased off by the gathering clouds. “Poorly done even for a libertine, my lord.”
Henry could only stare at the lady, too surprised by her sudden appearance to form words.
“Miss Georgiana, there you are,” Miss Margery called, hurrying over to join the lady, her gaze flitting over Henry atop his horse. “We waited for you as long as we could, but there is the loveliest lace shawl in Mrs. Peabody’s shop that I simply must have.”
“You will not,” the dark-haired goddess warned as she stopped beside the blonde.
“Lord Hasty, are you acquainted with Miss Eleanor Brooks and her sister Miss Margery?” Georgiana asked, her eyes never leaving Henry’s face that suddenly felt too hot.
“Lord Hastings, silly,” Miss Margery corrected with a smile. “We have had the pleasure of making his lordship’s acquaintance two years past when he visited Idyllwild. How do you do, my lord?”
The sisters dropped into curtsies that showed off trim ankles in satin slippers. Georgiana did not follow suit, instead continuing to look at him, her smile growing wider with each passing second.
“A pleasure to see you again,” Henry replied with a nod, barely sparing a glance for the ladies he had no memory of having met.
“Have you come to spend some time at Idyllwild?” Miss Margery asked, her gaze darting between Henry and Georgiana.
“What in blazes are you doing here?” he barked.
The Misses Brooks looked at one another and back to Henry, two sets of green eyes round and unblinking.
“We are just coming from Matilda Marshall’s wedding,” Georgiana replied as calmly as if he hadn’t shouted at her on the street. “And what a lovely wedding it was, too.”
Huffing out a frustrated breath, Henry climbed from his mount to join the ladies on the walkway. “What are you doing in Deerfield? Why are you not in London where you belong?”
“I wasn’t aware I belonged in London, or anywhere else for that matter,” she answered, wrapping her hand around his arm. “Will you walk with us, my lord?”
“Oh yes, please do, Lord Hastings,” Miss Margery urged while her sister bobbed her head. “Perhaps Jilly and Laura will see you escorting us.”
As he looped the horse’s reins around a hitching post, it occurred to Henry that the Misses Brooks were quite young, likely barely out of the schoolroom, which would explain why he did not remember meeting them. Two years ago they’d still been in braids and pinafores.
“Oh I’d wager they are in the bakery,” Miss Margery told her sister.
“Shall we run ahead and see?” Miss Eleanor asked with a giggle.
“Please do,” Henry muttered.
“We’ll stay to the street so that you might readily find us again,” Georgiana offered, turning her smile on the exuberant girls. “His lordship will be certain to fawn all over the both of you when you return. That’ll pickle Silly and Laurel’s insides to no end.”
Beaming their gratitude before spinning away, the two girls with curves too generous for their young minds hurried down the street hand-in-hand.
“Aren’t they darling?” Georgiana asked, tucking her hand more firmly around his arm and tugging him forward along the sidewalk.
“What are you doing here?” Henry asked for the third time, his frustration falling away as his balls twitched and his cock pulsed.
“Is there some reason I should not be here?” she asked.
“Why did you run off?” Henry watched her as they set off toward the center of the village, quite unable to look away from her profile and the smile that coasted around her full bottom lip. “I awoke to discover you’d fled in the night. In my shirt, no less.”
“There was no need to linger,” she replied airily. “I’d gotten what I wanted, after all.”
Dumbstruck by her blasé words and the slow lift of her lips into a full-blown grin, Henry halted beside her.
“Never fear, my lord. I shall return your shirt.” Georgiana peered up at him through her lashes.
“I don’t give a damn about my shirt,” he muttered. “I am not accustomed to falling asleep with a lady only to awake alone.”
“No, you likely lie abed devising ways to remove either the lady or yourself from the premises,” she agreed. “Have you contemplated sawing off your arm?”
“Sawing off my arm?”
“Killjoy once told me he has considered such drastic measures on more than one occasion, most especially when he awoke to find Prudence McIver curled up beside him.”
Henry barked out a laugh.
“You have imagined it!” Georgiana skipped ahead of him and spun about to face him, clapping her hands and beaming up at him. “Who inspired you to meditate upon life with one arm?”
“I have never—”
“Come, come, my lord. You can tell me. Who was she?”
Henry shook his head, enchanted by her smile, by the dimple that winked beside her wide mouth, by the humor shining from her eyes.
“Tit for tat,” she teased, falling in beside him again and twining her hand through his elbow, her fingers curling around his arm.
Dropping his hand over hers, he laced their fingers together. “What are you offering up in trade?”
“To be sure I’ve never thought to lop off my arm,” she drawled, her voice taking on a soft lyrical cadence.
“You must share some dark secret from your past,” he told her.
Tapping one long finger against her chin, she hummed softly.
“Too many to choose from?”
“I am only attempting to think of one worthy of the loss of a limb.”
“The contemplation of such loss.”
“Oh, I know.” She peered over her should
er as if to assure their privacy before leaning in to whisper, “Do you think sneaking into our neighbor’s barn to watch his stable master making free with a dairymaid is a fair trade?”
“You contemplated sneaking into the barn to watch a pair of servants…”
“Take a tumble,” she finished when he faltered. “Well, certainly I contemplated it. In truth I thought of little else for weeks, since the first time I saw Loose Lucy emerge from the barn with her skirts tucked into her bloomers and hay in her hair.”
“But you did not actually…”
“Your turn.”
“Are you saying you watched the servants making love?”
“Gracious me, no,” she exclaimed.
“No,” he agreed, a bit breathless by the notion.
“To be sure there was no love between Lucy and Will,” she continued. “And the only thing they made was a spectacle of themselves. And an outrageous amount of noise. It’s a wonder they weren’t heard all the way up to the house.”
“You watched them?” Henry made no attempt to keep the shock from his voice.
“It was rather like witnessing a carriage accident, terribly gruesome, all fat buttocks and jiggly breasts, but I could not look away.”
Georgiana tugged at his arm and Henry realized he was standing stock-still, an elderly couple sidling around them, gifting them with smiles as they passed.
“Your turn.”
“You watched them? Until they’d finished?”
“I couldn’t very well climb down from the loft without interrupting them,” she answered a bit defensively. “Had Loose Lucy known I was up there while she was bent over a bale of hay she would have sold Mum nothing but curdled milk for weeks. Months even.”
“But why did you climb into the loft?”
“Can you think of a better place to hide?” she countered, pulling on his arm.
Henry took two stumbling steps. “Why did you want to watch them?”
“Why?” She blinked in obvious confusion.
“Yes, what made you wish to see two people…”
“Swiving?” she offered. “I was curious.”
“You were curious,” he repeated. “How old were you?”
“Hmm, I suppose I was ten and five, nearly ten and six.”
“Christ, you were little more than a girl.”
“I was barely that. A girl, I mean.” Georgiana laughed softly. “Fair is fair, my lord. Which of your dozens of ladies had you wishing for a saw?”
“Cybil Fairley,” he answered after a pause in which he contemplated simply telling her the truth.
“Truly?” she asked. “But wasn’t the lovely actress your mistress for months?”
“She was my mistress for all of two weeks,” he corrected.
“Ah yes, weeks become months and months become years in the retelling of tales,” she agreed with a sigh. “But were you wishing yourself far away each and every morning of those two weeks?”
“Will you think me a cad if I say yes?”
“I already think you a cad,” she answered as the Misses Brookes skipped up the street arm in arm.
“Jilly and Laura are not in the bakery shop,” Miss Eleanor reported.
“Perhaps you ought to try the apothecary’s shop,” Georgiana suggested readily.
“What on earth would they be doing in that dusty old shop?” Miss Margery asked.
“Just this morning while Mary made her way down the aisle I heard Silly lamenting the freckles that have cropped up across her nose,” Georgiana replied.
“You are a gem, Miss Georgiana, you always know what everyone is about,” Miss Margery replied.
“Is that why you were telling her about Dalrymple’s patented cream?” her sister asked, her gaze intent upon Georgiana. “You’ve only been in the village a week and already you know everyone’s secrets.”
“You’ve been in Deerfield for a week?” Henry turned to Georgiana in surprise.
“I would hardly name Jilly’s need for whitening cream a secret,” Miss Margery replied with a giggle, cutting off whatever reply the lady might have made.
“And precisely how to solve their problems,” Miss Eleanor continued, ignoring both Henry’s and her sister’s words entirely.
“Oh, but didn’t Mrs. Mortimer use Dalrymple’s cream with disastrous effects?” Miss Margery asked. “I seem to recall her complexion turning green.”
“Only for a fortnight,” Miss Eleanor replied before turning to flash Henry a radiant smile. “Is not Miss Buchanan a gem, Lord Hastings?”
“A rare gem, indeed,” Henry agreed, wondering if he’d somehow lost track of the conversation. Surely Georgiana had not suggested a remedy to the unknown Jilly that would turn her skin green.
“Go on with you,” Georgiana replied with a husky laugh. “Bring Silly and Laurel to meet Lord Hasty. You’ll not want to miss the opportunity to lord the lord over their heads.”
“Thank you so much,” Miss Eleanor whispered, giving Georgiana’s gloved fingers a squeeze.
“Ach, off with you, you tiresome creature,” Georgiana replied, tugging her hand free.
“You’ve been loitering in Deerfield for a week?” Henry asked as the sisters drifted down the street, green and pink skirts billowing in the breeze.
“It’s lovely country in which to loiter,” she answered, tugging on his arm to get them moving again. “We read of this small corner of the world and hastened to see it for ourselves.”
“We?”
“Brain, Tag and Silas made the journey with me,” she explained.
“How is Tag adjusting to life as a footman?”
“Oh, that was only a momentary whimsy. This week she has decided she shall be a baker.”
“What? She? Tag is a girl?” Henry spluttered.
“A young woman,” Georgiana corrected. “Tag will be ten and eight come winter.”
“You employed a young woman as your footman?”
“Oh, I did not employ Tag. She’s always been about, trailing along in my shadow. In truth I believe Lady Joy asked her to follow me on my ramblings when I first came to live with her. To be certain I did not stumble into the loch or wander too far from home, you understand?”
He didn’t but he nodded nonetheless, entranced by the laughter that laced her sultry voice. “At what point did she become your footman? And why?”
“I asked her to be my lady’s maid some time ago.” She turned to meet his gaze, shot him a rueful smile. “Best laid plans and all that. Her mother was Lady Joy’s maid for decades and truly what does a lady’s maid do beyond following her mistress about assuring she is dressed appropriately. But Tag hasn’t a fashion-minded thought in her head. And as I adore clothing, how could I possibly have a maid who does not know a crinoline from a petticoat?”
Who was this carefree lady chattering away beside him? There was a bounce in her step, a warm flush on her cheeks that spoke of happiness near to bursting at the seams.
“Since then Tag has tried her hand as a footman, a cook, a groom, a gardener, back to a footman for round two, and now as a baker,” she continued. “Perhaps this trade will stick. She does make lovely brown bread, light and fluffy just as Lady’s Joy’s cook used to make. I found the recipe in her things when I cleared out her chamber and passed it on to Alogne.”
“Alogne was your grandmother’s maid?” he guessed.
“She’s terribly French and frightfully uppity. I could not keep her on as my maid, could I?”
“No, I don’t suppose you could,” he agreed with a laugh that loosened the tightness in his chest that had plagued him since the morning he’d awoken to find her gone from his bed. His cock twitched in anticipation of having her there once more.
“I’ve yet to find a lady’s maid so Tag is forced to assist me when needs be.”
“As you are wondrously flexible and possessed of nimble fingers, I would imagine you have little need of her services,” Henry replied with a grin.
“Just so,” she agreed w
ith a soft laugh.
And just like that the air around them seemed to grow heavy as awareness sparked between them. Henry’s breath stalled in his chest, heat racing up his spine and along his limbs. His shaft hardened and lengthened, rising up in welcome.
“Will you journey to Idyllwild with me?” There was no need to pitch his voice low the way all ladies adored. The words came out gravelly of their own volition.
Georgiana’s lips twitched as she studied him, much as she’d done weeks ago in the green in the center of Somerville. “I do have something of a confession to make. One that might best be shared in private.”
Henry only waited, not the least bit interested in whatever sin she’d committed, so long as it did not preclude her from taking his cock into her tight little cunny.
“We must wait for Eleanor and Margery to return with Silly and Laurel,” she said. “And you must fawn over them until those snotty cats are positively green with envy.”
Chapter Nine
In the end the Misses Brooks returned without the snotty cats and Henry was able to take leave of the ladies with a promise to attend the assembly to be held in a few days time.
As had happened in Somerville, Georgiana insisted upon following him in her carriage, entirely ignoring his not so subtle hint that he might tie his horse to the back of her ancient box on wheels and join her within.
Taking up a post beside the creaking conveyance, Henry rode along while Georgiana leaned out the window and entertained him with stories of her time in Deerfield.
She’d yet to explain what had brought her north and why she’d lingered so close to the small estate that had been home to his father’s mistress and their daughter for nearly two decades.
Henry wasn’t fool enough to believe it was mere coincidence but each time he inquired as to her reasons she turned the topic, taking off on one convoluted tale after another until he’d developed a stitch in his side from laughing at her antics and his cock throbbed from listening to her sinfully low voice.
Georgiana might have been another woman entirely. Gone was the slightly petulant lady with the razor-sharp tongue who’d dragged him around Hastings Hall for hours before taking him to untold heights on her knees before him. Gone too was the taunting tease who’d stripped bare in front of him while forcing him to admit he was woefully unable to refuse the ladies who propositioned him on a regular basis.