by Lynne Barron
“I know it seems ridiculous,” he agreed. “But there you have it.”
“So I am to be relegated to Mistress Lane lest I shock my neighbors,” Georgie said, the words rushing from her lips as she comprehended the reality of the bargain she’d struck with the earl. “I am to be hidden away and only brought out when you’ve a mind to play with me.”
“Of course not,” Henry replied, one hand coming up to cup her cheek. “I’ve no intention of hiding you. On the contrary I look forward to showing you off, to draping you in diamonds and silk gowns and taking you about.”
“Will we attend the theater?”
“Absolutely,” he answered readily. “Not on opening night, naturally. The third Thursday of a showing is customarily reserved for gentlemen and their paramours.”
“I see.” She was certainly coming to see, to truly grasp the magnitude of her blunder. “And will we ride through the park together?”
“Most assuredly.”
“But not at the fashionable hour, leastwise not in an open carriage,” she added before he could tack on that little disclaimer.
“Precisely.” Henry pressed a quick kiss to her brow and when he pulled back his eyes were shining. “Oh, and I shall take you to Covent Garden and Vauxhall.
“Where we will view the fireworks from a private box.”
“And when the Season winds down we’ll have house parties to entertain us,” he continued. “We’ll have a grand time together.”
Georgie placed one finger over his lips lest she give into the overwhelming urge to use the same finger to poke him in the eye, in both eyes. After all, he had no use for eyes, being woefully blind.
“I know all about house parties,” she told him, careful to keep her voice light and airy.
“You see,” he exclaimed, grinning to beat the band. “That is why I adore you. You shan’t be shocked by the goings on we’ll find as we travel about the countryside.”
“You adore me.”
“I have well and truly fallen under your spell,” he assured her.
“You mustn’t claim I did not warn you,” she replied flippantly, too flippantly.
Had he truly adored her, had he genuinely known her, he would have seen the signs, marked the warning and taken heed.
But Henry Tinsdale, the Earl of Hastings, a man too handsome for his own good and far too confident of his appeal, knew Miss Georgie Buchanan not at all.
Chapter Eighteen
Georgie prowled around Idyllwild Cottage in the small hours of dawn, feeling vexed and prickly by the absolute silence after two days and nights of relentless rain, wind and thunder.
She boldly strolled into each and every bedchamber to poke her head into armoires, rifle through dresser drawers and peer under beds, fully aware she’d find nothing to assist her search.
Still she was curious about the house and those people who made it their home from time to time, traveling for days to spend a few weeks or months in a cottage that likely would have fit within the grand ballrooms of their various ancestral homes.
The house, the entire small estate, brought to mind River’s End, had Himself not allowed the cottage to fall to ruins and the land to lay fallow.
With a shake of her head, Georgie dislodged the melancholy thoughts.
As she traversed the staircase she found the seventh step that squeaked and gave it a good bounce, enjoying the screeching note it gave in return. So much so that she repeated the little hop and then gave it a good solid jump, ignoring the jagged pain that shot up her shin to lodge just below her knee.
If Georgie possessed one talent, one true skill, certainly it was the ability to ignore what could not be altered while she went about her life doing precisely as she pleased.
“Hide me away on Mistress Lane, will he?” she asked of the step, giving one last bounce before she gingerly moved down to the next. “Fat lot of good that will do me.”
When she’d agreed to be his lordship’s mistress, she’d imagined she would be gifted with unfettered access to the ton, to those people who had made up Lady Hastings’ circle and, by extension, that of Connie of the brassy yellow curls and beady blue eyes.
And why not? Killjoy had made a habit of inviting his various mistresses to visit The Mount for days, weeks, and in the case of one temperamental opera singer, months at a time. Catarina Rosselini had sung for her supper each night, much to the delight of Lady Joy and the other dowagers.
Alas, the Earl of Hastings, a man who played fast and loose with Society’s rules when it suited him, had made it abundantly clear that he would not bend them even the slightest bit to hold to his end of their bargain.
No, he’d rather throw trinkets her way. Carriages drawn by scrawny horses. And set her up in a house where all of her neighbors would believe she was his whore.
Some might say she’d bartered her favors, traded her passion and sold off pieces of her heart for far less. And they might be right. But she’d done so on her own terms.
The Earl of Hastings’ terms simply did not suit her, not in the least.
She would be no man’s plaything to be brought out when the mood struck him only to be tucked away in the corner when the real world called to him.
Cater to his every whim, indeed.
Georgie had whims of her own and was unused to stemming the urge to act upon them.
Terribly impulsive, Lady Joy had proclaimed time and again.
Utterly selfish and stubborn, Killjoy was fond of announcing to anyone who might listen.
Sorely trying, Millie had stated while Himself had pronounced her pigheaded and lippy.
Rash and brash, Tag had declared only two days ago when they’d climbed into the carriage and set off from the village.
Wonderfully wicked and vastly venal, Brain had called in through the open window.
Georgie knew she was all of those things and more.
It was only a matter of time before his lordship realized it, as well.
As far she was concerned the sooner he realized it, the sooner she would be free of the jittery nerves and teetering emotions that had plagued her since the handsome devil had approached her after his mother’s funeral.
She was that tired of feeling all topsy-turvy whenever he was near, of finding her thoughts dominated by him when they were apart.
It was only that the coupling was so blessedly wonderful, so appallingly satisfying, she assured herself as she wandered into the parlor, her gaze unerringly finding the long settee where he’d gone flying arse over heels.
Falling onto the velvet sofa with a sigh, Georgie stared up at the ceiling, seeing his crooked smile and the dimple that flashed when he was being especially mischievous, the upward sweep of his right eyebrow when he was acting the arrogant lord, the rather befuddled softness in his eyes when she looked up from this task or that to find him watching her.
She knew without doubt she would miss that most of all, that look of confusion mingled with tenderness.
No one had ever looked at her in just that manner, not one person in her entire life.
She’d read desire in a man’s eyes, affection and annoyance, amusement and dismay, shock and, on one occasion, absolute revulsion.
Not a single man, not a lover or a friend, had ever looked at her as if she were a big dish of raspberry crumble topped with what might be either sweet cream or fuzzy mold and he was willing, eager even, to take an enormous bite without first prodding and sniffing to determine its origins.
Georgie laughed at her fanciful imaginings before tucking her unbound hair over her shoulder and rolling to her side. She curled her good leg nearly up to her chest while stretching the other out until her foot dangled off the settee. Tucking one hand under her cheek, she closed her eyes, suspecting she might sleep for a bit. Perhaps an hour or two.
“Ah, love.”
Henry’s voice, soft and underlain with amusement, pulled Georgie from her slumber as one hand reached beneath her back and a second wrapped around her legs.
She opened her eyes to find him bent over her, golden morning sunlight shimmering around his head, a tender smile lifting his lips.
“Foolish man,” she murmured, winding her arms around his neck as he lifted her.
“That I am,” he replied with a quiet laugh.
“You ought not take the risk.”
Henry pulled her close to his chest and jiggled her about to assure a proper grip before turning toward the door. “Which risk would that be?”
“There might be fuzzy mold on the berry crumble,” she said, pressing her lips to his neck just below his ear. She did not kiss him but rather held her lips there, just there, where she could feel the warmth of his skin and breathe him in, clean linen and musk, the unmistakable scent of her lover just arising from his bed.
“I prefer sweet cream, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Quite a bit of trouble, I’m afraid,” she said, feeling the need to warn him one last time.
“Fuzzy mold it is.”
Georgie felt the sting behind her eyes first, a warning of its own, and clamped her eyes tightly shut.
Silly to find his words sweet when he was only humoring a barely awake woman spouting nonsense. But sweet she found them. Unbearably sweet.
A lone tear seeped from beneath her lashes and she dragged an uneven breath through trembling lips, fighting to hold back a laugh that might be a sob. Whatever it was, it took up residence just below her left breast and she would be damned before she granted it freedom.
“Georgie?” Henry’s voice was barely audible, more a vibration against her lips than actual sound, and she suspected the single tear had landed on his shoulder.
“I’m so sleepy,” she whispered, pleased when her voice did not waver, when the foreign object lodged in her chest did not break free.
“Poor darling,” he crooned. “What were you doing sleeping in the parlor?”
But Georgie was finished speaking, unwilling to take the same risk twice. Instead she sifted her fingers through the hair at his nape, memorizing the silky texture, the way the strands curled around her fingers.
They made the journey upstairs in silence, Henry carefully stepping to the far right on the seventh step so as not to set it off and she found herself missing the soft screech of the old wood.
Once inside his chamber, he lowered her to the center of the bed, wrestled his robe from her supine form and crawled in beside her.
“Sleep, love,” he ordered, settling onto his back and easing one arm beneath her to turn her onto her side against him.
Georgie continued the motion, rolling until she was draped over him from his muscular chest to his lean hips, his shaft riding low on her belly. With her legs dangling along his, she placed her hands on his shoulders and lifted her head, blindly searching for his mouth, sighing in gratitude when he met her halfway.
His lips were warm and soft beneath hers, brushing softly, nibbling one corner before returning to pay homage to her bottom lip as his hand sifted through her hair to rest at her nape.
Oh, God, his kiss. Tender, so bloody tender.
He cradled her head in his palm, gently angling her just so as he deepened the kiss, easing her lips apart to trail his tongue over the upper, the too thin upper that no man had ever taken the time to explore.
Until him.
As if he knew how devastatingly sensitive his touch was just there, he lingered. Dipped and stroked. Suckled lightly, oh so lightly. He cuddled her flesh and sighed, his breath whispering into her mouth, mingling with her own until she could taste him, taste them together on her tongue.
Undone by the intimacy, desperate to banish it, Georgie pulled her knees up along his thighs, his hips, his ribs until she straddled him. Tilting her hips, she dragged her mound up the length of his shaft, parting her folds, exposing her flesh to his hard length.
She fused her lips to his and speared her tongue into his mouth as she reached the engorged head of his cock.
Henry met her tongue with his own, curled around and beneath, drawing a low hum of satisfaction, of pleasure and anticipation, from her. She wrapped her fingers around his shoulders and bore down, forcing her clit almost painfully against his rigid flesh as she made her way slowly down his length only to glide back up again.
He moaned, his fingers clenching on her head, tangling in her hair.
She moaned in return, canting her hips and riding up and over the broad tip of his shaft until he hovered at the portal to her body.
She pushed back, taking the fat head into her quim, welcoming the faint burn before her muscles relaxed to accept the sudden invasion.
“Georgie,” he whispered into her mouth, a plea or a warning, she neither knew nor cared.
With a final swipe of her tongue over and around his, she broke the kiss and rose to her knees, his cock, snug within the rim of her cunny, rising with her.
Henry’s hands fell to her hips, his long fingers wrapping around to her bottom while his thumbs found the curving bones and traced them.
Georgie met his eyes, found them bright in the morning sunlight. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted as he drew a raspy breath, exhaled on a low moan.
Holding his gaze, she swiveled her hips, slow and languid, and took an inch of his shaft into her body.
His fingers flexed on her hips.
Georgie took another inch, then two more.
“Is this what you want?” she purred, shifting her legs to widen her stance.
“Yes.”
In one smooth glide, Georgie impaled herself upon his cock, surprising a ragged moan from some dark place within her as he filled her, utterly and completely filled her.
Henry laughed, the sound weighty with arrogant satisfaction.
“Is this what you crave?” she whispered as she rose above him once more.
“Yes,” he gasped.
“Liar.” Battling an unexpected fury, she dropped down over his cock, hard and fast, dragging a savage groan from him.
Henry’s hands clenched on her hips, his fingers digging into her buttocks as he changed the angle of their joining and pulled her up the length of his shaft.
The motion dragged her clit over his hard flesh, setting the bud to pulsing. She tossed back her head and arched her back, a wave of delicious heat racing through her limbs. Slapping her hands to his chest, she dug her fingers into hard muscle as he eased her back, forcing his cock deeper into her body.
Lust coiled tight within her womb.
When he repeated the move, forward and back, Georgie shuddered and let loose a laughter-laced groan.
“Ride me.”
Georgie wanted to disobey his raspy command, but the pleasure was too great, the desire a terrible hunger. Already she felt her orgasm looming. She had only to submit to his will to find relief.
So Georgie rode him, adding a slow roll of her hips with each deep thrust. Shivers raced up her spine and light danced in her peripheral vision.
Over and over she took his cock deep into her quim, finding a rhythm that had her nearly delirious as need climbed and just kept climbing.
When Henry moaned and thrust up hard, adding his own twisting hips to the mix, he sent Georgie tumbling over the cliff into oblivion.
“Henry,” she gasped, undulating wildly, digging her nails into his flesh as wave after wave of a glorious climax rained over her, nearly drowning her in delicious pleasure.
“Yes, love, yes,” he grunted, his big body bucking as he continued to thrust into her convulsing cunny.
No sooner had she begun to descend from the heights did a second climax begin to build within her core, gaining momentum as Henry let loose a rough, broken groan.
At precisely the same moment her leg cramped, her calf muscles contracting, curling her toes into frozen talons.
“Oh God,” she hissed.
“Again, Georgie,” he ordered.
Desperate to relieve the damaged limb of her weight before the cramping of her muscles gave way to agonizing pain, s
he leaned to the left.
“Not yet.” Henry’s grip on her hips tightened. “Ride me until you come again.”
“I can’t,” she cried in pain and frustration.
“You will.”
Ignoring the gravelly command, Georgie used his next lunging thrust to twist to the side.
Henry rolled with her, his cock buried deep inside her cunny. His mouth claimed hers, his tongue sweeping inside to coil around hers, to plunge deep.
Georgie met his kiss, stroking her tongue along his as she curled her legs around his flanks, digging her heels into the backs of his thighs, extending and spreading her toes until the last twinges of discomfort fell away.
Henry broke the kiss and rose to his elbows, the motion forcing his hips hard between her legs and his shaft deeper within her body.
“Look at me.” His voice was low and rough yet oddly tender.
She lifted her chin to meet his gaze, found his eyes dark and gleaming, his face flushed, his mouth a firm line. A muscle beat along his jaw.
Georgie placed her hand over the jumping muscle, drew her thumb along his lips.
“I’m going to make love to you,” he whispered, his breath warm on her flesh. “Slow and sweet.”
She shook her head in denial of his words and the promise within them.
“Oh, yes, Georgie.” Something shifted in his eyes and they grew soft as one corner of his mouth lifted. “Let me love you.”
“You mustn’t,” she breathed.
His fingers tangled in her hair and his thumbs swept along her temples as he cupped her head, his hands holding her gently but firmly. “I find I must.”
He dipped down and captured her lips, his tongue sweeping inside to find hers, to stroke and glide as he slowly slid his cock from her body until only the fat bulb remained.
Georgie whimpered in protest.
Henry dragged his tongue over hers and eased back into her body at a leisurely pace that had her wrapping her legs around his flanks and lifting her hips to hurry him along.