Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Hannah inhaled sharply in surprise at the feeling of his wet lips and the tip of his tongue against her. A shiver of plea­sure passed through her and settled just above her thighs. A whimper escaped her lips as the throbbing sensation deep­ened within her and suddenly demanded attention.

  Moving his hand to the front of her body, Henry slowly skimmed his fingers over her belly and breasts, his thumb extended so as to brush the tip of her engorged nipples as he continued his caresses. Despite the growing heat of her body, her skin shivered under his touch, and he heard her sudden but quiet gasps.

  Pulling away a bit to look at Hannah, Henry’s gaze took in her entire body before returning to her face. “You are so beau­tiful,” he whispered urgently. Naked, now that the linens were unwrapped from around her shoulders and waist, she was the most erotic sight he had ever beheld. This was not the body of a fairy tale princess, but that of an enchantress, ripe and ready to cast her spell over him. She had already done that, he real­ized, when she had played mermaid in the tub. His arousal was proof of it, his cock becoming uncomfortable in its unrequited state.

  Bending down a bit, he kissed her other nipple while Han­nah slid her trembling hands down the side of his body. Her touch was tentative, unsure. Where am I allowed to touch?

  “Anywhere you wish,” Henry managed to get out between kissing her breasts and the inside of her elbows.

  She gasped, her fingers stilling on the front of his hips. Had he read her mind? Or had she spoken aloud just then?

  Suddenly emboldened, she traced a fingertip toward his manhood, explored his erection with her fingers. The silken skin, tight and already wet at the tip, throbbed against her hand. She marveled at the feel of it, surprised that it did not frighten her as she expected and relieved it was not quite as large as she had feared. Sliding her forefinger down along a pulsing vein, she gingerly touched his balls and then cupped them with several fingertips. Releasing his grip on her nipple to catch his breath, Henry closed his eyes and placed his face next to her shoulder, his hand moving down the front of her, across her hips, and down as far as he could reach along one leg and then slowly up to the dark space between her thighs. Hannah could feel her entire body trembling in anticipation, and then she inhaled suddenly as he slid first one finger and then another through her dark curlies and between her thighs. The warm moistness spread over his fingers as he felt for the nub that, if rubbed just so, would send her into ecstasy once again.

  Startled by his intimate touch, Hannah inhaled and clung to him, her hands moving to his arms, her fingernails digging into his flesh, branding him with a series of half moons in his skin. At Hannah’s instinct to clench shut the opening to the space between her thighs, Henry coaxed her legs apart as he continued to massage the engorged nub just inside the hon­eyed folds.

  Hannah’s breaths came faster as a sharp but exquisite sen­sation gripped her. She cried out, her back arcing so that her breasts were within reach of his mouth. He licked one hard­ened pebble with the side of his tongue before pulling it into his mouth. She cried out his name as her body convulsed against him. Even before she had recovered from the sensa­tion, a pleasure so intense and sharp, it was almost painful, she felt his slick fingers stroke the tender folds of skin.

  There was a pause in their exploration as Henry lifted himself and moved his kisses from one peaked nipple to another, his tongue playfully licking the other hardened peb­ble. When he slid a finger inside her, Hannah jerked, clench­ing instinctively around the intruder. Henry held his breath as he watched her eyes widen, her bee stung lips parting slightly. When he felt her relax from around his finger, he pushed it in a bit further and used the pad of his thumb to circle her swol­len sex.

  Whimpering a bit, Hannah lifted her hips slightly, forcing his finger to bury itself deeper inside her. Her breath catching, she slid a hand down the side of his body, pausing when she realized his manhood rested against her thigh. She gingerly touched the taut silken skin, feeling a great deal of satisfaction when her ministrations elicited the same reaction from Henry that she had expressed only seconds before.

  Henry closed his eyes, fighting the urge to simply allow himself the release his body was demanding. Realizing Han­nah was as ready as he could make her, and hoping he wouldn’t hurt her too terribly, he slowly removed his finger from inside her. He lifted his hips over hers and placed the tip of his throb­bing manhood where his finger had just been. “Wrap your legs around my back,” he whispered, nudging himself into her just an inch or so. As she watched him through lowered lashes, the euphoria from her climax still on her face, Henry entered her slowly. He felt her entire body trembling—in anticipation or fear, he did not know—he merely knew he had to have her.

  “This may … hurt a bit,” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers. He was aware of her nod of acknowledgment, and when he lifted his head a bit so that he could see her face, he saw desire in her eyes. Lowering his lips onto hers, he kissed her gently and then slowly pushed into her, his manhood demanding he thrust while what was left of rational thought told him he had to take it slow. This was her first time; there would be pain. When his manhood reached her maidenhood, Henry paused, pulled himself out a bit, and then thrust his cock deep into her.

  Hannah winced at the pinch of sharp pain, but stifled any sound as the warm sensation of fullness filled her lower body. Her husband’s motions were careful and deliberate—Henry pushed into her quickly and then slowly pulled out, repeating his movements rhythmically as if he wanted to make it last as long as possible.

  With the combination of her body clenching on his man­hood with each thrust, and her lips taking purchase on one of his nipples to gently suckle it, and her fingers lightly stroking down the sides of his torso and around his hips to hold onto his buttocks, Henry could no longer hold back. With Sarah, this would be the time he would pull out of her body, spill his seed on her belly or on the bed linens. But this was Han­nah. This was his wife. He could take his pleasure while deep inside, her wet warmth gripping him, inviting him to spill his seed within her. As he pushed into her as hard and as fast as he could, the release he felt was intense, consuming his entire body in a spasm of pure pleasure.

  He nearly yelled out as Hannah arched her back in response to his body’s wave of pleasure, her thighs gripping him tightly. He forced his mouth onto one of her shoulders to stifle the growl emanating from his throat. He felt Hannah’s body shudder under him and he slowly relaxed, all his energy expended and the last vestiges of his climax waning.

  Lowering himself onto her and collapsing in exhaustion, Henry allowed his head to rest on Hannah’s shoulder as he felt her fingers wind themselves into his hair on the back of his head and lightly stroke his back. He felt her kiss the top of his head as he continued to lie on top of her. When he finally stirred, it was to kiss her and slowly roll off of her body. He repositioned them both so their heads were on the pillows, tossing the damp bath linens from the bed as he did so. A blood stain on one was proof of her virtue, he realized, his comprehension slowed from the lovemaking. With his last ounce of strength, he covered them both with the bed linens before pulling Hannah closer to his body. He felt her head come to rest on his shoulder. He kissed her hair. “Now, you’re my wife,” he murmured sleepily.

  Hannah purred in response, not quite sure what to say. She didn’t even know what to think of her first time. She had felt the warm wetness spread deep inside when he had spilt his seed. That was the moment his body had suddenly stilled, his eyes closing while his face contorted and his muscles tensed. She hadn’t realized a man could appear to be in such agony when he was apparently experiencing his ultimate pleasure.

  “Are you … well?” she asked in a ragged whisper. Her body still trembled a bit, her skin was still sensitive to touch, and a new warmth radiated from it.

  She felt rather than heard his chuckle. “God, yes,” came his equally ragged reply. Overcome with fatigue, Henry fell asleep with his nose in her hair and a slight sm
ile on his face.

  Hannah sighed as she realized it was better that they had waited to consummate their marriage. She could not imag­ine doing what they had just done in her bedchamber back at Devonville House. Her cries of pleasure would have been heard by the entire household staff. She would have been the source of below stairs titters for weeks to come. Here, the room seemed to swallow up the sounds they had made. Even the solid bed never protested under their weight or Henry’s violent movements.

  The cool mattress was soothing beneath her heated skin. The soreness between her thighs seemed almost a pleasant sensation. And her husband, rather than removing himself to his own bedchamber, had drifted off to sleep. Hannah smiled at the thought of their shared nakedness. This part she knew she could get used to. Welcome, even. “Good night, husband,” she whispered.

  Chapter 11

  Life at Gisborn Hall

  The coach loaded with Hannah’s three trunks, her maid, and Murphy arrived at Gisborn Hall at four o’clock in the afternoon the following day. Murphy was all business as he unfolded himself and stepped from the coach, waiting a moment to hand down Lily.

  The maid stepped from the coach and inhaled the scent of early spring grass and horse manure. As much as she looked forward to getting back to Oxfordshire and to her true love, there were some things she decided she hadn’t missed when she was employed at Devonshire House. She wrinkled her nose but quickly recovered her impassive facial expression. She was a lady’s maid to a countess! Or, at least, she would be for a day or so. She had other plans for her future.

  From his place at the front of the horses, Billy O’Conlin watched as a young lady emerged from the coach. She was wearing a cloak and bonnet that concealed her honey brown hair, but he didn’t need to see it to recognize Lily Parker. His heart stutter-stepped as he tried to keep his gaze from being noticed by the maid. She was here. She was back. She was … gorgeous, he thought, wondering if perhaps his sleepless nights thinking of her had somehow caught up with him and he was seeing an apparition of Lily instead of whomever had really stepped down from the ancient coach.

  Giving his attention back to the horse that was growing a bit impatient, he concentrated on the task at hand before steal­ing another glance in the young woman’s direction. It was Lily. There was no doubt. And from the greeting she was receiving from the earl’s new wife, Billy realized almost at once that she was Lady Gisborn’s maid!

  A mix of dread and excitement gripped him. Lily Parker would be a member of the servant staff at Gisborn Hall. Her room would be mere steps from his, although those steps would require one to descend a ladder, walk the length of the stables, cross the backyard to the kitchen door and shuffle down a thin hallway to the servants’ quarters. But it was the idea that Lily, who used to live in Witney before her family went into service for the Coley’s household, was back in the Gisborn earldom. Back to a place that was close to home. Back to where he could bask in the glow from her smile and imag­ine a life with her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lily watched as a stable hand approached the coach-and-four. A shiver passed through her when she realized she recognized the boy. Billy O’Conlin? she wondered, sneaking another look in his direction as she made her way to the front steps of the decrepit mansion that was Gisborn Hall. She wasn’t positive, but she might have actually said something by way of a greeting to the poor boy.

  She had to suppress a shudder at the sight of the late Eliza­bethan monstrosity planted onto flat land and surrounded on two sides by farmland and the barest hint of parkland on the other two. Whose idea had it been to plow a mile or more of beautiful lawn that ended at the River Isis to plant wheat, beans and barley? Ugh! The late earl’s, of course. The miser had turned every bit of available Gisborn land into farmland. Any­thing to make money, she thought, remembering her father’s comments on the topic. Well, this might be her home for a day or two, but if her plans worked out, she would soon be gone and married to her true love.

  Did Lily just wave at me? Billy wondered. Did she call me by name? Billy looked up from where he was undoing tack and gave her a nod. A nod? He could have said something. Could have said, “Welcome back, Miss Parker. We missed you,” or something to at least let her know her absence has been noticed. But the opportunity was lost as she ascended the steps to Gisborn Hall.

  Sighing, Billy went back to work. There would be other opportunities to gain her attention, to draw her into conversa­tion, to propose marriage. What the hell?

  Lily hurried to where Hannah appeared at the double-doors of the front entrance, a matching smile on her face as she hugged her mistress.

  Hannah let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Lily again. Other than Harold, Lily was her only other acquaintance from London. To have her in the household might help to make Gisborn Hall feel comfortable, to feel like home. Even though Hannah didn’t intend to share anything about her first night with her husband, she was still eager to tell the maid about her new life at Gisborn Hall.

  Although Hannah expected she would feel a bit home­sick—it was the first time she had been away from Devonville House since visiting friends in the Lake District before her mother’s death—she found the wonder of a new home and surroundings enough to keep her mind off of London. And after her late night with the earl, she had slept quite late, wak­ing to a brightly lit room. The new sensation of soreness at the top of her thighs was not unpleasant, especially considering the pleasure that had radiated from that spot only hours ago, but she wondered if it would fade with time.

  By ten in the morning on any other day, she would have had tea with Lady Bostwick. Even if she was still in London, though, Lady Bostwick would not have called on her today. Elizabeth and George were on their way to their estate in West Sussex.

  “Welcome, Lily, Murphy,” Hannah offered as her maid curtsied and Henry’s valet bowed. “I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

  “Thank you, milady. I did. Your husband’s coach was most comfortable,” Lily lied as she made her way through the ves­tibule, noticing Hannah’s simple coiffure. Braids of her pale blonde hair were wrapped atop her head, and where the leftover wisps weren’t captured into the braids, they simply floated around her face. Wasn’t there a maid in the household who could have seen to Lady Hannah’s hair? she wondered.

  Murphy took his leave of them, hurrying off to his mas­ter’s suite. Mrs. Batey introduced herself and took Lily in hand, telling Hannah she would see to giving the servant a tour and show her to her quarters. Footmen brought in a trunk, setting it aside as they returned to the coach to unload another. Lily pulled a folded parchment from her reticule. “Would it be pos­sible to have this posted? I wish to let my family know I am no longer working in London,” she explained when she noticed the housekeeper’s raised eyebrow. Another trunk appeared in the vestibule, forcing the women to step into the hall to make room.

  “We’ll see to it, of course,” Hannah said as she took the parchment and placed it with her own letters. In all the excite­ment of the quick wedding and making the trip to Oxford­shire, she had been unable to send announcements of her marriage from London. She had spent her morning writing correspondence to several friends. In addition, letters to Eliza­beth and Charlotte as well as her father were piled on a salver.

  Hannah added Lily’s missive, noting the address on the outside. Thomas Babcock, Witney. Glancing over at her maid’s back, Hannah thought of the girl’s name. Lily Parker. Odd, Hannah thought, wondering if Lily’s mother had remarried.

  “Lady Gisborn,” Parkerhouse spoke from the parlor door. “Tea is served.”

  Hannah turned her attention to the butler. “Thank you, Parkerhouse,” she replied, wondering if tea time was at four o’clock every day or if the servants simply started the practice with her arrival. She made her way to the parlor and took a seat, realizing it was her first opportunity to sit since she’d had luncheon with Henry at one.

  Her husband—the thought made her smile to herself— had come in from what she h
ad thought was a ride for plea­sure. But he had been out in the fields, overseeing a crew of laborers digging the trench for an irrigation ditch and then down to the village to see his son’s tutor, and by default, his son, and out to the stables to see the new colt that had been born while he was in London. Upon his arrival at the house, he had given his hat and greatcoat to Parkerhouse and joined her in the small dining room.

  Their first moment alone had been a bit awkward. Should she curtsy and hold out her hand, or lift her cheek in anticipa­tion of a peck, or tilt up her head and, if there weren’t any ser­vants about, kiss him? She had seen married couples together at dinner parties, but they arrived on each other’s arms at the same time. Whatever did they do when one arrived while the other was already present?

  Apparently, Henry wasn’t familiar with the protocol, either. He entered the room, the scent of sandalwood and man emanating from him as he made his way to the table. And then, upon seeing her, he paused. “Good afternoon, milady,” he said as he gave her a formal bow.

  Hannah stood up and curtsied, saying her own, “Good afternoon, Gisborn.” Moving to meet him where he stood, Hannah paused midstep; Henry had already begun walking toward her. The hand she was going to extend for him to kiss seemed to take on a life of its own as it lifted to his cheek. She angled her head up intending to kiss him—there were no servants in the room—but he misinterpreted her move and simply lay his own hand over hers.

  “Has it already begun to bruise?” he asked in a quiet voice, a hissing sound coming from between his teeth.

  Bruise? His cheek? Hannah’s eyes widened in alarm. “What happened?”

  Henry pulled her hand away from his face and kissed the back of it, his lips sending a shiver through her bare fingers.