by Jo Beverley
Now—yes—now she wanted, needed, to be invaded. To have that hard thrusting. There. Now. “Please…” She’d said it. “No. I mean…we can’t.”
“Hush, hush…Hold on tight and remember to be quiet.”
“Quiet?”
She looked down to where he looked up, from between her legs.
“You don’t want your parents to hear,” he said.
“Heavens, no…Oh…”
His mouth!
She held on as tightly as she could as the rest of her body seemed to shake and melt into jelly.
His tongue. It must be his tongue. Firm and hard, thrusting.
Not like Dickon.
Nothing like Dickon.
“Oh stars, oh stars, oh stars…Oh!” She managed, barely, to choke it back. She was swaying as if storm tossed, bucking against the hands that gripped her hips, holding her for his ravishing.
She strangled sounds as best she could as waves of pain and pleasure shook her to her core, and then something sent her rigid in the most wonderful way, again and again and again, sapping all her strength.
He caught her.
She’d let go of the rail and collapsed, but somehow he’d caught her and laid her on the bed. Now he covered her, naked to her nakedness, kissing her.
Kissing her as she’d never been kissed, with a taste on him that she recognized as perfume and herself, her heart still pounding against his, his hands running over her, soothing her, pleasuring her.
His mouth on her breasts again. Her aching breasts, her needful breasts. Creating instant, greedy need. His hand between her thighs now, his fingers inside her.
“No, oh no…”
He went still. “No?”
Her body throbbed in rebellion. “I’ll break.”
He laughed and kissed her, gently now, as if sipping from a cup, his touch so gentle, one finger stroking over slick flesh, so she floated as if on a boat on a river of pleasure, drifting, drifting. His mouth on her earlobe, her neck, her shoulder, her breast. Only slowly licking to her nipple, then so gently there as an ache built and her hips raised up off the bed, seeking, demanding.
His hand moved faster, his mouth demanded, and the pleasure surged through her again and again, arching her and releasing her, and everything went black.
“Did I faint?” she asked, limply prone, his body hot over hers.
Stroking her, but oh so softly, so undemandingly, he said, “Perhaps. A little absence to recover. It’s commoner for women than for men, for women can take so much more pleasure at a time.”
“I’m…”
“Don’t try to explain it, Georgia.”
She fell silent, deliciously amazed by a satisfaction so deep it felt like a new existence. She couldn’t remember ever being so relaxed before, and she’d certainly never enjoyed the astonishing comfort of a big, hot body over hers.
But normality crept back, and along with it, thoughts.
She pushed up and shifted, rolling over to look up at him. He moved to one side, head resting on a hand, smiling at her in a way that seemed a wonder of its own.
Oh, sweet heaven, she’d vowed not to break his heart.
“Now I’m more confused,” she said, trying to be matter-of-fact, which was hard when he put a hand on one of her breasts. “I see why Babs enjoys her marriage bed so much and misses Harringay when he’s away, but Lizzie seems only mildly pleased by hers yet quite content.”
He leaned to kiss the tip of the nipple. “Perhaps she is. Or perhaps she thinks it a private storm, not to be spoken of. There are many variations on this theme, and we can explore all of them.”
That book. Those pictures…
She put a hand to his face. Because of how they lay, it was to the scarred side of his face, but she didn’t mind. She wanted to touch it now, as if her touch could magic the hurt and damage away.
“It would be too dangerous to do this again,” she said.
“I kept my promise. You’re in no risk of conceiving.”
“Not that.”
“Then what?”
“Being caught.”
“That’s not what concerns you.”
“Very well. That I raise your hopes.”
“If I’m willing to bear the disappointment, it needn’t distress you.”
“Then that I come to like this too much.”
“What danger in that?”
“You understand. I can’t marry you.”
“A license and a church and it’d be done.” Before she could respond, he went on, “I’ve made no secret of enjoying many women, but I tell you truly, I’ve never enjoyed pleasuring one as I have you.”
“A decent woman should not be pleased by that.”
“But you are pleased.” He stroked her cheek with his knuckles, looking into her eyes. “You’re made for this, Georgia, and for so much more, and you’ve always known it. That’s why you knew your marriage was lacking, even though you didn’t know how. Think about this. Remember this. What does rank and fortune matter when we can weave such rare magic for the rest of our lives?”
It was the temptation of Satan, but she pushed his hand away. “I command you not to say such things.”
“You’re past your fifteen minutes.”
Fear collided with wicked desire. She rolled off the bed and grabbed her clothing.
He watched her, smiling wryly.
“You’re not unique,” she threw at him.
“No, I’m not, though you are. What other woman would have this conversation here and now? In case you’re unwise enough to settle for less, my lovely Georgia, there are ways you can pleasure yourself. I could teach you those too.”
She ran for the door, but he said, “Slippers.”
With a hiss of annoyance, she dashed back to pick them up and then escaped, running naked across the corridor to her own room.
She stood there, heart galloping, half fearing pursuit.
He wouldn’t, however, and in some way that seemed tragic.
Chapter 27
Jane woke Georgia the next day with her chocolate. “It’s gone noon, milady, and Lord Dracy has asked to see you.”
Georgia felt the blush rise. “He’ll have to wait. I need to bathe and get the powder out of my hair.”
Jane was sniffing. “That book’s making a real stink, milady. You should get rid of it.”
Her cheeks were getting hotter. “No, not yet. Order my bath, please.”
Jane left and Georgia tried to reassemble herself into some normal form, but she felt taken to pieces and put together differently. She looked up at the rail around this bed, drowning in memories, understanding at last why some women threw away honor, reputation, fortune, even family out of lust for a man.
That would not be her.
Dracy had opened a door for her, but…
But she couldn’t imagine going through with any man but him.
“Yet,” she said aloud.
She simply needed time to work through it all. And other things. Perry was back. He’d untangle her scandals, and by the time that was done, Dracy would be back in Devon. She’d be sane, and she’d have sane suitors again.
Jane returned and drew the bed-curtains to provide privacy from the servants who were bringing the bath and jugs of water.
In a shadowy nest, Georgia sipped her chocolate, allowing her mind to return where it willed. She’d experienced a new world and must understand it.
Her chocolate seemed more delicious, her pillow softer. Every part of her seemed alive to new sensation, and she fizzed with questions. Definitely not ones she could ask of Jane.
Not of Babs either, for all that Babs could answer them. Babs, so unabashedly in lust for her husband, and he for her, but deep in love too.
She wanted that in her marriage.
She remembered her idea of trying out men until she was with child. Dear heaven! Difficult enough to contemplate lying under potential husbands as they did the necessary. Doing the sorts of things she’d done last night!<
br />
With Beaufort or with Bridgwater?
A suppressed giggle made her choke.
Jane poked her head through the curtains. “Are you all right, milady?”
“Yes, yes!” Georgia gasped, trying to conquer the coughing.
“Your bath’s ready, milady.”
Georgia had heard the tub thump down on the floor and busy footsteps, but she’d been in another world.
“In a moment, Jane.”
She’d been in the world of Dracy’s skilled hands and mouth, and his hard, warrior’s body. She’d never seen Dickon’s body, but Dickon had never had to exert himself more than he cared for, and never, as best she knew, had to fight for his life.
Except, of course, at the end.
She cradled the cooling cup. How disloyal to think less of Dickon for that. Hard-muscled sporting men were two a penny—like Shaldon, Crackford, and Vance. Good, kind ones were precious.
Dracy was good and kind, and admired by his friends. And a skilled lover.
Unfair to compare Dracy’s expertise with Dickon’s lack of it. All the same, she knew which she preferred.
And she knew what she wanted.
She wanted to see what else Dracy had to teach her.
“Milady, the water’s growing cold!”
Georgia pulled herself together and climbed out of bed. She went behind the screen to exchange her nightgown for her plain bathing shift. After last night modesty seemed silly, but to alter a lifetime’s habits now would be to wave a flag. Strangely, it would still feel wrong to be naked in front of her maid.
She climbed into the tub and set to scrubbing her body with soap and cloth. It was ridiculously awkward with the sodden shift in the way. In time, she would change this, modesty be damned.
“Put your head back now, milady.”
Georgia did so, and Jane began to wash her hair in a bowl. “Perhaps I’ll give up powder entirely.”
“Not as long as fashion requires it, you won’t. And it was a very pretty addition to your dove costume.”
“Yes, it was, wasn’t it? There were some clever costumes. Lord Dracy’s was quite good for someone inexperienced, don’t you think?”
“A tolerable effort, milady.”
Irresistible to talk about him. “He rescued me from Lord Sellerby.”
“I heard something odd went on, milady. What did Lord Sellerby do?”
“He was distinctly discourteous, and when I tried to walk away, he stepped on the dove’s tail of my gown.”
“The monster!”
“Angel, actually, and quite a fine one until Dracy dragged him off by the wings.”
“Oh, dear, milady, that must have been a scene.”
“Yes and some people will hold it against me. It’s so unfair. I am not at home to Lord Sellerby, Jane. Ever again.”
“Very well, milady, but what a shame. He was such a fine gentleman, and you enjoyed his company.”
“Perhaps too much. But Perry’s back, so I’m sure I can be restored, plus the matter of the dove of peace was to my advantage, I think.”
“Your costume, you mean, milady?”
“No. Perhaps you didn’t hear. The king sent that automaton that the odd Chevalier d’Eon presented to him when acting as French ambassador—a silver dove of peace. I missed the occasion because I was ill, but everyone spoke of how pretty it was, but how Rothgar’s had been the better. Are you done?”
“Just the rinse now, milady.”
“The king sent the dove to the masquerade under the marquess’s care, and Lord Rothgar summoned me to set it in motion. I was somewhat alarmed after the Sellerby debacle, but I think Lord Rothgar meant it well, and perhaps it served. I was presented to all in my costume of peace and purity, and with Rothgar’s approval, which counts for something.”
“The marquess likely knows your connection to his wife, milady.”
“Certainly, and has always been kind, though I find him somewhat awe inspiring.”
“It’s to be glad something inspires you to awe, milady. There, done.” She wrapped a towel around Georgia’s head. “As well we didn’t use much grease, or the powder would have been much harder to remove.”
“Though the powder didn’t stick as well. I dusted my partners in the dance, and it’s all around this room.…”
And Dracy’s room!
And he hadn’t been powdered.
It was as if the water had turned icy cold.
Georgia surged out of the bath, grabbing the towel from Jane. How could she have been so foolish? Even now, were servants whispering about the hair powder and coming to scandalous conclusions?
She sat at the desk.
“Milady! You need to get into dry clothes.”
“I remembered a note I must send.”
“Surely it’d wait—”
“It won’t.” Georgia dipped a pen and wrote quickly, struggling for innocent words.
My dear Lord Dracy,
I believe we were to meet today to discuss carpets for your Devon house. There was also the matter of cleaning them, and how to remove a variety of scattered matter. I will shortly be at your service, sir.
She regretted those last words, conventional though they were, but every moment might count.
She scrawled her signature and folded the sheet. No candle lit for sealing wax, so she gave it to Jane. She trusted Jane.
“Take it directly to Lord Dracy, please. Yes, now.”
As the maid left, Georgia went behind the screen, peeling off her clammy shift, fighting a need to run across the corridor and check Dracy’s room.
Jane returned. “Lord Dracy’s gone out, milady, but I left the note with one of the footmen.”
Thank heaven she’d chosen her words so carefully. She realized that it was all pointless anyway. It was gone noon and a maid would have cleaned the room as soon as Dracy left. She hugged herself, feeling newly vulnerable, and this time she was guilty of a sin. She’d taken solace from the fact that she was innocent of any sin connected to Dickon’s death. In truth, it may have saved her sanity.…
“Milady?”
Georgia had to put on a dry shift and emerge, just as she had to face her life. There was no true escape short of flight into exile, and even then a person had to go to a remote spot indeed not to be found. She wasn’t made for such misadventures.
Jane helped Georgia into her wrap. “Sit you down, milady, so I can comb out your hair. It’ll be such a job after you sleeping with it unplaited.”
Georgia obeyed, but she had to probe for any hint of scandal.
“Is there talk among the servants this morning, Jane?”
Jane began to gently tease out the knots. “Talk, milady? About what?”
Stupid to even raise the thought. “About Lord Sellerby’s behavior last night.”
“Nought’s been said that I’ve heard, milady. And that fracas was not to your discredit.”
“I’m sure some will make it so.”
Georgia couldn’t press for more, but surely if the servants were whispering about Lady Maybury’s hair powder on Lord Dracy’s carpet, Jane would have heard.
Perhaps there hadn’t been as much as she’d thought, or it had been trodden in. It seemed she’d escaped that disaster, but she couldn’t face the world yet.
“I’m going to enjoy a quiet day, Jane.”
“A good idea, milady. You’re looking a bit peaked.”
Georgia couldn’t even bear to be fussed over. “I set you at liberty. You have the day to do as you wish, though I recommend that you leave the house so you won’t be pulled into some other work.”
“Thank you, milady. I’d like to visit my friend Martha Hopgood. She was a maid with me at…”
Georgia listened with surprise to a story out of Jane’s earlier life, for her maid rarely chattered of such things. Her friend Martha had married the keeper of the Three Cups in Clerkenwell.
“Didn’t she find that a change from being maid in a nobleman’s house?”
“A change for the better, milady, for she became mistress of her own house and now has five fine children.”
“Ah yes.” Georgia understood that. “Do you ever wish you’d married, Jane?”