Honor and Secrets: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Gypsy Gentlemen Book 1)

by Sahara Kelly

  She shivered and moaned in pleasure.

  Jesus God. She did like it.

  And so did he. But he’d never imagined this particular activity with a woman like Freddie. “I don’t know…”

  “Please…oh please…” she whispered, wiggling her bottom even more.

  Peter’s cock swelled painfully. It was either touch himself and come on her back in two seconds flat or…take what she was offering.

  “Are you sure?” He seemed to be asking that a lot. He wondered who he was actually asking…himself or Freddie.

  “Yes…God, yes…please.”

  Carefully, Peter eased his cock into the cleft between her buttocks, letting a hiss seep between his clenched teeth as he stroked more of her moisture around the little rose that lured him.

  He pressed against her and felt her muscles relax, opening for his penetration. She was hot and tight, and he kept his movements gentle, just easing the tip of his cock within.

  “More.”

  He slid his hand beneath her and found her clit, caressing it gently, and letting a new arousal build slowly inside her. He could sense her body responding and she opened even more, encouraging him to move deeper into her darkness.

  Like a perfectly-fitted boot she hugged him tight, his slick cock sliding further and further and her moans of pleasure reassuring him. His balls touched her, hot honey pouring from her and soaking him.

  He withdrew and slipped in again, timing his movements with little flickers of his fingers against her clit.

  She sobbed. “Oh God…”

  She was taking him. All of him. Encouraging him with her groans and sighs and telling him with her body of the pleasure he was giving her.

  And the pleasure she was giving him was…breathtaking.

  Her spine arched in a smooth curve away from him and he ran a hand over her silky buttock, bringing a whimper to her lips.

  “Freddie,” he breathed. “Freddie.”

  It was all he could manage. His wits were gone, his thoughts ablaze with the sight of her body and his cock ready to admit that it had never been like this beforewith anyone. Ever.

  Daringly, obeying some half-imagined whim, Peter dropped a light spank on the curve of her bottom.

  She moaned and thrust back against him. “Yesss…”

  His brain fizzled and popped as he did it again, harder this time, making the little slap ring through the room.

  “Again…more…”

  Hips moving rapidly, Peter spanked her once more, putting some force behind it and realizing the sound of flesh meeting flesh was as exciting to her as it was to him.

  “Freddie…” He tensed, toes curling, feeling his balls tightening into rocks as they touched her and the heat of his slaps spreading through her pussy and her arse into his cock.

  He rained slaps on her buttocks and cried out as he thrust one last time.

  “Now…” she screamed into the pillow.

  Now.

  Peter exploded. Great shudders racked his body, his spine shot tingles from his feet to his ears and he emptied himself into Freddie. Hot jets of come spurted in an endless geyser, filling her, overflowing her tight passage and bathing him in his own flames.

  It was impossibly incredible, and for a moment Peter’s world vanished as he crashed his way through the most momentous orgasm of his life.

  Vaguely aware of her body pulsing around his, he held her tight, sobbing breaths of air into his starving lungs. Lights flashed behind his eyelids, he was hoarse from his roar of completion, and his thighs were threatening to turn to jelly within seconds of his release.

  Dear God in heaven. Freddie.

  Chapter Five

  Freddie kept her face buried in the pillow.

  Perhaps if she stayed there long enough, Peter would go away and give her room to breathe, to think, and to deal with the incredible emotions she’d just experienced. Of course, the fact that she was just too limp to move had something to do with it as well.

  She felt the bed dip beside her and the covers brush her skin as he settled them both, his breathing as exhausted as hers. A soft kiss touched her shoulder.

  “Hello.”

  Oh lovely. Now he was going to be sweet. She’d just become the most wanton trollop this side of the nearest brothel and he was going to be sweet.

  She didn’t want sweet.

  She wanted him to yell at her for being such a hussy, to rant that no young woman should have offered to take him in such a way, and scream that she was no better than a whore. She wanted him to say the things she was screaming silently at herself.

  “Freddie, won’t you look at me, love?”

  “Mmmpff.” Freddie shook her head in the depths of the pillow and struggled to breathe through the feathers.

  “Hmm.” Peter’s voice was thoughtful. He ran his hand gently over her damp skin. “That’s a shame. I wanted to see your face, all flushed from our loving.”

  Freddie squirmed. Flushed just about covered it. When she thought of what they’d just done, what she’d enjoyed so much, she flushed from head to toe.

  “And I really wanted to see the look in your eyes when I kiss the sweat away from your neck…and your shoulders…and…” His hand strayed down beneath the covers to caress her buttocks. “Did I hurt you, sweetheart?”

  “Mmmpff.” Freddie shook her head again. Oh God. Why didn’t he just go away and let her die of shame?

  His chuckle sounded much too close to her ear, and she squeezed her eyelids tightly together as he rolled her onto her back. She refused to face him. Or herself.

  “Freddie, love…look at me.”

  No. Absolutely not.

  “Why won’t you look at me, sweetheart? You can’t possibly be embarrassed.”

  Freddie cracked one eye and raised the lid slightly, squinting at Peter in the semi-darkness. “Why can’t I?”

  She heard his chuckle and clamped her eyelids back together.

  “Two people who did what we just did shouldn’t be embarrassed about anything.”

  Freddie clenched her jaw. “I’m embarrassed about what we just did, you idiot.”

  “Ah.”

  Peter’s hand continued stroking her skin, soothing, smoothing, making her want to purr beneath his touch. She wished he’d stop it, because she was having great difficulty concentrating on the assortment of worries that had slipped into her sex-dazed brain.

  “So you didn’t like what we just did?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Freddie bit her lip. “I didn’t say that at all.”

  “Good.” He leaned over and kissed the curve of one breast, and she dared lift her eyelids a fraction as his moustache grazed her softness. God, he was beautiful.

  “Because I liked it a lot. I liked it…” His lips dotted little pecks over her nipples. “I liked it more than I’ve liked anything in a long time.” He paused, lightly licking one firm bud. “More than I’ve liked anything…ever.”

  Freddie opened both eyes, entranced at the sight of his tousled head on her chest. “Really?”

  He turned his head and smiled at her. “Really.”

  “And you don’t think I’m some sort of …whore…or something?”

  Peter frowned. “Good God, no. Of course not.”

  “But, I mean…I…we…the way I…”

  “Freddie.” Peter’s voice was as firm as the lips surrounding her nipple. He sucked a little and then pulled back. “We made love, sweetheart. It gave us both a great deal of pleasure. Whatever two people choose to do together, as long as it’s by mutual consent, is never wrong.”

  Freddie’s brow wrinkled as she considered his words.

  “Oh.”

  “Did you enjoy our loving, Freddie?” His question was softly breathed over the moist trail left by his tongue.

  “Yes, thank you Peter. It was…quite wonderful.”

  Peter grinned. “So polite. But yes, it was wonderful. And you know something, Freddie?”

  “What?”

  �
��We’re going to do it again, you and I.”

  “Right now?” Freddie wondered if she had the strength to raise her eyebrows, let alone get energetic with him all over again.

  Peter’s laugh rang out and he moved his head away from her breasts, tugging her hard against him as he cuddled them both into a warm heap. “No, sweetheart. Not right at this moment. We’re both tired. But we have our lives ahead of us, darling. Lives that we’re going to spend together.”

  Peter’s warmth settled into Freddie’s bones and relaxed her muscles. His presence surrounded her with comfort and a degree of safety she’d missed for too long. Sleepily she tried to focus on his words. “Indeed?”

  “Indeed. Sleep now, love. My love. We’ll plan our future when we’re both fresh.”

  Funny thing. Freddie could have sworn Peter said “our” future. That would be so nice, she thought, slipping into sleep. “Our” future. Hers and Peter’s.

  So nice…

  *~~*~~*

  Peter’s mind whirled like a smoothly-oiled machine, considering, discarding and then deciding on the best course of action.

  He was, in effect, charting the course for the rest of his life. His future. The one that had just materialized in front of him and revolved around the woman beside him.

  First and foremost, he had to get her to agree to marry him. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to do it, since Freddie could be prickly at times, and her experiences of life hadn’t exactly taught her to trust. Or to love.

  It was up to him to teach her that.

  His cock stirred at the memory of exactly how a lot of those lessons were going to go. Yes, this was one time when the pupil and the teacher would both end up learning things. Peter had no doubt that he’d always find something new and entrancing about Freddie, whether it be her honest sensuality, her willingness to play, or her independent spirit that had been forged in the hardest way he could imagine.

  He eagerly looked forward to a lifetime of exploring her contradictions, her humor and her strengths. Along with a lifetime of loving her, caring for her, protecting her and having children with her.

  Thoughts of family jarred him from his rosy-hued dreams and reminded him he had his own family to settle with.

  The past must be laid to restand soon.

  Peter weighed his options. His mind clicked into that regimented and compartmentalized way of thinking that had served him so well during his adventures in Europe.

  Firstly, he must marry Freddie. Aunt Margaret would see to all that.

  Secondly, he should make sure that she understood what lay ahead for them. He saw no real alternative to reclaiming his name and his title. Messengers would have to be sent to Mark alerting him that Peter was home.

  The transition might be awkward, but with Peter’s father’s death, no threats of prosecution hung over his head to mar his homecoming.

  Peter clenched his teeth. Freddie knew he’d killed a man in a duel. She knew that Peter’s father had thrown him out of the country and threatened to have him tried for murder if he set a foot back in England.

  But had she known why the duel had occurred? He hoped not. The screams of the country girl that man had been abusing still haunted his nightmares. The look on his own father’s face as Peter had tried to explain the circumstances also reappeared in his dreams on a regular basis.

  Peter’s father had firmly believed in “droit du seigneur”. A titled nobleman was permitted to take his pleasures where and when he willed it, regardless of the woman involved. He’d been livid with Peter for interfering, and even more furious when Peter had rid the earth of the monster he’d challenged.

  To Lord Chalmers, the actions of his eldest son had been tantamount to treason. A completely outrageous attack on the beliefs that had provided the foundation of his life. Ignoring the pleas of his family, and behaving in the way he felt best represented his notions of the aristocracy to which he belonged, Lord Chalmers dismissed his oldest son. From his presence, from his estate, from his very country.

  Peter had transgressed against the establishment. Such a sin was, in his father’s eyes, unpardonable.

  And Peter’s father had gone to his death believing it.

  Even when other charges against Peter’s victim had been revealed, along with a lengthy and unpleasant history of abuse, there was no surcease in the anger of Lord Chalmers for his son.

  The authorities had forgiven and forgotten. Lord Chalmers never would.

  And that, thought Peter, was fine with him. He’d had close on six years of adventures with the finest men he could have ever hoped to meet.

  Which put him in mind of another thing to do…notify Viktor and the others.

  Making mental lists, assigning priorities and writing messages in his mind, Peter closed his eyes and snuggled his head over Freddie’s, letting her short hair tickle his chin. A passing thought that he rather liked her hair this way made him smile.

  Another thought that he’d have the rest of their lives to find out other ways he liked her hair made him hold her close, and as he drifted into sleep he realized that this was the only way he ever wanted to sleep from now on.

  Holding Freddie.

  *~~*~~*

  Waking next to Peter, cuddled tightly against his heat, was a moment of joy for Freddie, but within seconds the realization that their situation was totally and completely impossible hit her like a brick.

  There was simply no way she could allow herself the luxury of even considering marriage to him. She was little better than a strumpet, had been another man’s mistress, and he was…well, she wasn’t quite sure what he was, but she knew he deserved better than someone like her.

  Cautiously she peeled herself from his skin and slid from the bed, making as little noise as possible as she slipped into her old clothes. The sky was grey and cloudy, but some inner clock told her dawn was past. Peter slept on, no fever chills shaking his body, or restless tossing disturbing his slumber.

  Cursing the occasional creak of the old wooden floor, Freddie muffled the click of the door bolt with her hand and eased from the room, sighing as she left her heart behind her. God, it hurt.

  She bit her lip as she made her way downstairs, fighting back tears for what might have been. But by the time she’d reached the last step, her control had returned, and she dashed away the lingering moisture from her lashes.

  It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but it was for the best. She’d survive. She’d done pretty well up to now, and at least she had wonderful memories to warm the chilly and lonely nights ahead.

  Thumps from the kitchen told her Betsy had already started her day. Bread had to be made, and other chores completed, and a woman’s work was truly never done. Quietly, Freddie opened the kitchen door.

  “Good morning, Betsy.”

  The older woman looked up quickly. “Yer lad all right today, then?”

  Freddie couldn’t help a slight blush. He was so much better than all right. Especially last night.

  “Never mind, lass. I know that look.” Betsy chuckled over her dough.

  “Betsy, I…I’m going to be leaving…”

  That statement earned her a sharp look from beneath the greying eyebrows. “Ye are, are ye?”

  Freddie nodded.

  “Yer sure that’s what ye want to do?”

  The question made Freddie blink. “I…I have no other choice, Betsy.”

  The older woman sighed and reached for the ever-present teapot. “Have a cuppa, lass, there’s time before dawn. Ye can’t lope off without summat in yer stomach.”

  Freddie slid onto the well-worn bench and watched as Betsy lopped a chunk of yesterday’s bread onto a platter and surrounded it with cheese and some of her pickles. A huge dollop of butter joined the bread and the whole thing was shoved under Freddie’s nose with the strict command “Eat.”

  She swallowed. How the hell could she eat when a lump the size of Devonshire House was lodged in her throat? She could barely swallow. Tentativel
y, she broke off a piece of cheese.

  “Go ahead. It won’t poison ye. And while ye eat, I’ll tell ye a thing or two.” Betsy poured the tea. “Seeing as ye’ve no Mam here to tell you what’s what, I’m thinking a word from me won’t go amiss.”

  She sat herself down and glared at Freddie, who realized nothing short of the end of the world would stop Betsy from having her say. Freddie obediently munched on the cheese.

  “Now. Ye’ve a fine lad upstairs. Yer mad for him, and he can’t take them lovely eyes of his off ye. Ye’ve been trying to spin me a tale about yer being wed, but a body with a lick of sense can see yer not. Does he not want to marry ye, lass?”

  To Freddie’s horror, a huge tear dropped down her face and trembled on the tip of her nose. She brushed it away. “Oh no, Betsy. Quite the opposite. He does want to marry me. I just…can’t, that’s all. I can’t.”

  Betsy frowned. “Seems like he’s doing the right thing by ye. Ye’ve got that well-plowed look about ye this mornin’, if ye’ll pardon an old woman’s bluntness.”

  Another tear threatened to join the first. Damn, this had to stop. She’d be flooding her teacup if she kept this up. “Look, Betsy, you’re right about many things. But I know that marrying Peter would be the worst thing I could possibly do to him. I’m not the woman he should be thinking about making his wife.”

  Betsy’s eyebrows rose. “And why would that be? He’s got it bad for ye, love.”

  “I know.” Freddie’s answer was scarcely more than a breath as she recalled the look in Peter’s eyes last night.

  “And ye’ve got yerself a bad case of heartache this mornin’, if I’m not mistaken…”

  Freddie nodded.

  “Do ye love him, girl?”

  “Too much, Betsy. I didn’t want to love him. I knew him when we were young, and I suppose I got one of those awful young girl crushes on him. But now, I’ve learned…”

  “What, lovey? What have ye learned?”

  Freddie choked down a sip of tea, struggling to find the words to explain not only to Betsy, but to herself as well. “Loving someone is the hardest thing in the world, Betsy. It only leads to pain when it all goes wrong. People…leave you. They die. They leave a hole in your heart that can never be filled. I can’t see that it’s worth it. It leads to disappointment, disillusionment and heartache. Look at me now. I should never have let things go as far as they have.”