“All right. As my lady wishes.” He groaned when she splayed her fingers across his bare chest. After a quick estimation of their locale, he refused to breach her on the floor, so he stood and swept her into his arms. As Mark lingered at the footboard of the four-poster, Amanda scored her nails to the nape of his neck and nipped his ear lobe, which struck a mortal blow to his defenses. “I loathe hurting you, any more than necessary, so we should avoid the bed for now.”
“But--why?” The alacrity, the unmasked enthusiasm with which she submitted, evinced she had abandoned every effete precept she had been taught. “Is that not the usual place?”
With her singular goal in mind, he returned to the sitting room. Rotating, full circle, he inventoried the furniture at his disposal. To his chagrin, every scrap of hitherto utilitarian appurtenances presented enticing scenarios, which stretched the limits of his imagination, control, and breeches, but he filed them for future reference.
“Bloody hell.” Fighting a wicked erection on which he could bounce guineas, given its rock-solid rigidity, until the New Year, he retraced his steps to her inner chamber.
“And now that you have made the grand tour of my apartments, shall we commence the deflowering?” Amanda nuzzled his temple. “Mark, just what are you about?”
“Hold hard, darling.” Drowning in adventitious and annoying nervousness, he huffed a breath in frustration. At a loss, he paused and contemplated the differences in their size, in relation to various coital positions, none of which inspired confidence when claiming a delicate virgin. At last, he settled on a large, overstuffed armchair, situated in a corner, near a window.
“What is wrong? Is my brave sailor intimidated by a little woman?” She licked the crest of his ear. “I promise, I will be gentle with you.”
“Are we not comical?” After setting Amanda on her feet, he stripped off his shirt and then stuck his thumbs in his waistband. Just then, he glanced at his lady and discovered her stare fixed on his crotch, even as she bit her lip. “Sweetheart, have you revised your thinking?”
“No.” She curled her toes. “My sister Olivia described her connubial experiences, upon return from her honeymoon, and that is the part of your anatomy that most fascinates me.”
“Hell and the Reaper.” At such frank honesty, Mark could not help but laugh. But despite her bravado, he spied trepidation in her visage and opted not to remove the pantaloons, as he would benefit from their restriction. Sitting in the chair, he slapped his thighs. “Come here, love.”
“Like this?” she asked, as she straddled him.
“Perfect.” Why was he not surprised that she complied without a moment’s hesitation? He cupped her bottom. “Now scoot forward.”
“You know, I really thought I might be--Oh.” Her gaze grew wide with wonder as the juncture of her supple core met the stout swell of his one-eyed pirate.
“You were saying?” His smug confidence faltered when she wiggled and fidgeted in his lap, and even through his breeches, she tantalized him beyond reason. But when she retreated to unfasten the hooks at his waistband, he grabbed her wrists. “Amanda, slow down.”
“No, as I am determined, sir.” And then her questing fingers found his erection, and he gritted his teeth. In mere seconds, the age-old question blossomed in her expression. “Mark, this cannot possibly work.”
“It will, my officious little thing.” Reclining, he sighed and tried to formulate a stern reproach about propriety and self-preservation, as she had no real inkling of how much he could injure her, how the initial intimate invasion could chill future relations, how his unchecked passion could consume her. In her innocence, in her vulnerability, she had not the strength to manage him, yet her blind trust left him reeling. Swimming against an alluring tide, he fought to regain his tack. Instead, he schooled her in the ways to stimulate a man, showed her where to stroke and fondle, and she took to his lessons with her customary relish. It was spectacular, having her pleasure him, and he gave himself into her unsophisticated but oh-so-sweet hands and floated on an illusory cloud of unfettered bliss. “Yes.”
But what his lady had done next well nigh slayed him.
Bereft of reticence or apprehension, and with a directness that conquered his heart all over again, she shimmied and brought his length to her opening. Lost in his heaven on earth, he had not divined her aim until it was too late. Before he could halt her advance, she tilted her hips. On her second attempt, he lurched in a valiant but futile effort to deflect her, and he sailed right into her harbor, tearing through her maidenhead, and she flexed her thighs, holding his flesh deep within hers. Braced for her scream, he could have cried when she whimpered, leaned forward, and buried her face in the curve of his neck.
Inside him, something shattered.
“My Amanda, you disarm me.” With infinite patience, he massaged her shoulders, the nodes of her spine, the small of her back, and then he simply held her, waiting for the eventual slackening of her muscles. “Relax, love. The pain will pass.”
Of course, he had chosen their orientation to minimize her discomfit, while maximizing his direction of events, but his stubborn society miss had ideas of her own, as evidenced by her masterful and enchanting self-immolation. And he could not argue her goal, given the results, because, although she had not moved in a couple of minutes, he was near to exploding.
“So, that is it?” She shifted, he hissed, and she exhaled. With a brilliant smile, she rubbed her nose to his. “I am yours?”
“Indeed, you are mine. And this is only the beginning, love.” And then he lifted her, stood, and carried his lady to the bed, whereupon he deposited her to the mattress, doffed his breeches, and covered her. In an instant, he joined their bodies. After instructing her how to wrap her legs about him, Mark cradled her head and kissed her. “Forever, Amanda.”
And together they danced in a rhythm as old as time.
#
Stretching long, Amanda yawned and winced at the soreness between her legs. As triumphant memories of the previous breathtaking night flashed in her brain, she smiled, moaned, and snuggled beside her naughty lieutenant. After their first fiery coupling amid the sheets, whereupon she had smothered her scream of exaltation with her pillow, Mark had roused her four more times during various hours and made sweet, gentle but passionate love to her.
“Mark Douglas, I shall love you till I die.” She swept a lock of hair from his forehead, and he opened his eyes. “Did I wake you?”
“No.” He shifted and pulled her close. “And my Amanda, I shall love you just the same. How do you feel?”
“Famished.” She giggled. “As I have never worked so hard for my morning meal.”
Just then, a knock at the door brought them both alert and upright.
“Breakfast is served in your sitting room, Lady Amanda,” her maid called.
“Thank you, Ellie,” Amanda responded, as she clutched the covers to her chin. “I shall ring for you when I am ready to bathe and dress.”
“I set the bolt, after your ardent approbation of my nocturnal maneuvers, in the event your father discovered us,” he whispered. “At the very least, it would have slowed him enough to give me a running start.”
“Only if you can outpace a lead shot.” Amanda envisioned the last and snorted, but her genial humor was short-lived. “Oh, no. If the servants are about, then so is Papa.”
“Bloody hell.” Mark leaped from the four-poster. “I thought you said you rose before the sun.”
“On normal occasions, I do, but there is nothing normal about the dawn of this day, as I have scarcely slept a wink.” After locating her nightgown, she pulled the silk over her head and then searched for a serviceable robe. “Because I was set upon in my bed by a marauding barbarian.”
“Indeed you were, sweetheart.” Fastening his shirt, he waggled his brows, and then he tugged on his boots. “And he quite enjoyed himself.”
“Did you?” How she despised the nagging doubt plaguing their special moment. “I did
not disappoint you, given your vast experience? And you will not dally with some exotic foreign woman, will you? While you are docked in a tropical port, somewhere far from me?”
“Amanda, how can you ask that?” He buttoned his waistcoat, walked to her, and drew her into his arms. “Foreign women are foreign women. You are exotic--and intoxicating, and enchanting, and irresistible, and I shall go mad for wanting you, until I see you again.”
“Oh, Mark.” Tears beckoned, and she squeezed him. “Must you go away?”
“None of that, now.” He cupped her chin. “This is our life, the ever-changing world of the sea, should you choose to make our vows official and binding. How can I concentrate on my mission, if I am worried about you?”
“Last night bound us for eternity, and I thought Nelson’s men did their duty.” She swallowed hard. “So I should not signify.”
“My dear, you are the exception to the rule.” At the basin, Mark poured some water and washed his face. “And I would have you take care, as I will need you strong upon my return, because I shall make love to you as fifty men.”
“I would settle for one man, Lieutenant.” She handed him a towel and then fetched his coat. A familiar handkerchief fell to the floor, which she bent and retrieved. “You kept it?”
“Of course.” As he donned his frock, she dabbed her perfume to the lace-edged linen square, before tucking it into his breast pocket. “I keep it next to my heart, per your command.”
“That reminds me.” She snapped her fingers, opened her armoire, and collected a small parcel. “This is for you. I had it commissioned as a wedding present.”
“Thank you, darling.” Clutching her hand, he pressed his lips to the poesy ring he had given her, and then he opened the box. “Amanda, it is beautiful, but it pales in comparison to you.”
“It is a Cosway.” The portrait miniature created by the appointed Painter to the Prince of Wales boasted an oval gold encasement encrusted with pearls and sapphires, the latter she chose to compliment her eyes. “Wear it, as a talisman against harm, so that you may come home, safe and sound, hale and hearty.”
“As you wish.” He tucked the memento into his coat. “I shall situate your image to my breast, as my personal guard. And now, much to my regret, I must away, as I am due in Greenwich. So how do you propose to free me from your lair of delicious iniquity?”
“Well, my original plan had been to sneak you down the back stairs, yet the staff has arisen.” Tapping a finger to her cheek, she considered the possibilities. “Perhaps we should try, and I shall act as scout.”
“All right.” Mark bowed. “After you, my lady.”
After unlocking the bolt, Amanda peeked into her sitting room. She waved at Mark, and they rushed to the door. Then she peered into the hallway and discovered it empty. Tiptoeing, she led him to the rear of the residence--but halted when her mother summoned a servant. Her lieutenant slammed into her but managed to keep them upright.
“Hurry,” Amanda murmured sotto voce and waved. “The other direction.”
They retraced their steps--and then her father, his nose in a periodical, appeared at the opposite end. Amanda skidded to a stop. She ventured left, Mark veered right, and they connected rudely in the middle. With his arms at her waist, he lifted her feet from the floor and ducked into nearby vacant guest quarters. For several minutes, he held her close, and then he bent his head and kissed her--and kept kissing her. When silence fell in their midst, they came up for air.
“What now?” Mark arched a brow.
“Of course.” An epiphany quelled her unrest, and Amanda bit her lip. “Back to my room.”
With a quick glance from side to side, they discerned the passage had cleared and ran to her chambers. Once again secure in her apartments, Amanda marched to the large window overlooking the east lawn. In haste, she twisted the lock and flung open the sash.
“Perfect.” She assessed the predicament. “The trellis should hold you, and you can exit the gardens via the side gate, with none the wiser.”
“It is only one floor, so I should survive if I fall.” Mark made to throw his leg over the ledge but paused and pulled her into his embrace. Resting forehead to forehead, he said, “You have no idea how difficult it is to leave you.”
“You have no idea how difficult it is to let you go.” She caressed his cheek, even as her heart ached, and she dreaded their separation. “I miss you, already. And you will write me?”
“And I you.” With that, Mark claimed one more soul-stealing kiss, which ended far too soon for her liking. “That shall have to sustain me through the voyage. And of course I shall write, and I ask the same of you, but I would caution you to remember the post is unreliable, at best, at sea. Correspondence is often transferred from ship to ship, before it is brought ashore, unless we put to port, so there may be delays.”
After releasing her, he turned and shimmied out the window. Perched at the ledge, she monitored his progress, her agony increasing with each successive step that brought them further apart. Descending with care, he slipped when a rung broke beneath his weight, and she shrieked in horror. And then he resumed his downward climb, until he reached the bottom.
At his destination, he tipped his head and looked at her. “I love you, Amanda. Never forget that.”
With a half-strangled cry, she fought the fast encroaching tears. “And I love you. Know that when next you dock in London, whenever that might be, I will be waiting for you.”
For a long while, he simply stared at her, as if committing to memory the moment. The air sizzled with passion, forming an intimate connection that defied the distance between them, suffusing her with soothing warmth. Then, with his gaze locked on hers, he drew her handkerchief from his coat pocket and pressed it to his nose. Crestfallen, devastated by the cruel situation that had forced them to resort to such mischief, Amanda blew him a kiss and mouthed his name.
And then Mark was gone.
CHAPTER SIX
December yielded to January with a blustery gale, and Mark celebrated the New Year aboard the Boreas, as she patrolled the trade routes of the North Atlantic. More than a month had passed since he bade farewell to his lady, and yet he dispatched letters whenever they put to port to replenish stores. To his infinite disappointment, he had received nothing from his Amanda, despite her promise to write him.
Standing by the starboard rail of the quarterdeck, with the westerlies rustling his hair, he inhaled the familiar and comforting scent of brine mixed with kelp and dared not hope as they anchored alongside a Packet Service ship from Falmouth, bearing the King’s flag, and official, as well as personal, correspondence was transferred between vessels. Regardless of his attempts to the contrary, he uttered a silent prayer that the canvas bags contained something--anything, for him.
Distraction, but no joy, was found in his examination of the polished boards, the grain of which shone bright in the sun, the falls flemished to his exacting specifications, and the devil had been fresh-paid with pitch at their last port. At the waist, the crew carried out their chores, whistling or singing naughty shanties as they worked. “Kennedy, secure the dry stores in the hold, with the swine.”
“Aye, sir.” The sailor saluted.
The second lieutenant emptied the first bag, and Mark sighed as despondency seeped into his muscles. Never had he relished the mail call, because his family had not written during his tenure at sea. And it was not for lack of caring but, rather, indicative of the characteristic Douglas stiff-upper-lip persona and their expectations to that effect. What he had come to realize since that first fateful meeting in the Northcote’s ballroom was that Lady Amanda Gascoigne-Lake had changed his world and altered his view.
Yes, the mere wisp of a girl had penetrated his thoughts and, it seemed, every fiber of his being. While the navy life had always inspired his soul, it now all but consumed him, given the marquess’s directive. The ocean appeared more nebulous, the canvas more crisp, and the sky more blue. Unfortunately, her absence
had also impacted him, with quite the opposite results, and he genuinely ached for want of his Amanda. For the first journey since his days as a young, randy midshipman, he had put four fingers and a thumb to most excellent use.
“You are a fastidious lieutenant, Mr. Douglas.” Captain Nelson scrutinized the gleaming deck, which bore not a speck of dust, from stem to stern, as the legendary naval man was correct in his assertion, and Mark would brook no less than perfection. “You lead by example, which is the best form of management, in my humble estimation, and have held your rank for these eight years, to your credit, so it is time for you to make post.”
“I could not agree more, sir.” Mark recalled the conversation in Admiral Gascoigne-Lake’s study. “And the situation is more pressing than you can imagine.”
The second lieutenant emptied another bag, and Mark shuffled his feet as ruthless dispiritedness traipsed his spine.
“So the rumors are true?” Nelson scanned the horizon with the bring-em-closer. “Old Hiram holds you to the same standard set by his father-in-law?”
“What?” He checked his tone. “I beg your pardon, Captain. Are you telling me--”
“That Lord Denning set identical requirements, when Hiram negotiated his engagement to Lady Eleanor.” Nelson chuckled, closed the spyglass, and cast Mark an expression of sympathy. “Do not all proud papas want a naval captain for their daughters?”
“So it would seem.” Mark frowned at the unfairness of it. “Yet there are no exams for which I can study to ensure success.”
“No, there are none. Your fate is in your hands, as you must distinguish yourself to promote.” Nelson grimaced. “And even then, you must agitate the Admiralty for a command, as I did after San Juan.”
“Douglas.”
Mark snapped to attention. “Here.”
The second lieutenant passed a sheaf of envelopes tied with twine, and Mark held his breath in anticipation. The minute he grabbed the bundle, he counted five letters, and his chest swelled, as his heart glowed, quelling the dank uneasiness that had plagued his frame for the past sennight, because he recognized the delicate script the minute he read his name on the top missive.
A Jewel In Time; A Sultry Sisters Anthology Page 7