Lady Featherstone's Fervent Affair

by Cerise DeLand

  The man was so loyal, so devoted that he had forsaken his own amorous interest in Wes’ Aunt Amaryllis’ housemaid to go to war with Wes time and again.

  Damn. How ungrateful can I be?

  Ungrateful enough to want Charles to keep his hands to himself.

  Wes cursed, lumbered to the hall closet and peered around in the dark for his coat on a hook. Where the hell had Charles put it?

  Ah. He grabbed the tweed and picked his way toward the kitchen, out the back door, down the stone path and into the smokehouse. He flung open the door. They weren’t here. He rubbed his jaw and whirled for the wooden building along the same path. The stables.

  Raindrops dripping down his temples, he stood inside the stables. Turning, he heard his horses stomping. In the shadows, he heard the murmurings of his man and the woman who should have been his own.

  He rounded a stall, and there they stood, Charles lowering his face to hers, his own eyes closed, his lips almost touching her throat.

  “Hello! What is your business out here?” Wes glared from one to the other.

  They broke apart like guilty thieves.

  Lacy brushed her palms over her skirts. “Charles was showing me your horses.”

  Wes took two steps forward to peer down at her. “Why? You know good horseflesh when you see it. You helped your father raise his bloodlines. And what is your excuse, Charles?”

  “Sir! I was merely following her request to—”

  “Yes, yes.” Wes waved a hand at Charles. “Leave us.”

  Charles departed with a long, last glance at Lacy.

  When the sound of Charles’ footsteps died away, Wes asked, “You like him?”

  She demurred with a shrug. “Charles resembles you.”

  “Is that why you like him?” He stepped right up to her and took her forearm. The mere feel of her tiny bones under his hand made his cock stiffen and his balls twitch.

  “Yes.”

  Wes examined her. Witch.

  “And no.” She pulled out of Wes’ grasp and made her way to his newest acquisition, a mare he intended to mate to his new stallion. Might as well breed them if I can’t ride them. “I like Charles for himself. He is quite knowledgeable about you.”

  “You need know nothing about me.”

  “But I do.” She approached the mare. “I need to know what happened to you in Talavera.

  Why you do not wish to be with people.” Lacy patted the mane of the mare that seemed to nod that she was happy to be noticed. “Why you do not wish to be with me.”

  “It was war, Lacy.”

  “You think I cannot understand that.”

  “Why should you?”

  “Because I love you!” she bellowed. The horse whinnied. She spun to face the animal.

  “Sorry,” she said to the beast in the kindest tone, but to Wes she was argumentative. “Other men come home to their loved ones. Why not you?”

  “Because I am not whole!”

  “Or do not wish to be?”

  He spun and almost fell over with the propulsion. “I will not argue with you.”

  “Nor I with you.”

  He had to walk away. Save himself from the ripe temptation to shut her up with a kiss.

  “Do not leave me, Wes.” She said it in such a way that she clearly referred to much more than what he did at this moment.

  He stopped in his tracks. Her tone gutted him.

  Her arms surrounded him. Caught him back to her body. “I love you, Wes.”

  “That feeling is best left to the libraries and ballrooms where we met once in peacetime.”

  “Is love only for those rooms? Those times?” She strode around to face him then stood up on her toes and kissed him, lavishly, endlessly.

  His lips ached with the beauty of it. His cock throbbed with the need to demonstrate his devotion to her.

  She circled her arms around his neck. “I think such passion is for all the times of our lives.” She put her lips to his throat, one hand to his chest where the heat of her palm burned his chest. “All the places where we can be happy.” Her hips pressed against his and his cock, damn willful thing, sprang up higher, hard as iron. Suddenly, her hand was there, undoing his flies and reaching inside to caress him. “There is the proof we can be.”

  She stepped backward, and he felt her loss like a wave of gall flowing over him. She worked at the ribbons beneath her bodice, freeing her dress and just as quickly, pulling it over her head. She was— my god—naked.

  He stood so still he could have sworn he was felled by a falling tree.

  Her skin, so perfect on her face, was a flawless expanse of porcelain. Her shoulders, trim.

  Her arms, long and lithesome. Her breasts, dear heaven, plump, up-turned handfuls, her nipples pink as June’s roses. Her waist was small, but oh, she could and would bear beautiful babies.

  With those hips, she could carry children, but she would first hold a man in thrall. Her nether hair was a frothy platinum bush to match the glory of the curls on her head. And the plush wealth of her pussy made him lick his lips, wanting to taste and feel the plump lips of her chat.

  Her gaze in his, she pulled at his trousers and sent them down his thighs. Her two hot little hands cupped his shaft then squeezed gently. Leading him backward, she lay down on a low haystack. If he’d had his right mind, he would have laughed, but she was leading him by his cock and damn his soul if he could say no. Or think straight.

  She widened her trim thighs. And tipped up her hips. Her pussy was an irresistible invitation. Her blonde hair framed her thick, pouting lips. Her labia glistening with her desire for him. Her seam, long and red. Her tiny little asshole, a rose, too. His. All his. To have and to hold and damn, if he wasn’t going to feast on her, here and now. Vows or not.

  He raked his hair. He knew he was mad. She was clever. He was needy. And she had driven him here, knowing full well he would lay her down and take her, letting no man—not even his half brother—intercede and put their affection to any unreasoned test.

  “Lacy.” He bent over her, one knee to the side of her hip, his one good eye scanning her flushed face and her gorgeous sultry body. “You must not do this. The hay will torment you.”

  She stroked his rod, long and evenly. “You torment me.”

  “I will not make love to you for the first time in my barn with your ass in the prickly hay!”

  She beamed at him, triumphant, testy. “If we leave here, I do not trust that you’ll fuck me at all!” As he gasped at her ribald words, she got a handful of his two balls and massaged him.

  “You must have me here. Now. I will not stop, and I will not move.”

  He swallowed hard, summoning some self-control. “Lacy, you cannot imagine what you ask for.”

  “I don’t want to imagine,” she crooned and kissed his mouth, his dimple, his throat. She rubbed her thumb over the slit of his cockhead, and he bucked.

  “Very well,” he growled and glanced down at her sweet little chat. He’d have her and in his own way, too. “Don’t. Feel.” He pushed her knees wide, her pussy now spread open, her slit parting and allowing him the first glimpse of her need. “Spread your legs wider. Wider! I need to see! That’s right. Christ, you are beautiful.” He gathered a handful of her pussy hair and combed it. Then he traced a finger down her seam. He could smell her. How musky, how florid. He inserted a determined finger to her cunt and sank right in. She was so wet, so sodden, he groaned and stroked her sopping channel. Then he lifted his fingertip to his mouth. She tasted of sunshine and lust.

  She watched him, mouth open, fascinated.

  He winked at her and nearly wept with joy at the sweet, thick flavor of her cream.

  Bracing himself on the damn hay, he nestled himself down and parted her plump labia even wider. “Your lips are beautiful rose petals, my love. I want to learn each curve.” He traced a fingertip over the edge of one lip. “And taste all of you.” His tongue defined the delicate fold of another. Blowing air on her hot pussy, he
thumbed open the apex of her labia and found her swollen little nub to pinch it and make her moan. “This is a sweet bud I must have in my mouth.”

  With parted lips, he surrounded her clitoris, tongued her to a keen then sucked her high and hard into his mouth.

  Somewhere in his head, he heard her scream. Spurred on by her whimpers, he laved her juicy flesh.

  She thrashed on the hay and called his name. He sucked her wildly into his mouth, shot two strong fingers up her cunt and felt the power of her delight. Her walls pounded against him, and he rejoiced that she was so giving and he such a cad to take her, have her this way without benefit of vows.

  She rose up, her fingers plucking at his shoulders.

  He gathered her close and crushed her nearer. God what a fool you are, Stanhope. No will power at all where she’s concerned. Never had any.

  He brushed her hair from her forehead. “You liked that.” He smiled sadly at her.

  She beamed back at him. “I never knew.”

  “From what I hear, few women do.”

  “I want more.” She wended her hand down to cup his very large and sensitive cock. “I want you inside me. Now, Wes.”

  Craven, unprincipled, Wes knew he had lost his reason, but the drive to have her was a ripe and insidious thing he could not deny. Could not hold back.

  He parted her thick, slick lips with his cock and slid inside her. Until there was a barrier.

  As I knew there would be.

  He dropped his forehead to her shoulder. This is what came of wanting a willful woman without regard to logic or consequence.

  He drove inside her carefully. She was swollen, tight and small, so small he thought he’d give her his seed and end it right then. Jesus.

  He twisted up inside her. Her juicy walls gave, caressing him. He could go no further but savored heaven, paralyzed by her sweet cunt.

  She gave a little sound.

  He looked down at her. “Lacy, I am sorry, darling.”

  She shook her head and, with two hands to his face, said, “I do not break.”

  “Strong and wise. But in the act of love, I know best how this must be done.” He slid out of her.

  “No! Don’t stop. Don’t!”

  “I won’t leave you.” How can I now? He kissed her, her fragrance on his lips and filling the air around them, drowning him even further in a sensual haze. “I need to make you happy.”

  “You have,” she protested as he reached for her gown and handed it to her.

  “Not like I will now. Upstairs in my bed.”

  Chapter Five

  They passed Charles in the kitchen, Lacy giving the servant a smile of gratitude. He had done well by her and, thank the good lord, done it so quickly that she need not seduce him any longer.

  Wes walked beside her, his step—she could have sworn—faster, lighter.

  But the distance from stable to his bedroom seemed half a world away for all Lacy’s need to have him inside her once more. Safe, with me. Always, with me.

  She walked ahead of him up the stairs, brushing away the drops of rain from her face and bosom. She opened his door and proceeded to the center of the room. He shut the door with a soft thud.

  She spun, facing him, aware now she had what she had come for. His attention. His care.

  His love? Ah. That she had always had, lust though it might have been the night they’d met.

  Their love would always contain lust, though this morning she would mix it with commitment, and like a good batter, add understanding later.

  She watched him sink against the door. His rugged face was flushed, his scar vivid, his golden red hair mussed from their encounter. His lightning gray eye danced down her body. He was a sore sight. A man in love.

  “Shall I pretend to be the demure girl now?”

  “Do as you wish, pet.”

  He pushed away from the door to advance slowly on her. For the first time, she noticed he had walked inside without the cane.

  “You have so far and look where you have me.”

  That made her grin. She crisscrossed her hands to lift her gown but then thought better of the plan. She strolled forward, the coquette coming out to play with the man she adored. He halted at her advance, his feet planted firmly.

  With a finger trailing down his chest, she leaned up and widened her eyes at him. “I’d rather see you.”

  He snorted. “I am not as lovely.”

  “To me you are,” she whispered and ran the tip of her nose down his throat.

  “I am not as graceful, either.” He grasped her by the waist.

  She smiled, wickedness in her wink. “You did not plan to seduce me, either, this morning when you dressed. So I am certain, you are encumbered with all sorts of clothes you now do not need.” She stepped backward and crossed her arms, the better to keep her hands to herself. “Go on, Colonel. I await your pleasure.”

  “Damn right, you do.” He fiddled with his shirt ties, undid the buttons on his flies and stepped from his shoes. With a few flicks of his fingers, he cast off his shirt and let his trousers drop, then his small clothes.

  She bit her lip.

  He stepped from the heap of his clothes, and she was breathless with the glory that was Colonel Wesley Stanhope of His Majesty’s Hussars.

  True, he bore the scars of his career in the cavalry. A slash across his taut ribs. A nasty gash, now healed, on his massive left thigh. The wounds of Talavera shone more brightly though, more starkly, and she caught back a gasp. He would not want her pity. Not now. Never here.

  His left arm hung at an odd angle, witness to how it had been broken and not appropriately healed. His left ankle was larger than the right, but both corded legs looked healthy, normal. Of course, there was the scar that could not diminish but only enhanced his square jaw, his dimple and make him more debonair than the night she’d decided he was destined to be hers. And as for the eye patch, evidence of the loss of his left eye to a saber’s cut?

  Ah. That she could not heal, but she had made him see how she loved him—and she could and would make him see so much more.

  “What do you think?” he asked, his left eye muscle twitching beneath the patch, showing his nerves and his tremulous distaste for her examination of his wounded body.

  “Shall I tell you?” she whispered and walked forward to press her torso to his and enfold him. “Darling.” She splayed her fingers atop the breadth of his chest. He was so big, his muscles so pronounced, her fingers did not meet. She sent her hands down his huge arms. He was power and might. Sleek and sturdy. She twisted her hands down to run them over his ribs, and as she sank her fingers to his groin into his nether hair, she barely made a sound as she said, “You are stunning. A male creature who makes me want and need.”

  He hauled her against him, one hand driving up into her hair, sending her ribbon to the floor. “I wish to hell I were that creature who loved you the first night we met.”

  “Would you have made love to me then?” she asked, enthralled by the way he kissed his way down her throat.

  “Aye. If you’d been mine then, I would have taken you in Adam’s library.”

  “Ah,” she said, “and here I thought you were such a gentleman.”

  “I tried but failed with you, Lady Featherstone.” He lifted her face and focused on her lips. “Now that I’ve had a taste of you, I think I’ll have you wherever I want, whenever I want.”

  “Oh, good!” She gave him a peck on the lips. “Will you please do me a favor?”

  “Mmm. What?”

  “Hurry.”

  He laughed then, throwing back his head then crushed her to him to take her lips in a fierce assault. “You have to ask for mercy, my lady, because I intend to have every morsel of you in my hands.” He kissed her then, all lips and tongue and teeth. “And in my mouth.”

  She shivered and pulled out of his arms. Knowing his infirmities and his balance were off, she gave in to her own impatience and reached down to gather up her gown to once more fling
it off.

  “In the bright light of day, my darling Lacy,” Wes said as he took one step toward her then another, “you shine like fine ivory silk.”

  She grabbed his hand and led him beside her to the bed then spun to face him. “I hope to god you do not treat me like I’m silk.”

  He smoothed her hair back from her face and cupped her chin with one strong hand. “I shall treat you like my lover.”

  “Precisely what I am!” She fell back on the mattress, up on her elbows to beckon him with wagging fingers. “Come up here and show me.”

  But he hovered over her hips, his arms shaking with exertion. Or was it tense delight?

  Then, with two hands to her knees, he spread her legs and looked his fill. “You have the loveliest chat. ”

  She vibrated at the compliment. “So you have said. Will you have more of me?” she asked, her voice tremulous with expectation. “That way?”

  His lightning gray eye sparked with sensual need. “You crave more of that?”

  “I do.” She undulated. “I do. I never knew men loved women like that.”

  “Pleasure comes in many forms.”

  “I’ve seen only one. Like animals mate.”

  He hooted. “Like a stallion takes a mare.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Take me that way, will you?”

  He advanced on her, hovering over her, like the warrior he was. Fierce, bold, massive, and so amused. The dimple in his left cheek twitched. “I’ll have you in so many ways, your head will spin.”

  She pressed her breasts together in glee. “I’m ready. Let’s get to it!”

  “A harpy!” he chuckled, but his expression died to a serious note. “I fear to hurt you though. You are, my darling, very small here.” His fingers slid to her seam and glided up inside her.

  “Too small?” She panicked. “Do you not like me?”

  “Sweetheart, shh.” He soothed her with tiny strokes inside her body. “I adore you. You are just precisely the right size for me.”

  She relaxed and took his cock in her one fist. “And you, my darling, are very well hung.”

  He snorted. “The better to please you, you demanding piece.”