by Jenn LeBlanc
He rested his hardened member between the soft folds of her womanhood, holding her as she whimpered and attempted to pull away from him, suddenly ashamed. But he held her fast and moved against her slowly, gently, steadying her jagged nerves. Tears welled in her eyes and he crushed his lips to hers. “I’m sorry. I cannot, I simply cannot. I am very sorry. Please, Francine, my sweet, you must understand— Just let me,” he panted softly.
She felt the tension gathering again as he moved, and she sank back into the bed, attempting to push him away yet holding on. He slid his hand between their sweat-streaked bodies, one deft finger sinking into her warmth. Just let him what? Why did he stop? Is it because I’m a virgin? Did he expect more from me? Was I doing something wrong? Am I not good enough? She shook the web of confused thoughts from her mind, concentrating on the feel of his hand between her legs and his mouth on her own.
He kissed ardent apologies into her lips as his fingers stroked through the petal soft skin, afraid to trespass further, his thumb steadily encircling her center. He started moving against her and her body settled into a rhythm with his, the tempo hastening. Her tangled fingers in his hair nudged his mouth over her breasts and he obliged, disturbing the precarious balance that still held her body in check.
He descended upon one nipple, grasping it between his teeth as he flicked the bud with his tongue. Her body quickened when he drew it into his mouth. He felt the pulsing flesh below tightening, attempting to draw him in.
She relaxed into him, concentrating solely on his hand on her. His mouth on her breast. The hardness of his erection against her pelvis. The taut arm against her side. The heavy thigh between hers. The steady pulse of his attentions, building.
Her senses seemed to break loose from their tethers, wrenching her muscles in spasms as she thrust against him, stroking his erection with her body. He groaned loudly as the pressure between them drew his release without permission, and he spilled his seed across the flesh of her belly.
He collapsed, capturing her cries with his mouth, sealing their breath together in a finishing kiss. He rolled to the side, pulling her with him in a tangled mass of limbs, neither able to move out of the haze of their euphoria. His hands gently roamed the landscape of her body as she drifted quietly, consoled by the power of something she’d never expected.
Francine lazed in her bed, thinking of the previous night. She’d tried to sleep, but it hadn’t worked. She didn’t want to be taken away from Eildon Hill, from her duke, from everything she currently knew. He had promised he wouldn’t allow it, but she’d heard promises before. It was always the last foster home, the last family court hearing, the last school, the last time she’d ever say goodbye to someone she cared for. The final goodbye she’d promised to herself, over and over again.
Her mind kept returning to the desperation of her situation. She realized she had to do something, but didn’t know what that something was.
She’d slept in the curve of Gideon’s body and woke in the still darkness to the sound of his breathing. Wiggling out of his strong, protective arms as quietly as she could, she’d reached for the robe she’d left at the end of his bed. She had no idea where her nightgown was, but figured it didn’t matter much and, wrapping the robe around herself tightly, she’d crept back to her room.
She hadn’t wanted to say goodbye again so she went to him, but he he’d been so damnably honorable. Back home, a twenty-year-old virgin was a rarity. Not that she hadn’t tried to be done with her virginity; she’d just never had the opportunity—men seemed to shy away from her. Until now, until this man, and she was suddenly thankful that she had this gift to give him. She hadn’t realized what a treasure it was until he refused to take it, and she’d tried to give it not just willingly, but almost by force. She massaged her tender throat as she pondered.
Where she was from, being chaste wasn’t accepted and didn’t generally last. Promise rings were given up as prayers were returned without being granted. Chastity was prudish, and men didn’t like prudes. But this man had treasured her innocence. He wasn’t ruled by human instinct. He ruled his actions, and his sense of morality was so powerfully a part of him that she couldn’t sway him, even with the seduction of her body against his. He carried his passion close to the surface, but didn’t let it break.
His fervor last night had been different—so strong, almost ferocious. She finally understood what it was he was restraining when around her. It wasn’t that he was stuffy or stiff, it was that he held himself in check. And the evidence of his true passion she had now witnessed. She’d seen how his emotions could carry to a fevered pitch.
Francine had no idea how long this adventure was to last, whether she would be here for another day, another minute, another second. She marveled at the thought; according to her father’s assumptions, this was it. This man, Gideon, would be her end, as he was her beginning. She had traveled through time to find the man who was born for her, and she him. No wonder she’d never felt like she belonged anywhere; she hadn’t found where she belonged until now.
She knew his touch, his intimate embrace, but there was so much more to learn. He’d given her something she’d never felt, but even with that knowledge she sensed that what she yearned for was so much more powerful, more thorough, more important. She sighed, and her skin flushed at the memory. My duke. She couldn’t wait to see him again.
Gideon woke at the sudden beam of light breaking the darkness of his room. He reached out to the pillow next to him, but it was empty. She was gone—or had she ever really been there to begin with? He moved across the bed and winced as the sheet shifted across his backside—the scratches she left behind were no dream. He closed his eyes and sighed. Ferry had dealt with his peculiar behaviors enough lately, and now Gideon was going to have to dress without him.
Well, mostly without him. Ferry wouldn’t take kindly to not being able to fuss over him. The valet was proud and it showed in his work. Gideon had always been well-dressed, perfectly pressed and appointed—until recently. He heard water splashing into the tub and grumbled. “Ferry, leave me to my bath. I shall call for you when I am ready to shave.”
“Yes, Your…” The statement faded as Ferry bent to retrieve a candlestick wrapped in a piece of white fabric. His eyes widened as the nightgown unfurled in his hand, then dropped it back to the floor dismissively. “…Grace,” he finished. He placed the candlestick back on the side table and left.
Gideon heard him stride determinedly from the suite—which was odd, as Ferry was respectfully silent when he moved—and cursed under his breath. He wondered what Ferry had seen, certainly not the marks on his person—yet. Perhaps the marks aren’t that bad, he thought. He stood, twisting to look at his backside in the glass. No. They weren’t bad. They were horrible. Big, angry, red welts, four on each cheek. He turned away and walked to the tub. He’d need to have his pants on before Ferry returned to his room. He looked over his shoulder again, saw the smaller half-moon scratches on his shoulders, and realized he would need to have a shirt on as well. Good Lord. The woman has talons, not nails.
This was a right damnable turn of events, as Ferry would object to shaving him with a shirt in place. Gideon sank in the tub, hissing through his teeth as the heat sank into his scored flesh. Damnable situation, he thought, shaking his head. She overpowered him. Not physically, of course, but his mind felt addled whenever she was around. He had no idea how he had managed to refuse her last night. His entire body ached from trying to control his movements. As he leaned back in the tub, it dawned on him. His eyes snapped open.
“Ferry!” And he was there—silently. “You may shave me,” Gideon said as he settled in.
“Now, Your Grace? In the bath?”
“Yes, get on with it. I am quite sore from—from riding yesterday. I wish to soak for quite a while. If you are to shave me today it will be now—”
Ferry stiffened and Gideon looked at him with a warning glance.
“Or not at all,” he finished.
When he finished shaving him, Ferry left the room until Gideon allowed him back in to fuss over him again, but only after he’d pulled on a pair of trousers and a crisp white shirt. Ferry huffed when he was called back to find Gideon nearly dressed of his own accord. He went straight to the wardrobe and pulled out a cravat, waistcoat, and jacket.
Afterward Gideon descended the stairs, rubbing his jaw against what was possibly the closest shave of his life. He went to his study so he could make notes before the meeting with the solicitor. M. and Mme. Larrabee would both attend, as would he and Perry, then the Larrabees would depart for France to send the other girls back.
Shaw also rose early, his mind quite active after the excitement of the day before. He couldn’t stop thinking about the missing area on the first floor. He walked into one of the passages near the suites and began examining the walls for evidence of catches that would release a hidden panel. He’d been in the passageway for an hour when he heard a voice in the main hallway and went out to see who else was about that might be interested in the search.
“My lord, you certainly are up early,” Shaw said when he found Perry heading toward the staircase.
“Me? You are the one ferreting around in the back passages at an ungodly hour,” Perry said.
“Oh, I beg pardon, my lord. Did I wake you?”
“I beg you, please call me Trumbull, and no, you didn’t wake me. I cannot imagine anyone could still be sleeping at this point, especially me, as I am to be guardian to four young ladies from France.” He clapped Shaw on the shoulder. “Sleep is a commodity I can no longer afford.”
Shaw grinned. “Remember, Trumbull,” he said with a nod, “we believe the oldest is already married off and of course, Francine— Well, I think we all know Francine will not be under your care for long.”
Perry grunted as he turned toward the stairs. “Still. Until then, she and two other chits are to be under my guardianship, and that is not a fate I would wish upon the worst sort of person.”
“Which are you referring to?” Shaw asked irreverently. “The fate of the guardian, or the ward?”
Perry glared back at him. “Either one, I would say.”
“Which is why it was left to you, I suppose.”
Perry looked at him curiously.
“I mean to say that most would not be aware of the precarious nature of the situation. You are well suited, simply for your knowledge. And who better than you, to—to know how to protect innocents from the rakes of London?” Shaw finished with a smile
Perry growled.
“Careful there, Trumbull,” Shaw said cautiously. “You don’t want to be mistaken for His Grace, do you?”
The comment sobered Perry and he turned, considering Shaw’s statement. “That does not interest me,” he said, a cavalier smile breaking his severe expression. “Shall we break our fast together?”
“Of course,” Shaw replied. “Of course.”
Halfway down the stairs, Perry heard his name again and looked down into the great entrance. “Ah, Rox. Ready for breakfast?”
“Yes,” he replied distractedly. “I have made arrangements for us to travel to town with the Larrabees to draw up the paperwork for your guardianship. I would like to get this taken care of as soon as possible.” Shaw was silent as they reached the bottom of the stairs and Gideon stopped in front of him. “Shaw, would you mind terribly continuing your work here in my absence?”
“Not at all, Your Grace.”
“It’s settled, then. We’ll leave after breakfast and return when the papers are drawn and—”
Gideon was cut off by the sound of Stapleton opening the front door. The three turned to see several footmen carrying stacks of packages, followed by a beautifully attired woman in a blazing red silk dress that looked like wildfire as she moved. Her dark brown hair was piled loosely on top of her head and adorned with sparkling jewels. A second impeccably dressed young lady accompanied her.
Stapleton took her calling card on the salver and walked over to Gideon. “Your Grace.”
He took the card and read it. Madame Basire.
“Ah, the dressmaker. How fortuitous. Stapleton, please notify Mrs. Weston immediately. Have you seen the Larrabees yet today?”
“In fact, Your Grace, I have not. Though their suite is still guarded, so it is my assumption that they remain inside.”
Good. I was somewhat definitive about them leaving the suite. “See to them,” he said to Stapleton. “They should break their fast soon, so we can be about our business.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Gideon walked over to greet Madame Basire.
“Madame Basire. Do you usually call so early?”
She winced at his curt greeting while, out of the corner of his eyes, Gideon saw Perry and Shaw depart quickly toward the breakfast room.
The dressmaker examined him. “Why, Your Grace, when the wardrobe of a young lady is in question, I would call in the dead of night.” Her smile warmed her features.
“Well, by all means then, carry on.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” Madame Basire curtseyed. When she looked up her gaze shifted from Gideon, and he turned to find Mrs. Weston approaching.
“Your Grace, this could occupy Miss Francine for most of the day,” the housekeeper said. “Will you have need of her?”
“Of course not, Mrs. Weston. Please see to whatever she needs.” He was moderately disappointed that Francine would be occupied for the day, regardless that he was to be away from the manor as well.
“Yes, Your Grace.” She curtseyed, then turned to the dressmaker. “This way, Madame,” she said, leading the parade of packages upstairs.
Mrs. Weston left Madame Basire and her entourage in the sitting room outside Francine’s bedchamber and went in to prepare her. She found her already up, with her chemise and drawers on, sitting in one of the velvet chairs reading Moby Dick.
“Oh, miss, I do have a surprise for you! Madame Basire has arrived, and she has armloads of packages! You cannot imagine!” Mrs. Weston walked to the windows, drawing all the curtains aside. She returned to the sitting room to gather Madame Basire, her assistant, and all of her trappings as Francine stood.
Perry and Shaw sat in the breakfast room, allowing the footmen to serve them. “So, Mr. Shaw, tell me of this girl in London you are to marry.”
Shaw looked out at the gardens, his eyes glazing as he considered the request. He smiled. “She is unspeakably lovely,” he said quietly.
“That seems an unwieldy name for a girl, does it not?” Perry asked with a grin.
Shaw laughed. “It would be, but— Well, in truth, we are not formally betrothed as yet. She is the daughter of an earl and our match would obviously not be approved, so I really do not bandy her name about. I would prefer to be able to approach her father without any idle gossip preceding me.”
“I see. I suppose I do bear a resemblance to the worst sort of gossip,” Perry said teasingly. He had never really considered the fact that lack of title would be a stumbling block to a match, since he was of the peerage and never had need to consider it. Well, that and the fact that he was a rake of the first order, and even the discussion of marriage turned his stomach.
Shaw looked at him. “Actually, no, you do not at all, my lord. I beg your pardon if I inferred that you did. I only meant that I hope to make a respectable name for myself, beginning with my work here at Eildon Hill Park, before I approach the earl. To that end, I have not spoken of her.”
Perry nodded. “Would the work here be enough, do you think?”
“I’m not sure,” Shaw said.
Perry was quite sure that regardless of Shaw’s work at Eildon Hill, an ea
rl would not consent to his daughter being wed to a professional man. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Who is this girl who has you smitten?”
Shaw gave him a devilish glare. “In truth, she only recently came out into Society, only a sennight prior. Her grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Greens—”
He stopped as Perry dropped his fork and started laughing so boldly that Shaw considered he’d lost his senses.
Gideon entered the breakfast room and glanced at his brother, who was caught in a fit of laughter. He sat at the small table as the footman brought trays of eggs, ham, potatoes, and a large glass of fresh orange juice. Another footman followed with a sauceboat filled with the same thick, yellow sauce that Chef had served the night before with the asparagus.
The footman gestured to his plate and Gideon nodded. “Apparently we are still being used for Chef’s studies,” he said as he looked from Shaw to Perry.
“I have managed to learn something interesting about our Mr. Shaw here.”
“Is that so?” Gideon raised a brow. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Do you remember our darling dancing partner from the Greensborough affair?”
“Of course. How could I possibly forget such a treasure?”
Perry gazed at Gideon expectantly.
Gideon looked at Shaw as a napkin was placed in his lap, then at his brother, but Perry simply grinned like the cat that had eaten not just the canary, but the hamster and the goldfish as well. A smile broke across Gideon’s face as he turned to Shaw. “You are the professional man our Lady Alice is enamored with?” he asked.
Shaw froze and Perry and Gideon both laughed. “This is quite unexpected! Now I understand! She told me I would like you,” Gideon said, rather unceremoniously waggling his fork at Shaw. “She knows you are here. Of course.” He shook his head and looked at his brother.
“Yes, she does,” Shaw replied.
Gideon thought for a moment. “I believe we will need to go over the plans when I return to London, so you will need to accompany us,” he said. “We should be leaving in about four days, as soon as Grover and Gentry return from Newcastle upon Tyne. We will be meeting the boat with Trumbull’s wards in London, and since the Season has begun, there will be at least one ball we can attend—perhaps more.” Gideon glanced at Perry again. “No doubt that overbearing mother of hers will be parading her around, still looking for a suitor.”