by Jenn LeBlanc
She couldn’t pull a lucid thought from her brain for the longest time. At last, she smiled. She had mastered him, disallowed his mastery of her, forced him to her bidding, and given him an unanswered pleasure. So beautiful. She glanced up at his chin as he slumbered. She smiled and shifted slightly, feeling the pulse of his manhood stir, growing between their bodies.
“My turn,” he said hoarsely. She felt the reverberation of his voice in his chest, rousing her nipples to firm peaks. She closed her eyes, waiting for his bidding.
He caressed her slowly, his hands searching her body for hidden points of tenderness and regions of undisclosed arousal. He gathered her hair, only to let it fall again to her back like rain. She moved and he grunted a caution for her to succumb to his explorations as he had hers. She relaxed upon him, more content than she had ever felt.
Her breath came slow and steady as though she slept. He gathered her hair up again then rolled her underneath him, straddling her waist and spreading her hair carefully across the pillows like a fan.
She tried to touch him and chirped a tiny complaint when he pushed his hands into her palms, lacing their fingers together. He pressed them back into the bed at her shoulders, then let go, and she trembled at the effort of holding her arms away from him as he arched over her.
“Watch me,” he said, holding her gaze for an instant. She obeyed as he kissed her nipples with wet, open kisses, weighing each breast with his hands then gently blowing across the tip, watching her skin tighten and flush. She saw them become roused beneath his touch and her heart stuttered at the feeling.
He roamed down her body, enjoying every inch as she opened to him. He touched her toes, then kissed the fading marks on each ankle and spent extra time gently caressing her soft, new-shaven legs.
The sweet whimpers that escaped her lips drove him mad, and he followed the patterns of her blush with his fingertips. He smiled at the display of color, the likes of which he had never before been witness to.
He encircled her belly button with his tongue, leaving a kiss in its depths as he moved over her. Her body shifted to meet the kisses he placed at the edge of her hips, eliciting a quiet cry from her. She grasped the pillows around her as he shifted up, tracing the line of her jaw with his nose, tasting the pulse on both sides of her neck and kissing the hollow of her throat, then tending again carefully to her breasts.
He ran his fingers into her hair, gripping her head and holding her neck for his mouth.
“Ah Gideon, Gideon. Oh God, please, Gideon,” she pleaded with him as he nipped and licked at her skin, his breath fanning over her strong and hot, and neither one of them could stand to be kept apart any longer.
He shifted, parting her knees and advancing slowly, his turgid shaft gaining entry as he pulled her legs around his waist. He lifted her up to his lap, impaling himself inside her as she held tightly to his shoulders.
His muscles vibrated with the tension of keeping his body still. He resisted the urge to withdraw himself and drive into her hard and strong. Instead he waited with his jaw clenched as he tried to extend the moment. He spread his knees, watching, waiting.
She tilted her hips against him, electric fingers spreading through her body and rejoining in her core, pulsing hard and close as she cried out his name. She concentrated on where they joined, the feeling of him inside her stretching and pushing. She tightened, feeling every hard inch of him, then released slowly.
His eyes flew wide and he groaned, his head falling back. “My God, Francine, where—”
She shifted and tensed around him again, lifting slightly as she did. Then she relaxed and sank again, his body shaking beneath her. She repeated and repeated the motion until she felt her own response, her body clenching and pulling at him, and she cried out in release as she came down on him fully.
He exploded without further stimulation and seized her, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her to him as he pulsed within her.
Her arms and head fell back and he suckled one flushed nipple. A passion-cry, the likes of which he’d never heard, tore from her as he felt her body surge around him again, and he held her tight. It was something he had never in his life experienced.
They collapsed to the bed on the piles of pillows, entangled in a sweaty mass of limbs, each gasping for air. He was heavy upon her, and she relished the weight of his body and the feel of his arousal still buried and hard. He moved with an impossible slowness of power, looking for the one prevailing spot that would cause her body to react.
Her breath caught and her eyes flew open, trapping his gaze as she cried out again, the passion strengthening. She pushed at his shoulders, the sensations too intense, but he pulled her tight against him as she fought. His arms were underneath her, holding her steady, refusing to let her give as he moved relentlessly within and without.
“Gideon,” she gasped.
“Don’t fight me, sweet. Come off for me again, Francine,” he said gruffly. “Again.” His hands slid up her back and he tangled his fingers in her hair, holding her to him as her body pulsed.
Her breath hitched and she cried his name as her climax broke and his followed. Tears streaked her cheeks while he continued holding her, allowing the insurmountable emotions to slowly subside. The moments passed languidly as he soothed her with caressing words and movements, both meant to pacify and quiet.
Shaw and Perry inspected the gaslights that had been installed in the main rooms and unoccupied suites, then the water baths. They returned to the library to look at the next step in the plans. The remaining guest rooms would be moved around, the walls shifted.
“If you look here,” Shaw said, pointing to the guest suites, “and then look at the grid, you can see that with the movement of just a few walls, the manor will finally be orderly.”
Perry nodded. “What was your question for me, then?”
“Well, these are all set up as guest suites. I wanted to ask about the sisters. I can easily change the plans to modify this last suite into a joined bedchamber, much like a marriage suite, and then I could add one more bathing room between the two here. I only thought to ask since you all came here instead of returning to Westcreek.”
Perry studied the plans. “I’m not quite sure. We should discuss this with Rox. Hopefully he’ll be at supper. I’m sure the combined suite would serve well for a nursery in the future, since I’m assuming that this is to be the governess suite?” He pointed to the paper.
“Yes, exactly.”
“Good. Now, we have a few hours until supper. I heard you were interested in the ruins. Have you been yet?”
“No, actually, I haven’t had the time.”
Perry glanced at him. “Shall we?”
Shaw smiled and nodded.
Perry informed Mrs. Weston that he and Shaw would be taking luncheon to Trimontium, and Mrs. Weston recommended taking the sisters and Miss Faversham.
“How are you getting on with the sisters?” Shaw asked.
“Famously,” Perry grunted.
Shaw looked at him carefully, trying to assess his mood. “Not quite settled in your responsibilities to the two girls, eh?”
“Three.” Perry gave Shaw a stern look, reminding him of his responsibility to Francine. “And no, not entirely.”
“I beg your pardon, Trumbull, I just assumed from the way Roxleigh and Francine have been since we returned that—” Perry cut him off with a glare and Shaw paused. “I beg your pardon. Well, then. Are we off?”
Perry groaned. “The sooner to have it done with, I imagine.”
“Yes, quite.”
Eventually Gideon moved their tangled limbs, then lay next to her spread-eagle, endeavoring to dissipate the intense heat of their coupling. In time he rose from the bed to run another bath and she rolled to her belly to study him. He moved efficiently for a tall, broad man, agile and expedient, but his gestures hinted of something else—grace and caution.
She ran her hand under the tangled web of hair at her neck, pulling i
t off her back and shoulders to cool her body.
“I don’t think we will make it to luncheon,” she said. He looked over at her, realizing she had been watching him, and the very idea piqued his interest.
“No, I don’t suppose we will,” he agreed, then paused. “Do you approve?” He swept his hand the length of his body.
Her face suffused with heat as she gave him an exhausted smile, not taking her eyes off of him.
“And you, Your Grace? Do you approve?” She rolled to her back with a long sigh, her head lolling off the bed. He walked to her silently, stopping at the edge.
She was taken aback at the sight of him hovering above her, large and naked, and tried to move away. But he caught her and reached for her knee, tickling it with circles. “You are a wicked thing. Wherever did you learn such a trick?” he asked as he ran his hands up and down her smooth legs. Her eyes grew wide as she examined him.
“I’m…not sure, I…just love the feel of a cleanly shaven face. Your cleanly shaven face,” she quickly amended. “I wanted you to know how it felt to be me, touching you,” she added, smiling sweetly.
“But if I could only return the favor,” he said, tracing his fingers over her as he knelt beside the bed.
“You have bestowed many favors on me, Gideon,” she said, her breath catching. “If you only knew.”
His hands skimmed over her torso.
“Oh, God, Gideon, please stop, I cannot—” She gasped, her skin still oversensitive from the heights he had taken her to.
He smiled, kissing her. His hands left her body, holding her head for him as he kissed her upside down, then he deepened the kiss, reaching up to trace her nipples. He stood, lifting her from the bed and carrying her to the bath, carefully stepping over the edge as they sank into the warm water together.
They rested at opposite ends, gazing at one another, his lucid green eyes searching hers, their souls communicating effortlessly as they rested. The bath was the perfect length for two lovers. If she sat up straight, her legs would reach perfectly from one end to the other, her toes outstretched. So when they sat together, her legs between his, her toes played, tickled, and roamed his body. They lazed for long moments, her body calming, her strength returning.
Never in her life would she have expected something like this. Little girls grew up playing at things, expecting certain things. They played house, married their teddy bears, lived happily ever after. Her dreams had been shattered long before most, but she’d still never had an inkling of the depths of emotion she could experience. She would stay here forever, and she was confident in that. She knew to the tips of her toes that she was born to be with this one man. And that he’d only been waiting for her to arrive.
“What is it?” he asked quietly.
“I just, I can’t remember a time before you at this point. And I can’t imagine having to give you up, or having to leave, or—”
“There is no need for that.”
“I know, I’m just amazed by the truth of it. Aren’t you? I mean, we met because you ran me over in your carriage! When does that ever happen?”
He winced at the memory. “Once in a lifetime, if that.”
He poured in just a touch of oil as she stretched for the bar of soap. She lathered her hands, building the froth around her fingers, then reached over and laid her hands on his broad, velvety chest. He slid his feet behind her, pulling her closer.
She lathered her hands again and he bowed his head to her as she massaged his scalp, making spiky little nests of frothy, black locks. He tilted his head, enjoying her treatment. “Nice mohawk,” she said with a grin.
“What?” he asked, his eyes tightly closed.
She shook her head and giggled as he grabbed her ankles and moved her feet over his legs, past his waist and down under the water. He shook his hair out and she giggled at his boyish manner. Then he dunked his head beneath the water.
When he broke the surface he inhaled deeply, rivulets running down his face before he wiped it to clear the bubbles from his eyes. He smiled at her and drew her toward him, forcing her head into the bathtub, saturating her hair.
She laughed when he pulled her up, water sloshing to the floor as he spun her around on her rump and pressed his chest against her back. He reached for her soap and cleansed layer upon layer of sodden hair.
“You have so much hair. It weighs near a ton. Do you have headaches?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Not at all. I suppose you just get used to the weight.”
He sat back, pushing her forward to submerge her hair again. He ran his fingers through the long, thick tresses and leaned over her, surprising her with a wet kiss to her spine. He pulled her up and twisted her hair up around her crown as she rested against him, her eyes closed, her body spent, fully relaxed in his embrace.
“Gideon.” His name floated from her lips like a prayer. The answering growl was not the answer she had expected.
He yanked the plug, releasing the bathwater. When it got low enough and the cool air sent gooseflesh across their bodies, he twisted the faucet and refilled the bath with fresh, warm water.
“We might make it to supper,” he said, smoothing her hair from her face. As if in response her stomach grumbled. She covered it with her hand and smiled up at him, her cheek laid against his chest.
She turned, curling her knees up and wrapping her arms around his waist under the water as she nuzzled into him. He ran his hands over her skin, massaging her sore muscles. The water in the bath cooled again and he released it, then lifted her and held her close as he stepped from the tub. He wrapped her in a fresh, thick cotton towel, then gathered up his saturated clothing and rang for Mrs. Weston.
“I will miss you terribly while I’m away.”
She stilled. “Where are you going?” she asked as she watched him back away.
“To my chamber, to ready for supper, of course.”
She advanced on him and punched him playfully in the shoulder. “Don’t do that.”
He laughed and took her up in his arms, pressing an impassioned kiss to her lips. “Never again,” he said against her mouth. “Never again.” He let her down and ran for the door to his room as he heard Mrs. Weston shuffling through the passageway.
Since Ferry wasn’t nearby Gideon went to his wardrobe for clothes. He opened the door and sifted through the shirts, jackets, and trousers. When he bent to pull a pair of shoes from the lower shelf he saw the basket of trinkets Mrs. Weston had brought to his room. He took it over to his bed and laid everything out. There were several books he thought Francine would like, and he wanted to give them to her.
He sifted through the pile, coming to a thick leather volume that didn’t quite lay closed. He let it fall open, only to find a small flower pressed between the pages, next to a handwritten note. My Gideon picked this flower in the hedgerow, he insisted it be placed in my hair. He is such a dear boy. 14 April 1859.
He turned the page. It was his mother’s diary. He read a few pages, noting how her diction seemed vaguely familiar, yet out of place. She wrote about strange things that must have been dreams.
He closed it, feeling much like an intruder. Perhaps someday he would read it all. Unlock the mysteries. Today was not the day. He placed the book next to his bed and returned to dressing.
Gideon returned to Francine’s chamber to find Mrs. Weston tending to her hair. They were laughing, and he stood behind the panels and watched with an admiring gaze. Mrs. Weston wrapped Francine’s long hair up in a knot with curling tendrils falling loosely around her face, then began weaving fresh wildflowers throughout.
Francine caught sight of him in the mirror of the dressing table and smiled. Mrs. Weston placed one last pin in her hair then turned to leave, giving Gideon a grin and a sharp pat on the shoulder.
“My lady,” Gideon said to Francine, inspecting the pale pink gown she wore for supper. “You look lovely.”
She smiled and stood, moving to embrace him. “Gideon, I love you.”
“Yes, I believe you do. Are you ready for supper?”
She shook her head. “No, my beautiful, sexy, powerful, amazing, wonderful man. I am not ready for supper.”
“No?” he asked, his brow falling in concern.
“No, definitely not, because you walked in here and I’m all dressed and done up and my hair is fixed. And look,” she said, leaning her head toward him, “Westy had Meggie fetch flowers for my hair. Fresh flowers. Can you believe it?”
“Well, as I can see it, I suppose I can believe it,” he said carefully.
She grunted. “Don’t you see?”
“No, my dear, I beg your pardon, but—”
“Oh well, here it is. You are here, ready to take me to supper. But I am just not ready for supper. I mean, I’m dressed, but I just don’t feel right. I feel like we are on our honeymoon and should be locked away somewhere. Away from people, left to explore each other undisturbed, but we aren’t because we’re not on our honeymoon, we are here, and we are running around secretly, and all I want is to kiss you in public, to hold your hand as we walk in the garden, to let everyone know, to let everyone see how much I love you.”
“Honeymoon?”
“Honeymoon. You know, you get married and then you leave for your honeymoon directly after and you have a chance to spend time together, doing—well, everything,” she said, her eyebrows raised.
“Ah, yes. Well, that is also traditionally preceded by the betrothed couple being kept apart for an entire month before the wedding. Is that also something you are interested in?”
“No— No, not so much. I just haven’t wrapped my brain around this situation, and I can see how a honeymoon would be a benefit. It would give me time—” She stepped closer to him, brushing against him. “—to become at ease—” She brought her hands up to his hips. “—with being able to touch you, discover you. I just want to be able to learn you, without having to worry about what everyone else thinks about it,” she finished as she blushed and looked away. “There are so many things I would like to do with you, but they are all so… improper.”