Hoyt, Elizabeth - The Leopard Prince2.txt

by The Leopard Prince

  not years, and it would affect not only the landowner’s income, but also

  the lives of the farmers themselves.” Harry was wide awake now, but his

  lady was silent. Perhaps she thought educating farmers a foolish idea.

  Then she spoke. “We’d have to find a teacher. A gentleman who was

  patient with children.”

  Her /we/ warmed him. “Yes. Someone who likes the country and understands

  the seasons.”

  “The seasons?” The hand on his chest had stilled.

  He covered it with his own and rubbed the back of her hand with his

  thumb as he talked. “Spring, cold and wet, when the farmers must get the

  seed into the ground, but not too soon or it’ll frost, and the ewes are

  all lambing at once, or so it seems. Summer, long and hot, tending the

  sheep under the wide, blue skies and watching the grain grow. Fall,

  hoping for the sun to shine so the harvest will be good. If the sun

  shines, the people celebrate and there are festivals; if it doesn’t,

  they go about with thin, fearful faces. And winter, long and dreary, the

  farmers and their families sitting by a little fire in the cottages,

  telling tales and waiting for spring.” He stopped and squeezed her

  shoulder self-consciously. “The seasons.”

  “You know so much,” she whispered.

  “Only what goes on in this part of Yorkshire. I’m sure you could find

  many who would think that little enough.”

  She shook her head, her springy hair brushing against his shoulder. “But

  you’re aware. You know how the people around you think. What they’re

  feeling. I don’t.”

  “What do you mean?” He tried to see her face, but her head was tilted

  down against his chest.

  “I get caught up in silly things like the cut of a gown or a new pair of

  earrings, and I lose track of the people around me. I don’t think about

  whether Tiggle is being courted by the new footman or how Tony is doing

  all by himself in London. You wouldn’t know it to look at Tony, he seems

  so big and strong and in control, but he can get lonely. And Violet . .

  .” She sighed. “Violet was seduced this summer at our family home in

  Leicestershire and I didn’t know. I never even suspected.”

  He frowned. “Then how did you find out?”

  “She confessed just this morning.”

  Her face was still hidden, and he tried to brush the hair away from her

  eyes. “If it was a secret, if she didn’t want to tell you before now, it

  would be hard to know. Children of that age are very mysterious sometimes.”

  She bit her lip. “But I’m her sister. I’m the closest one to her. I

  should have known.” She sighed again, a small, sad sound that made him

  want to shield her from all the world’s worries. “He’s pressing her to

  marry.”

  “Who?”

  “Leonard Wentworth. He’s a penniless nobody. He seduced her simply to

  get her to wed him.”

  He smoothed his mouth over her forehead, unsure of what to say. Did she

  see how similar her sister’s situation was to her own? Was she afraid

  that he, too, would demand marriage as a forfeit for their lovemaking?

  “Our mother . . .” She hesitated, then began again. “Our mother is not

  always well. M’man has many illnesses and complaints, most imagined, I’m

  afraid. She spends so much of her time looking inward for the next

  disease that she doesn’t often notice those around her. I’ve tried to be

  a mother to Violet in her stead.”

  “That’s quite a burden.”

  “Not really. That’s not the point. Loving Violet isn’t the problem.”

  He frowned. “Then what is?”

  “I’ve always despised M’man.” She spoke so low, he stopped breathing so

  he could hear her. “For being so withdrawn, so uncaring, so very

  selfish. I never thought I was like her, but maybe I am.” She finally

  looked at him, and he saw crystal tears in her eyes. “Maybe I am.”

  Something in his chest twisted. Harry bent his head and licked the salt

  from her cheeks. He kissed her gently, softly, feeling the tremble

  beneath his mouth, wishing he knew the words to comfort her.

  “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I don’t mean to lay all my woes on your

  shoulders.”

  “You love your sister,” he said. “And I would bear your woes, my lady,

  whatever they might be.”

  He felt the brush of her lips against his collarbone. “Thank you.”

  He listened, but she said no more, and, after a while, her breath evened

  out into sleep. But Harry stayed awake long into the night, staring at

  the dark and holding his lady.

  /Chapter Twelve/

  Lady Georgina’s rump, smooth and soft, nestled against his morning

  bone-on. Harry opened his eyes. She’d spent the night again. Her

  shoulder was a dim outline in front of him. His arm was draped over her

  hip, and he curved his hand, cupping her belly.

  She didn’t move, her soft breathing slow in sleep.

  He tilted his head forward so that her hair tickled his nose. He could

  smell that exotic scent she wore, and his cock throbbed, like a trained

  dog sitting up at his master’s signal. He searched through her hair

  until he found the back of her neck, warm and damp with sleep. He opened

  his mouth to taste her.

  She mumbled and hunched her shoulder.

  He smiled and inched his hand down, slowly, slyly, until he felt her

  bush tangling about his fingers. He touched her pearl. That bit of

  female flesh had been his greatest discovery as a young man. The

  revelation that women held such secrets in their bodies had been heady.

  He didn’t even recall the face of his first lover, but he could remember

  his awe at the way women were made.

  He flicked his lady’s pearl now. Not hard, barely a feather touch,

  really. She didn’t move, so he grew bolder and pressed down gently. Sort

  of petted. Her hips twitched. Harry licked the back of her neck and

  could almost taste what he’d licked last night—the place where his

  fingers played. She had liked that, his lady, when he’d kissed and

  licked and sucked her there. She’d arched her back and moaned so loudly

  he’d wanted to laugh out loud. Now he slowly stroked, playing with her

  sleek, soft folds, and felt her wetness build. His cock was almost

  aching, as hard as he could ever remember it. He lifted her upper leg

  and draped it over his hip. Her breathing hitched, and he felt a smile

  break his face.

  Harry took his prick in hand and guided it to that warm, wet place. He

  flexed his arse and slid in, so tight, so smooth, he wanted to groan in

  pain and in pleasure. He shoved again, gently but steadily, and slid

  farther in. One more time, and the hair around his cock met her bum. She

  was panting. He lowered her leg and finally had to groan aloud. /So

  perfect./ Harry reached around and found her pearl again. He pressed.

  Christ, he could feel her squeezing around him. Instead of thrusting, he

  ground against her, pressing that part of her until she squeezed again.

  “Harry,” she moaned.

  “Shh,” he whispered, kissing the back of her neck.

>   She was pushing back against him. So impatient. He grinned and ground

  some more.

  “Harry.”

  “Dearling.”

  “Tup me, Harry.”

  And he thrust hard, in surprise and in pure lust. Good God, he never

  thought she’d know that word, let alone say it.

  “Ohhh, yes,” she breathed.

  He was humping now, nearly out of control, and her moans were so erotic.

  Each time was better than before, and he thought uneasily that it was

  possible he could never get enough of her. That he’d always want her

  this much. But then he felt her spasm around him as he gripped her hips

  and that thought fled. It was so agonizingly good that he nearly forgot;

  he was almost too late. But in the end, he pulled his cock out of her in

  time and spent, shuddering, in the sheets next to her.

  He stroked her hip and tried to calm his breathing. “Good morning, my lady.”

  “Mmm.” She turned to face him. Her face was flushed and sleepy and

  satisfied. “Good morning, Harry.” Lady Georgina pulled his face to hers

  and kissed him.

  It was a light, gentle touch, but it made something in his chest

  contract. Harry knew suddenly that he would do anything for her, his

  lady. Lie. Steal. Kill.

  Relinquish his pride.

  Was this how Da had felt? He sat up and grabbed his trousers.

  “Are you always this active in the morning?” she asked behind him.

  “Because I must tell you that some do not consider it a virtue.”

  He stood up and pulled on his shirt. “I’m sorry, my lady.” He finally

  turned to face her.

  She was propped on one elbow, the bed linens about her waist. Her orange

  hair cascaded around her white shoulders, tangled and wanton. Her

  nipples were pale rose-brown, darker pink at the tips. He’d never seen a

  more beautiful woman in his life.

  He turned away.

  “I’m not exactly disappointed. More like tired,” Lady Georgina said. “I

  don’t suppose you ever just lay around in bed in the morning?”

  “No.” He finished buttoning his shirt.

  He started into the other room and heard a faint scrape. He stopped.

  It came again.

  He looked back at her. “I thought your brother didn’t mind.”

  Lady Georgina looked as indignant as a naked woman could. “He wouldn’t

  dare.”

  Harry merely raised an eyebrow and closed the door to the bedroom. He

  crossed to the cottage door and opened it. On the step huddled a small

  bundle of rags. What . . .? The mop of hair raised its head, and Harry

  stared into the face of the boy he’d seen at the Pollard cottage.

  “She went drinking and didn’t come back.” The boy said it flatly, as if

  he’d been expecting to be abandoned someday.

  “You’d best come in,” Harry replied.

  The boy hesitated, then stood and ducked inside.

  Lady Georgina poked her head around the corner of the bedroom door. “Who

  is it, Harry?” She caught sight of the small shape. “Oh.”

  Boy and lady stared at each other.

  Harry put the kettle on for tea.

  She recovered first. “I’m Lady Georgina Maitland from the manor. What’s

  your name?”

  The boy merely stared.

  “Best to nod when a lady talks to you, lad,” Harry said.

  She frowned. “I hardly think that’s necessary.”

  But the boy tugged his forelock and dipped his head.

  Lady Georgina sidled into the room. She’d thrown a bed linen over her

  gown from the night before. Harry remembered he’d torn the bodice. “Do

  you know his name?” she whispered in his ear.

  He shook his head. “Would you like tea? I don’t have much else. Some

  bread and butter.”

  Lady Georgina brightened, whether at the offer of food or something to

  do he wasn’t sure. “We can make toast,” she said.

  Harry cocked an eyebrow, but she’d already found the bread and butter,

  the knife, and a bent fork. She hacked at the bread and sawed off a

  shapeless lump.

  All three of them stared at it.

  She cleared her throat. “I think cutting may be more of a man’s job.”

  She handed the knife to Harry. “Now, don’t make the slices too thick or

  they won’t toast and they’ll have that awful spongy bit in the center.

  And it’s important they’re not too thin or they’ll burn, and I detest

  burnt toast, don’t you?” She turned to the boy, who nodded his head.

  “I’ll do my best,” Harry said.

  “Good. I’ll butter. And I suppose”—she looked critically at the boy—“you

  can toast. You /do/ know how to toast bread properly, don’t you?”

  The lad nodded and took the fork as if it were the sword of King Arthur.

  Soon there was a pile of crusty bread, dripping with butter, in the

  center of the table. Lady Georgina poured tea, and the three of them sat

  down to break their fast.

  “I wish I could just stay here,” she said, licking butter from her

  fingers, “but I suppose I shall have to return to the manor at least to

  dress properly.”

  “Did you leave word to have the carriage come for you?” Harry asked. If

  she hadn’t, he would lend her his horse.

  “I saw a carriage this morning,” the boy piped up.

  “You mean waiting on the drive?” Lady Georgina asked.

  “No.” The boy swallowed a huge mouthful. “It was going up the drive at a

  gallop, fair flew by, it did.”

  Lady Georgina and Harry looked at each other.

  “Black with red trim?” she asked. The color of Tony’s carriage.

  The boy reached for his fifth piece of toast and shook his head. “Blue.

  All over blue.”

  Lady Georgina gave an exclamation and choked on her tea.

  Harry and the boy stared at her.

  “Oscar,” she gasped.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “My middle brother.”

  Harry set his teacup down. “Just how many brothers do you have, my lady?”

  “Three.”

  “Hell.”

  “YOUR LAND STEWARD, GEORGIE?” Oscar picked up an iced bun from the tray

  Cook had prepared. “It’s just not the thing, darling. I mean”—he waved

  the bun—“either one should choose someone from one’s own class or go all

  the way and seduce a brawny young stable hand.”

  Oscar grinned at George, his treacle-brown eyes crinkling devilishly at

  the corners. His hair was darker than Tony’s, almost black. Only when he

  stood in sunlight could you sometimes make out the red highlights.

  “You aren’t helping.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose between

  forefinger and thumb.

  “Yes, Oscar,” Ralph, the youngest Maitland brother, put in his two

  pence. Gangly and large-boned, his frame was just beginning to show the

  bulk of manhood. “Georgina couldn’t seduce anyone. She’s not married. He

  must have seduced /her,/ the bounder.”

  Oscar and Tony stared at Ralph for a moment, apparently stunned into

  silence by his recitation of the obvious.

  George sighed, and not for the first time since entering her library.

  /Stupid. Stupid. Stupid./ At first sight of Oscar’s carriage she

  should’ve tucked her tail between her legs and
made a run for the hills.

  They might not have found her for days; weeks, if she’d been lucky. She

  could’ve slept under the stars and lived on wild strawberries and

  dew—never mind that strawberries didn’t fruit in September. Instead,

  she’d meekly dressed in her most demure gown and presented herself to

  her three younger brothers.

  Who were all now glaring at her. “Actually, I believe it was a mutual

  seduction, if that’s important.”

  Ralph looked puzzled, Tony groaned, and Oscar laughed, nearly choking on

  a mouthful of his bun.

  “No, that’s not important,” Tony said. “What is important—”

  “Is that you break it off at once.” Oscar finished for him. He started

  to shake a finger at George and realized he still held the bun. He

  looked around for a plate and set his bun down. “Now, after you have

  married a suitable gentleman, /then/ you may take up with whoever—”

  “I think not!” Ralph jumped to his feet, an effective move, since he was