tyrant. When he said the baby was his legitimate son, none dared
disagree. Not even his lawful wife.”
“And your father?”
Harry looked down at his hands, frowning. “I don’t remember, I was only
two or so, but I think Da must’ve forgiven her. And she must’ve promised
to stay away from Granville. But she lied.”
“What happened?” George asked.
“My father caught her. I don’t know if Da always knew that she’d gone
back to Granville and looked away or if he fooled himself that she had
turned over a new leaf or . . .” He shook his head impatiently. “But it
doesn’t matter. When I was twelve, he found her in bed with Granville.”
“And?”
Harry grimaced. “And he went for Granville’s throat. Granville was a
much larger man, and he beat my father off. Da was humiliated. But
Granville still had him horsewhipped.”
“And you? You said he horsewhipped you as well.”
“I was young. When they started on Da with that big whip . . .” Harry
swallowed. “I darted in. It was a stupid thing to do.”
“You were trying to save your father.”
“Aye, I was. And all I got for the effort was this.” Harry held up his
mutilated right hand.
“I don’t understand.”
“I tried to shield my face, and the whip caught me across this hand.
See?” Harry pointed at a long scar that cut across the inside of his
fingers. “The whip nearly severed them all, but the third finger was the
worst. Lord Granville had one of his men cut it off. Said he was doing
me a favor.”
/Oh, God./ George felt bile rise in her throat. She covered Harry’s
right hand with her own. He turned it over so they were palm to palm.
George carefully linked her fingers with his.
“Da was out of work and so badly crippled by the whipping that after a
while we went into the poorhouse.” Harry looked away from her, but he
still clasped his hand with hers.
“And your mother? Did she go into the poorhouse as well?” George asked
in a low voice.
Harry’s hand squeezed hers almost painfully. “No. She stayed with
Granville. As his whore. I heard many years later that she’d died of the
plague. But I never spoke to her again after that day. The day Da and I
were horsewhipped.”
She breathed deeply. “Did you love her, Harry?”
He smiled then, crookedly. “All boys love their mothers, my lady.”
George closed her eyes. What kind of woman would abandon her child to be
a rich man’s mistress? So many things about Harry were explained, but
the knowledge was almost too painful to bear. She laid her head down in
his lap and felt him stroke her hair. It was strange. She should be
comforting him after his revelations. Instead, he consoled her.
He drew a breath like a sigh. “Now you understand why I must leave.”
/Chapter Sixteen/
“But why must you leave?” George asked.
She paced the small bedroom. She wanted to pound on the bed. Pound on
the chest of drawers. Pound on Harry. It had been almost a fortnight
since he’d first said it. A fortnight in which he’d regained his feet,
his bruises had faded to the greenish-yellow color of recovery, and he
hardly limped. But in that fortnight he’d remained adamant. He would
leave her as soon as he was well.
Every day she came to visit him in his tiny room, and every day they had
the same argument. George couldn’t stand this cramped room anymore—Lord
knew what Harry thought of it—and she was about ready to scream. He was
going to leave her soon, just walk out the door, and she still didn’t
know /why./
Harry sighed now. He must be weary of her badgering him. “It’s not going
to work, my lady. You and me. You must know that, and you’ll agree with
me soon.” His voice was low and calm. Reasonable.
Hers was not.
“I won’t!” George cried like a small child told she must go to bed. All
she lacked was the stomp of one foot.
Oh, Lord, she knew she was making herself ugly. But she couldn’t stop.
Couldn’t help pleading and whining and pestering. The thought of never
seeing Harry again brought blind panic flooding into her chest.
She took a deep breath and tried to speak more sedately. “We could get
married. I love—”
“No!” He slammed his hand against the wall, the sound like a cannon shot
in the room.
She stared at him. She knew damn well Harry loved her. She knew by the
way he said /my lady/ so low it was almost a purr. The way his eyes
lingered when he looked at her. The way he had made love to her so
intently before he’d been injured. Why couldn’t he—?
He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, my lady.”
Tears started in her eyes. She rubbed them away. “You can at least do me
the favor of explaining why you don’t think we should marry. Because I
just can’t see why not.”
“Why? /Why?/” Harry laughed sharply. “How about this reason: If I
married you, my lady, the whole of England would think I did it for your
money. And how exactly would we work out the money part? Eh? Would you
give me a quarterly allowance?” He stood with his hands on his hips and
stared at her.
“It wouldn’t have to be that way.”
“No? Perhaps you’d like to sign all your money over to me?”
She hesitated for a fatal second.
“No, of course not.” He flung up his arms. “So I’d be your pet monkey.
Your male whore. Do you even think any of your friends would invite me
to dine with them? That your family would accept me?”
“/Yes./ Yes, they would.” She stuck out her jaw. “And you’re /not/—”
“Aren’t I?” There was pain in his green eyes.
“No, never,” she whispered. She held out her hands in supplication. “You
know you’re not that to me. You’re much more. I love—”
“/No./”
But she spoke over him this time. “/You./ I love you, Harry. I love you.
Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Of course it does.” He closed his eyes. “It’s all the more reason not
to let you be pilloried by society.”
“It won’t be as bad as all that. And even if it was, I don’t care.”
“You’d care after they figured out why you married me. You’d care then.”
Harry was advancing on her, and George didn’t like the look in his eyes.
“I don’t—”
He grasped her upper arms almost too gently, as if he held himself back
by an unraveling willpower. “They’d know soon enough,” he said. “Why
else would you marry me? A commoner with no money or power? You, the
daughter of an earl?” He leaned close and whispered, “Can’t you guess?”
His breath on her ear sent shivers down her neck. It had been so very
long since he’d last touched her.
“I don’t care what they think of me,” she repeated stubbornly.
“No?” The word was whispered in her hair. “But, you see, my lady, it
still won’t work between us. We have one remaining problem.”
“What?”
“/I/ care what they think of you.” His lips came down on hers in a kiss
that tasted of anger and despair.
George grabbed his head. She yanked the ribbon from his hair and ran her
fingers into it. And she kissed him back, countering fury with fury. If
he would just stop thinking. She nipped his bottom lip, felt the groan
go through him, and opened her mouth in seductive invitation. And he
took it, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and angling his face over
hers. Framing her face with his hands, caressing and punishing her mouth
with his. He kissed her as if it were the last embrace they would ever
share.
As if he would leave her tomorrow.
George tightened her grasp in his hair at that thought. It must have
hurt him, but she wasn’t letting go. She pressed her body to his until
she felt his arousal even through the bulk of both their clothing. She
rubbed herself against him.
Harry broke their kiss and tried to pull his head up. “My lady, we can’t—”
“Shhh,” George murmured. She trailed kisses along his jaw. “I don’t want
to hear /can’t./ I want you. I need you.”
She licked the pulse at his throat, tasting salt and man. He shuddered.
She bared her teeth against his neck. She released his hair with one
hand and ripped at his shirt, tearing it open and off one shoulder.
“My lady, I, uhh . . .” He lapsed into a moan when she licked his
exposed nipple.
From the way he took her bottom and pulled her hard into his groin, he
was no longer interested in protesting. Just as well. She’d never
realized a man’s nipples were sensitive. Someone should make this
information known to the general female population. She took the tiny
nubbin between her teeth and delicately bit down. He squeezed her bottom
in his big hands. She lifted her head and pulled the shirt entirely off.
Definitely better. Of all the things God had made on this earth, surely
a man’s chest must be one of the most beautiful. Or perhaps it was just
Harry’s chest. George ran her hands across his shoulders, skimming
gently over the scars from his beating.
She’d come so close to losing him.
Her fingers drifted down to circle his nipples, making him close his
eyes, then lower, into the slim line of hair below his navel. Her
fingernails must have tickled. Harry sucked in his stomach. Then she
reached his breeches. She explored the flap and found the hidden
buttons. George flicked them open, conscious all the while that his
penis was underneath, already hard and tenting the fabric. She glanced
up once to find him watching her under lowered lids. The emerald fire in
his eyes made her squirm. A slow seep of wetness began at her core.
She opened the breeches and found her prize, poking up through the top
of his smallclothes.
“Take them off.” She forced her gaze to his face. “Please.”
Harry crooked an eyebrow but obediently stripped off his breeches,
smallclothes, stockings, and shoes. Then he reached for the front of her
dress.
“No. Not yet.” George danced out of his way. “I can’t think when you
touch me.”
Harry stalked her. “That’s the point, my lady.”
Her rear bumped against the bed. She held up her hands to ward him off.
“Not /my/ point.”
He leaned close without actually touching her, the heat from his bare
chest almost menacing. “The last time you played with me I nearly died.”
“But you didn’t.”
He watched her, his eyes unconvinced.
“Trust me.”
He sighed. “You know I can deny you nothing, my lady.”
“Good. Now get on the bed.”
Harry grimaced but he did as she ordered, stretching on his side. His
cock arced up, nearly touching his navel.
“Unhook me.”
She presented her back and felt his fingers as he undid her gown. When
he reached the end, she walked out of his reach and turned. She let the
bodice fall. She wasn’t wearing stays, and his eyes immediately dropped
to her nipples, peaking the fabric of her shift. She placed her hands at
her waist and wriggled the dress down.
He narrowed his eyes.
She sat on a chair and pulled off her garters and rolled down her
stockings. Wearing only her shift, she walked to the bed. When she
crawled on the bed beside him, Harry reached for her at once.
“No, this won’t do.” George frowned. “You can’t touch me.” She looked at
the row of carved spindles on the bed’s headboard. “Hold those.”
He twisted to look and then lay down and grasped one spindle in each
hand. With his arms over his head, the muscles in his upper arms and
chest bunched.
George licked her bottom lip. “You can’t let go until I tell you.”
“As you wish,” he growled, sounding not at all submissive. He should’ve
appeared weak in such a compromising position. Instead, he reminded her
of a wild leopard captured and tethered. He lay there, eyeing her
speculatively, a trace of a sneer on his lips.
Best not to get too close.
She ran a fingernail down his chest. “Perhaps I ought to tie your wrists
to the bed.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up.
“Just to be safe,” she reassured him sweetly.
“My lady,” he warned.
“Oh, never mind. But you must promise not to move.”
“On my honor, I will not let go of the bedposts until you permit me.”
“That’s not what I said.”
But it was close enough. She leaned over him and licked the tip of his
penis.
/“Jesus Christ.”/
George lifted her head and frowned.
“You never said anything about talking,” Harry panted. “For God’s sake,
do that again.”
“Maybe. If I feel inclined.” She inched nearer, ignoring his grumbled curse.
This time she lifted his cock aside and planted a series of tiny, wet
kisses on his belly. She ended when she came to the dark, wiry hair
above his erection. She opened her mouth and scraped her teeth against
his skin.
“Shit.” Harry sucked in a breath.
His scent was pungent here. George nudged his legs apart and ran her
fingers over his sac. She could feel the things that men called /stones/
rolling about inside. Very, very carefully she squeezed.
“God/damn./”
She smiled at his profanity. George grasped his cock between forefinger
and thumb. She glanced up at Harry’s face.
He looked worried.
Good. Now, what if she . . .? George bent her head and licked the
underside of his manhood. She tasted salt and skin and inhaled his
aroma. She shifted her fingers and ran her tongue around the head, just
where it began to swell out. Harry groaned. So she repeated the process
and then thought to kiss the very tip where drops of seed welled.
“Put it in your mouth.” His voice was a deep rasp, dark and prayerful.
It excited her unbearably. She didn’t want to take his order. On the
other hand . . . She opened her mouth over him. He was very big. Surely
he didn’t mean the whole th
ing? She fit the head into her mouth, like a
small peach. Except peaches were sweet and he was musky. Tasting of man.
“Suck me.”
She was startled. Really? She pursed her mouth and his hips came off the
bed, startling her again.
“Ahhh. /God./”
His reaction, his obvious enjoyment of what she was doing, aroused her.
She could feel that part of herself throbbing. She pressed her thighs
together tightly and sucked on Harry’s cock. She tasted his semen and
wondered if he would reach completion in her mouth. But she wanted him
in her when that happened. George licked one last time and rose to
straddle his hips. She guided his erection to where it should be, but it
seemed so big now. She pressed and felt him begin to part her. To tunnel
and push. She glanced down. The smooth red skin of his cock disappeared
into her feminine hair. She moaned and almost came apart right there.
“Let me move,” he whispered.
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