The crowd sighed, a hushed and fascinated sound.
“I do indeed, Your Majesty. All that I have is yours.”
“And England’s, of course.” Abby’s voice firmed in a small reprimand.
“Of course, my Queen.”
“Well now, Walter Raleigh. We are most pleased at your tribute, but distressed at your apparent habit of ‘finding’ such treasures deep in the holds of certain galleons. Ones that belong to our noble friend, King Philip of Spain.”
Philip allowed a grin to cross his features. Damn, this woman was good.
“Thoughts of pleasing Your Majesty must outweigh our natural caution,” he bowed elegantly. “It was our hope that King Philip might not miss such a paltry sum, especially since he woos our own fair Queen. And our little tribute pales in comparison to that particular treasure.”
Abigail smiled royally, every inch the willful monarch she was supposed to be. “Well, I must needs take counsel on this matter. My Lord Burleigh...” She beckoned to the space at her side, and bent her head as if listening to an invisible conversation.
Then she snapped her head back up and fixed Philip with a firm look. “Burleigh has the right of it. I cannot reward you for theft and piracy. I can, however, reward you for your pretty phrases to our person. Kneel, Walter Raleigh.”
And Philip knelt close, swimming in her fragrance and praying he didn’t topple over into a pile of screaming lust, as she knighted him with an imaginary sword.
“Rise, Sir Walter Raleigh. Do your best for England. And your Queen, of course.”
Applause rang out across the room, as “Sir Walter” rose from his knees and gently raised Abby’s hand to his lips in homage.
He could no more have stopped himself from pressing a hot kiss to her skin than he could have stopped breathing. He wondered if his lips were singed.
He recalled himself with difficulty. “Now, Miss Foxworth, please count backwards from ten. When you reach one, you will rise, curtsey to the audience, and feel relaxed and refreshed.”
He moved behind her chair, momentarily out of sight of the audience, as he settled her once again. “And you will find some excuse to stay after this lecture is concluded. Seek me out, Abigail. Come to me.”
The instruction was low, whispered so that none but she could hear it.
For once, Philip Ashton found himself praying that he did, in fact, possess the power of mesmerism. Because never had he needed to be alone with a woman more than he did right this second.
*~~*~~*
Abigail and Eugenia circulated as the guests chattered amongst themselves and enjoyed the ample refreshments set out by Lady Rachel Greenhough.
A casual word here, a laugh there, a compliment to “Her Majesty”, all handled with Abigail’s usual grace, elegance and wit.
While her mind boiled.
Philip Ashton. She rolled his name over and over, silently, as she bit into a lobster patty. His eyes, his body, his height, and above all, his mind, had called to her on some primitive level, and awoken a desire within her that would have made her faint if she’d been the sort of woman who did such a thing.
But she wasn’t, and she managed to keep her end of several conversations going even while her agile thoughts darted this way and that, turning over the evening, dissecting it, and coming to the one inevitable conclusion.
She wanted that time alone with him.
Did he know she’d not succumbed to his powers? Had he guessed she’d faked the whole thing, and blessed her lucky stars she was well read enough to carry off the role of Good Queen Bess without a falter?
Part of her hoped so, and another part hoped not. That part was about to become a dissembling, dishonest creature and lie through its even white teeth to her aunt. It was a part that was going to use her apparent “trance” as an excuse to seek him out. To be with him.
To see if what she’d felt from a distance was better close up. Very close up.
“Abby, you look pale, dear. Should we call for our carriage?” Eugenia came up to her.
God, no.
Abby thought fast. “Actually, Aunt Eugenia, I had promised to have a quick chat with the Rutherfords about their electrical experiments. Would you allow them to take me home afterwards? I know you wanted to drop in at the Morton’s soiree, and I also know—” She grinned at her aunt as she leaned closer to the woman. “Colonel Dagenham will be in attendance. He particularly asked if you’d be there this evening.”
Eugenia blushed. “Well...if you’re sure?”
“I’ll see she gets home safely,” said a voice behind Abby.
Lady Rachel Greenhough was smiling innocently at the two of them. “If the Rutherfords are unable to drop her off, I’ll send her in my own carriage, Lady Foxworth. It’s a pleasure to see a young woman interested in the sciences. So few are, these days, don’t you agree?”
Abby quirked a brow at her.
“Trust me, Miss Abigail, between my father and my brothers, I grew up in a house full of them. Finding anyone who appreciates science is a miracle in itself. For a lovely young woman to want to talk about it is even more rare. How can I deny you the chance?”
Abby wanted to fall at Lady Rachel’s feet and kiss her toes in gratitude. However, she simply smiled.
“I suppose that’s all right then, Abby. Just make sure you get home safely, and not too late, mind,” nodded Eugenia.
The crowd was thinning now, as many left for other engagements, and the social world that was London during the Season.
Abby looked around. Her eyes found Sir Philip. As his eyes found her.
He stood next to a small passageway, and with a little smile he turned and allowed the darkness to swallow him up. The message was clear. She was to follow.
Lady Rachel was elsewhere saying farewell to her guests, and there was no one to see her as she slipped into the shadows and followed Philip.
A door stood ajar, and firelight flickered from within. Tentatively she placed her hand on the wood and pushed slightly, finding herself in a study, where the lamps were low, and a cheerful fire was blazing.
Sir Philip stood by the mantel, waiting.
Her heart thumped loudly, as she entered, and in response to some strange urge, closed the door behind her.
They were finally alone.
Chapter 4
Philip held his breath as she glided towards him, glowing in the firelight. Her hair flashed brilliant bronze sparks, her gown gleamed as it caressed her lithe body, and her eyes...
Outshining the emerald at her neck, her eyes did incredibly wonderful things to his loins. With difficulty, he suppressed a shudder of lust.
“Greetings, Sir Walter,” she said in a low husky voice that also did wonderful things to his loins. If she did anything more wonderful to his loins, the damn things were going to go off like one of Whinyates’s rockets.
But she’d called him Sir Walter. Could it be possible that she was still suffering the delusion that she was Elizabeth?
He decided to find out.
“Kiss me, your Majesty,” he asked, hoping that it didn’t come out like the needy whine it most certainly was.
Unhesitatingly she crossed the room, reached up and placed her lips on his cheek in a brief embrace.
He winced. “Not like a subject, my Queen. Like a lover.”
She looked puzzled. “I have had no lovers, Sir Walter. I am known as the Virgin Queen.”
“Then pretend, Lady. Pretend,” he growled, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her body against his.
She thought for a moment, then slipped her hands around his neck. Her arms tightened and she pulled his face to hers.
With a groan, he lowered his lips, capturing hers with a fierce heat that shattered any preconceived notions he might have had about such a simple thing as a kiss.
He tasted her as she opened her mouth beneath his questing tongue, thrusting it inside and giving way to the rush of desire that flooded him. She tasted of wine and lobster patty
and honey, and he couldn’t get enough.
And she was kissing him back with all the passion and enthusiasm he could have wanted.
His hands roved freely, encouraged by her body which molded itself to his, dips and valleys meeting and greeting each other like long lost friends. Within seconds he had her buttocks in his grasp and tugged her hard against his cock, finding her hot mound burning him through their clothes.
They were both gasping for breath when he eased back and gazed at her eyes, unfocused and nearly black with her emotions.
“You taste of magic, my Queen,” he whispered, licking his lips and tasting her again.
“Oh Sir, I want...” she said softly.
“What do you want?” he asked.
She rubbed her hips against his in a wanton movement that had him clenching his teeth against another hot rush through his body.
“I don’t know what I want,” she moaned.
“Show me your breasts, Abigail...” The words were out before he could stop them, coming from some inner place where a fire was blazing and needs overrode everything else.
He stood back and shrugged out of his jacket, ripping off his cravat and popping buttons on his shirt as he bared his own chest. “I want to feel them against me when I kiss you again.”
With a little tremor, her hands went to her gown and stayed for a moment at her neckline. Philip Ashton held his breath and prayed.
Slowly, she eased the small sleeves off her shoulders, and lowered her bodice, letting her breasts spring free of their covering. She lowered the gown to her waist and stood there, a goddess with cheeks on fire and the loveliest breasts he’d ever seen bared to his eyes.
He groaned and seized her again, covering them with his own hot flesh.
Her nipples dug into his body, and seared him as his mouth claimed hers once again.
They both moaned at the contact, and the kiss turned savage, a needy and hungry thing that pleased them yet left them wanting.
Philip’s hands stroked her bare back, marveling at the hot silky feel of her naked skin beneath his touch.
He couldn’t remember ever desiring a woman more.
But he knew that this was only the beginning. His cock was painful now, thrusting against his breeches and screaming at him to do something, anything, to relieve its need.
His mouth roamed over her neck and dotted hot kisses down her throat. He continued on, encouraged by her sighs and the fact that she’d tossed her head back to permit him access to her skin.
He found her breast and unhesitatingly suckled it deeply into his mouth, toying with the rigid bead that topped it and laving it strongly with his tongue.
She groaned and thrust her hips against his, grinding them now, as if her need matched his.
Philip Ashton drowned.
As did Abigail.
This wondrous sensation of having her breasts worshipped by the man she’d desired from the first moment their eyes met was rendering Abby senseless.
It had taken a monumental amount of courage to lower her gown before him, and only the incredible heat burning from his eyes had given her the strength she’d needed.
Now, she was simply ecstatic that she had obeyed his outrageous command and revealed herself to him. The crush of his flesh against hers was a thing to be wondered at—sometime later when her wits returned. For now, she was just going to relish his attentions, like that one, right there, and try to remain standing, when all her intuitions were screaming at her to topple him into the fireplace and savage him with her body. Somehow. She was hazy about the details, but the drive was overwhelming.
After long minutes or possibly several eons of being devoured by his wonderful mouth, she felt cold air brush her skin as he pulled away.
Cautiously she opened her eyes and looked at him.
His cheeks were flushed darkly, his hair mussed, and his shirt framed his magnificent chest which was lightly furred with whorls of soft black hair.
“Raise your skirt for me, Abigail,” he rasped.
She stared at his eyes, their irises huge, the gold and blue flecks striking sparks within her.
“Raise your skirts,” he repeated, his voice hoarse and flooding her with ripples of desire.
Oh God. She wanted to. She’d never wanted to anything as much as she wanted to lift her hem. Right this second. A voice of caution rang in her ears, only to be shouted down by the thought of her Grandmother’s words. “And if she does, well then, it’s the right man.”
She grasped a handful of fabric and tugged.
Philip was the right man.
The soft stuff slid easily up over her thighs as she bunched her skirts in her hands. She felt her cheeks heat as his gaze dropped to what she was so readily revealing to him. The brush of the cool air against her skin made her tremble, but she did not stop until her gown was a mere buckled band at her waist.
She found she could not meet his gaze and lowered her eyes.
“Look at me, Abigail,” he said, raising her chin with one hand. “Look at me. See how I burn for you. You are so beautiful...”
He claimed her in a kiss once again, but this time he plunged his hand between them, searching her belly, rubbing her thighs and sliding his hand lower until it was between her legs.
She felt him ruffle the triangle of hair he found there and dip lower, seeking, spreading, rubbing her soft wet mound until she was whimpering in his arms.
He slicked her wetness over her skin, and part of her mind wondered at her own body’s response to his touch. Then he suddenly left her lips and dropped to one knee in front of her.
What he did next took every ounce of air from her lungs.
He pressed his hot mouth to her body—there.
Her scent, her heat and the fragrance of her juices intoxicated Philip. He wanted to dive headfirst into her secret places and never come out.
Or come, and then come out. Or something.
He had no idea. He just had to get his mouth on her and hopefully drive her to the point of madness that he himself had reached moments ago. And her moans and cries of pleasure told him he was getting there.
He slid his hands up past her stockings to the back of her naked thighs, and found the smooth curves of her buttocks. He noted they filled his hands perfectly, and he pulled her slightly, so that his tongue could do what it had apparently been designed to do from the day he was born.
Pleasure Abigail.
He thrust into her softness, again and again, feeling the tremors as they rattled her body. Then he searched for her little pearl, hard and aroused now, and just begging for its share of his attention.
He obliged, noting with satisfaction how she cried out as he stroked and suckled the tiny bud of flesh into his mouth.
Her hands tugged his hair almost painfully, but he doubted she even realized what she was doing. He certainly didn’t care. She could have every strand if she wanted, as long as he could spend his lifetime buried between her thighs.
The thought shocked him, warmed him, and sent a flood of heat to his cock, reminding him that the pain she was inflicting on his scalp was nothing next to the pain emanating from his breeches. He pulled back, hearing her sob as his face left her sex.
“Philip, Philip,” she moaned.
“I know, Abigail. I know. Yet I cannot take you here, now, much as I would like to.”
Her eyes fluttered open in distress.
“Hush, Abby,” he said, dropping his hand to his breeches and unfastening their tapes.
His cock sprang free, and if it could have sighed with relief, Philip swore it would have. “There are other ways,” he said, his voice choking with his need to claim her.
He pulled their bodies together, and pressed his cock against her heat, sliding it back then raising her body slightly. Pushing himself between the juncture of her thighs, each movement rubbed the already swollen and sensitive tissues he knew were there.
“Let go, Abby. Feel my cock stroking you. I can’t be inside you, but this is
the next best thing.”
Well, almost. Perhaps her mouth on him would be good too. Or then again... Philip’s mind galloped off into a myriad of ways he wanted to take this woman.
But then she moved against his cock and his mind blanked out completely. She rubbed herself along his hardness, hips thrusting, meeting his with a barely controlled movement.
It was ecstasy, exquisite and painful ecstasy, and it wasn’t enough.
He wanted to be inside her, deep inside her, feeling her inner muscles tug at him, hold him, pull him further and further until they didn’t know where one ended and the other began. But it could not be. Not in his sister’s house. Not in the study. And certainly not standing up.
Well, not this time, anyway.
Philip let her body seduce his, and gently matched her movements, sliding his rigid length across her opening, and tugging on her breasts with his fingers as his lips devoured hers.
Incredibly, it seemed that it was enough for both of them. For now.
He felt her shiver and shudder, and she struggled for breath in his arms. Her whole body tightened, just as he felt his balls harden and lightning dance down his spine.
They exploded together.
Abby shook under the force of her orgasm, held upright only by his strong arms.
His cock throbbed and pulsed as he came, spurting his seed over her inner thighs and mixing his own come with her juices. Someone cried out, but for the life of him, Philip had no idea which of them it was.
It could well have been both.
Rocked by his orgasm, Philip leaned his forehead against hers, and stroked her damp skin lovingly as their heart rates slowed at last. Incredibly, they were still standing in front of his sister’s fireplace. Weak and panting, but still standing.
It had been the most amazingly erotic experience of his entire life.
He dropped light kisses on the shivering woman in his arms and gently eased her bodice back into place, sighing as her breasts with their now-softened nipples disappeared beneath the gold silk.
He cupped her face, and spoke the first words that came into his mind.
Miss Foxworth's Fate Page 3