The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2

by Amy Rose Bennett

  Rafe responded to her unspoken plea with a deep groan and an equally ravenous and wholly welcome assault. Fiery need unfurled between them as he backed her toward the settee, his mouth devouring hers whilst his hands made short work of all her buttons and ribbons and laces. When her gown and stays slipped to the floor, he slid his hot mouth to her neck, nipping and laving all of the tender spots that always made her tingle and shiver and writhe in ecstasy. He palmed her breasts through the thin silk of her shift and her nipples hardened; sparks of pure lust shot straight to her pulsing, already wet sex.

  Aflame with want, impatient to touch his hard, bare flesh, Georgie wrenched his silk shirt from the waistband of his black satin breeches. Sliding a hand beneath the fabric, her eager fingertips found the sleek, taut muscles of his abdomen, the sharp ridge of a lean hipbone. The insistent jut of his long, rock-hard cock. Her mouth watered.

  She turned and pushed him onto the settee before falling to her knees between his legs. As she began to attack the buttons at the fall front of his breeches he stilled the feverish movement of her fingers. “Georgie—”

  “Shhh.” She pressed her fingers to his kiss-slickened lips. “I want to do this. So very much.” She would do anything for Rafe. This man, like no other, who’d taught her how to truly love—and be loved.

  He chuckled, a low, rich sound that ignited a fresh burst of need deep inside her. “Go on, have your wicked way with me then, my love,” he said, in a voice graveled with lust. “Who am I to deny anything you desire?”

  “I’m glad you see it my way.” Georgie freed his engorged member and began stroking him with her fisted hand, reveling in the sight of his surrender. His head fell against the back of the settee and he bit his bottom lip as if stifling a groan. Even though a shining bead of semen appeared at the tip of his cock, he wasn’t far gone enough yet, not by any means—she wanted him writhing, out of control. Completely lost to pleasure.

  Georgie licked her lips and bent to her task with joyful yet determined abandon. Loving his rigid length with her fingers, lips and tongue, it wasn’t long before Rafe began shuddering and bucking his hips in time with her rhythmic sucking. The taste of his spilled seed and his deep growls of pleasure only fueled her own desire all the more; the throbbing in her lower belly was almost unbearable and she squeezed her thighs together in a feeble attempt to ease the building pressure.

  She rolled his tight, swollen bollocks between her fingers and felt them draw up; at the very same moment Rafe speared his fingers into her hair, pressing himself even deeper. Sensing he was about to climax, Georgie gleefully renewed her efforts, hollowing her cheeks to increase the suction, taking his hot pulsing length as far back into her throat as she possibly could. Her strategy worked—with a guttural cry, Rafe exploded, his seed a hot, salty jet momentarily flooding her mouth before she eagerly swallowed it down, taking everything he gave her.

  Elation suffused her heart. Rafe loved her. He was undeniably hers. She brought him immense satisfaction—not just physically, but emotionally as well. She could see it in his eyes as he pushed the tangled hair from her eyes and stroked her flushed cheek. In the way he kissed the top of her head as he carried her through to her bedroom and laid her gently across the end of her four-poster bed. When he stripped the remaining garments from her body, worshipping her fevered flesh with his hot gaze and ardent kisses, her heart sang with the certain knowledge over and over again, he loves me, he loves me.

  “Will you help me remove my necklace?” Georgie sat up a little and pushed her hair over one shoulder, reaching for the clasp when Rafe began to shed his own clothing.

  “Oh no, my sweet.” Rafe tugged his shirt over his head in one swift movement revealing the muscled chest and abdomen she loved so well. “I want you to wear it exactly like that.” His mouth lifted into a wolfish grin as he toed off his evening shoes. “It’s the way I’ve always wanted you to wear it, ever since I first laid eyes on it in the jewelry shop window.”

  Oh. Georgie’s nipples tightened and her cheeks grew hot—not with shame or self-consciousness, but with desire. Naked but for her necklace, she sank back against the silk counterpane again, watching Rafe divest his breeches. All the while he raked her with his hot, hungry gaze, and not for one moment did she think to cover herself. Strange to think how much she’d changed... How much Rafe had helped her to change.

  She smiled as he joined her on the bed and covered her body with his. Looking into Rafe’s deep gray eyes, she had one last coherent thought before he once again overwhelmed her with the head-spinning pleasure of his kisses.

  Love was truly a miraculous thing.

  In spite of everything, she loves me. His heart thrumming with profound joy at Georgie’s unexpected admission, Rafe silently vowed that he would show this wonderful woman just how deeply he adored her. How much he worshipped her.

  He kissed her thoroughly, not only her delicious mouth but her sweetly scented neck, her full breasts with their tightly furled, rose pink nipples, her smooth belly. When she began to writhe and gasp beneath his deliberate and tauntingly slow ministrations—his hands and mouth swept close, but not quite close enough to the light brown curls hiding her sex—he chuckled against her alabaster skin, raising gooseflesh.

  “Rafe, please,” she begged, her voice hoarse with need.

  How could he deny her, the woman he loved? Taking up a position between her slender thighs, he gently parted the deeply flushed folds of her sex with his fingers. The heady, musky scent of her arousal greeted him, and he smiled, relishing the fact Georgie’s entrance glistened with moisture, how very ready she was for this most intimate possession.

  Dipping his head, he set about teasing her clitoris with the tip of his tongue, rapidly flicking and circling the tight, swollen nub in the way he knew would drive her wild. As he continued to suckle and lick, savoring her juices, he pushed two of his fingers deep inside her tight, slick passage and mercilessly stroked her, over and over again, steadily driving her toward the precipice of release. When her orgasm claimed her, she cried out his name and clutched at his head, her hips arching upwards, her sheath clenching around his fingers. A fresh surge of moisture welled and he eagerly lapped at her until she pulled at his hair and begged him for mercy. Rafe raised his head and on seeing Georgie’s flushed face, her contented smile, a feeling of deep satisfaction flooded his heart, at the thought that he alone could arouse her and ultimately bring her such untold pleasure.

  He slid up beside her and pulled her into his arms before kissing her mouth. The press of her smooth, warm flesh against his body made his already hard cock stand to attention all the more. “Do you trust me?” He drew back a little and brushed the tumble of curls from her eyes so he could study her face. “I want this to be a night of firsts, of special memories, for all the very best reasons.”

  “Yes,” Georgie whispered. “With all my heart I trust you.”

  “Good. I want us to lie across the end of your bed so we can both see each other in the mirror above the fireplace. I want you to watch as we love each other. Will you do that for me?”

  An expression of uncertainty clouded Georgie’s eyes before she gifted him with a small smile and a nod. “You are turning me into a wanton, Rafe, but all right.”

  “I love it that you are wanton. And may you always be so with me,” he returned with an answering smile that he hoped would reassure her. At the gentle urging of his hands, Georgie rolled onto her side, her weight resting on her elbow, her back flush against his front. She parted her legs for him and he guided his throbbing shaft toward her entrance. As he pushed in, her lush, greedy quim immediately sucked at him, engulfing the head of his cock, and a deep, appreciative growl escaped him. Sweet Jesus, he wanted her so badly, he prayed he could maintain his control long enough to bring her to orgasm a second time.

  Reaching forward, he found Georgie’s breast and rolled the distended nipple between his thumb and fingers as he thrust deeper into her. The tightness, the wetness, the frictio
n were so incredible, his aching balls were already contracting. Gritting his teeth, he focused on pleasuring Georgie. In the mirror, he could see that her eyes were closed tight and she was biting her lip.

  “Open your eyes. Look at us,” he demanded in a voice rough with lust, but nevertheless, she did as he bid without pause or question. He began to stroke in and out of her, with long, slow slides. Their reflection revealed that she’d fixed her gaze on the place of their joining. Panting, her eyes glazed with desire, Georgie began to push back, meeting him thrust for thrust even when he began to pick up the pace. Above her perfect breasts, the diamond and sapphire necklace glinted as she moved with him. He’d never seen anything so erotic in his life.

  “God, Georgie, look at you,” he rasped and skimmed his hand down her body until his fingers found her slick folds. “You’re a goddess in my arms. So wild and beautiful. We were made for each other, you and I. See how well we fit together. Move together... Tell me you see it too.”

  “Yes,” she whispered hoarsely. “Yes I do.” Her hand slid to one of her breasts and she plucked at the rosy nipple with her fingertips. “Love me, Rafe.”

  “Oh God, yes. Forever.” He pressed his teeth into the sensitive curve of her neck, tasting her fragrant skin. His fingertips circled over and around the hard bud of her clitoris, and he plunged harder, faster, determined to push her over the brink into sweet oblivion again.

  Within moments Georgie came on a sharp cry, her whole body shuddering, her inner passage gripping him so tightly, he had no choice but to dive headlong into ecstasy with her. Groaning, he continued pumping into her even as the intense waves of pleasure began to ebb away, until he lay sprawled over her, spent and gasping, the happiest he’d ever been in his life.

  Rafe smoothed the tangle of curls away from the side of Georgie’s face and kissed her cheek, her temple, the corner of her mouth. Even in his blissfully drowsy state, one thing above all others was clear—he could never let Georgie go. She was perfect. She was his. And against all odds, she loved him.

  What more could he ask for?

  “I love you, Georgie,” he whispered, and when she turned her head and smiled back at him, Rafe knew he would love and protect this woman until his dying day.

  As soon as he’d disposed of Dashkov and Craven, there would be nothing to stop him from proposing.

  A harsh cry rent the night.

  Rafe...

  Georgie bolted upright in her bed to find Rafe sitting with his back against the mahogany headboard, panting, his naked chest and torso slick with sweat. His eyes were screwed shut and he gripped the sheets so tightly, the knuckles of his fists stood out stark white even in the insubstantial light cast by the low burning fire. He was clearly in the grip of another nightmare and her heart cried for him.

  “Rafe,” she reached out and gently touched his hand. His eyes flew open.

  “Georgie? Christ...” He shook his head and scrubbed his face with his hands. At length he murmured, “I’m so, so sorry, my love. I don’t know what’s come over me. And tonight, of all nights.”

  “Shhh. It’s all right.” Whether Rafe had dreamed of the cold-hearted Anna, the mysterious Solange, or someone or something else entirely, it didn’t matter one whit to Georgie. She slipped from the bed and after wrapping a silk robe about herself, retrieved the brandy decanter and a glass from her sitting room. She handed him a rather large measure of the amber-hued spirit then crossed the room and found a taper to light a pair of candles on the mantel.

  “You are too good to me, Georgie,” Rafe said softly when she climbed back into the bed.

  “Nonsense,” she returned. She laid her head upon his wide shoulder. “I’m not so unlike you. I would do anything to ease your pain. I wish I could do more.”

  “You are helping, believe me,” he murmured, his tone gentle. He threaded his fingers through hers and raised her hand to his lips. “I wish I could do the same for you, you know. The other day, when you saw Craven in the street... To see you so upset...” Rafe’s grip tightened on her hand. “Well, suffice it to say, I do not like to see you so. I hope you know that if you ever feel the need to talk about what happened, I’m here for you, my love.”

  Georgie closed her eyes as all the disturbing memories from a decade ago invaded her mind. She shivered and Rafe wrapped one strong arm about her, pulling her close. For so long she’d tried so hard to forget everything that had befallen her, especially the night of her supposed elopement. Of course, she realized now she never would. Part of the reason for her never having spoken about that night was simply due to the fact she’d never felt close enough to anyone who would truly understand. But Rafe would.

  Perhaps if Georgie confided in him as he’d suggested, it would ease her burden a little bit. And didn’t he deserve to know the truth?

  If only her stomach wasn’t so completely tied up in such intolerable, tortuous knots.

  She sat up straighter and eyed Rafe’s brandy. “May I?” she asked.

  Rafe’s lips twitched. “Be my guest.”

  She took a large, fortifying sip, then another before handing the glass back to him. “I want to tell you everything about Lord Craven and what he did... If that’s all right with you.”

  All levity fled Rafe’s expression and a frown of concern creased his forehead. “Of course it is. I am honored that you feel you can confide in me.”

  Georgie nodded and swallowed hard in a feeble attempt to moisten her suddenly very dry mouth. “You may recall he made a promise to me that we would elope.”

  “Yes, but then you did not.”

  “No.” Georgie’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “We most certainly didn’t.”

  Rafe squeezed her hand, lending her support. “What went wrong?”

  “It all sounded so romantic to a naïve debutante. A midnight elopement. Lord Craven sent me a note, asking me to wait for him near the servants’ entrance of the Brook Street townhouse I shared with my Aunt Louisa. It was a bitterly cold Sunday night, foggy and quiet as the grave. A night made for conducting secret liaisons, I told myself. My aunt had retired early as she was wont to do when her rheumatism was acting up. I was convinced that everything would work out perfectly.”

  Rafe’s mouth was a hard, grim line. “Did Craven show?”

  “Yes he did. In hindsight, I really wished he hadn’t.” Now was the time for Georgie to put on her brave face, but it was taking everything she had just to keep her already tight throat from closing up completely and to keep her bottom lip from trembling. “As planned, Oliver arrived at the appointed hour, but when he dismissed my request to have one of his footmen load my small traveling trunk onto the back of the carriage, I should have known something wasn’t quite right.” A brittle laugh escaped her. “Of course I knew something was very wrong as soon as I entered the carriage.”

  Rafe’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

  Georgie forced her stiff lips and tongue to formulate her next words. “There was another man in the carriage. I... I paused in the doorway but Craven pushed me in and forced me to take a seat. Then he slammed the door shut and we moved on.”

  “Go on,” Rafe said softly, his voice nothing but kindness. But Georgie could see a muscle ticking in his lean jaw.

  She swallowed again and cast her gaze downward to where she twisted her silk robe in her fingers. Tears burned at the back of her eyes and she blinked rapidly to clear them. Making this disclosure was going to be harder than she’d ever anticipated, but she wasn’t going to stop now. Somehow, Rafe’s quiet presence gave her strength. “I asked Lord Craven, ‘Is this gentleman to be a witness at our wedding?’ but he merely smirked and then addressed his friend, ‘What say you then, Lord Blaire?’ and then the other man, Blaire, laughed and he said...” Georgie made herself say the words, “He said he thought he was supposed to be a participant, not a witness. Dolt that I was, I asked, ‘Participant in what?’ and Lord Craven stroked my cheek and said, ‘Come now, my dear, surely you cannot be that n
aïve as to think that I ever really intended to wed someone like you, the trumped up, sluttish daughter of a mere tradesman. Your father may have been a baronet but he was only a ship builder after all. Countess material, you are not.’”

  Georgie’s voice had faded to a husky whisper at these last words. Burning anger and shame tangled inside her, an ugly mess of emotions that threatened to rise up and choke her all over again. Ten years had gone by, but the passing of time had done nothing to ease the pain of being so put down. Dismissed and abused.

  She cleared her throat. She’d started her story and she was going to finish it. “Before I could even think to protest, Lord Blaire reached forward and grasped my leg, but he addressed Lord Craven, ‘You said she’d do anything, Oliver. Come now, Miss Winterbourne, don’t be shy. I’ve heard all about what you are particularly good at.’”

  “Oh Georgie,” Rafe squeezed her hand again. “Unfortunately I’ve come across Blaire before, and I know exactly what he’s capable of. I can well imagine—” He broke off and swallowed hard; he was clearly struggling to contain his emotions as well. “I can see how difficult this is for you. You don’t have to tell me any more.”

  Georgie shook her head. “No, no it’s all right. Thankfully, I actually can’t recall much after that. When I... when I refused to comply, Craven forced me to drink a foul, bitter concoction from a flask—I suspect it was cognac, something very strong at any rate, laced with laudanum. I lost consciousness and have no clear memory of what happened to me save for a few disjointed, hazy impressions, like a nightmare I can’t quite remember. So perhaps the fact I was drugged was a blessing in disguise. The next thing I do clearly remember is waking up on the doorstep at the servants’ entrance of the Brook Street townhouse. I had no idea of the time, but I suspected it was close to dawn.”