The Gentleman's Promise (Daughters of Amhurst)

by Fowlkes, Frances

  “But I do. I have read my fair share of anatomy books as well as the volume on the Indian art of lovemaking. I know our proposed intimacies could result in a child. It is a risk I am willing to take, if only to savor the memory when I no longer have you in my arms.”

  She stood on her toes and touched her lips to the throbbing pulse beneath his jaw.

  Dear Jesus. His will was slipping, his resistance futile against her seduction. She was an expert in her craft, ensnaring him with her charms, but he was a gentleman. And before he discovered precisely how many times she had read The Kama Sutra, Lord help him now, he would make his intentions known.

  “I am not a rogue.” He swept the backs of his fingers across her cheek. Her skin was so soft. And breathtakingly perfect. She was beautiful. An angel, and he a devil should he continue his pursuit without letting her know, in no uncertain terms, what it would cost her.

  “I would have you as my wife, Sarah. I would not encumber you with the possible consequences of our actions without your consent and hand in marriage.”

  “Is that a proposal?” She blinked up at him, her eyes looming large in the dim light.

  Why should he not marry her? He was the first son of a viscount and she the daughter of an earl. As bloodlines went, theirs were well suited.

  Her reputation was marred and was a hindrance against his campaign, but with the marquess’s probable recovery, the man was indebted to Sarah, and to him. His political backing would boost Jonathon’s standing and his campaign would be secured. The Earl of Amhurst had won Lady Henrietta despite his less than perfect past and her stuttering. Why, even Sarah’s twin, Lady Albina, had taken the groom-turned-viscount as her husband and did not suffer greatly from the peculiarity.

  Their union was acceptable and could be done, and he wanted to be with her more than anything.

  “It is.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I cannot tell if you are being serious or engaging in the single-handed best theatrical performance I have ever seen.”

  He set the candle to the floor and reached for her hands. “I would not do you the dishonor of belittling my feelings for you. I wish to marry you because I love you.”

  A short breath escaped her lips. “I did not know. I had hoped, yes, but—”

  He clasped her face in his hands. “Then do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

  She did not voice her acceptance, but instead, she kissed him with a fervor unlike before.

  He took it as a confirmation and gently pushed her toward his door to claim her as his.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sarah inched up to a door, her back flush against the wood, her mouth greedily drinking in the peppermint-infused heat of Jonathon’s kisses.

  Her mind comprehended what he had just offered with his words—ones she had never believed she would ever hear—but her body overruled the significance of their meaning, the needs of her flesh outweighing anything other than its fulfillment.

  She was to be Jonathon’s wife. But first, his lover.

  And that was all that mattered.

  Her reputation, the marquess and his health, the likelihood Olivia still laid awake, awaiting her return—none of it breached into the rational center of her mind. Her entire world was directly focused and centered on the man who had offered her the security of his name, along with the happiness he provided with every nibble of his teeth.

  Dear God, her body was on fire. She’d always maintained a detachment from her feelings through reading. As an observer, it had been easy to think about the context of the Kama Sutra as a stand-in for her own sexual desire. But now, she needed him to quench the heat that throbbed low and deep between her thighs. She slid her hand into his sand-colored hair and ran her fingers through the short, soft strands.

  “Sarah.” Jonathon’s throaty groan set her blood pounding. There was nothing more seductive than hearing her name spoken in such an intimate and yearning tone.

  He shifted to the left and held her against him as the door opened into the room. She did not stop kissing him, but intensified her movements, allowing her hands to glide down his head, to his neck, and to his broad shoulders. As though challenged by her unwillingness to break their connection, he continued to kiss her while he hoisted her off the floor and into his arms.

  He pulled away after he set her atop the large mattress of his bed. The glow from a full moon lit the room, the draperies left open, likely in anticipation of a late return. She was thankful for his calculated insight.

  He put a finger to his lips and left her, disappearing through the servant’s door. The brief respite from Jonathon’s lovemaking left her chilled and aching for his return, which he did promptly—with a still lit candle in his grasp. Placing it on a side table, he doused the flame with one hand and closed the servant door with the other.

  She was alone with Jonathon. In his chambers, with only a thin beam of moonlight illuminating his features. He stared at her intently as he walked toward her. Even with the limited lighting, she could see his handsome face—and his unmitigated desire.

  How many hours had she spent poring over the pages of the forbidden Indian book on lovemaking? She had studied the words, peered at the pictures, and understood the text. She was educated and informed…and emboldened with confidence.

  With one hand, she slid her muslin and dress robe off her shoulders, exposing the thin chemise beneath. He paused, his gaze darting to her hand. Her heart hammered as excitement empowered her. Smiling, she pulled the drawstring of her chemise until the ribbon came undone and the fine fabric slipped over her skin and pooled at her waist.

  The chill air of the evening prickled her flesh.

  Jonathon swallowed, his eyes dark in the silver gleam of the moon. “And here I thought it was I who would seduce you.” His voice was low and rich, thick with longing.

  Her chest fluttered as her nipples hardened under his scrutiny. “I cannot pursue you as I wish to be pursued? I understood this to be an even playing field, where we have an equal amount to gain.”

  His mouth curled with devilry as he closed the gap between them. He knelt in front of her, much like a worshipper before their idol. “That we do, my lady.”

  He brought his lips to hers, his fingers trailing over her jaw and down the expanse of her neck. Her skin heated as his hand lowered and he palmed her breast.

  Sarah let out a moan. She couldn’t help it. Her body responded of its own accord, heating and flushing with every bit of contact with his flesh.

  His lips left hers and followed the path his fingers had blazed seconds prior. She yearned for his experienced hands, wishing they would ease the ache growing deep between her legs. Her heart rate increased as his tongue flicked over her flesh and he took her nipple in his mouth.

  “Dearest Sarah,” he whispered. “You’ll be the very undoing of me.”

  Deaf to his words, she threw back her head and dug her hands into his hair, encouraging him to continue. He did not disappoint, moving his administrations from one breast to the other. His tongue delivered a pleasure she had not previously imagined.

  And she imagined a lot.

  It appeared reading of seduction and experiencing it were two very different things.

  Jonathon’s mouth left her breast.

  “Please don’t stop,” she urged, her hands directing his head back to her swollen peak.

  He chuckled, his breath hot against her skin. “Oh, I don’t intend to. I simply have other areas to explore.”

  That, he did. She remembered the book and the graphic pictures illustrating the intimate act between man and woman.

  Her most private of areas, the very core of her womanhood, heated in expectancy. She sought to help him in his endeavors by pushing her chemise over the swell of her hips, but his hand stilled hers.

  With a smile, he lifted his hand to shrug out of the shirt covering his chest.

  Dear Jonathon, indeed.

  He was glorious, a perfect reincarnation of the marble Greek gods
she had viewed on a recent visit to the British Museum. She touched a finger to the cord of muscles flexing beneath his skin.

  “Perfection,” she said. She indulged her curiosity and swept her hands over his arms and to the coarse curls spread across his chest.

  “You flatter me,” he answered in admonishment, though a hunger lit his eyes and a smile stretched his lips. “I cannot compare to the sight before me.”

  Sarah giggled. “Why, Mr. Annesley. You give your compliments freely.”

  “I give many things freely to you, Sarah.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrists and pulled her off the bed and into his embrace. Her breasts flatted against his chest as her chemise slipped over her hips and onto the floor. But her nakedness was not the only thing she noticed. A large bump pressed against her stomach through the fabric of his breeches.

  She had read of a man’s sexual response to a woman’s seduction. This was his engorged male genitalia, swollen with his desire. For her.

  And she was humbled beyond measure.

  Not only could she identify his anatomy and the causes for its rigid state, she had read precisely how to touch it for his greatest and optimal pleasure.

  She’d come this far—there was no reason to become hesitant or shy now.

  With a deep breath and a kiss to his lips, Sarah slipped a finger between the buttons of his breeches and did precisely as the text had instructed.

  …

  Breathless, aroused, and focused intently on the woman before him, Jonathon let out a low moan as her fingers worked the front fall of his breeches loose and Sarah wrapped her hand around his stiff engorgement.

  Christ.

  With a gasp, he slid his hands down her waist. She was divine, a goddess incarnate, conjuring all sorts of magic with her hands. He did his best to return the favor, massaging the fullness. She was stunning, her curves proportioned into a sublime figure of beauty and womanhood.

  Enjoying his observations, he allowed himself the privilege of exploration—and moved his hands to the triangle of curls between her legs.

  “Jonathon,” she murmured.

  She rubbed the base of her thumb over the top of his shaft and sent him trembling into a bout of pleasure-wrought agony. His hunger for her intensified and Jonathon felt himself swimming in the swells of passion unleashed by her far too experienced hands. Had she not confessed to reading The Kama Sutra, he would not have believed her a maid, her knowledge of earthly gratification far more extensive than it ought to be.

  “God, Sarah.” He groaned, his breath hitching as she continued her ministrations. “You studied the book well.”

  She brought her mouth to his, her teeth tugging at his lips. If he wasn’t careful, he’d spend himself on her teasing alone.

  Sarah pulled away to kiss the side of his neck. “I am an excellent student,” she breathed into his skin. “I look forward to more physical instruction.”

  Jonathon swallowed. Hard. He moved forward, edging her back onto the bed and settling her head gently atop the pile of pillows. With another kiss, he touched a finger to the petals of her womanhood.

  Her eyes round, she watched him as he rubbed the soft nub of her core. She arched beneath him and let out a low moan. “I didn’t imagine it would feel like—”

  “Like what?” he prompted. She was ready for him, her folds wet and hot, his control waning as she writhed beneath his touch.

  “Like the essence of pleasure itself.” Her breath was ragged. She was on the edge of release, and he desperately wanted to see her fulfilled.

  Dipping his head, he touched his mouth to her pink petals and tasted Sarah in the most intimate fashion.

  As she moaned, her fingers clutched his head, pulling at his hair as he drank the sweet nectar of her core. She let out a squeal and convulsed around him. “I didn’t think—” She gasped.

  “You don’t have to,” he murmured back. “You only need to feel.”

  “I want more. I want you to fill me like I read in the pages of the book. I want you to complete the art of seduction and claim me as your future wife.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at the desperate tone of her pleading. She wanted him.

  As he wanted her.

  Trailing his mouth over her stomach, he spoke between every kiss. “I can heed your request, my dear, but it will not feel as the pages instructed.”

  “It will feel better?” she asked.

  His smile deepened. “Yes and no. Your first time can be painful. And not as pleasurable as those that will follow.”

  She gripped his shoulders as his mouth once again found the swollen tip of her breast.

  “Please…” She moaned.

  He pulled away from her voluptuous curves and glided his member to her wet folds. He would not last long, his desire for her so great he had lost all fear for the consequences their act could yield. He would marry her at first light were he able. He was a man besotted.

  A man in love with the woman naked and waiting in his bed, and it was time he showed her the depth of his feelings. He sank into the heat between her legs. He did his best to be gentle but firm, forcing him to pace himself and act not as a man who was tempted beyond measure.

  She wrapped her legs around him, bucking on the mattress. Her hands grabbed her breasts as she moaned low and guttural, in a pool of light cast by a full moon.

  The erotic sight of her was too much. He could not restrain his carnal urges, even had he wanted. With a careful thrust, he plunged deeper.

  She tensed beneath him as she gasped and shut her eyes.

  “Sarah.” He sighed.

  She opened her lids and gazed at him, her eyes dark with her ardor. “Don’t stop.”

  With a smile, he obliged and embraced the rapturous delight of his release.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Sarah, wake up. It’s near dinner, dearest, and the gossip mill is in fine form. I have fended them off as best as I am able, but Jonathon is not forthcoming, and without you there to give confirmation, I fear the worst.” Olivia’s voice boomed in the still quiet of the room.

  Sarah sat upright, her eyes blinking against the bright sunlight pouring through the drawn bedroom windows. Being woken to Olivia’s pleading was becoming far too common an occurrence. “What time is it?”

  “Well past the hour of sleep, I assure you. But given your late evening escapades, you’ve been granted leniency. Though, for how much longer, I cannot say.”

  A dull ache throbbed between her legs, reminding her of what had transpired hours before. She had begrudgingly left Jonathon and mentally prepared herself to face Olivia and the barrage of questions she would undoubtedly ask upon her return. Only her friend had fallen asleep in her absence, and Sarah, spent from her exertions, had collapsed onto her bed, unbidden.

  Pushing off her bed linens, she snatched the muslin Olivia offered. “And Lord Vincent? How does he fare?”

  She had administered her wine and had left instructions with Lady Vincent to do the same. There had been nothing more to do. Whatever anyone believed, her skills and supplies were limited. Her bottle of fermented elderberries was not endless and the contents were low. But despite the odds against the elder lord, she was confident in her vintage. She had witnessed the healing properties firsthand and trusted her formula.

  What she did not trust was the marquess’s reaction to it.

  Olivia fingered the bed linens. “His health is doing better than your reputation.”

  Her arm partway through the sleeve of her gown, Sarah paused. “Whatever do you mean? If his health has improved, my reputation should have as well.” Jonathon had hinted as much. She had polished the last of the tarnish from her name and absolved herself of her sins with her assistance to the marquess. Had news of her proclivities not yet reached the rest of the party?

  “Has the marchioness not relayed my role in his recovery?”

  “In part, yes.”

  “What part, Olivia?”

  “The part where you offered you
r aid in his hour of need.”

  “And?”

  “And… And people believe her.”

  “How is that not in my favor?” She tugged the dress over her head and turned for Olivia to pull her laces and sew the dress closed.

  “Because, while people believe you did go to Lord Vincent’s bedside, some question why your help was needed at all.”

  “He ailed. I should think it explanatory. Not to mention you and Jonathon pleaded for my compliance.”

  “Of course, but—”

  “But what?”

  “They still think your hand was involved. Well, they…they think you made him ill so you might have the opportunity to redeem yourself.”

  Sarah’s heart sank in her chest as a sick fear twisted her gut.

  If the general consensus believed her guilty of subterfuge and self-preservation, then there was nothing she could do or say to convince them otherwise. She could cure syphilis, and they would continue to believe her motivations selfish.

  Because she had once harmed another.

  The truth of her fate was damned. No matter her talents, she would never be appreciated for them. Oh, they would call on her in their darkest hour of need, but she would never be respected for her intellect, her quick thinking—her mind. She was a deviant of Society and as such, she would never be trusted.

  “And your argument to the contrary?”

  Olivia peered off at the window. “Dismissed and discredited.”

  “And Jonathon?” The man had mountains of credibility and, more importantly, the ton’s trust. If they did not accept his answer they would not accept hers. Even if she bore his name—or God help them, his sons.

  A wave of nausea washed over her as the awful truth was realized. Her differences condemned not only her future children, but her husband as well, a man who wished to save others from their past with the promise of a bright future.

  One she darkened.

  Guilt weighed heavy on her shoulders.

  “He offered his support to your cause and argued against their ridiculous claims, but—”

  “They did not believe him.” Sarah sank onto the edge of the bed and brought her hands to her face. The queasiness in her stomach increased.