“Come,” he whispered at last, breaking the kiss to lead her to the bed. “Say that you want this.”
She ran her hands over his chest again to stop over his rampaging heart. “I want this.”
“Say you want me.”
“I want you,” she whispered. “All my life, only you.”
“Turn around.” And before she could move, he spun her around, her answering laugh the happy song he had thought never to hear again.
“Too many laces,” he muttered, making quick work of them. “Promise me when you are my duchess, your dressmaker will not use so many.”
Her laugh turned wicked. “As my lord commands.”
“Ah, I love it when I only have to issue orders once.”
He removed her dress and chemise, and spun her round again, leaving her clad in only her shoes and stockings. In the dim light, her skin glowed like porcelain, her nipples taut and pink. He sank to his knees, burying his face against the flat planes of her belly, content to just breathe. “Thank you,” he muttered.
“For what?” she asked, easing off her shoes.
“For not wearing those ridiculous drawers. Because it would be just one more thing to take off before I did this.”
He looked up at her as he slid a hand between her legs, and she felt its heat warming the juncture between her legs and starting the flow of her desire. She sighed, and then whimpered as his fingers begin to explore the folds of flesh, leading to her core. He touched the already swollen bud and slowly, skillfully began to stroke it.
“Gareth!” Her fingers curled against his hair while her body began to writhe.
“Don’t move.” He held her in place with his other arm while his fingers continued their tease. She moaned and squirmed, but he held her fast. And just when he was sure she might scream her release, he removed his hand and stood.
“More of that later,” he promised. “But I should like to reacquaint myself with this bed. I’m not in the mood for acrobatics.”
“Yes,” she panted, stripping off her stockings. “Take off your boots so I can finish undressing you.”
“Yes ma’am.” Gareth plopped on the bed and yanked off the offending footwear and stockings.
“Stand up,” she ordered.
“Yes ma’am. Should I salute you as well?”
“Hush.”
She knelt, paused and placed her hand on the erection straining against his breeches. “Ahh,” she sighed, placing her mouth against the bulging cloth. “Mmmm.”
He groaned. “If you don’t undress me right this minute, I’m going to have to spank you.”
“Can’t have that,” she said, and stripped him of his remaining clothing.
He pulled her to his feet, and with a shared sigh, they sank onto the bed and pulled the sheets around them. The linen smelled of soap, and from a table in the corner, a vase of yellow roses gleamed in the darkness, gently scenting the room.
“How do you suppose Dash knew?” Julia whispered. “Knew that we might need this place today?”
Gareth brushed his lips against her forehead. “Because underneath his foppish façade, Dash has the heart of an incurable romantic. He knew before we did, this was bound to happen.”
“Façade? You mean—”
“Darling, I really don’t want to talk about Dash or anyone else right now. Only us.”
Palming her face between his hands, Gareth kissed her again. “I love you,” he said. “Never, never forget that.”
“Only you,” she whispered. “Always and forever, only you, my darling, precious Gareth.”
His lips met hers again as he eased her onto her back and propped himself on his elbows to trace her nipples with his fingers, gently blowing on them. “I’d almost forgotten these,” he said. “Do they taste the same I wonder?”
“Why don’t you try them and find out?” she invited.
Lowering his mouth, he tasted first one pink knot, then the other, savoring, nibbling, laving. She growled, a low husky sound, anticipating the pleasures to come.
“Satisfied?” she sighed as he raised his head.
“A taste of something more is in order, I think.” Gareth maneuvered his way down the bed, kissing her neck, her collarbone, until his mouth reached the flat plane of her belly. “One should not rush through a banquet.”
She sighed again and without his prompting, opened her legs to him. Gareth shoved the sheets aside and propping himself on his elbows, gazed down at the thatch of golden curls between her legs.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re so very beautiful, my Julia.”
He gently blew on the curls, then his finger touched the core of her femininity again. She squirmed, but he held her in place as he lowered his mouth to part her folds and taste that sweetest of spots. Her juices ran over his tongue, and he suckled greedily.
As his mouth feasted on her, Julia gasped, her hips coming off the bed and he continued his exquisitely delicious torture, bringing her dangerously close to the brink. “Gareth,” she moaned.
“Mmm?”
“Let me touch you while you touch me. Please.”
“As my lady wishes.”
He moved into her embrace, and she rolled them onto their sides, throwing one leg over his hip, taking his length into her hand while his fingers continued their exploration. She curled her hand around him, letting its warmth throb in her palm before she began to work in a slow up-and-down motion, all the while keeping her gaze on his beloved face. Smiling, he stared back, his eyes, heavy-lidded in blissful ecstasy. He moved his hand so that now both were placed on either side of her head and leaned in to kiss her.
“Sorceress,” he whispered. “You bewitched me all those years ago. What spell did you cast so that no matter how I tried, I couldn’t forget you?”
“The same one you cast over me the first day we met,” she murmured. Her hand continued its gentle work while the other played with his nipples again, her heart beating with a rib-bruising rhythm and she whimpered, “I can’t take— Gareth, I need you inside me. Now.”
“Good, because, I don’t think I can wait any longer.” With a groan, Gareth rolled her over onto her back again and she opened her legs to receive him. Propping himself on his elbows, he hesitated a fraction of a second, as if this were their first time, before slowly, tenderly, pushing inside her.
She gasped in delight as he entered her, long and hard, and she wrapped her legs around his hips to pull him in deeper before setting her own hips into a slow, rocking motion. “See how well we fit together?” she whispered, lacing her fingers through his dark hair as his body on hers sent ripples of heat along her skin.
“It’s like a dance,” he murmured, pulling back only to slide deep inside her again. “Back and forth, and back and forth…”
She laughed softly. “Not a gavotte, I hope.”
“Hardly,” he whispered, brushing her lips against hers. “It’s a dance of our own making, and for us alone.”
She brushed her fingers down his back to stroke, then cup, the hard muscles of his backside and groaned as he drove deeper into her. “Ah Gareth,” she gasped. “You feel so good.”
“So do you, my saucy wench. Just as you always have.” He wiggled his eyebrows while keeping up the smooth, even strokes of his lovemaking. He smiled and she thought she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes.
“I love you,” she whispered. “Only you.”
“Julia, my love. My life.” He lowered his head to kiss her and she tasted the remains of her essence clinging to his lips, setting her heated skin aflame and carrying her toward the brink of ecstasy, an ecstasy only to be found in the arms of this man. And then their rhythm sped up, her hips matching his thrusts, until their labored breathing became twin cries of release, and they lay wrapped in blissful silence, spent and completed once more.
* * * * *
A burst of sunlight through the hut’s one small window woke them after a brief sleep. They loved again, this time even more slowly but with no less
passion. Afterward, Gareth propped himself on his elbow and said, “This may be an odd time for questions, but why did Fleming not have your marriage annulled when he learned you were not a virgin?”
“He never knew,” she said through a contented yawn.
He squinted down at her. “I know that smile, you minx. How did you fool him?”
Julia chuckled. “You already know of Maria’s talent for mixing potions. Charles planned to ply me with champagne on our wedding night so I would be relaxed. When his back was turned, I slipped the potion into his glass. He fell asleep within minutes.”
Gareth’s eyes widened. “But didn’t he look for proof of—”
“His deflowering me?” Julia fluttered her eyelids in a parody of innocence. “There was a basket of fruit in the room. I took a small paring knife, scratched the heel of my foot and dotted the blood on the sheets. Hence evidence of the consummation. I was all shyness when he woke the next morning.”
Gareth roared with laughter. “We should have employed you as a spy during the wars! We might have defeated Napoleon long before Waterloo.”
Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I feared it would later hurt Lucy’s chances of making a good marriage if Charles learned I was damaged goods.”
His lips gently brushed her eyes before feathering down her face and back to her mouth. “Never call yourself that, my love,” he whispered. “But what about other times? Surely you didn’t continue to dose him throughout your entire marriage?”
Julia shuddered at the memory. “Not often enough, though Maria kept a ready batch of the potion. There were times when I had no opportunity and had to endure his touch. After you—”
He kissed her. “Enough. Let me love away those memories.”
She cupped his face in her hands. “Did you hate me after you received that wretched letter?”
“I tried,” he admitted. “I wanted to forget you. I was reckless, wild in battle. I didn’t care if I died.”
Julia trembled. “And I nearly sent you to your death. Oh, Gareth—”
“Hush, love. Your father and Fleming worked a piece of devilry. Both of us were fooled. But now…” He pulled her to sit on top of him so she could feel his arousal. “Now I have thoroughly ruined your reputation. Too bad we didn’t try this at Cheswick’s party. Clayton would never have married a girl whose older sister behaved like a wanton at an Earl’s party. He’s a real stickler for propriety.”
“I’ll show you wanton,” she teased, moving her hips.
“Wench,” he returned, pulling her down to kiss her.
A rapid tattoo of knuckles on the hut’s door sent them scrambling to pull the sheets around them seconds before the door swung open to reveal a grinning William.
“I should have looked here sooner,” he laughed. “But three might have been awkward. And then of course my valet would have a fit if the rain had ruined my new jacket.”
“Your sense of timing is abysmal,” Gareth snapped.
“So is George Heaton’s,” William replied.
Julia gasped. “My father is here?”
“Yes, and he brought Viscount Clayton with him.” William’s grin broadened. “Do come and see. Cheswick is beside himself with glee. I’ll go on ahead.”
After making sure all laces were done up, but surrendering her unbound hair as a lost cause, Gareth and Julia hurried back to the guests. The elderly, and overdressed Viscount Clayton, powdered wig askew, stood pouting while Heaton, his skin a delightful shade of bilious green, was shaking his fist at an unperturbed Cheswick. Seeing Julia, Heaton turned and shouted, “You! You call yourself my daughter?”
“Only because I must,” Julia said forlornly.
“Whore,” Heaton snarled.
In two steps, Gareth had him by the throat, feet dangling in the air as his hands slowly tightened. “Don’t. Ever. Talk. To. My. Wife. Like. That.”
“Your wife,” Julia sighed. “How lovely that sounds.”
“Oh, put him down, Gareth,” Cheswick commanded. “You’re spoiling my fun.”
“Very well.” Gareth heaved him against a blinking Clayton, sending both men to the ground. Staggering to his feet, Heaton glared at Cheswick. “For the last time, where is Lucy?”
“Right here, Papa,” a young voice called.
The assembly turned to find a beaming Lucy and James coming toward them. Lucy’s unbound hair, and James’ rumpled shirt and poorly tied cravat—one that would have killed Brummell outright—provided more than enough evidence of what they had been doing. Julia wished there was a way to reproduce and keep the expressions of outrage on her father and Clayton’s faces.
Heaton pointed at James. “What the devil do you think you’re doing, sir? Unhand my daughter at once!”
“That’s my Lucy,” Clayton objected. “You can’t touch her like that.”
“Of course I can,” James said. “I can do anything I like with my wife.”
“Wife?” Clayton choked out the word.
“Yes,” Lucy said happily. “That’s what he can call me, now that we’re married.”
“Married!” Heaton sputtered. “When?”
“Yesterday morning by special license, with yours truly providing the setting,” Cheswick said with a bow.
“Gareth obtained the special license the night of my little fete, and then close to midnight the wedding party hot-footed it down here. You and old Pudgy there are too late, Heaton.”
“Oh, I say!” Clayton protested. “This is outrageous.”
Cheswick scowled. “It’s outrageous to think an old fool like you could be permitted to marry the Season’s brightest jewel. But you can shut up now. Where was I? Ah, yes. So we band of conspirators—William included—took matters into our own hands and now Lucy Heaton is happily married to James Conrad. Too bad, Clayton. The last time I heard, it’s against the law for a woman to have two husbands.”
Heaton’s mouth fell open. “This is all that Maria’s doing?” he shouted. “I’ll have the bitch jailed for attempted murder!”
“As my future wife’s maid is working for me now,” Gareth said coolly, “I’d advise you not to interfere with the running of my household.”
“You can’t do this!” Heaton shouted again, giving his fury to his younger married daughter. “I’ll have the damn thing annulled.”
“You can’t,” a grinning James told him. He wrapped his arms around Lucy’s waist and rested his chin on her head. “We’ve spent the past day and a half in bed. And we weren’t sleeping, either.”
“Cheswick, I’ll have your head for this!” Heaton snarled, turning back to step toward the earl.
“No, you won’t,” Cheswick yawned. Then his languid expression vanished, and his eyes narrowed, stopping any further protest. “Once again you tried to sell your daughter to the highest bidder, but this time you have failed, Heaton. You are a greedy, lying, bast—”
“I must ask you not to speak that way in front of my future Duchess, Cheswick,” Gareth warned. “That is if she still wants me.”
For a moment, happiness slowed Julia’s reply. “Always,” she said at last. “Always.”
“And speaking of weddings, you should have a special license with you, don’t you Heaton? Or Clayton should,” Cheswick said, holding out his hand. “Come on, give it over.”
“No.” Heaton folded his arms over his chest.
“I really must insist.” A mournful note entered Cheswick’s voice.
“Who’s going to make me?” Heaton sneered. “A fop like you?”
“Well, yes, since you put it like that.”
The guests gasped as Cheswick produced a gun from an inside coat pocket and aimed at the uninvited guests, Heaton’s mouth fell open and he shrank back. “Ch-Ch-Cheswick?”
“Indeed, yes,” Cheswick said grimly, walking toward him. Gone was the light tone, the affected posturing, and Julia shivered in delight at the horror on her father’s face as the real Earl of Cheswick revealed himself.
“I really must thank
you, Heaton,” Cheswick said, “for giving me the opportunity to publicly drop the persona that served me so effectively during the wars. No one would expect a ‘fop like me’ of spying for His Majesty’s government. It is only with the Regent’s blessing that I drop that persona now. Where was I? Ah, yes. The question remains which of you should I shoot first? Or perhaps I should give that honor to Gareth. For you, Heaton, have certainly made his life a misery.”
“Perhaps we should let William do it,” Gareth suggested. “He always was the best shot of all of us. William, would you do us the honor?”
“Love to.” William smiled his tiger smile. “Cheswick, if you’ll just hand me your weapon.”
“For heaven’s sake, Heaton, give Cheswick the damn license,” Clayton whined. “I’m not about to lose my life over a chit of a girl.”
Grumbling, Heaton pulled a leather wallet from his coat, took out the license and handed it over. “You haven’t heard the last of this, Cheswick.”
“Oh, go away,” Cheswick commanded, still keeping the gun aimed at the disappointed pair. “Or I’ll let the lads eat you for dessert. What do you think, lads? Care for an after luncheon snack?”
The dogs rose, bared their teeth, and trotted forward, sending Heaton and Clayton sprinting for their coach. A moment later, it rumbled its hasty departure back down the drive. Amid the guests’ cheers, Cheswick said, “Well, now that that’s settled, I think we should make another wedding. After all, no sense in letting that license go to waste. How thoughtful of me to invite a clergyman today. Vicar Dowling, will you do the honors?”
The white-haired man bowed to Gareth and Julia. “If His Grace wants, I can take care of that right now.” Looking at Julia’s unbound hair and Gareth’s open collar, he added, “From what I can see, the sooner the better.”
Gareth slipped his arm around Julia’s waist. “Let’s do it, love,” he urged. “I’ll give us a post wedding fete that Society will talk about for years.”
“Society will talk as soon as Clayton and Fleming get back to town,” Cheswick said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “I can hardly wait to get back and tell The Tabbies. But first, let’s get Gareth and Julia married. Lucy, will you and James fetch the flowers from that vase on the table in the pagoda, please?”
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