The next three months passed in a blur—though to Gavin's accounting, still not fast enough. To him, waiting twelve weeks to have Percy was nothing short of torture. Yet according to Mrs. Fines and Lady Harteford, that was the absolute minimum time necessary to prepare for a wedding, and given their tenuous acceptance of him, he'd grudgingly acquiesced. In truth, he needed the time for his leg to heal—a fracture, as it turned out—for he'd be damned if he hobbled down the aisle toward his bride-to-be.
There were other matters to attend to as well.
John Magnus had been sentenced to life imprisonment. From the looks of him at the trial —which both Gavin and Morgan had attended—the old bastard wasn't for long anyway. It nonetheless brought Gavin a measure of peace to see justice finally served. Afterward, he and Morgan had gone to a coffeehouse and discussed the future.
To Gavin's shock, Morgan had offered him a partnership in Fines & Co. You can't stay in the gaming business forever, the marquess had said. Think of Percy and the children you may have one day. Do you want them exposed to that sort of life?
He ... didn't.
He hadn't given Morgan an answer as of yet, but the fact that he was now considering joining forces with the man he'd once hated spoke to how much his life had changed. Freed from the past, from his own anger, he was beginning to feel like a different man. More like the one he'd promised Percy he'd one day be. At times, 'twas disconcerting, but mostly it felt ... right.
Though every moment he spent with Percy was under his future mama-in-law's eagle eye, Gavin relished their cozy talks in the Fines' parlor or garden. Percy wanted to know everything about his past, and he told her, holding nothing back. One Sunday afternoon, she accompanied him to the cemetery where he'd buried Stewart. She held his hand as he said his final farewell to his old friend.
The love shining in Percy's eyes had made their long engagement bearable. Almost.
Now, on the night of his wedding, Gavin paced the length of his suite in his dressing gown. Determined to give Percy the kind of life she deserved, he'd purchased a fashionable townhouse close to the Harteford residence. They'd come here after the wedding brunch hosted by the marquess and marchioness; after meeting the line of servants, Percy had excused herself to get ready for bed.
Bed. His eyes shot to the door of the adjoining bedchamber. The only barrier that separated him from his new bride. Even as elation and lust rushed through him, he felt unaccountably ... nervous. 'Twas the damnedest thing. For so long he'd been intent upon seducing her; now that she finally belonged to him, a twinge of apprehension mingled with his desire.
He scowled, thinking that he had Paul Fines to thank for the bridegroom jitters. His new relation had thrown him a party last week, a silly tribute to Gavin's last moments of freedom. As if Gavin could give a damn about his bachelorhood—given the choice, he'd have thrown it over for Percy in a heartbeat. But he knew a white flag when it was being flown. And now that Fines was staying away from the cards and appeared sober most of the time, Gavin didn't mind the cull so much. So he'd gone.
He'd spent the night being plied with drink and bawdy stories told by well-bred gents. Though Gavin was no stranger to depravity, all the talk of wedding night deflowering had unsettled him. He'd never been with a virgin before. Apparently, they bled. Some even screamed.
A lot.
His hands went clammy at the thought of causing Percy pain. Of her turning away from him in fear or revulsion. Going to the liquor cabinet, he downed a shot of liquid courage. Don't be an idiot, Hunt. She wants you—she loves you. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he went to the door and knocked. When no response came, he drew back his shoulders and opened the door.
The shriek made him jump from his skin.
"Pardon, monsieur! Mrs. Hunt is not ready—" A prune-faced maid barred the way to the room like a soldier on his last stand. From the expression on her face, she clearly thought she was protecting her new mistress from a fate worse than death. Weren't the French supposed to be blasé when it came to sexual matters? Perhaps the maid knew something about wedding nights that Gavin didn't. He swallowed.
"Is that you, Mr. Hunt?"
Following the direction of Percy's sweet voice, he spied her silhouette behind the silk screen in the far corner. The candlelight outlined her nubile figure as she dressed. The sight of her entranced him and brought him back to reality. This was his Percy, now his wife. He'd never hurt her. Then the shadow of her hands began smoothing along her body, and lust bolted through him, momentarily scattering his wits.
For God's sake, man, rein it in.
"Er, do you need more time?" he said.
"Absolutment." The maid nodded vigorously.
"Not really," Percy called out at the same time. "I'm almost done. Thank you for your help, Yvette—you can run along now."
With a last suspicious look at Gavin, the maid departed.
Gavin sat in one of the armchairs by the fire. Silence stretched as he racked his brain for conversation. Unfortunately, his ability to think was severely compromised by Percy's seductive movements behind the screen. God, he hadn't been alone with her for months. Now to see her this way ... He felt randier than a sailor on leave.
A minute later Percy emerged, and the sight of her unbalanced him utterly. He'd seen her in every kind of get-up, from breeches to turbans, but never in the simplicity of her night clothes. She was a bleeding goddess. In a white flannel wrapper dotted with pink flowers, her golden hair falling in shining waves to her waist, she'd never looked more vibrant and pure.
More virginal.
He stood, his chest tangled with want and the desire to do this right.
"Hello, Mr. Hunt," she said.
Her smile loosened some of the knots. "Hello, Mrs. Hunt." He cleared his throat. "May I say you look ravishing?"
"You may." Her eyes sparkled as she approached him. "You look rather ravishing yourself, sir."
His rod twitched at her compliment, eager to prove just how ravishing he found her. Stay in control and go slow, he told himself firmly.
"There's champagne and food," he said, gesturing to the table by the fire. "Would you care to have some?"
"Not really. I'm still full from the brunch." Curling onto the settee, she patted the cushion next to her. "Won't you sit with me?"
He lowered himself next to her, careful to keep his distance lest he pounce on her. Her fresh, citrusy scent made his mouth water. His shaft swelled.
"It's a bit strange to be alone, isn't it?" Percy said into the awkward moment.
"There's no need to rush things. We have all night," he said. To show her he meant it, he added in conversational tones, "I thought the wedding went well, don't you?"
She gave him a look from beneath her lashes. "Very well. To be honest, I wasn't sure how the guests would rub together."
The guest list had represented a hodgepodge of society. Peers of the realm had sat side by side with men from the rookery and middling class folk. For the most part, everyone had behaved themselves—even Alfie, who'd performed the duty of ring bearer with surprising dignity. A near mishap had occurred when the Harteford twins ran into the table holding the wedding cake, but Davey and his brother had managed to save the masterpiece from toppling to the ground. For Gavin, the only sad moment had been Stewart's marked absence; he wished his mentor could have seen Percy, the most radiant bride ever—
Gavin jerked as said bride slid onto his lap. "Percy?" Her name came out as more of a groan for her bottom wriggled enticingly against his member.
"Keep talking if you'd like," she said cheerfully. "I understand 'tis normal to be a trifle anxious on one's wedding night. Or so everyone keeps telling me."
"You little minx," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Are you laughing at me?"
"Only a little." Her hands snuck past the lapels of his robe, and he sucked in his breath when her nails scored lightly against his taut muscles. "I thought I was the virgin here."
He caught her hands. "Aren't you n
ervous, buttercup?" he said seriously.
She tipped her head to one side. "Not really. No. I'd describe my feelings more as ..."
He waited, the epitome of husbandly virtue.
"... impatient? Ready and willing?"
That did it. He took her laughing mouth in a hungry kiss, and all thought of restraint fled at the taste of her, his Percy, sweeter than any nectar. How had he gone weeks without touching her this way? She kissed him back with a passionate urgency that told him she'd missed him just as much.
Lifting her into his arms, he strode toward the bed. He set her down on her feet, his hands fumbling with the tie on her robe as she planted hot kisses along his jaw. God in heaven, she set him afire. He pushed the flannel off her shoulders ... and his breath stuttered.
"What have you got on there?" he rasped.
Percy peered up at him with laughing eyes. "Do you like it?"
"Like is not the word I would use." He ran reverent hands over her white shoulders, fingering the thin cherry straps. "Where the devil did you get this?"
"From Helena's modiste. Helena advised against night-rails, especially the big, frilly ones. She said husbands don't prefer them—what do you think?"
"I think the marchioness has an eye for fashion. I think you should let her dress you from now on." His blood throbbing with anticipation, he murmured, "Give us a turn, love."
Looking a bit bashful, his bride did a slow pirouette. The red silk clung to her form like a second skin, and the slits at the side offered delicious views of her sleek legs. In the front, the neckline plunged nearly to her navel, the deep V filled with peek-a-boo lace of a matching shade. As for the back ... there was none.
He pulled her close, his hand on the smooth, bare dip of her spine. "Do you know how irresistible you are?" he breathed against her neck.
"I'm glad you think so." She sighed as he kissed her shoulder. "Hopefully that means we can get on with things?"
Chuckling at her impatience, he lay her back on the mattress, filling his gaze with the luscious sight of her. His treasure. Covetous as Hades, he ran his hands through her silken tresses. Tonight, he was determined to pleasure his Persephone so that she'd want to stay with him forever. Lowering his head to one firm breast, he suckled the nipple through the silk. He adored her response to him, the way she gasped his name, gripped his hair. He flicked his tongue, teasing the bud into full pertness before moving on to lavish the same attention on the other.
"Oh, Gavin, don't stop," she moaned.
He blew softly against the wet silk and she trembled. "Not until you come for me, love," he promised. "Again and again ..."
Kneeling between her thighs, he drew the red silk upward to her waist. His shaft throbbed as his gaze followed the shapely line of her legs all the way up to the crown of fluffy blond curls. He swallowed, seeing the dew gathered upon her soft little puss and remembering the sweetness of her honey.
"If you don't touch me, Gavin, I'll go mad," she said.
His blood heated further at her beseeching tone. He wanted her mad for him. Wanted her as mad for him as he was for her. "Touch you ... where?"
"Stop teasing. You know," she said.
"Show me, my love. Touch yourself so I'll have no doubt where you want me."
She bit her lip, her passion-flushed cheeks growing even pinker. He wondered if he'd pushed her too far. But then her delicate fingers crept downward. He watched, his cock hard as a granite, as she shyly petted herself.
"There. Are you satisfied?" she said in a breathless voice.
He covered her hand with his, encouraging her movement. "Not until you are," he said huskily. She moaned as he guided their joined fingers to her pearl, rubbing her sensitive bud with insistent pressure. His chest heaved as her moisture coated their fingers. Suddenly, her hips bucked off the mattress as she gave a sharp gasp.
With a growl, he buried his mouth in her pussy, needing to taste her pleasure. He devoured her like a man starved. Her womanly ambrosia intoxicated him; he couldn't get enough of her. As he feasted on her honeyed flesh, he eased a finger inside her. Tight. Unbelievably lush and hot. He began to move his digit, slowly at first, then fucking her steadily as he ate her. Tremors took his wife anew, her sweet cries filling his ears as another orgasm shook her.
*****
Surfacing from an ocean of bliss, Percy gazed up at her husband. With his eyes wild and his tawny hair disheveled, he looked like a man driven to the edge of arousal. Scraps of her negligee were scattered across the bed. He'd brought her to the peak of ecstasy three times already ... yet for some reason he hadn't made the move to take his own pleasure. Then she remembered his earlier nervousness.
Silly man, did he truly fear to hurt her?
"Ready for more, my love?" he said.
Clearly, it was time to take matters into her own hands. She found the tie on his robe, tugged away the knot. His sharp intake of breath filled her ear at the same time that his rampant manhood overflowed her palms. She stroked his deliciously hard flesh, adoring the feel of him, his desperate groans as she pumped him the way he'd once shown her.
"I'm ready for you," she whispered, kissing his quivering jaw. "Ready to be yours in every way."
"Percy ... " His eyes shut as she explored a bit further. Nestled against crisp, dark hair, his sac felt heavy, intriguingly supple. She gave an experimental squeeze. "Christ, woman, I'm not going to last if you do that," he gasped.
"I don't want you to last. I just want you inside me." She smiled at him. "Now, please?"
A crazed look came over him. He tore off his robe, and she gloried in the feel of his hard muscled length pressing her into the mattress, his stiff manhood prodding between her thighs. He smoothed a strand of hair off her forehead.
"I love you, Percy. I'd give anything not to hurt you." His scar taut, he said hoarsely, "I want this to be perfect for you."
"It will be perfect. Because we are together." She cupped his hard jaw in her hands. "You're the man I love, now and forever."
A shudder crossed his heavy shoulders. The intent, adoring look he gave her curled her toes. Her name left his lips in a ragged whisper as he pressed forward. She felt a stinging stretch, a hot, thick glide … and then he was inside her, filling her so completely. A part of her. Tears spilled from her eyes.
"Am I hurting you? Should I stop?" The cords of his neck stood out in stark relief as he held himself still above her, clearly battling for control.
"Don't ever stop," she whispered, wrapping her legs around his lean hips. "Love me, Gavin. Love me as I love you."
"Always," he vowed.
He began to move inside her. Slow, steady thrusts that took away her innocence and replaced it with something far more wondrous. The feeling of belonging she'd yearned for all her life. His eyes never left her face, even as a pleasure flush spread across his lean cheeks and the force and pace of his lovemaking intensified. Her discomfort faded, his deep surges calling forth a new excitement. She moaned as the sensations built, different and more intense than before. Seeking relief from the tension, she instinctively raised her hips to meet his rhythm.
"That's it, love, move with me." Pleasure slurred his words. "I knew it would be this way for us. So hot, so perfect."
"Yes, yes." She clutched his bulging forearms as he drove even deeper, pushing out her breath. The coil in her belly tautened unbearably.
"Can't last much longer. You're milking me ... like a fist." His eyes shut. "Feels too bloody good …"
"Then let go. Come for me, Gavin," she whispered.
"God, yes." His eyes rolled back in his head as he yelled out.
His big body shuddered again and again as he climaxed. His fierce heat shot deep inside her, and the forceful jets propelled her over the edge once more. She tumbled freely, moorings lost to the wild joy of being in her husband's arms.
Later, they lay on their sides, facing each other. Their bodies remained joined, and she saw her own sense of wonderment reflected in his ore-flecked eyes.
He skimmed his knuckles against her jaw.
"I'd say that was worth the wait, buttercup," he murmured.
She sighed dreamily. "It was worth anything."
"Spoken like a gracious loser, my love."
"Wait a minute." Frowning at his smug expression, she said, "Who are you calling a loser?"
"Strictly speaking, this was our fifth meeting. Therefore, you just lost the wager." He patted her rump with satisfaction. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I won't rub your nose in the fact ... too often."
"Why you ... cheat! I assumed the bet was off when you gave Paul back his vowels. This isn't fair," she said indignantly.
"Would you like a re-match then?" Before she could reply, he rolled on top of her. His renewed vigor made her breath catch. "I believe I could be … up for it."
"It won't make for much of a wager now that we're in love and married. There's no reason why we shouldn't go to bed together whenever we want," she grumbled.
"Truer words were never spoken." Smiling, he touched his nose to hers. "If it's any consolation, Percy, I might have taken the wager … but you have won my heart and soul."
Dash the man—how could she argue with that?
With a happy sigh, she gave herself up to his kiss.
EPILOGUE
Gavin awakened to the rocking motion of ocean waves. For a moment, he felt disoriented, then the warm body curled against his righted his world. His lips curved as he ran a possessive hand over his wife's bare hip, burying his face in her fragrant hair. Last night, he'd inaugurated their wedding trip by teaching her to ride astride; with her pretty tits bouncing and her hips gyrating wantonly atop him, she'd driven them both mad with pleasure.
She sighed, her bottom snuggling against his rapidly hardening groin. Yet she slept on. Apparently, he'd worn his insatiable little hoyden out.
Not wanting to disturb her rest, he gently extricated himself and tucked the blankets around her. Donning his clothes, he made his way to the cabin door, pausing at the small desk. His lips curved at the sight of the open, leather-bound volume and, in particular, at the last paragraph on the page:
Her Wanton Wager Page 31