Private Passions

by Felicia Greene

  ‘Yes. A thousand times yes. But—’ Poppy paused, smiling. ‘But at least hurry as you carry me up the stairs.’

  Grancourt did hurry as he made his way up the stairs, Poppy held tightly in his arms. Hurried so much, in fact, that he almost tripped on a step. He also hurried on his way down the corridor to his bedroom, managing to open the door despite Poppy’s laughter in his ear driving him to distraction.

  He was very tempted to take her on the plush, patterned carpet, and leave the bed for next time. He had been tempted to take her on the stairs; the thought of Poppy leaning back against the plush stair-carpet, naked and begging for him, was almost more than he could bear. But this was more special than that; there would be time for that, time and time again… now was the time for his bedroom, and his bed, the clean sheets filling the air with the scent of cotton and sandalwood.

  For a long, delicious stretch of time, there were no words between them. No words were needed when touches could take their place; touches and kisses of every kind. Grancourt had been enamoured of her body for so long, the shape and strength and softness of Poppy Maldon, that revealing her naked skin felt like unwrapping a sacred object. He took his time, unbuttoning and unlacing with fierce, passionate attention until Poppy lay beneath him, her full breasts and shadowed triangle of curls unbearably lovely in the candlelight.

  ‘You are beautiful.’ He breathed the words over her body, gently exhaling, watching goose-flesh ripple over the pale skin with an agonising throb of lust.

  ‘Thank you.’ Poppy’s hands moved to his shirt. ‘I am sure you are as well. Alas, I cannot make any judgements.’

  ‘I am decidedly less beautiful than you.’ Grancourt smiled as he felt Poppy beginning, however clumsily, to undress him. ‘I fear you will be disappointed.’

  ‘I do not. I do not believe I fear anything anymore.’ Poppy gathered the linen of his shirt into her hands, the excitement in her movements reflecting the upswell of lust in Grancourt’s own body. How strange it felt; how new, and how utterly familiar at the same time. ‘Do not let fear stay your hands.’

  ‘I see.’ Grancourt brought his hand to her waist, marvelling at the soft curve as he stroked her. ‘Are you commanding me?’

  Poppy’s smile caught at his heart. ‘Yes.’

  With movements that grew faster and more impatient by the minute, and Poppy tugging at every spare inch of cloth, he was soon free of his clothes. Grancourt found himself pausing as he covered her with his body, struck at the sense of vulnerability; Poppy naked was one thing, but Poppy naked against his own bare skin was something else entirely. He had to look at her, anchor himself in her curious, laughing gaze, before he could give himself over to pleasure.

  ‘I do not know what to do.’ Poppy looked up at him, her eyes full of catlike curiosity as she accustomed herself to his weight. ‘I am extremely unprepared.’

  ‘You do not have to do anything that you do not wish to do.’ Grancourt watched her relax against the pillows, her lush, ripe nakedness making his cock harden to the point of pain against her thigh. ‘This… this is for your pleasure, Poppy. All for you.’

  ‘And your pleasure?’ Poppy smiled. ‘Where does your pleasure come from?’

  ‘From you.’ Grancourt found himself smiling; had he ever been so happy, here in his own bed? ‘From your pleasure.’

  He couldn’t wait any longer. His mouth covered hers; how sweet her kisses tasted when she was resting against his own pillows, the divine scent of her mingling with the clean cotton of the sheets. Now there was no need to confine himself to her mouth, her neck; he could kiss his way along her shoulders, her collarbones, the soft flesh of her upper arms. He could bring his hands to her breasts, her naked breasts, running his fingers over them with the joy of brief possession; he could let his thumbs stroke over her hard, stiff nipples, pink as a brazen kiss against her pale skin, and watch her blush as he gently pinched them.

  ‘Oh.’ Poppy bit her lip; Grancourt felt her writhe a little as he kept his fingers tight on her nipples. ‘I…’

  ‘Good? Bad?’ Grancourt bent his head to her breasts; he kissed one nipple, drawing it into his mouth, softly pressing his teeth to her swollen peak as Poppy gasped. ‘So awful that I should stop immediately?’

  ‘No. Under no circumstances should you stop.’ Poppy looked down, a soft wash of colour on her cheeks. ‘I… I do not know quite how to say it.’

  Grancourt pulled away, concerned. ‘Then show me.’

  Looking at him with what looked like a mixture of caution and curiosity, Poppy took one of his hands in hers. Grancourt let his forehead rest against hers, swallowing a heartfelt moan of surprised desire as she softly, slowly placed his hand at the meeting of her thighs.

  ‘I am…’ She spread her thighs a little; Grancourt felt how hot she was, how wet, and fervently kissed her neck. ‘Do not stop. The more you touch me, the more it… it’s just more.’ Her eyes were full of new, exciting knowledge. ‘Is it right?’

  ‘It is the only thing I want.’ Grancourt let one finger stroke along her slick, waiting entrance; Poppy gasped, shivering under his touch. ‘The only thing.’

  With renewed zeal, he bent his head back to her breasts. Now he could lick, and suck, and love her with his mouth as much as he wished; now he could stroke her mound, caressing her most intimate place with a passion that only became stronger when mixed with tenderness. Mapping her body, knowing her body, learning her body; this was what he gave himself to, what he gave to her for a long, uninterrupted stretch of time, until her hand reaching down to his cock stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘This.’ Poppy sighed happily as she pulled him closer still, the head of his cock nudging against her damp curls. ‘I do, at least, know that this is meant to be involved.’

  ‘... Are you sure?’ Grancourt didn’t want to stop her; didn’t want her to do anything other than guide him inside her, gripping him, welcoming him. ‘Only if you are sure.’

  ‘I am sure. Very sure. But please tell me if this is too strange.’ Poppy reached up her other hand, stroking his hair; Grancourt shivered at the softness of her touch. ‘I understand if—if—’

  ‘Do you find this too strange?’ Grancourt seized her hand, kissing it. ‘If you do, Poppy, then we can simply cease and—’

  ‘No. I do not. Not at all.’ Poppy swallowed, looking up at him. ‘Neither do I feel particularly scandalous. I believe I am meant to feel scandalous.’

  Oh, how I love you. Grancourt moved to kiss her, slow and lingering, the feel of her nakedness against him more beautiful than anything he had ever known. ‘Things only feel scandalous if they are wrong.’

  ‘But this is wrong.’ Poppy blinked. ‘According to the ton, at any rate.’

  ‘Yes. But the ton are the ton.’ Grancourt shifted his hips, sighing as he felt her heat against his cock. ‘We are us.’

  There was no verbal response from Poppy. Instead, with a delighted, innocent look that had Grancourt swallowing a growl of desire, she slowly opened her thighs.

  ‘Will it hurt?’ She whispered in his ear, a little breathlessness in her voice. ‘I have heard that it hurts, sometimes.’

  ‘I believe it will.’ Grancourt reached down, kissing his way along her neck as she sighed with pleasure. ‘If it does, I will try to lessen it.’

  ‘Good.’ Poppy bit her lip. ‘And… and hold me. If it does.’

  ‘I will hold you until the end of time.’ Grancourt let his lips rest against her neck, marvelling at the softness of her skin. ‘Until the end of time, and beyond it.’

  He knew it hurt as he entered. He couldn’t avoid it; couldn’t ignore the way Poppy tensed, stiffening in his arms. Grancourt stilled, kissing her with slow, deliberate care, her silken tightness sending wicked, lightning sparks through every part of him as he waited for her... and then, with a small, broken gasp, Poppy moved her hips of her own accord.

  ‘Yes.’ She said it very quietly, almost to herself. ‘I… I can go on. I want to go on.’

&n
bsp; Grancourt, kissing her with a low, heartfelt sigh, went on.

  As he sank inside her, her body tightly wrapped around his, her heart beating rapidly against his chest, he found himself wishing that morning would never come. All that mattered was now; a now that contained an infinity of stillness, of waiting, of slow, delicious movement when he judged the time was right. Grancourt, his first thrusts met by high, happy gasps from Poppy as she kissed him, wished with every fibre of his being that time would simply stop.

  Please, any God that listens, let morning never come. Let him stay here, loving her, his slow, deep thrusts sending jolts of pure sensation through him as he bent his head to her breasts. Let him spend time here, lavishing attention on her breasts, her nipples, her throat as she whimpered with pleasure… let her hips keep curving upward, bringing him deeper, welcoming him.

  Please, let morning never come. Let it remain forever night; a soft, inky, London night, starlight glimmering outside the windows as Poppy’s gasps of pleasure filled the room. Her core quivered around him, gripping his cock, tightening again and again as Grancourt felt her climax building.

  Let morning never come. Her arms were tight around his neck; her body moved beneath him, in time with him, each movement forging a new way of being with one another. Grancourt bit his lip, burying his face in her shoulder as his own peak came; he was so close, so very close to finishing, with so many hours before him to begin again and again…

  ‘Henry.’ Poppy’s breathless, shocked whisper only added fuel to his fire. ‘Henry, I—oh, do not stop.’ Grancourt felt her move faster; her hips were matching his own, her body full of the same rhythm that drove him forward. ‘Please.’

  He would never stop, if she commanded him not to. He would never stop loving her; he would be bones, then dust, still loving her as much as he had when she had leaned her head against his shoulder in the inn. Grancourt, moaning helplessly as he felt the familiar tightness at his core, hoped that Poppy could feel the strength of his love for her.

  ‘Oh, Poppy.’ Her name felt like a blessing; a charm against age, sickness, death. Sensation overwhelmed him; he clung to her, hearing her moan as she tightened again around his cock, keeping him inside her. Once, twice, three times; Grancourt felt his own release as if from far away as he whispered in her ear, coaxing her through her pleasure as it overwhelmed her.

  ‘I love you.’ Her reply to him sent another shiver through Grancourt’s cock; he came again, moaning harshly. ‘I love you.’

  Morning, despite all of Grancourt’s fervent prayers, eventually came. Looking out of his window with a hazy, pillow-wrinkled scowl, he wondered why he felt so much like smiling… and then, as Poppy kissed the nape of his neck, he remembered.

  He and Poppy lay curled tightly together. They traded kisses and whispers and soft, secret murmurs as the sun poured golden light onto the bedclothes.

  ‘Breakfast.’ Poppy sleepily stretched, laughing as Grancourt kissed her fingertips. ‘Coffee, and rolls, and so much butter I could drown in it.’

  ‘You could never drown in butter. I would lick all of it away before you could so much as cry for help.’ Grancourt pulled her closer, kissing the tip of her nose. ‘And I wish I could feed you every manner of delicacy, my love, but we have slept late. I must pour us both into our clothes, then into a carriage, and rehearse an exceedingly formal speech that I shall say to your brother as soon as humanly—’

  A distant slam of a door had the words dying on his lips. The angry buzz of raised voices, twinned with heavy footsteps on the stairs, had Grancourt’s hands clenching into fists in sudden, reflexive panic.

  Blows rained down on the bedroom door. Poppy yelped; Grancourt, swallowing, found that he couldn’t move an inch.

  ‘Grancourt!’ Maldon’s voice was hoarse with what sounded like both sleeplessness and rage. ‘I know you’re in there, you bastard! I tore Simpkins apart, and every bloody pub you drink in, so this is the only place you can be!’ The door shook under the force of his blows. ‘Let me in, right now!’

  Grancourt looked at Poppy, aghast. Her face was a perfect picture; Grancourt wondered how on earth she could look so divinely pretty even now. They pulled away from each other by silent, mutual agreement, Grancourt reaching frantically for his breeches as Poppy wrapped blanket after blanket around herself.

  How on earth had he found them? How on earth had he even thought of it? Grancourt looked at the window, calculating the distance to the ground before roughly shaking his head. Even if the worst possible thing had happened at the worst possible time, there was nothing to be gained by running from it.

  ‘Open this bloody door, you damned ingrate!’ Maldon, despite the earliness of the hour, seemed full of energy. ‘Open it so I can knock your damned head off!’

  But then again. Grancourt looked longingly at the window. I could get a berth in a boat for Poppy and I, and we could be feeding one another figs dipped in honey by the month’s end…

  ‘You shall not!’ Poppy, blankets wrapped around her like Cleopatra’s rug, shouted stridently at the door before Grancourt could clasp a hand over her mouth. ‘You—oh!’

  She stared at him, her breath warm against his palm. Grancourt, despite the extreme danger of the situation, leant to kiss her forehead.

  ‘He could not have been entirely sure that you are here.’ He whispered the words as quietly as he could. ‘Now, of course, he is in no doubt.’

  ‘He cannot have been in any doubt.’ Poppy’s muffled words came through his palm. ‘I… I may have left a note.’

  ‘A note?’ Grancourt blinked. ‘What… what did you write in the note, Poppy?’

  ‘Nothing dreadfully incriminating. Nothing that would mean he has to duel you, at any rate.’ Poppy paused. ‘Of course, I was fairly clear as to my sentiments. I certainly mentioned your name. And the night at the inn, even if I was by no means specific.’

  Oh, Lord. I’m dead. Grancourt went through every curse he knew, rejecting each piece of blasphemy as too weak.

  ‘Poppy?’ Maldon’s voice was oddly strangled now; it was clear he was attempting to sound gentler, but the change in tone only made him sound more menacing. ‘Poppy, we are… we are going to have words about this!’

  ‘Poppy, my love, he is in a dangerous mood.’ Grancourt looked at Poppy warningly. ‘I wouldn’t say or do anything to provoke—’

  ‘Words, brother? Words?’ Poppy moved in a flurry of blankets to pick up her discarded dress, hurriedly clothing herself as Grancourt watched in astonishment. ‘If we are going to have words, brother, I have words of my own! Words involving a certain house in Mayfair, and the business conducted there! Business that up until very recently involved your new wife, not to mention my dearest friend!’ Looking at her bodice with what looked like real anger, she reached for Grancourt’s banyan and wrapped it around herself. ‘We could certainly discuss that!’

  A very careful silence came from the other side of the door. Grancourt, fighting the urge to smile, looked at Poppy with real admiration.

  ‘Well.’ Poppy’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘It really is the limit. I have been forced to ignore his atrocious conduct for years. He believes he is protecting me from the world by never discussing it—but instead he leaves me completely unprepared to defend my family’s good name.’

  ‘Poppy.’ Maldon’s voice was a little more measured now, but Grancourt could still feel the rage coiling on the other side of the door. ‘I… these points will be discussed, but not now. Now, I must speak to Grancourt.’

  ‘Only if you promise not to hurt him.’ Poppy folded her arms.

  ‘Grancourt?’ Maldon’s voice lowered a little, apparently from astonishment. ‘Are you going to let my sister speak for you?’

  Grancourt sighed. Pulling on his breeches, reaching for his shirt with ice-cold hands, he gritted his teeth as he addressed the door. ‘She is rather difficult to stop, Maldon. You appear completely unable to stop her doing anything she doesn’t want to, and you aren’t in love with
her.’ He looked at Poppy, who smiled. ‘Imagine how I feel.’

  There was another silence, a longer and more reflective one, as Grancourt finished dressing. When Maldon spoke again, there was more exhaustion than anger in his tone.

  ‘Look. Just… just come out. We will discuss it. We will talk. And Poppy, you—’

  ‘No. I am not going to do anything.’ Poppy tied the waist of her banyan, moving back onto the bed. ‘I am going to wait here until someone brings me buttered rolls.’

  ‘Poppy, I insist that you—’

  ‘No.’ Poppy’s tone could have cut through coal. ‘No, you do not.’

  Grancourt, near-overcome with love, bent down to kiss her as he smoothed down his hair. ‘I do hope you are going to continue in this vein when we are married. I have always wanted a forbidding wife.’

  ‘I shall be vile to anyone who displeases me.’ Poppy smiled as she stroked his cheek. ‘Now… go and make your case. And please do not be killed.’

  ‘I doubt I will be. Your brother is tall, but out of condition.’ Grancourt moved to the door, looking back at Poppy as she snuggled back under the blankets. ‘And buttered rolls will follow.’

  As he placed one hand on the door, he looked back at Poppy. As beautiful as she had always been, as funny and clever and impetuous, full of a confidence in herself that he felt building in his own soul… were most men this inspired by their lovers? Did most husbands feel this way about their wives?

  No. That only made what he felt for Poppy more special.

  ‘Grancourt?’ Maldon tapped on the door, more gently this time. ‘Well?’

  ‘Coming, Maldon.’ Grancourt opened the door, uncertain of his future—but knowing in his bones that it would be a very happy one indeed.

  THE END

  The Duke and his Dreams

  Matilda Weatherbrooke did not want to go into the gardens with Lord Featherstone. Would rather have eaten a cake full of nails, in fact. But Poppy Grancourt, formerly Poppy Maldon, was looking at her encouragingly—and it was difficult to refuse Poppy anything when she had decided to look encouraging.