Authors: Eliza Lloyd
AgeofInnocence (7 page)
The cheering crowd was nice. The congratulations from the
winning bettors were heartfelt and the weighty purse in his hand was a
gratifying bonus. The real prize, however, was in the thorough and final defeat
of his longtime adversaries.
It was a childish accomplishment but damned if he didn’t
feel good about it. Lettie would be happy to know he had survived in one piece.
Until he had stepped from the curricle unscathed, he had not
understood the depth of her concern.
Drinks were handed out and Ferd decided it was time to
celebrate. He should have gone right home but basking in this small glory was
more than his pride could refuse. The carriages and curricles started to load
and slowly the crowd dispersed.
And as it should be, in the end, only the four of them
remained. If he were thinking clearly he would get in his phaeton and drive
away but there was blood yet to be spilled.
“Seems the victory is mine,” Ferd said. This wasn’t going to
end with a pleasant back slap. And he was going to enjoy it.
“This has been a long time coming,” Smith-Davis said,
removing his hat and jacket.
“Three against one. Seems old habits never die.” Ferd shrugged.
“The odds are still in my favor.” He threw his jacket into the curricle seat.
“You fair-haired nancy. Never respecting your betters,”
Lowell said.
“By betters, do you mean in racing or are you referring to
your vaunted titles?”
“And your wife isn’t here. Whose skirts will you hide
behind?” Norton, the follower, squeaked a singular taunt.
“I believe I was the one who thrashed the three of you today
but I will not mind in the least if I bloody your noses as well,” Ferd said.
Lowell, the stockiest, rushed at him but Ferd sidestepped.
Norton’s face was within striking distance and Ferd landed a solid blow across
his nose, felling him with one punch. Norton’s nose was broken. Blood gushed
out and Norton rolled in the grass in agony.
Smith-Davis ran toward him and landed a punch on Ferd’s left
eye as he turned to face the third opponent. Lowell hugged him from behind and
knocked him to the ground but Ferd rolled quickly and got to his feet. His
vision had blurred. A pounding ache spread through his face.
He shook his head and braced for Smith-Davis again but Ferd
quickly landed several punches to Smith-Davis’ stomach and then two right-hand
jabs against his face, sending him to the ground. His head knocked against a
wooden carriage wheel and he didn’t move after that.
Lowell circled him, rotating his fists as if he represented
a serious competitor. Ferd’s blood was humming.
Lowell swung and connected to Ferd’s right cheek. Another
blow landed on his jaw. He shook his head and then went after Lowell with a vengeance.
He boxed at Jackson’s four times a month. Lowell would have made an excellent
punching bag. After several blows, Lowell was bent over and gasping.
Ferd swung a hard right fist. Lowell tottered backward and
swung wildly, connecting with Ferd’s face again.
With two more punches, Lowell went to the ground and
groaned.
Ferd braced his hands against his knees, leaning over as he
caught his breath.
“Gentlemen, I would offer to help in your hour of need but
my wife is holding supper for me.”
Once he mounted the curricle, he clucked and the horses took
off at a slow trot, reminding Ferd that his face was beaten and bloody with
each jarring movement of the conveyance. Euphoric battle lust still coursed
through his veins. A grand day to be sure. He probably looked like a bloody
fool, his face battered and a cocksure grin on his lips.
As he drove, his vision became less clear. His left eye had
nearly swelled shut. Fortunately, the horses knew the way home and soon they
were clopping up the lane and into the barn.
Lettie was going to scold. And even that made him smile.
Her scolds would be as sweet as her kisses.
After Ferd described the race and the fight, the stable hand
took charge of the horses. Ferd patted the horses’ necks for a few minutes then
found the water pail and doused his hurting face. He carried his jacket and his
winnings to the house and made his way to his room.
The servants stared as he walked by. Unaccountably, he
wanted to see Lettie. When she was not there to greet him, he knocked at her
door and called her name.
The door flew open. “Ferd, you’re home. Ferd!” She touched
the side of his face. “You’re hurt. What happened? I thought this was a race
not a brawl.”
Love happened. Sometimes love happened after an impractical
marriage. Sometimes it happened after sense got beat into a man. Sometimes it
happened for no reason at all.
He would tell her soon but not when he was battered and
filthy.
He would tell her when she knew he meant every word.
He pushed by her into the room. Her lady’s maid wasn’t
there. Ferd braced his hand against the back of the door and closed it firmly.
“I think you should lock it,” he said.
“You need something to mend your face. Sit while I fetch
Clark,” she commanded. “He can draw a bath and I’ll fetch a compress.”
“I am fine. I am not only fine, I am very, very well.”
“Very well, huh?”
“Lock it.”
Lettie reached behind her and snapped the lock.
He reached for her, wrapping his arm about her waist and
pulling her close. “It’s strange.”
“What’s strange?”
“That I just won a curricle race, beat the bloody pulp out
of three
ton
gentlemen—”
“Arses.”
“Three arses,” he agreed. “And I all I can think about is
this battle won’t be complete until I shag you.”
“Mr. Ford, I think you are delirious.”
“Funny you should use that word.”
He pressed his body to hers against the back of her door.
His cock was comfortably hard against her stomach.
He pressed his lips to hers.
She pulled away, licking at her lips. “You are bleeding.”
“Then I won’t kiss you.”
Ferd held out the leather satchel. “Spoils of war,” he said.
“Our coffers are overflowing.”
He dropped it to the floor. “Is it not customary for the
victors, after the plunder and pillage, to rape the women?” he asked.
He tugged her hand and then swept her up and over his
shoulder. She laughed and squirmed a bit as she tried to hang on to him.
“Please tell me when I am supposed to scream.”
“Oh, you will know.”
At the bed, he lowered her rather than throw her onto the
mattress. While she watched, he worked at his cravat and then the buttons of
his waistcoat. When he was bare-chested, he climbed onto the bed with her. She
was tearing at her skirts, revealing her legs and thighs and then wiggling out
of her small clothes.
“For a wench about to be raped, you seem most eager.”
“I am ready for the barbarian hordes. I will face my
disgrace without hysterics. Oh and, good sir, I am a virgin. My father will
kill you if you don’t make an honest woman of me afterward.”
“I can handle your father. Besides, what can he do to me
that hasn’t already been done?”
“He might break your pretty nose.” She tapped the end of it
and then pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
“Pretty, is it? I’ll have you know this nose was the only
inheritance I received from my parents.”
She laughed again. “And you’ve no other inheritance? No
jewels?”
Lettie reached for the fall of his trousers and squeezed his
manhood. He’d been hard since he’d climbed in the curricle for the ride home.
Her fingers searched inside his small clothes and cupped his
testes. “Oh, I think I’ve found a treasure.”
“God, Lettie. You will be the death of me.” He was more
breathless with her than he had been fighting off three men.
“As long as it is me and not the clods you call schoolmates.”
When she exposed his cock, he climbed over her, bracing his
arms near her shoulders. He kissed the tip of her nose.
“You are so beautiful to me.”
“While you have had better days. How can you even see me
through all that swelling?”
“I still have one good eye.”
She brushed her fingertip over the slit at the end of his
cock and laughed.
“That’s not what I meant.” He heated from embarrassment.
“I’m fine. More than fine.”
“I really should look at your wounds. Instead, I am going to
let you have your way.”
He slid his hand along her thigh and then lifted her leg
around him. His cock fell to the heated valley between her thighs. She was wet
and slick.
“I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in my life.”
“You are in luck, Mr. Ford. You have me.”
Ferd canted his hips a bit, anxious for her and what was to
come. Anxious as he always had been. He should push into her slowly but he
couldn’t—not with bloodlust thrumming through his veins. Not with Lettie
beneath him, encouraging him with sparkling eyes and a daring look. He shoved
his manhood into her soft, waiting body and took a deep breath when he was
fully embedded.
She gasped and squirmed, adjusting to him and thrusting back
against him with her lush hips.
Rubbing her hands over his shoulders and down his arms,
Lettie devoured him with her gaze. “My champion.”
He was safe with her. Maybe that is what this mad attraction
was about. He would never have to wonder if she cared or if she loved or if she
would be faithful. She would forever be his with no judgments and no doubts.
There was no hurry. She would be waiting whether he finished
quickly or slowly.
He reached for her hand and entwined their fingers. She took
his other hand.
He pinned her to the bed and began an even thrust. Could
this day be more perfect? Yes. Ferd reveled in pleasure with each sure stroke.
Each smooth push was ecstasy. Each thrust made him determined to last until he
had no more strength in his arms.
Ferd had always wondered how women felt about the sexual
act. How did a man know that he had truly provided what a woman wanted in bed?
Lettie showed him, her touch tender and purposeful.
Beneath him, her eyes were closed. Her mouth was open as she
breathed and moaned with each of his thrusts. He reached for her ass and lifted
her a bit, while using his knee to spread her.
Drenched. Drenched in joy and love and gratification. It
wasn’t that he had to last. It wasn’t that he couldn’t hurry. He needed to
endure only long enough to please his wife.
Still he was a sportsman and he knew the importance of
enduring through the entirety of an athletic competition. With Lettie, his
training would be well worth the time spent.
Finally she tensed and arched beneath him. He hung in the
balance with her, his body one with hers. Rapture. Joy. Every emotion was
expressed in those seconds before he felt the first tight grip of her release.
His cods tightened and his shaft seemed to expand inside
her.
He burst and joined her in whatever nirvana awaited
lovers—each jerk of his hips accompanied by a loud groan and excruciating, deep
pleasure.
Ferd might not be able to see her clearly but he could see
his future and it gleamed.
Exhausted, he rolled from her, but his mind was on fire. He
laughed and then flexed his jaw, feeling the aftereffects of the fight and the
stiff ache that accompanied a beating.
Lettie rolled to her side and pushed to her elbow, staring
down at him with adoration in her eyes. “I should get a cold compress for you.”
She touched her fingers to the swelling at one eye. “I’m sorry this was such a
bad day for you.”
With swollen eyes, cut lip and numerous scrapes and bruises,
he must look wretched, but damn, he was deliriously happy. More than
deliriously happy. He gazed into Lettie’s eyes and laughed again, joining her
in joyful madness.
“My dear wife, I think this was the best day of my life.”
Eliza thinks romance writing is nearly as good as the real
thing. Given her choice of professions, she would have preferred to be a 19th
century archeologist, but she is perfectly happy living in the 21st century and
comfortably writing about such romantic but inconceivably inconvenient times,
instead.
She enjoys traveling, movies, everyone else’s novels and a
good meal out with friends on Saturday night. Her greatest flaw is that she
believes there is such a thing as true love. Don’t tell her otherwise, please.
Eliza welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website
and email addresses on her
author
bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.
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Eliza
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Mad
Duchesses 1: One Last Night
Wicked
Affairs 1: Wicked Desires
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Affairs 2: Wicked Temptation
Wicked
Affairs 4: Wicked Secrets
Wicked
Affairs 1: Wicked Desires
Wicked
Affairs 2: Wicked Temptation
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
Age of Innocence
ISBN 9781419947377
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Age of Innocence Copyright © 2014 Eliza Lloyd
Edited by Jillian Bell
Cover design by Fiona Jayde
Cover photography by periodimages.com
Electronic book publication June 2014
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