Rendezvous (22 page)

She looked like a small Greek goddess, Harry thought. A young Athena garbed for war, perhaps. The thought made him smile with anticipation and the smoldering fire in his groin that had been plaguing him all evening suddenly burned hotter.

“What a perfectly odious thing to say,” Augusta raged. “That is the sort of statement only an extremely arrogant, extremely obnoxious man would make. You should be ashamed of yourself, Graystone. I expected more even-handed logic and reason from you. You are supposed to be a classical scholar, after all. You will apologize for that silly, inane, totally unfair remark.”

“Will I?”

“Most certainly.”

“Perhaps I will do so. Later.”

“Now,” she retorted. “You will apologize now.”

“I doubt if I will have sufficient breath left to say anything at all, let alone apologize, after I have carried you back to your bedchamber, madam.”

He unfolded his arms and came away from the wall in a smooth, swift motion.

“Carried me back to my—Harry, what on earth do you think you are doing? Put me down at once.”

She struggled briefly as he picked her up in his arms. But by the time he had carried her down the hall to her bedchamber and deposited her beneath the canopy, she was no longer putting up even a token resistance.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered in an aching voice. She put her arms around his neck as he came down beside her on the bed. “Are you going to make love to me?”

“Yes, my dear, I most certainly am. And this time,” he told her softly, “I shall try to do a better job of it. I am going to turn you from Athena, the beautiful warrior, into Aphrodite, the goddess of passion.”

“H
arry
. Dear God,
Harry
. Please, I cannot bear it. This is beyond anything.”

Harry lifted his head to watch Augusta as she approached her first delicious, shuddering climax in his arms. Her whole body was arched, tense as a drawn bow. Her hair was fanned out against the pillow in a dark cloud. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she twisted her hands in the white sheets.

Harry was sprawled on his stomach between Augusta’s raised thighs. The hot scent of her was filling his head and the indescribable taste of her was still on his tongue.

“Yes, darling. That is how I want you.” He eased his finger inside her again and slowly withdrew it. He felt the tiny muscles at the entrance of her tight passage clench gently. He slid his finger back into the clinging heat while he teased the small, exquisitely sensitive little nubbin above with his thumb.

“
Harry
.”

“So beautiful,” he breathed. “So sweet and hot. Let it happen, darling. Give yourself up to it.” Slowly, deliberately
he withdrew his finger and felt everything inside her clench desperately. “Yes, darling. Squeeze a little harder once more. You’re almost there. Tighten yourself, my love.”

He flicked his thumb over the small nub one more time as he entered her again with his finger. And then bent his head and kissed the swollen female flesh.

“Good Lord, Harry.
Harry
.”

Augusta’s hands became fists in his hair and her hips lifted up off the bed, straining fiercely against his invading finger and his teasing tongue. Her thighs shivered, her feet flexed.

Harry lifted his head. In the soft glow of the candlelight he could see that Augusta’s parted lips and the slick petals that guarded her feminine secrets were both rosy pink and glistening with moisture.

Augusta shuddered and gave a high, keening cry that could surely be heard out in the hall. She convulsed in Harry’s arms as ripple after ripple of reaction raced through her.

Harry felt, heard, and inhaled it all; every nuance of her response communicated itself to him. As he watched Augusta surrender to her first climax, he realized he had never seen anything so magnificently feminine, so passionate and sensual in his entire life.

Her reaction was fuel on the fires that were already burning within him. Harry knew he could not wait another second. He surged up along the length of her shuddering body and plunged himself into her tight channel before the last of the ripples had even faded.

“I do not think I shall ever tire of our midnight rendezvous, sweet wife,” Harry whispered hoarsely.

His own release was upon him in an instant, a shattering explosion of sensation that whirled him away into nothingness. His hoarse, triumphant shout still echoed in the bedchamber as he collapsed against Augusta’s soft, damp body.

•  •  •

A long time later Harry stirred amid the rumpled sheets and reached out for Augusta. When his groping hand encountered nothing but more bedding, he reluctantly opened his eyes.

“Augusta? Where the devil have you got to now?”

“I am over here.”

He turned his head and saw her standing near the open window. She had put her nightdress back on, he noticed. The gauzy white muslin floated around her slender form, the ribbons rippling in the soft night air. Once more she looked ethereal and ghostlike. Almost untouchable. Harry had a sudden, terrible premonition that she would suddenly drift out through the window and away from him forever.

He levered himself upright to a sitting position and tossed aside the covers as an inexplicable sense of urgency overwhelmed him. He had to catch her and hold her safe. He was already starting to reach out for Augusta when he realized he was being foolish.

Augusta was no ghost. He had just touched her most intimately. He forced himself to sit calmly back against the pillows instead of lunging across the room. She was very real and very much his. She had given herself to him completely.

She was his
. It had been much more than a physical thing, that moment when she had trembled and convulsed in his arms. She had bestowed the gift of herself, given him some part of her to keep safe.

He would hold her fast, Harry vowed. He would protect her, even though she did not always desire that protection. And he would make love to her as frequently as possible, strengthening and cementing the physical bond between them.

He did not need to be told that, for Augusta, the sexual act was a commitment as deep and binding as any ancient oath of fealty.

“Come back to bed, Augusta.”

“In a moment. I have been thinking about our marriage, my lord.” She gazed out into the darkness, her arms wrapped tightly beneath her breasts.

“What is there to think about?” Harry eyed her warily. “It all seems quite clear to me.”

“Yes, I imagine it would seem plain enough to you. You are a man.”

“Ah. This is to be one of those discussions, is it?” His mouth quirked.

“I am glad you find it so amusing,” she whispered.

“Not amusing so much as a waste of time. I have seen you attempt to grapple with this sort of thing before, if you will recall. Your reasoning gets muddled quickly, my dear.”

She turned her head to glower at him. “Really, Harry, you can be extremely pompous and arrogant at times. Do you know that?”

He chuckled. “I shall rely on you to tell me when I become too unbearable.”

“You are being unbearable now.” She swung completely around to face him. The white ribbons on her nightdress fluttered. “I have something to say to you and I would appreciate it if you would give me your full attention.”

“Very well, madam. You may proceed with your lecture.” He folded his arms behind his head and schooled his expression into one of serious contemplation. It was not easy. Damn, but she looked alluring standing there in her nightdress. He was getting aroused all over again.

The moonlight behind her revealed the outline of her hips through the thin muslin. Harry wagered that in a mere minute he could have her back on the bed, her thighs spread wide once more. In two minutes, he was quite certain he could have the warm honey flowing between her legs. She was so amazingly responsive.

“Harry, are you paying attention?”

“Absolutely, my sweet.”

“Very well, then, I am going to tell you my thoughts on the status of our relationship. We come from two different worlds, you and I. You are an old-fashioned sort of man, a man of letters, a serious scholar who has little use for frivolous things. I, on the other hand, as I have often told you, am inclined toward more modern ideas and have a rather different nature. We must face the fact that I rather enjoy the occasional frivolous amusement.”

“I do not see that as a problem so long as such amusements are merely occasional.” Yes, two minutes to make her damp, Harry mused, trying to be totally objective. Then another five, at the most, to bring the soft, enchanting little moans of excitement to her lips.

“There is no doubt but that in many ways we are opposites, my lord.”

“Male and female. Natural opposites.” After about seven to ten minutes, when she was starting to twist deliciously in his arms and arch herself for his touch, Harry decided, he would introduce her to a few variations on the basic theme.

“But we now find ourselves bound together for life. We have made a legal and moral commitment to each other.”

Harry grunted an absent response to that while he considered the possibilities open to him. Perhaps he would turn Augusta over onto her stomach and draw her up on her knees. Then he would ease himself between her thighs and explore her tight, clinging feminine passage from that direction. Twenty to thirty minutes, at least, before he attempted that, he told himself. He did not want to startle her unduly. She was still very new to the erotic arts.

“I am well aware, sir, that you rushed our wedding date because you felt duty-bound to marry me after what transpired in Lady Arbuthnott’s carriage. However, I would have you know …”

Then again, he could lie on his back and have her straddle his thighs, Harry thought. In that position, he would have an excellent view of her expressive face when she reached her climax.

Augusta took a deep breath and continued. “I would have you know that, in spite of our reputation for recklessness and daring, the Northumberland Ballingers have a sense of duty that is the equal of any noble family in the country. I daresay ’tis as great as your own. I therefore want to assure you that even though you feel you cannot love me and you do not particularly care if I love you—”

Harry scowled as her last words penetrated his erotic fantasy. “I beg your pardon, Augusta?”

“I was just about to say, my lord, that I know my duty as a wife and I will honor it, just as you intend to honor your duty as a husband. I am a Northumberland Ballinger and I will not shirk my obligations. Ours may not be a love match, but you may, nevertheless, depend upon me to fulfill my responsibilities as your wife. My sense of honor and duty is as strong as your own and I would have you know that you can rely on it.”

“Are you saying you intend to be a good wife to me merely because you feel duty-bound to do so?” he asked, a wave of anger roaring through him.

“That is precisely what I am saying, my lord.” She smiled tentatively. “I would like to assure you that a Northumberland Ballinger is steadfast when it comes to honoring a vow.”

“Good God. How in hell did you get off on a lecture on duty and responsibility at a time like this? Come back to bed, Augusta. I have something much more interesting to discuss.”

“Do you, Harry?” She did not move. Her expression was unusually grave, her eyes searching his face in the shadows.

“Most definitely.” Harry threw back the covers. His bare feet hit the carpet an instant later. He took three long strides across the bedchamber and picked her up in his arms.

Augusta opened her mouth to utter some comment—a protest, perhaps. Harry covered her lips firmly with his own until she was lying flat on her back once more.

He had grossly overestimated the time it would take to make her ready to receive him, he soon realized. Less than fifteen minutes had passed before he turned a startled Augusta over onto her stomach and drew her up into a kneeling position.

Harry stopped keeping track of the time after that, but when Augusta sang her sweet song of sensual release into the pillow, he was fairly certain she had something besides duty and responsibility on her mind.

The following morning, Augusta, dressed in a canary-colored walking dress and carrying a matching French bonnet with an enormous, gracefully curving brim, went in search of her new stepdaughter.

She found her in the schoolroom on the second floor of the big house. Meredith, primly garbed in another well-made but extremely plain white gown, sat at an old, ink-stained wooden desk. She had a book open in front of her and she glanced up in surprise as Augusta entered the room.

Clarissa Fleming, enthroned behind a large desk at the front of the room, looked up questioningly and then frowned as she saw who was interrupting the routine.

“Good morning,” Augusta said cheerfully. She glanced around the schoolroom, taking in the selection of globes, maps, quills, and books that adorned it. Schoolrooms somehow always looked the same, she thought, regardless of the location or the financial means of the family.

“Good morning, madam.” Clarissa nodded toward her charge. “Make your curtsy to your new mother, Meredith.”