The Kiss of a Viscount (The Daughters of the Aristocracy) (19 page)

Now
George
was suddenly nervous. He waited a moment before saying, “Go on.”

There was a moment of silence as they walked the crushed granite path, the only sounds coming from bird song and the crunching under their feet. And then the sound of Elizabeth’s deep inhalation of breath came followed by an apology. “Forgive my impropriety at asking this, but ... do you ... frequent brothels?” The last part of the question came out quickly, as though if she thought too much about what she was going to ask, she would think better of it and not ask at all, and then later regret not asking.

Amused and a bit relieved, George forced his lips into a thin line. “I do not,” he stated evenly, his head shaking just a bit. He wondered if it was a sigh of relief he heard coming from Elizabeth or merely her labored breathing.

“Do you employ a mistress?”

His amusement leaving him as suddenly as he felt it, he again replied, “I do not.” When Elizabeth looked up, her face showing her surprise, he added, “I did until very recently.”

Elizabeth continued to look up at him. “Did you ... tire of her?” There was a hint of concern in her question, as if she was worried about the fate of the mistress.

Taking a deep breath, George was temped to rebuke her for the improper questions, but something about her nervous behavior had him curious about her motivation for asking the questions in the first place. “Not at all. Our relationship simply ... changed, I suppose,” he said, a bit of sadness sounding in his response. Figuring she would ask how, he continued, “We are the best of friends now. I take tea with her a couple of times a week, and we discuss all sorts of topics. She is a very intelligent woman,” he explained quickly, not wanting Elizabeth to get the wrong idea. “And she is older and far wiser than me,” he added with a quirk at the corner of his mouth.

He watched as Elizabeth regarded him from the corner of her eye. “Oh,” she finally replied. George thought she might change the subject, but then she asked, “Are you looking for a new ... lover then?”

George suddenly stopped walking, causing Elizabeth, whose arm was hooked into his, to spin around and end up face to face with him.
Is that what she thought?
That he was seeking a mistress and had
her
in his sights?

And then another possibility formed in his mind.

Was she
offering
to be his mistress? Was there something about seeing statues of naked men that caused this proper young lady to suddenly become wanton? Even statues that were missing vital parts?

If so, he might have to consider taking her to the museum every time they went for a ride.

He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “I suppose you could put it in those terms,” he answered carefully, “Although I believe in my case, the proper term is ‘wife’.”

From the look of astonishment on her face, he realized he could not have surprised her more.

“Now, you must answer a question for me,” he ventured carefully. “You have been extremely nervous and very quiet since we left the museum. And now, as well. Why?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and looked around him, noting that her maid could not clearly see them from where she rested in the curricle. “I have been led to believe by some of my older friends’ comments that ... sexual congress is most unpleasant,” she whispered conspiratorially.

George’s eyebrow cocked up nearly into his hairline. “Indeed? How unfortunate for them,” the comment out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about how it would sound.

Her eyes widened. “Is it ... supposed to be?” Her voice was breathy, and her hand shook in his, her nervousness now more apparent than ever.

George took a deep breath and pondered how to respond, not realizing that she hadn’t yet answered his question. “From what I understand, and I can only provide hearsay because I am a man, after all ...”

“Of course,” she was nodding, her expression indicating she was hanging on his every word.

“ ... I have heard a woman’s first time experiencing sexual intercourse can be ... unpleasant.” He closed his eyes tightly, aware that his face had taken on a shade very close to the color of her hair. “But then, thereafter, it should be a very ... pleasant, indeed, a very pleasurable experience,” he clarified, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. “If it is not, then their husbands are not doing right by them in the bedchamber. Or whatever room they frequent when engaging in intercourse,” he added, noting her widened eyes at his clarification. The slight breeze brought the scent of jasmine to his nostrils, and he was aware that it had to have come from her. There was no jasmine anywhere near where they stood. The heady fragrance must have addled his brain even more than their topic of conversation, for the next words out of his mouth were, “Of course, it is possible for a woman to be thoroughly pleasured without involving intercourse.” He immediately wondered why he would even put voice to that option.

And then he heard her response and realized why.

“Oh,” she breathed, her head nodding, the swatch of auburn hair visible at the base of her hat showing golden and red.  “I see. Will you ... I mean, if you are so inclined, do you suppose you could do that? With me? To me?” Her lower lip quivered as if she might cry. “I am desperate to
know
...”

There was a moment when George Bennett-Jones thought he had died and gone to heaven, his first and only wish for the past few days to be given the opportunity to bed the beautiful Elizabeth Carlington. To think a simple trip to the museum and the sight of naked men carved in marble could cause such curiosity in a lady that she would ask to be given a demonstration of pleasure!

What she was suggesting was wholly inappropriate.
Wasn’t it
? He was suddenly uncertain, not having covered this kind of situation with Josephine. Certainly, if a lady was asking – begging almost – to be pleasured, wasn’t it acceptable for him to oblige her? For him to accommodate her request? At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to accommodate her right then and there. He could easily unfasten part of her bodice until he could slide his hand beneath the fabric and fill it with one of her breasts, tease the nipple until it was ripe and ready for his tongue and teeth, pleasure her until she either begged for more or felt sated enough to tell him to stop.
And if she begged for more
? Well, he could kneel before her, slide a hand lightly up the inside of her calf and thigh until he could use a finger to part her curls and touch the feminine folds that protected her womanhood. And then he would simply add a finger or two and tease the nub therein until it was swollen and throbbing and she was no longer able to stand on her own. Then he would capture her limp body in his arms and gentle her back to reality. Slowly. Kissing her lightly and whispering assurances in her ear as his lips touched the delicate lobes. And when he was sure she was brought to rights, he would calmly refasten her bodice and thank her for the opportunity to do her bidding. Then he could say he was looking forward to pleasuring her as often as she wished when she was his wife. Because, at that point, she would have to agree to be his wife. Wouldn’t she?

And if it wasn’t acceptable for him to agree to her request, what then?

Perhaps he should suggest a night she would find a bit too daring, too salacious in the hopes she would think better of her request and beg him to forget she ever asked. Not that
he’d
ever be able to forget such a request. Or forgive himself for giving her the out if she took it. This was his opportunity to court her, after all. He might only have this one opportunity to prove himself.

And then the reality of her request hit him in the gut so hard he nearly doubled over.

Yes, he was sure Josephine’s instructions had helped him to become adept enough to pleasure the marquess’s daughter, probably enough that she would feel thoroughly sated. But he would be unable to take her as he truly wanted,
as his own
, as his one and only lover for the rest of their lives. For he was quite sure Gabriel Wellingham was about to make an offer of marriage, and he was quite sure Elizabeth would accept, if for no other reason then she was expected to do so. And that meant that in the course of pleasuring her, of kissing her lips and breasts and suckling her nipples and stroking her womanhood until she sobbed from the intense sensation of her body’s release, he could not take her maidenhead.

He would have to leave her a virgin for her future husband.

A feeling of pain mixed with jealousy gripped him. He knew that he could no longer deny what she meant to him. He wanted this woman for himself.
She could be my wife
, he thought. It was true he wasn’t as rich as Trenton, certainly not as handsome as the Butter Blond, but he had a title with a decent income. He knew he could keep a promise of fidelity.

And he was quite sure he could keep her satisfied in their bed.

I want her as my wife
.

The devil!

What the hell had happened to him in the past five days? He’d managed to avoid the Marriage Mart for nine years and suddenly, in five days’ time, he’d allowed this woman, a marquess’s daughter, to captivate him in a way no other had ever done before. This wasn’t simple lust he felt. Oh, he wanted very much to bed her, to bring her to ecstasy over and over until she cried out his name in that amazing way she said it. He wanted to bury himself inside her and spend an entire night – no,
every
night – taking his own pleasure at the very second after he was sure she had shattered into a billion tiny pieces of pure pleasure. The very thought of it had his cock straining against his buckskin breeches. Had they been anywhere but in the middle of Hyde Park, he might have stripped her bare right then and there, determined to prove to her that he would make a better lover than any of her other suitors.

Certainly a better lover than Butter Blond.

The mere thought of Trenton in bed with Elizabeth caused him anger. And grief. “May I inquire, my lady, as to who else you might have directed this same ... request?” George stammered to get out. Had she asked Gabriel Wellingham?
God, no!
George could only imagine the earl taking a great deal of delight in accommodating her request. He would take a great deal more than that if he were given the chance, George thought with derision. Elizabeth’s evident nervousness suggested she had broached the subject with only George, but he wanted to be sure there wasn’t some other man out there who was left with the impression that Elizabeth Carlington was a wanton.

Her aquamarine eyes widened, her sudden indignation quite apparent. “How
dare
you?” she countered angrily.
This was a mistake! Oh, what have I done?
she thought quickly, wondering what she could say now to leave George with the impression that she was simply testing him, or teasing him, having a bit of fun at his expense. But her sudden angry outburst precluded either of those choices now.

The pink flush that infused her face was so sudden, George had to blink to ensure he’d actually witnessed the change in her complexion. “Pardon, my lady, I only ask because I am ... concerned ... for your reputation,” he countered, his voice so quiet Elizabeth could barely make out his words.

She sighed heavily and tore her gaze away from his, squeezing her eyes shut. “I just ... I just want to
know
. Father said you could be trusted ...” She broke off the comment, her eyes showing surprise when she realized the irony in her words. She shook her head.

At first, George took umbrage at the comment. Why was it everyone in the
ton
found him so damned trustworthy? But he quickly realized again how the perception could be put to good use. Put to use proving to Elizabeth that he could pleasure her. Prove to her he was worth consideration as a potential husband. If he wanted her as his wife, he had better start courting her, after all.

“I
can
be trusted,” George declared with a nod. “I will, of course, accommodate your request, my lady.”

Elizabeth blinked. “You will?” she responded, her eyes once again wide. The aquamarine pools threatened to swallow up George until she suddenly looked away. “Oh, whatever have I done? You must think me ... a
wanton!
Please, can you forget I ever asked ..?”

He reached out with his own gloved hand and cupped the side of her face, turning it so her eyes finally met his.
No, I can’t
! he almost said in response, thinking of barn doors and horses and how his cock was hardening. “Milady, I would be
honored
to make love to you,” he murmured, surprising himself when he realized he was saying the words out loud. “But I promise when I do so, I will leave your virtue intact.”

Lady Elizabeth’s eyes widened, her sudden inhalation of breath causing her bodice to rise in turn. “You ... you would?” she whispered, her parted lips appearing as if they were begging to be kissed, the tops of her breasts appearing as if they were begging to be caressed.

George was nearly forced to close his eyes as he realized if she agreed to his terms, those breasts would soon be his to pleasure. Nodding, he stepped closer. “But, Lady Elizabeth, I can only do this if you can make me a promise,” he stated as he took one of her hands in his.

Elizabeth watched him, her eyes locked on his and her breath held. “Go on,” she responded, finally inhaling.

“When Trenton offers for your hand, as I am led to believe he will do in the next day or so, please think of your future happiness ...  and not just the money or his title,” he stated as he held his head high. “And know that should you decide not to accept his suit, I will offer for you. And I promise you right now, that should you agree to be my wife, I will
never
take a mistress nor employ a lady of the evening. And, as my wife, you will be honored and cherished for the rest of our days.”

Awestruck, Elizabeth stared at him for several seconds. She wanted to protest – of course, she would consider her alternatives before simply agreeing to wed Gabriel Wellingham! Actually, she already had. But until she discovered just how pleasurable – or not – lovemaking could be, she suddenly did not want to make a decision about marrying
anyone
. Even by Christmastime.

And how could George even
think
she would agree to be
his
wife? Even if he was a cit and made as much as the earl was worth, she couldn’t possibly agree to marry outside of the peerage.

Please, think of your future happiness.

What an odd request from a man she had only met a few days ago!

Odd, and yet so sincere.

Realizing she needed to respond in some fashion, she took a deep breath. “I will, George. I promise,” she finally said with a nod.

George did his best to keep his eyes from widening and a cry of delight from escaping his lips. He nodded in turn, his plans forming quickly in his head. “I will send an unmarked town coach to your house at six o’clock this evening. Make your excuses and leave your maid behind. We’ll share champagne in the library when you arrive. Dinner is at seven. Wear your choice of garments, but know that I shall remove every one of them before the clock strikes ten. I shall see to it you are thoroughly pleasured by midnight and allow you to rest undisturbed until one. Then I shall help you to get dressed and personally see to it you are returned safely to your home by two.” George ended his quickly made up itinerary and then thought he should at least give her an out should she change her mind. She was a woman, after all, and once she gave this assignation some more thought, she would probably wish she’d never brought it up with him. “Should you change your mind, simply decline the coach when it arrives.