The Lady’s Secret (23 page)

He let her kiss him.

She pressed her lips to his and slipped her tongue inside his mouth, clambering on top of him to get even closer. She had opened her careful heart to him tonight in the mews. She knew he had felt something too, remembering his wet eyes, his hands sliding over her throat.

She had been altered forever by this night and now, kissing Nathan, she was not moved merely by physical desire. As her hands drifted up to frame the face she kissed, it was desire and love that moved them, a perfect melding of heart and body that transcended everything. She wanted to
give
to him, to bring him pleasure and joy. Bedding him this time wasn’t about gratifying the vulnerable lust she’d felt for him since first setting eyes upon him. It was about giving herself. Sharing herself with him.

And a little about taking too.

He pulled her closer, kissing her back, his hands caressing. Already she felt as though she could die with the pleasure of it.

“Help me get this off,” he muttered as he tried to shuck his waistcoat. Together they undressed, throwing each garment to floor carelessly.

Naked, he was magnificent. Tall, broad-shouldered, with strong pale limbs, his cock bobbing lewdly at his belly. She could stare at him all day.

“I love it when you look at me like that,” he growled.

He dipped his head, taking her mouth in a deep, hot, open-mouthed kiss. But this time, he dominated. She was still tired and achy but his mouth made her forget all that. It was bliss to be in his arms again. She’d thought she never would be and she was so bloody glad to be wrong. She welcomed the delve of his tongue, stroking it with her own, and let her arms drift up to circle his neck.

He pulled her onto his lap again and soon she was squirming with pleasure as his fingers stroked behind her knees, relishing the rasp of his incipient beard against her skin. Her own hands moved restlessly, stroking his strong jaw and sliding into his thick silky hair to cradle his head.

“I want to touch you,” she said on a sigh against his mouth. He lifted his head and smiled at her. She smiled back, joyful because he looked so happy and it was a mirror of what was in her heart.

He lay down on the mattress, long and lean and beautiful in his nudity. She kneeled beside him, eating him up with her eyes.

“Touch me then, if you want to,” he invited, his voice husky.

She straddled him, matching her pelvis to his, hugging his hips with her thighs, the heat of his eager prick against her soft wet flesh.

Nathan closed his eyes, his expression both blissful and pained. She placed her hands on his chest and stroked her palms downwards, loving the contrasting textures of satiny skin and crisp hair. She rubbed her hands upwards again to cup his shoulders, then moved down his muscled arms. When she reached his wrists, she transferred her hands to his waist and stroked upwards to caress his chest again. Her quim throbbed and she shifted her pelvis, grinding lightly against his thick cock.

“Kiss me,” he muttered.

“Yes.” She leaned forward until her nipples were grazing his chest, dipping her mouth to his and bestowing the lightest brush of a kiss upon his lips before moving her mouth across his cheek and down his jawline, descending to his throat. His scent there was delicious, warm male skin infused with the faintest hint of that cinnamon smell that was in his shaving oil. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against his throat, then her lips. Her pelvis ground against him more firmly and he groaned and brought his hands up to grasp her bottom, shaping her buttocks with his hands while he bucked his hips upwards.

“Georgy,” he moaned. “I want to be inside you so badly.”

She moved lower, anointing his body with her kisses, catching one of his small flat nipples between her teeth, enjoying both his swift indrawn breath and the groan that came when she soothed the nip she’d given him with a lap of her tongue.

She trailed kisses down his body, pausing to explore his lean stomach and the arrowing hair that led to his groin from which his erection jutted.

“Georgy—”

His fingers twined into her hair, caressing and pleading. She lifted her head to look at him. His face was taut, his dark eyes glinting with desire. She felt powerful and lustful. She wanted to know his body. Her curiosity and lust overwhelmed any residual shyness. Nothing could be wrong that she could do to his body tonight, she thought. Nothing could be wrong that her love would urge her to. She smiled at Nathan and lowered her head again, shifting into a space he created between his thighs.

She touched his cock with gentle and curious fingers, rubbing her cheek against it before brushing her lips across the head.

“Ah, Georgy—”

His cock was as delightful as the rest of him, she decided. More, even. The skin here was as soft as the finest kid, yet beneath that silken covering he was impossibly hard, his prick resilient and attention-seeking. He twisted beneath her as she pressed fairy kisses up and down his length, his cock bobbing in and out of her loose grasp, bumping her cheek, seeking her mouth, exuberant and demanding.

“Could you—” he gritted out, “put it in your mouth, do you suppose?” He was so ridiculously polite about it that she couldn’t help but laugh, raising her head to look at his agonised expression.

“Sorry, am I taking too long? I’ve never done this.”

He raised his head from the mattress, his expression pained. “No, this is all quite, quite—” He dropped his head back to the mattress as her mouth closed over the head of his cock. “Wonderful. Ah, Georgy, that is, ah, so
good
.”

Since she didn’t know what the right thing to do was, she did what pleased her. But happily, it seemed that what pleased her pleased him too. She engulfed as much of his prick as she could in her mouth, accustoming herself to the hot seeking aliveness of him. She licked him up and down, kissed him all over. She caressed his sac with delicate fingers as she gorged on him again. When she grazed him lightly with her teeth, she pulled back, apologising.

“No, no—it’s—lovely,” he insisted in a choked voice. So she grazed him again, very carefully. And he groaned—again.

His hands were in her hair, his hips moving in a rhythmic movement that made her feel wonderfully accomplished. Her own hips were shifting too, her quim wet and slick, throbbing and ready for him. She wanted him in her. Wanted to feel the buck of his pelvis against her own.

He reached for her. “Come here.”

He manipulated her so that she was straddling him again, his cock nudging her eagerly. Her quim was flowering, unfurling. Together they shifted, gazes locked until he found her entrance. His hands reached for her hips, guiding her down the length of him. She felt deliciously full. He moved her up and down, slowly up and slowly down, his hands gripping her bottom, the feeling of that particular intimacy strangely illicit.

“God, Georgy, it’s so
good!
” he bit out.

“
Yes
.”

He felt huge, filling her, completing her. Her inner passage pulsed, pulling him deeper. She began to ride him more quickly, leaning forward to kiss him hard on the mouth before rearing up, her hands resting on his shoulders. He raised his hands from her bottom to cover her breasts, shaping them with his palms, grazing her nipples with his thumbs.

“God, you’re lovely,” he breathed. He lurched upward to lick one of her nipples wetly. It felt gorgeous; when he collapsed back to the mattress, she followed him down, offering her breasts to him again.

“Again,” she said, adjusting her hip movements to accommodate her new position. He pushed her breasts together and lavished her nipples with his tongue, his stubble rough on the soft mounds.

“I can’t last much longer,” he groaned between kisses. “Are you close?”

“Yes,” she panted. “I think so.” She closed her eyes and let instinct take over, chasing the pleasure, following its quicksilver progress with her concentration. His hands left her breasts and went to her hips again, stilling her movements and taking over the rhythm, bucking up and up, filling her even more, swelling inside her.

“Oh, Georgy,” he muttered, “I love fucking you.”

Her eyes flew open at the sound of that profanity on his lips, shocking and dirty. Dirty and perfect, perfect for this hard, desperate thing he was doing to her.

“Fuck me, then,” she whispered and his eyes glittered to hear that from her. He surged and bucked, his fingers digging in to the flesh at her hips, his jawline clenched taut. She closed her eyes again and followed the pleasure into a tight corner inside of her. She let it take her then, crying out his name with the shocking power of it.

The pleasure racked her for a long time. As it finally began to ebb, Nathan clutched her harder and it was his turn to call out her name. Hot liquid flooded into her and she was too slack with pleasure to feel dismayed.

“I’ve asked Anne to marry me,” Ross announced. “And she’s said yes. We’re going to have an April wedding.”

Nathan grinned at his friend. “Good man. Didn’t take you long once you’d made your mind up!”

Ross smiled back, looking younger and happier than he had in a long time. In the last few years, Ross had gone from being merely disreputable to positively scandalous, and Nathan had rarely seen him looking other than hungover and crumpled. But today, his eyes were clear and bright and his dark blond hair shone with health. He’d even managed a creditable knot in a brilliantly white cravat.

For a few minutes they sat in companionable silence.

“Have you seen Dunsmore around town?” Nathan asked after a while. He’d called on Dunsmore twice now and each time he’d been told his quarry was out of town.

Ross thought. “No,” he said at last. “I expect he’s still in Bedfordshire. I’m sure some of the guests were staying on for a few more days after we left.” He glanced at the clock over Nathan’s shoulder. “I have to be off. I’m dining with Annie and her aunt. Shall I see you on Friday evening at Lady Shelton’s?”

Nathan shook his head. “I’m not going to any functions just now. I’m not even officially in town. I’m staying at the Bloomsbury house.” He thought of how he’d left Georgy earlier, still drowsy and warm in bed…

“Got yourself a new ladybird, have you?”

Unaccountably, Nathan grew annoyed, thinking how much Georgy would hate being described in that way. “There’s a woman there, yes, but she’s no ladybird.”

Ross’s expression grew curious. “What is she then? She can’t be the respectable sort or she wouldn’t be there.”

He was right, of course, but Nathan frowned. “It depends what you mean by respectable,” he hedged.

Ross merely raised an eyebrow.

A loud crash drew their mutual attention to the doorway before Nathan could say more. He twisted in his seat and saw that a man—drunk, presumably—had fallen to the floor, taking a side table and large Chinese vase with him. The man swore loudly as he got to his feet with the help of an expressionless waiter.

The club’s
maitre d’
glided through the doorway a moment later and began to talk to the drunken gentleman in his soft undertone, motioning to another waiter to clear up the remains of the vase.

“I’ll pay for the damned thing!” the drunk cried belligerently.

Nathan saw it was Osborne, looking uncharacteristically crumpled in a lilac coat.

The
maitre d’
appeared anxious. Plainly he wanted Osborne to leave but did not wish to offend him. Before he could speak, Osborne’s roving gaze spotted Nathan.

“Harland!” he shouted. He began to weave towards them, ignoring the mess he’d caused and the anxious
maitre d’
.

He was at their table in a few unsteady strides, clapping Nathan on the shoulder and swaying alarmingly.

“It’s good to see you, old man,” he slurred.

Nathan glanced at Ross, who gave him an apologetic look as he stood.

“I have to be off, gentlemen. I’m promised to my fiancée this evening.”

Osborne’s gaze wheeled round, his expression startled. He focused on Ross with difficulty. “Beg y’pardon, Ross. I didn’t see you there.”

“No matter,” Ross replied with a smile. “I really must be off anyway. I’ll leave you and Harland to it.”

Damn.
Nathan watched Ross’s departing figure with envy. He’d been looking forward to getting back to Georgy as soon as possible—now he’d be held up again. While Osborne settled heavily into one of the chairs, Nathan signalled to a waiter and quietly asked him to bring coffee.

“I’m glad to see you,” Osborne said again. He looked weary, his handsome face pallid, with dark rings beneath his eyes.

“Why so?”

“To impart the latest news, old man.” He gave a bright, false smile. “I’m only just back from Dunsmore Manor today and just before I left Peter—
Dunsmore
I mean, told me he’s getting married. Can you believe it?”

“What?” Nathan exclaimed, genuinely surprised.

The waiter arrived with the coffee and Osborne made a disgusted noise. “Bring me some bloody brandy, man!” he demanded. Over his head, Nathan shook his head at the waiter and the man melted away. Nathan pushed the cup towards Osborne.

“Dunsmore’s getting married? This is sudden. To whom?”

“Miss Hodge, of course,” Osborne said carelessly.

Nathan thought back to the house party. “The one who sprained her ankle?”

“That’s the younger sister.”

“Yes, of course.” Nathan paused, observing Osborne’s misery with discomfort. “He was bound to marry at some point. A man like him…”

Osborne stared into his coffee cup. “Oh yes. I’ve known it’s been coming for a while. It’s been a long time since I let myself believe—” He broke off and gulped at his coffee.

“Until recently,” Nathan said carefully, “I was unaware of how close you two were. How long have you…” He trailed off.

“Eight years,” Osborne said flatly. “After Cambridge, we came up to town together. That was when—well, you know.” He sighed. “It was fine when he was a younger brother’s son, with no fortune or prospects. He was always terrified people would find out about us. It wasn’t as though I thought we’d be able to live together. But we were going to go into the army together. Buy ourselves some colours.” He laughed bitterly. “Amazingly, despite me being his heir, my father approved. Said it’d make a man of me. Probably hoped I’d catch a bullet and Johnny could take the title in my stead.”

“Jesus, Osborne.” Nathan glanced around them, relieved to see there was no one nearby to overhear Osborne’s careless remarks.

Osborne cut off Nathan’s protest with an impatient gesture. “Papa didn’t get his wish. Peter’s male relatives started dropping like flies and suddenly his father was the earl. That was when his mother started taking over his life. She didn’t care much what he did before, but as soon as she became a countess she started sticking her nose in. She’s been trying to marry him off for years. Wants to secure the line.”

“All mothers do that, Osborne. Especially when they only have one son, like Lady Dunsmore.” He could attest to that. He couldn’t set foot in his mother’s drawing room for more than an hour without the subject of marriage arising.

When Osborne looked up, his eyes were suspiciously bright. “Peter doesn’t even care about the title. He wanted to leave England, see the world. With me.”

“Maybe he’s changed since then,” Nathan said. “A title, all that wealth. It can change a man.”

Osborne shook his head. “It’s her. She manipulates him. Last year he said he’d marry, just to placate her. She’s been throwing marriage prospects at him ever since. And now he’s finally chosen one.” He rubbed his forehead and added in a shaky voice, “Christ, but I hate hiding who I am. It’s such a relief to speak of it to someone. You can’t imagine.”

Nathan smiled lopsidedly. “Who you are isn’t
such
a great secret, Osborne. I had guessed about you. I expect others have too.”

Osborne gave a humourless laugh. “I know that. But no one knows about Peter and me. And they can’t, Harland. It’s not even a matter of being ordinarily discreet. He can’t
bear
the thought of anyone knowing. I can’t show him the slightest scrap of affection—not even the sort I’d show a normal friend. He was distraught when you saw us together. You mustn’t ever tell a soul. Promise me.”

“I’d never have spoken of it to anyone, even if you hadn’t asked me, Osborne.”

Osborne’s shoulders slumped, some tension going out of him.

“What will happen now he’s getting married?” Nathan asked.

“He told me yesterday that we would have to stop seeing each other. Waited till I was ready to leave, the coward. Said he has to consider his wife-to-be. All these years—” He broke off, eyes bleak. “God, Harland, don’t listen to me. I’m drunk and talking too much, too foolishly. Don’t listen to me.”

Nathan stared at Osborne’s downbent head, feeling wretched for him. Did Osborne love Dunsmore? If so, he would never be able to show it. He would always have to bottle it up inside himself and be careful never to give himself away. It was such a limited way to live. Such a waste.

His own reaction surprised him—would he have felt like this on hearing Osborne’s story a few weeks ago? Even though he himself had long chafed at the idea of a loveless marriage, he’d always accepted it was a fact of life amongst his class and an inevitability in his own future. Yet now, Osborne’s report of Dunsmore’s proposed marriage, and the way it was tearing Osborne apart, seemed so stupidly pointless.

He found himself thinking of Georgy, of what she’d freely given him, untainted by considerations of money or status, marriage or expectation. A true gift.

When he got back to Bloomsbury, having delivered Osborne to his own house and left him in the capable hands of a footman, he went in immediate search of Georgy. He found her in the drawing room, reading, and for a while, he stood in the doorway, unnoticed by her.

He’d arranged for Madame Golon to deliver some gowns—they must have come this afternoon. She was wearing a pale yellow confection that made her look like a flower, an elegant narcissus. Her skin was just a few shades lighter than the thin fabric of the gown, and her extraordinary hair appeared bright and soft. She was like pale winter sunlight.

“You look lovely,” he said at last.

She glanced up and his heart seemed to beat a little faster, just at that. Her eyes shone with happiness to see him and her smile widened at his words. He crossed the room to her and she stood up in one graceful movement, taking the hands he held out to her and lifting her face for his kiss. His heart swelled in his chest as he lowered his mouth to hers—it felt full and heavy and happy in a way that was almost a sadness, a too-full feeling that made him afraid that such bliss couldn’t possibly last. But when their kiss ended and she smiled at him again, the sadness fled and he was left with a feeling of precarious joy.

This happiness felt new to him. All these years he’d thought himself happy with his enviable life, his pastimes, his
things
, and all he’d been was vaguely content.

“You ought not to have ordered so many gowns,” she said. It was a rebuke, but she smiled and her eyes sparkled.

“I couldn’t resist. I want to shower you with gifts.” He smiled back and knew it was a foolish smile, indulgent and obvious. And he didn’t care in the least. Since that night in the mews, his defences had been crumbling, one by one.

“Georgy.”

I love you.

The words drifted into his mind, unbidden, faltering on his lips before he could speak them. Should he say it? Was it true? It felt true. But what would she think if he said it? Would she think it was a promise of something? He didn’t want to spoil this perfect moment by talking of the future. If he spoke of the future, they would have to start making arrangements. They would have to come to terms. And before long this would become a transaction. He didn’t want that.

“Yes?” she asked, smiling at him happily.

He hesitated, then smiled back at her.

“Let’s go upstairs.”