Unraveling the Earl (9 page)

“Only for a fortnight,” Miss Eleanor replied before turning
to flash Henry a radiant smile. “Is not Miss Buchanan a gem, Lord Hastings?”

“A rare gem, indeed,” Henry agreed, wondering if he’d
somehow lost track of the conversation. Surely Georgiana had not suggested a
remedy to the unknown Jilly that would turn her skin green.

“Go on with you,” Georgiana replied with a husky laugh.
“Bring Silly and Laurel to meet Lord Hasty. You’ll not want to miss the
opportunity to lord the lord over their heads.”

“Thank you so much,” Miss Eleanor whispered, giving
Georgiana’s gloved fingers a squeeze.

“Ach, off with you, you tiresome creature,” Georgiana
replied, tugging her hand free.

“You’ve been loitering in Deerfield for a week?” Henry asked
as the sisters drifted down the street, green and pink skirts billowing in the
breeze.

“It’s lovely country in which to loiter,” she answered, tugging
on his arm to get them moving again. “We read of this small corner of the world
and hastened to see it for ourselves.”

“We?”

“Brain, Tag and Silas made the journey with me,” she
explained.

“How is Tag adjusting to life as a footman?”

“Oh, that was only a momentary whimsy. This week she has
decided she shall be a baker.”

“What? She? Tag is a girl?” Henry spluttered.

“A young woman,” Georgiana corrected. “Tag will be ten and
eight come winter.”

“You employed a young woman as your footman?”

“Oh, I did not employ Tag. She’s always been about, trailing
along in my shadow. In truth I believe Lady Joy asked her to follow me on my
ramblings when I first came to live with her. To be certain I did not stumble
into the loch or wander too far from home, you understand?”

He didn’t but he nodded nonetheless, entranced by the
laughter that laced her sultry voice. “At what point did she become your
footman? And why?”

“I asked her to be my lady’s maid some time ago.” She turned
to meet his gaze, shot him a rueful smile. “Best laid plans and all that. Her
mother was Lady Joy’s maid for decades and truly what does a lady’s maid do
beyond following her mistress about assuring she is dressed appropriately. But
Tag hasn’t a fashion-minded thought in her head. And as I adore clothing, how
could I possibly have a maid who does not know a crinoline from a petticoat?”

Who was this carefree lady chattering away beside him? There
was a bounce in her step, a warm flush on her cheeks that spoke of happiness
near to bursting at the seams.

“Since then Tag has tried her hand as a footman, a cook, a
groom, a gardener, back to a footman for round two, and now as a baker,” she
continued. “Perhaps this trade will stick. She does make lovely brown bread,
light and fluffy just as Lady’s Joy’s cook used to make. I found the recipe in
her things when I cleared out her chamber and passed it on to Alogne.”

“Alogne was your grandmother’s maid?” he guessed.

“She’s terribly French and frightfully uppity. I could not
keep her on as my maid, could I?”

“No, I don’t suppose you could,” he agreed with a laugh that
loosened the tightness in his chest that had plagued him since the morning he’d
awoken to find her gone from his bed. His cock twitched in anticipation of
having her there once more.

“I’ve yet to find a lady’s maid so Tag is forced to assist
me when needs be.”

“As you are wondrously flexible and possessed of nimble
fingers, I would imagine you have little need of her services,” Henry replied
with a grin.

“Just so,” she agreed with a soft laugh.

And just like that the air around them seemed to grow heavy
as awareness sparked between them. Henry’s breath stalled in his chest, heat
racing up his spine and along his limbs. His shaft hardened and lengthened,
rising up in welcome.

“Will you journey to Idyllwild with me?” There was no need
to pitch his voice low the way all ladies adored. The words came out gravelly
of their own volition.

Georgiana’s lips twitched as she studied him, much as she’d
done weeks ago in the green in the center of Somerville. “I do have something
of a confession to make. One that might best be shared in private.”

Henry only waited, not the least bit interested in whatever
sin she’d committed, so long as it did not preclude her from taking his cock
into her tight little cunny.

“We must wait for Eleanor and Margery to return with Silly
and Laurel,” she said. “And you must fawn over them until those snotty cats are
positively green with envy.”

In the end the Misses Brooks returned without the snotty
cats and Henry was able to take leave of the ladies with a promise to attend
the assembly to be held in a few days time.

As had happened in Somerville, Georgiana insisted upon
following him in her carriage, entirely ignoring his not so subtle hint that he
might tie his horse to the back of her ancient box on wheels and join her
within.

Taking up a post beside the creaking conveyance, Henry rode
along while Georgiana leaned out the window and entertained him with stories of
her time in Deerfield.

She’d yet to explain what had brought her north and why
she’d lingered so close to the small estate that had been home to his father’s
mistress and their daughter for nearly two decades.

Henry wasn’t fool enough to believe it was mere coincidence
but each time he inquired as to her reasons she turned the topic, taking off on
one convoluted tale after another until he’d developed a stitch in his side
from laughing at her antics and his cock throbbed from listening to her
sinfully low voice.

Georgiana might have been another woman entirely. Gone was
the slightly petulant lady with the razor-sharp tongue who’d dragged him around
Hastings Hall for hours before taking him to untold heights on her knees before
him. Gone too was the taunting tease who’d stripped bare in front of him while
forcing him to admit he was woefully unable to refuse the ladies who
propositioned him on a regular basis.

He hoped the wanton woman who'd dipped her finger into her
sweet quim had not disappeared as well.

As her carriage turned onto the long winding drive that led
to Idyllwild Cottage, Georgiana craned her neck to see the sights.

“You’ll be able to see Idyllwild once we clear the woods,”
he told her with a chuckle.

“Idyllwild. Quite a lovely name, rather poetic. An idyll in
the woods,” she murmured, her voice nearly drowned out by the noise of the
carriage wheels. “Lady Easton was raised here?”

He was only mildly surprised she knew the particulars of
Beatrice’s early life. Georgiana likely knew quite a bit about his family.
She’d followed him about London for months, no doubt watching him interact with
his sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles, and learning much in the process.

“When you told Mrs. Cooper you’d known my mother, did you
speak true?”

“I like to think I always speak the truth,” she answered readily
before wrinkling her misshapen nose in an adorable fashion. “No, that isn’t
strictly true. I ought to have said that I speak the truth when I am able, but
I am not above stretching, sidestepping, or fleeing from it altogether when
needs be. Most often when I want to avoid a ruckus, you understand.”

“Yes, I suppose I do.” Henry had been avoiding ruckuses for
as long as he could remember.

They entered the shady woods and what little sunlight had
managed break through the clouds disappeared altogether. Birds still chirped in
the trees and crickets were warming up for the evening performance, but the
dusty drive was barely visible ahead of them.

“I’ll take the lead,” he said, reaching over to squeeze her
fingers resting on the edge of the carriage window. “It’s a bit of a winding
lane and perhaps not in the best shape. Mrs. Morgan and the Jenkins have been
away for some months and I doubt my man Porter has had time to fill in any
ruts.”

Setting actions to words, he nudged his mount into a canter
and quickly overtook the lumbering carriage. Soon they would pass from the
woods into open fields of wheat and barley blowing in the breeze. And beyond,
rolling green hills and valleys dotted with wildflowers.

But when he cleared the forest, he saw only fields of dry golden
grain waving listlessly in the wind. The clouds had taken on a green shimmer
and the sun no longer struggled to make an appearance.

Looking back he found Georgiana hanging out of the window,
her head swiveling about as she too took in the wilting crops and swirls of dry
dirt rising in the air and spinning like miniature cyclones.

Henry urged his horse into a gallop, taking the small knoll
at a fast clip, eager to see the meadows and the house, to assure himself that
all was well after the evidence of the damage wrought by months of drought.

What he saw when he reached the top of the rise was rolling
hills of sparse yellow grass and valleys without the colorful flowers that
typically bloomed all spring and summer. A fallow field lay to the right, one that
ought to have been planted with oats.

Idyllwild Cottage sat atop another smaller rise, gray stones
nearly hidden by trailing ivy that was a mottled mix of pale green and yellow.
The rosebushes surrounding the front of the three story house were barren of
blooms, their thorny branches wilted until they appeared as gnarled fingers
pointing to the ground.

A cloud of dust gathered and swirled into the air, rising
until it hid the front door before scuttling off to race across the dry brown
lawn.

The air had taken on the loamy smell of coming rain
underlain with a slightly smoky odor, as if the crops and grass were slowly
smoldering.

Swinging his horse about, he watched Georgiana’s carriage
crawl up the hill, the mismatched horses bent to the task, their hooves
fighting for traction on the dirt lane.

“The beasties will make it,” Silas called out from his perch
on the bench.

“This measly hillock is nothing,” Brain added with a jaunty
salute.

Knowing he could do nothing to aid their ascent, Henry
merely watched and waited until the antiquated conveyance crested the knoll. He
turned and galloped down the hill and up the next, stopping when he’d reached
the circular drive.

Dismounting, he called out a cheerful greeting, expecting
Mr. Porter to alight from the stables to take his horse or his wife to come
barreling through the front door wiping her hands on her apron. When no one
appeared he looped the reins over a post and waited.

Georgiana’s carriage rounded the drive, kicking up a cloud
of dust. Brain hopped to the ground and opened the door with a flourish before
lowering the step.

“All’s well, my ladies?” the boy asked of its inhabitants.

“Leave off,” Tag muttered as she descended from within,
ignoring the footman’s outstretched hand. She landed on her toes, her gray
skirts hiked up nearly to her knees.

She seemed an odd girl, prone to grumble with the least
provocation and glare at anyone unfortunate enough to draw her attention. Dark
hair cropped short framed a face that might have been pretty had her sun-bronzed
skin not been marked by a bout of what must have been smallpox. As slender as
her mistress with none of her height, she barely reached Henry’s chest, not
that she’d come anywhere near him. Not when he’d collected Georgiana at the
inn, not now as she waited beside Brain in the open door of the carriage.

“Kindly hand this to his lordship,” Georgiana instructed,
holding forth a bundle wrapped in blue velvet and tied with a red ribbon.

Tag took the parcel and marched to where Henry stood before
the front door.

“Here.” Careful to keep her distance she shoved the package
into his hands before dragging her gaze over his rumpled hair and wrinkled
attire.

He lowered the parcel to cover the cockstand in his
trousers. Too late.

“Men are disgusting,” Tag muttered, spinning about to face
the carriage as Georgiana exited with the help of the fair-haired boy.

Heat washed up Henry’s neck to settle on his cheeks.

“Your house is small,” Tag added with a sniff.

“I beg your pardon?” he replied around a huff of laughter.

“It’s barely a cottage.”

“I’ve larger estates with larger houses,” he answered,
fighting not to grin at her sullen proclamation.

“None so grand as Joy on the Mount.”

“Ah, the crumbling Scottish castle.”

“The Mount is not crumbling!”

“It is rather,” Georgiana said as she joined them. “The
entire south wing is little more than a ruin.”

“Even so,” Tag replied, crossing her arms over her chest.
“This cottage wouldn’t fill the great hall.”

“Never fear, dearest, you shall see Joy on the Mount again
in good time,” Georgiana said with a soft smile.

“Are we to wait here while you do whatever it is you’ve come
to do?”

“Honestly Tag, you would try the patience of a saint.”

“You are hardly a saint.”

“I’ve never claimed to be.” Georgiana patted the girls
shoulder before looking to Henry. “Did your servants not make the journey with
you, my lord?”

“I rode ahead,” he explained. “But my man Porter is about
somewhere, likely in the garden and his wife puttering in the kitchen.”

“Oh, did you not know? They’ve gone to Burnbridge for the
birth of Meg’s babe,” Georgiana replied.

“Meg?”

“Their youngest daughter.”

“How do you know…never mind. Not to worry, my servants can’t
be more than a few hours behind me.”

“It’s settled then.” She turned back to the carriage where
Silas stared up at the dark sky and Brain lounged in the open door, his long
legs spread out before him. “Please take Tag back to the inn before the rain
sets in. His lordship will see me home when his servants arrive.”

Thinking he couldn’t have planned it any better himself,
Henry offered Georgiana his arm. “Shall I give you a tour?”

“No need, my lord,” she replied, shooting one final look
back as Tag stepped into the carriage and Brain slammed the door closed.

Henry turned the knob on the front door only to find it
locked.

“There may be a key beneath that planter.” Georgiana pointed
to a small pot housing a wilted flower of some sort.

Without thought, his entire being focused upon the knowledge
that in moments he would have the lady to himself, he handed her bundle back to
her and bent to feel beneath the small pot. “Got it.”

Anticipation hummed in Henry’s veins. To say that he was
relieved to be sporting a bulge in his trousers after his debacle with Vivienne
was to put too fine a point on the matter.

He could not wait to peel Georgiana’s dress from her willowy
body—decided he wouldn’t even bother. There was a long settee in the parlor.
He’d have her astride him in seconds, his cock buried in her quim in less than
a minute, her screams echoing around the room shortly thereafter.

Opening the door and all but dragging her across the
threshold, he found the hall dark and filled with shadows.

“There is a lantern just inside the parlor, to the left on
the table, and a tinderbox in the drawer,” Georgiana said.

“No need.” Henry kicked the door shut and spun her about,
his hands on her shoulders pinning her to the heavy wood.

“Oh.”

He allowed her just that one word before he found her mouth,
warm and open in invitation. He thrust deep, groaned when she sighed, the soft
sound vibrating against his lips, making him dizzy with the need to possess
her.

Her velvet-wrapped parcel fell to the floor with a dull thud
and she curled her hands around his wrists, her fingers digging into his flesh.
Twisting in her grip, he caught her hands and pushed them up over her head,
pressing them to the door.

“Yes,” she whispered into his mouth, more breath than sound.

Her tongue tangled with his, stroked beneath, over the ridge
of his teeth. He caught it, pulling it into his mouth to suckle.

Georgiana trembled, her fingers curling around his until
they were palm to palm.

Wedging his knees between her legs, he gave her his weight,
gratified by the small whimper she gave him in return. He pressed his throbbing
cock against her belly, dipped down to thrust against her mound, dragged his
length over her, back and forth, and again.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he raced his lips along her jaw
until she tossed her head back, gifting him with her neck. Trailing hungry
kisses down the slender column, he thrust against her, grinding his shaft
almost painfully against her flesh.

“Christ, I want you,” he growled into the juncture of her
shoulder.

Georgiana sighed, her fingers clenching around his, one long
leg curling around his hips, pulling him hard against her. She caught the
frantic rhythm he’d set, rolling her hips to receive each thrust, whimpering
softly at each retreat, spurring him on until the blood pounded in his veins,
roared in his head.

Henry released her hands, dragged his own down to cup her
bottom, lifting her off her feet. Her long arms wrapped around his shoulders,
her hands clawed at his back as she wound both legs around him.

“By God,” he muttered against her neck, “I’m going to fuck
you until you scream.”

Georgiana moaned softly, her lips pressed to his temple, one
hand coming up to fist in his hair, the other clinging to his back.

Turning with her in his arms, he stumbled across the hall
into the parlor, finding the long settee and dumping her unceremoniously upon
it.

His hands fell to the front of his trousers while she
twisted about, untangling her skirts and petticoats and hitching them up to her
waist. He had only a moment to marvel that she’d left off her drawers again
before she pushed aside his fumbling fingers and released the buttons, tugging his
trousers past his hips.

Dropping to his knees between her spread legs, he took his
cock in hand.

“You mustn’t spend inside me,” she told him, catching his
gaze and holding it.

“Yes, my dove,” he replied, barely registering her words as
he wrapped one arm around her and pulled her to the edge of the sofa.

“Promise me.”

“Yes, I promise.” He would have promised her the moon and
the stars and all of the jewels in the Tower just to get his cock in her cunny.

Georgiana wound her arms around him, her hands skimming his
back to grip his ass, pulling him flush against her.