A Season of Seduction (28 page)

“It usually doesn’t take this long,” she murmured. “I am one-handed and your fingers are too big. We need servants.”

“Or we need to get rid of these damn gloves.”

A chuckle burst from her lips, but it died away as he brought her fully gloved hand to his mouth. He pressed his lips against the buttery kidskin. “There.”

She tore her hand out of his grip and threw her arms around him, planting her lips on his. “I cannot do this in public.” She kissed him again. “So I wanted to kiss and hug you one last time…”

“Nonsense.” That wicked smile curled his lips. “There’s tonight, in your brother’s house—”

“My brother’s house!” she gasped, widening her eyes at him.

“—and many, many more nights to come.”

Their lips met again, in a fiery clash that left her breathless. He finally pulled away, his gaze raking her body, finally lingering at her gloved hands.

“Hell,” he muttered. “As much as I want to strip all those clothes off you and take you on the floor, it really will be noon before we leave. The damnable gloves alone take a quarter of an hour to button.”

Smiling, she slipped her hand between them, running her fingers up the length of his erection. Then, on, impulse, she dropped to her knees and kissed him through the fabric of his trousers.

“Becky, what are you—?”

She was already undoing his buttons. Making short work of them, she slid his trousers down his narrow hips, taking his drawers down with them.

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “There’s time.”

By the time she was finished, he’d appreciate these “damnable” gloves as much as she did. They were made of the softest, finest kid, and not only were they the most beautiful gloves she owned, they were also the most comfortable.

She took him, already brick-hard, into her hands, cradling him in her fingers. Then she began a rhythmic stroke, moving the soft kid up and down his shaft. After just a few seconds, his hands rested heavily on her shoulders. “Becky…”

“Mmm?”

“I—”

But she’d pressed her lips to the crown of his organ, and he gasped, his hips jerking toward her.

She pulled away, biting her lip. Did he want…? Could she…?

Sliding her fingers down his shaft, she kissed him again, then tentatively opened her mouth over him.

He groaned, long and low. His fingers pressed behind her neck, encouraging her to take him deeper.

She did. She took him as deep as she could into her mouth, his silky-hard skin gliding beneath her lips. He tasted salty, musky, masculine. She held him there until he moved his hips back, pulling himself from her mouth. When she began to move away, however, his fingers tightened on her neck, and she obediently pressed forward once more, allowing her kidskin-covered fingers to slide over him, leading the way for her lips.

He pulled out a little, and it struck her that the movements they’d made imitated sexual congress. Was that what he wanted? Testing her theory, she did it again, retreating again until she nearly released him, and then when his fingers tightened over her neck, she pressed forward, swallowing him as deeply as she could.

He made a small noise. Under her fingertips and the sensitive skin of her lips, he grew tighter, harder.

Yes.

She tried it again, this time without any urging from him. She withdrew and then, even before he applied pressure on her neck, took him in, swirling her tongue around the silken skin of his shaft as she did so.

“Yes, Becky,” he said, his voice a near-moan. “Yes.”

She did it again and again, sinking into the rhythm of it, working her lips over him, experimenting with the pressure and the depth of her caresses, learning quickly that the deeper she took him, the more he trembled. And when she withdrew, if she swirled her tongue around his crown, his fingers would curl into her hair, and he would groan.

His texture and his shape. His taste and his touch. She learned it all, and mimicking the way he moved inside her, she moved over him.

Suddenly, his fists tightened in her hair, and his thigh tightened under her palm. “I’m going to—”

Whatever he was going to say, he didn’t finish. He froze, holding her locked against him. She couldn’t continue—she couldn’t even move. His shaft contracted under her fingertips, under her lips, over her tongue. And his seed spilled deep into her mouth.

She closed her eyes and swallowed convulsively, then again.

Finally he stilled. His hands loosened from her hair, and he pulled away from her. She remained there, dazed, as he fell to his knees before her and took her into his arms, his lips pressing into her hair.

He was shaking, she realized. “God, Becky. You didn’t have to do that. I didn’t mean to force you—”

“But… I wanted to. Didn’t you like it?”

“Like…?” He pulled away. Gripping her by the shoulders, he shook her a little. “I loved it, woman. No one… well…” He broke off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

She brought her gloved hands to his face, turning it so he looked at her. She was so confused. “What? What are you talking about?”

“No other woman has ever done that for me.” He sucked in a breath. “Without… compensation.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“Women generally… well, they don’t seem to be fond of that particular act.”

She ran her tongue over her lips, still tasting his salty, tangy flavor. His expression darkened, and he groaned softly.

“Would it be very debauched of me, then, if I told you I enjoyed it?”

He laughed outright, and gathered her close. “I’m more inclined to think I’m the luckiest man on earth.”

“We should go,” she whispered against his shoulder, though her body ached for him to keep holding her.

Sighing, he rose and helped her up, too. He dressed, then pulled on his own gloves as she tied on her velvet hat, took her hand, and led her to the door. When he opened it, they both reeled to a halt, gawking in surprise at the figure standing on the threshold.

A blast of cold autumn air swept over their faces.

And Garrett’s brawny fist shot out and slammed into Jack’s face.

Chapter Sixteen

T
he blow tore Jack’s grip from Becky’s arm. He careened backward, and Garrett stalked after him into the tiny entry hall, aiming another punch at Jack’s face.

Jack was ready this time. He twisted away, dodging the blow, and followed up with a low fist to Garrett’s stomach.

“Stop!” Becky shouted. “Stop this instant!”

She grabbed her brother’s arm as he raised it to aim once again at her lover. She dug in her heels and yanked him back—away. “What are you doing, Garrett? Stop it!”

He turned, gazed at her for an instant, then whipped back round to Jack, who snarled at him and raised his fists.

“Wait outside for me, Rebecca,” Garrett growled, shaking off her arm.

“No!”

He didn’t look at her again. Instead he adopted a fighting stance. “I’ll take you home when I’m finished with him.”

Becky hissed out a breath. “You certainly will not! If I go anywhere, it will be with Jack.”

Garrett aimed another punch at Jack’s face. Jack dodged it.

Grabbing Garrett’s arm again, Becky pulled back with all her might. She might as well have tried to move a tree trunk. He didn’t budge, but her efforts did gain his attention. He glanced over his shoulder at her, his brow wrinkled, the scar above it bulging and red.

“No more fighting, Garrett! It’s over. I’ve decided to marry him. We were going home this morning.”

Garrett was stiff and solid beneath her arms. He went back to staring down Jack, who stood with his fists up, ready for the next onslaught. “He abducted you from Lady Devore. She came to me—”

“Jack told her he was with me. I wanted to go. I asked him to take me away.”

“She said she knew you were with him, but that she’d expected you to return to her house later that night. You’d been gone for longer than a day, and she was growing concerned.”

“I told her—” Jack began. Then, gritting his teeth, heshook his head. “She was… with someone. She was distracted.”

“There was no reason to be concerned, Garrett,” Becky said. “I wanted to be here with him. We were coming home.”

Garrett turned to stare down at her face. He gripped her shoulders. “Is that true, Rebecca? Because if he is coercing you in any way, if he has threatened you… you would say something, wouldn’t you? Tell me the truth—I won’t let him harm you. Is this what you want?”

Becky glanced at Jack. A thin line of blood trailed down from his nose from Garrett’s first punch. “Yes. It is.” She smiled at Jack. His stance relaxed, and he managed a small smile back at her when their eyes met. “I want to marry him,” she whispered. “More than anything in this world.”

A short time later, the three of them were on their way back to London, crammed together in the carriage in rigid silence. Garrett scowled whenever Jack and Becky came within inches of touching each other, and by the time they arrived in Mayfair, Becky already missed him. Her body craved his touch, and she’d only been separated from him for a few hours.

Still, when they drove up the circling drive at Garrett’s house, Becky was relieved to be home. Frigid air had permeated the carriage all the way from Richmond, and her domino wasn’t meant for this weather. Her elbow ached, her fingers tingled, and she was cold to her bones. She looked forward to a cup of warm chocolate and a nice fire in the drawing room with Jack.

When she stepped out of the carriage, however, Jack gathered her hand in his, brushed his lips over it, and said good-bye. Before she had a chance to protest, he’d dropped her hand and was taking long strides down the drive.

Bemused by his abrupt departure, she watched him disappear down Curzon Street, and then she turned to question Garrett, only to find that he and the carriage had disappeared, too. She asked the footman where he had gone.

“His Grace has gone to the stables to unhitch the horses, my lady.”

Shaking her head at her brother’s insistence on doing everything for himself, she mounted the front stairs, working the top buttons of her gloves. The house was quiet—too quiet. How odd that Kate and Aunt Bertrice had not come down to greet her. With her fingers on the pearly buttons, Becky paused near the foot of the main staircase, tilting her head in curiosity.

Behind her, Garrett blustered in with a gust of cold air. Without bothering to close the door, he stalked past her toward the stairs. She picked up her skirts and hurried after him.

“What is it?” she asked, her heart surging to her throat.

“It’s Kate,” he bit out. “Sam just told me she’s laboring.”

“Oh, Lord.” Becky’s heart banged against her breastbone as she hurried after her brother, taking the stairs two at a time.

Garrett threw open the door to the bedchamber he shared with Kate, Becky at his shoulder. The group of women standing at the bedside looked up in surprise. The bed curtains were open, so Kate was clearly visible. She lay in bed on her back, her stomach heaving, and when she heard the sound of the door, she turned toward them, her face flushed.

“Oh, Garrett. Becky. I’m so happy to see you. I knew you would come.”

Early that evening, Becky sat at Kate’s bedside, holding her new nephew in her arms. This was Garrett’s fifth child. His first two legitimate children—the first with Sophie and the second with Kate—were girls. Then there was Reginald, Kate’s much-younger half-brother, and Charlotte, Garrett’s illegitimate daughter, both of whom Garrett and Kate were raising as their own.

When Garrett was married to Sophie, they’d been barren for years, and he’d never thought he’d have children. Now he had five—and finally, after so very long, he had his heir. Cuddled up in Becky’s arms and lightly sucking on his little fist lay her brother’s tiny son.