Authors: Georgie Lee
‘No, not tonight, you weren’t. I saw your face when Sir Walter commented on our connection. It troubled you.’
‘Sir Walter is an affable man, but not all his jokes are welcome, especially when made at your expense.’
‘You mean at your expense. I have no doubt Sir Walter is good-natured, but not even he is allowed to tease the imperious Lord Falconbridge.’
Randall stiffened. ‘I didn’t appreciate him making light of our acquaintance.’
She crossed her arms. ‘Acquaintance?’
‘Our friendship.’ Damn, she was rattling him.
‘I see.’
‘And what exactly is it you think you see?’ he challenged, his frustration with the baronet, her, himself rising to break his restraint. ‘A man who’s nothing but a scoundrel waiting to ruin everyone he meets?’
‘It’s your past, not mine, which leads me to such conclusions.’
‘And you draw them again and again. No matter what I do or whom I help,’ he snarled.
Her ire rose to meet his. ‘How am I to know your good deeds when you hide them like something to be ashamed of?’
‘Even if I told you, it wouldn’t make a difference.’ She opened her mouth to speak, but he kept going, a hurt deeper and older than she knew driving him on. ‘You curse me for hanging on to my London ways, yet you cling to my past, constantly conjuring it up to keep me at a distance. You’re determined to see me as a rake unworthy of you.’
‘And you’re determined to keep me dangling between friend and something more.’ Her hands balled at her sides. ‘What is it you want from me, or do you even know?’
Love.
The word almost escaped before he bit it back. Not even he would believe it once uttered, yet there it sat in his mind, as clear as the mill pond on a calm day.
He raked one hand through his hair. ‘You keep urging me to be a better man, but I can’t change in a matter of days, not even for you.’
She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, the gold pendant glowing against her fair skin in the low light. She was so beautiful and he hated the feel of her drawing away.
‘It’s more than recent days, Randall.’
‘I know and I’m sorry,’ he roared, frustration tearing the truth from the dark place inside him. ‘I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I’m sorry today and I was sorry then, for weeks, months, years afterwards. I was sorry every time Aunt Ella read me one of your letters and I knew every chance I ever had to win you back was gone.’
He took a deep breath and waited for her to laugh in triumph, to wound him the way he’d once so callously wounded her.
She raised her hand and he braced himself for the slap. He deserved it for everything he’d ever done to her, his father and so many others.
‘No, Randall.’ She laid her warm palm against his cheek. ‘Not gone. Not any more.’
Forgiveness followed the light sweep of her fingers across his face and he took her in his arms, pressing her hard against him. Relief slid through him, every wrenching ache their separation had caused soothed by the warmth of her body against his. She rose up on her toes, meeting his lips as he brought his down to cover hers, the taste of her sweeter than any delicacy he’d ever known.
She tangled her hands in his hair and he inhaled the magnolia perfume lingering on her wrists. Slowly he drew her back into her room and kicked the door closed, unwilling to let go or break the kiss for fear she might slip away.
His tongue slid between her teeth, caressing hers as his fingers worked open the tiny dress buttons following the arch of her spine. She didn’t pull away, but matched his movements, opening the buttons of his coat and then his waistcoat. With reluctance he let go of her waist and broke free of her lips, lowering his hands to his sides as she slid the wool down over his arms to fall to the floor. Her hands slipped beneath his waistcoat, her touch hot through his shirt as they swept across his chest and pushed the silk over his shoulders. He shrugged free of the garment, dropping it on the floor with the coat.
Reaching out, he caressed the silken skin of her shoulders, pushing the dress from her body until it slid free of her arms, catching on the roundness of her hips. He laid his hands above the draping fabric and brushed the curve of her until the silk pooled around her feet.
Turning her with a light pressure, his fingers traced the line of her back to the neat bow of her stays and he pulled the long ties until the bow came loose. His manhood stiffened with each slip of the ribbon through the small holes until the stays opened and he tossed them aside. He laid a gentle kiss on first one shoulder and then the other before grasping the sides of the chemise and drawing it up over her head.
Reaching around in front of her, he looked down at her naked body and the pendant hanging between her full breasts, glittering in the candlelight. He cupped the mounds, the heaviness in his hands worth more than any jewellery he could ever purchase for her. With his thumb, he stroked the pink nipples and she sighed, the quiet noise tightening his manhood to the point of pain. She laid her head back against his chest, her eyes closed and trusting, surrendering to him in a way no woman ever had before. Laying a kiss on her temple, he pressed his hardness against her soft buttocks, eager to be free of his breeches and know the pleasure of her full embrace.
She turned in his arms, no shame gracing her face as her ample breasts rose and fell with each short breath. Instead her heated eyes met his, travelling quickly over his bare chest before she reached for the front of his breeches. His whole body tightened as her fingers moved so close to his hardness, the air cool against him when the buttons were undone and the wool fell to the floor. Through her lashes she pinned him with a hungry look, her desire free of all greed of what this pleasure might gain her.
Clasping her wrists, he drew them up and around his neck, then slid his arms beneath her back and legs and lifted her up and carried her to the bed.
She lay back against the fine sheets, watching him like the beautiful goddess she’d portrayed in Sir Thomas’s studio. Only tonight there were no stern looks or chiding remarks, only acceptance and want.
He stretched out above her, dipping down over her body to nip and suck at the firm flesh of her breasts, taking one tender bud in his mouth and circling it with his tongue. She clung to him as he continued to tease her, his fingers tracing the length of her flat stomach to the sable curls between her thighs. She gasped when he found the tender pebble of her pleasure, her breath fast in his ear as he teased and stroked, sliding one finger, then another into her need. The feel of her around him, vulnerable and wanting, asking nothing of him but this coming together made his being ache.
Sensing the crest of her pleasure rising in the firm embrace of her body, he withdrew, wanting to feel the first waves of her release caress his member. She sighed in frustration, then reached up and drew him down to cover her. The soft curls of her womanhood teased his aching rod as he settled between her sweet thighs, the tip of his member resting light against her centre.
The gentle pressure of her hands on his buttocks urged him forward and he slid into her warmth. Taking her mouth with his, he forced himself still for a moment, as much to savour her as to regain control. Then her hips began to move against him and he met her steady pace. Deeper and deeper he led her into pleasure, one with her, his thrusts building as she tightened around him, their bodies moving together until his groans matched her cries and release tore through them both. He shuddered within her, arms hard around her as he pressed his forehead to hers and she trembled beneath him.
When their bodies stilled and their hard breaths softened, he rolled to one side and pulled her into the crook of his arm. Her cheek rested against his collar as her fingers brushed his chest. The candles burned low, the wax sputtering until one by one the flames died out.
‘I love you,’ he whispered, waiting in the darkness for her answer.
‘I love you, too, Randall.’
He dropped a light kiss on her forehead, holding her close until her hand rested on his chest and her body grew heavy against his. Then he closed his eyes and joined her in sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
T
he sharp explosion of a pistol split the morning still and acrid gunsmoke filled the air. A neat hole near the centre marred the target on a bale of hay a few yards away.
‘Well done.’ Cecelia clapped as Randall handed his pistol to a footman and then accepted another.
‘I can do better.’ He took aim at the red circle and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked back in his hand, the smoke hovering and blocking their view before it cleared, revealing a clean hole in the centre of the target.
‘Very good.’ Cecelia came forward from the edge of the range. ‘Now let me try.’
He moved aside, allowing her to take a smaller pistol from the footman.
She stepped up to the line and levelled the barrel at the target. Despite the pleasures of last night and the early hour she’d awoken to watch him leave before the maid arrived to light the fire, she felt no exhaustion. Her body hummed with energy, excitement and anticipation. The apology she’d waited so long to hear had finally come and with it a new belief in Randall and their future. He loved her and everything would be all right.
‘Would you like some pointers?’ he asked, mistaking her silence for difficulty with her aim.
‘No, thank you.’ She pulled the trigger, the small explosion reverberating up through her arm.
They stared down the range at the target. It was a respectable shot, hitting the outermost edge of the rings.
‘Quite commendable for a lady.’
‘A skill I learned, but did not master, in Virginia.’
‘Then allow me to continue your education.’ He took her gun, exchanging it with the footman for a new one and handing it to her.
‘Now, ready yourself.’ He laid his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face the hay. ‘Hold up the pistol.’
She obeyed and he slid one hand around her waist to rest on her stomach. Closing her eyes, she inhaled his heat mixed with the earthy scent of the hay. She opened her eyes, struggling to keep her hand steady and not set off the gun.
‘To fire correctly, you must know your weapon.’ He pressed his desire against her back as he wrapped his hand over hers to help hold the pistol. ‘This one errs to the left, therefore, if you wish to strike the middle, you must aim further to the right.’
He brought his face down next to hers as he moved her arm ever so slightly to the right. She struggled against the rapid beat of her heart to hold the gun steady, then closed one eye and looked down the barrel until the bright red circle came into view.
‘Exactly,’ he whispered, his breath spreading over her neck. ‘Keep your fingers light but firm and your arm tight. When you’re ready, pull the trigger.’
She slid one finger out from beneath his and curled it around the metal trigger. She pulled it back and the gun fired, Randall’s strong hand keeping it from recoiling hard against her palm. They waited a breath for the smoke to clear before the hole, so close to Randall’s in the centre, came into view.
Cecelia turned, snuggling into his neck. ‘You’re right, I have so much more to learn.’
He lowered their arms, his hand tightening over hers. ‘It will be my pleasure to complete your education.’
‘You’ll find me a most willing student,’ she purred.
His lips covered hers and she opened her mouth to accept his teasing tongue, oblivious to the footman or how visible they were to anyone who might pass by.
‘Shall we go inside, or would you like me to continue your education here?’ Randall’s teeth nipped her earlobe and she shivered.
She glanced at the footman, who wiped black powder from the spent pistol, his back politely to them. ‘What about your aunt?’
‘She took your cousin to the village to purchase a new parasol for tomorrow’s garden party,’ he whispered, the heat of his breath catching hold deep inside her. ‘They will not be back for some time.’
‘It sounds so sinful.’
‘It is.’
She offered no resistance when he took her hand and led her up the lawn toward Uncle Edmund’s garden. At the entrance, Randall jogged through the arch, pulling her behind the boxwoods. They were not two steps in when he pressed her against a slender beech tree near the start of the path. The bark scratched through the thin wool of her dress, but she barely noticed as Randall leaned against her, kneading her breast until the tip pressed firm against her stays.
She buried her fingers in his hair, revelling in his kiss as his hand slipped along the length of her side to rest against one thigh. He raised the hem of her skirt until the cool breeze brushed against her legs, the soft sweep of the air intensified by the heat of Randall’s caress. Her hands moved down his chest, eager to free him from his breeches, to feel again the fullness of him within her when the memory of Lady Ellington at the upstairs windows made her freeze.
She broke from his kiss, pushing down his hand and the dress. ‘Not here.’
‘Why not?’ His hand slipped back beneath the wool, tracing a line up to her buttocks and making her shiver.
‘I’m not so adventurous.’ She struggled to speak as he drew circles on her inner thigh, each one bringing him closer and closer to the curls between them.
‘Yes, you are.’ One finger slid into her and she rose up on her toes, biting her lip as his thumb teased the tender bud. She tilted her face to the sun, lost to everything but the steady motion of his touch. His tongue traced the line of her throat, sliding between the V of her dress to taste the space between her breasts.
She held tight to Randall’s neck as the rising wave of her release began to build, threatening to break her beneath the pressure when he pulled back.
‘You’re too wicked,’ she panted, grasping his upper arms to steady herself.
‘Not wicked enough,’ he growled, undoing the buttons on his breeches.
He grasped her raised leg, his mouth muffling her cry as his member filled her, his demanding strokes claiming her. They rocked together, each move matched by the other as if they’d spent every night of the last ten years together, not separated by an ocean.
She opened wider, clinging to him, willingly embracing each powerful thrust. They pushed her higher and higher until she cried out as the spasms of pleasure tore through them both.
He withdrew from her, his face moist against hers as their racing hearts slowed and the birds in the tree above them resumed their songs.
‘How easily you make me forget everything.’ She sighed, lowering her leg and leaning against the tree, wishing she could lie down in the grass with him and watch the clouds pass overhead.
He buttoned his breeches, then propped one arm against the trunk near her ear, a devilish smile playing on his lips. ‘The day is not over yet.’
He trailed his fingers along the length of her arm, clasping her hand tightly as he drew her from the garden, along the path and up the stone stairs into the house.
Passing through the sitting room, they hurried down the hallway and up the stairs. At the top, Randall jerked to a stop before colliding with the butler.
‘A letter arrived for Mrs Thompson,’ the butler announced, holding out a tray to Cecelia.
The looped handwriting on the letter cooled some of her former heat as she picked it up. ‘Thank you.’
The butler nodded, then descended the stairs.
Randall studied her as she opened the letter. ‘Who’s it from?’
‘Madame de Badeau.’ She read the short note to herself, aware of Randall watching her.
As your friend, I must warn you that your absence and Randall’s has been noted among society. Lord Strathmore is particularly troubled to hear you are at Falconbridge Manor. I’ve told him it is only to forward the interests of your cousin, but I do not think he believes me. I suggest you write to him at once and confirm your cousin’s situation and put his mind at ease. I should hate for you to lose the esteem of such a worthy gentleman, especially for one who is quite determined to avoid springing the parson’s mousetrap. I also suggest you not stay away from London for too long. I should hate to see people draw the wrong conclusion about your friendship with Lord Falconbridge.
Your Dearest Friend,
Madame de Badeau
Despite the friendly tone, Cecelia heard the warning and her briefly forgotten worries began to rise up around her again.
Randall’s eyes narrowed. ‘What does she say?’
She handed it to him. ‘It seems our presence in London is missed.’
‘Ignore it.’ Without reading it, he tore it into pieces and dropped them on the floor. ‘She means nothing to us.’
The paper rustled beneath their feet as he cupped her face and met her worry with a lingering kiss. This was the Randall she’d waited so long for, the one who loved and wanted her. Let Madame de Badeau and Lord Strathmore wonder at their absence. Her fate would no longer be decided by necessity or lecherous men.
Pulling her down the hallway, Randall led her into his room and the semi-darkness of the half-drawn curtains. The door clicked shut behind them and they tore at each other’s clothes, cursing all the buttons and knots until the garments lay tossed over silk-covered chairs and strewn across the fine woven carpets. They toppled naked into his massive carved bed, legs intertwined, the heat of his hardness searing Cecelia’s stomach and making her centre burn.
‘Tell me what you want, how I can please you,’ Randall demanded, caressing one breast until the nipple grew taught.
‘Keep your fingers light but firm,’ she breathed, mimicking his words.
With a wicked grin, he slid his hand down the line of her stomach and cupped her mound. His fingertips found the nub of her pleasure and began to work the sensitive flesh. ‘Like this?’
‘Yes,’ she moaned, the unyielding play of his thumb against her pearl making her hips writhe. He took one nipple in his mouth and she arched her back, balling the sheets in her hands, eager for him to enter her again.
His steady caress eased as his lips swept the side of her breast, pressing against the space between them before finding her other nipple. His fingers moved lower, sliding into her, their motion as constant as the firm circles made by his tongue.
Then he raised his head and kissed her neck, tracing the line of her jaw until his heavy breath brushed her ear. ‘To fire correctly, you must know your weapon.’
He withdrew from her and, easing her hand from the sheet, guided it to his member.
It throbbed when her fingers tightened around it, the firmness making her insides quiver. He closed his eyes as she stroked the length of him, her pace matching the quick rise and fall of his chest. Resting on one elbow, she slid her tongue over the hard muscle of his stomach, following the firm length of his torso up to the base of his neck, tasting the salt and sweat of him until his eyes snapped open and he pulled her hand away.
‘Enough play.’ He smirked, settling between her thighs, his staff hot against her skin. ‘Now we must hit the target.’
He plunged into her and she dug her fingernails into his back, the fullness of him threatening to shatter her. The worries of the letter and London faded beneath the groans of his arousal and she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him in deeper, meeting each thrust until they shuddered together, panting in their release.
‘You are a quick study,’ he whispered, grazing her earlobe with his teeth.
‘I told you I’m a most willing student.’ She nestled into the curve of his body and he settled on his side next to her, his arm over her stomach, caressing her hip. She held his bicep, trailing her fingernails down the line of it, revelling in the warmth of him beside her. Outside, a footman’s sharp whistle followed by Reverend’s bark carried into the room. She looked towards the window, catching a small slip of paper on the floor next to a discarded shoe.
The letter.
Her fingers stopped.
On the pillow beside her, Randall opened his eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’
She rolled to face him, tracing the line of his jaw with one finger, the woman who’d spent weeks carefully guarding herself from hurt briefly returning. She wanted to ask him about their future and what would happen when they returned to London, but she held her tongue. He loved her and it was foolish to doubt him or think he might retreat again in the face of society’s judgement.
‘Nothing.’ She laid her head on his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothe her concerns.
Outside, the faint grinding of carriage wheels over gravel and the driver calling the horses to stop joined Reverend’s barks.
‘They’ve returned,’ Randall murmured as the entreaties of Lady Ellington for Reverend to stop barking drifted up to them.
‘Yes, they have.’ She sighed, not wanting to leave the sanctuary of this room and Randall’s embrace.
‘Shall we go down?’
She propped herself up on his chest, her breasts flattening against the hardness of it. ‘No, instruct the footman to tell your aunt we’re both indisposed. No doubt she’ll understand and keep Theresa occupied.’
‘And you told me you weren’t adventurous.’
He rolled over, pressing her into the sheets, and she opened to him, ready to enjoy him as many times as this day would allow.