Authors: Elle Q. Sabine
If he survived, he’d ejaculate into his shirt before he joined her in the bed. There was no way he’d make it through the night otherwise. But first, there was something else he wanted with a desperation he could hardly contain, and there was no reason he couldn’t have it tonight.
Charles came to his senses in time to see her collapsing, replete and senseless. He eased out from beneath her and lifted her completely onto the chaise. She blinked at him, a soft smile on her lips, so he kissed them, then set about arranging her to his satisfaction. He slipped a silk wrap around her shoulders and cushions beneath her hips, neck and shoulders, bringing her down far enough so that her knees fell over the end of the chaise and her feet rested on the floor. He draped her hair around her face and shoulders and moved her hands to cross them over her gently curved belly.
When he stood back and looked at her, Abby’s eyes blinked open. “I can hardly move,” she sighed. “And that’s going to hurt for a while.”
Charles couldn’t help it—his mouth quirked. He’d spanked her more—much more—than he might have planned or expected, but it wasn’t as if she had objected. From the first smack of her ‘punishment’ she’d asked for more. “If you’re so relaxed now, you’ll be absolutely faint with pleasure before we’re finished.”
“We’re not?” The strangled words almost made him laugh, again. She looked scandalised—no, just shocked.
He went down to his knees at the end of the chaise, taking in the silk that still stretched over her legs up to her thighs. She started to sit up, but Charles shook his head. “No, lie back. Let me learn you.”
Abigail trembled. Charles could sense her unease and resurgent nerves.
Lord, he loved her in this vulnerable state.
Deliberately, he unfastened the garter on her right leg, soothing the skin beneath it, reddened by a day of confinement, with his tongue. Slowly, he rolled the silk down her leg, trailing his lips down the inside of her thigh and knee after it. He repeated the process on her left leg then picked out the knots in her slippers before removing them. She was now completely bare and he watched in fascination as she instinctively flexed her feet and ankles.
Abby had no idea what to expect. He wondered what she thought of him here, kneeling like a supplicant before her, though he’d never be foolish enough to confess that he could imagine himself in the role. She’d cast him as a conqueror, but at that moment, as his eyes wandered up her white, silky thighs, he could only imagine her as his virgin queen, while he knelt at her feet preparing to swear her the most intimate vow of fealty on Earth.
It was up to him to teach her what could be.
Charles licked his lips.
He nibbled on the lower curve of her belly first, unsurprised when she gasped out a little cry of surprise. He explored it with his lips before moving to the swell of her hip—he felt her bend forward and her hands clasp in his hair.
“Lie back,” he murmured, sliding his hands up her sides and pressing her into the cushions. “Lie back, Abby, and let me have you.” He squeezed one hand over her firm breast and tweaked her nipple firmly, pushing until she collapsed back with another moan. Then he loosened his grip, but kept his hand cupped around the weighted areola as his lips found that patch of her curls on her pubis that had so attracted him earlier.
She kept the hair neatly trimmed there, he saw, and smiled wickedly. In all innocence, she had cared for that intimate place. It bode well for his plans. And he did have plans.
Beneath him, Abigail stiffened and gasped in shock, but the warmth of his lips and his gentle patience won her over. She relaxed and sank back, though her hands remained tangled in his hair.
Once she knew what was possible, he thought, he’d have to tie her hands out of the way to keep her from interfering in what promised to be a delicious banquet for his senses. The hunger was clawing inside him now, and he dropped his lips farther, lifting her thigh with his right hand and draping it over his shoulder.
“Charles,” she moaned, and he glanced up the contours of her body to watch her arch in delicious reaction.
He avoided her clitoris for the moment, running his lips and tongue along the outer edge of her labia. The source of her creamy juice was there beckoning to his tongue, and the scent of her so intoxicating that he could hardly breathe. His heart ached with greed and lust.
She was the tart sweetness of the most luscious fruit of heaven, and he was hungry.
* * * *
Abigail was sure it had been something more than a mere swoon.
Faint with pleasure
didn’t begin to describe it. Ecstasy was closer. Rapture.
Whatever it was, it had been exhausting. She’d slipped into sleep without really recovering. Dimly she recalled a warm, wet cloth soothing her burning curves. He must have washed her, because her thighs weren’t nearly as sticky as they’d been after the previous incidents. Oddly enough, she thought that had been somewhat after, as if she’d woken from sleep to savour his care, then had slipped back into unconsciousness.
Hours must have passed since then, for the fire had died and the room was dark, with the faint sunrise beginning to light the inner edges of the drapes. She’d been astonished to find herself garbed in one of Meriden’s nightshirts, but then had realised with a sense of growing fascination that he was stark naked.
When she’d first awoken, he’d been wrapped around her tightly, one hand cupping a breast and another spread over her mons, both through the linen nightshirt. Behind her, his manhood—
there had to be a better name for it
, she decided instantly—was stiff against her thighs. She wished she could see it, but his tight grip on her and the dark room prevented her from seeing anything.
The nightshirt was to protect her, she realised with a soft inward laugh. He was protecting her from his own touch.
The silence gave her the opportunity and space to think through all that had happened, and all she felt about what had happened. During those long, quiet minutes, he mumbled huffily in his sleep and rolled away, taking a good portion of the counterpane with him.
Abigail was beginning to get cold. Clearly the man was unused to sleeping with a woman, if he so blatantly kept the coverings for himself.
She rolled on her back and contemplated what to do. She remembered clearly what his orders had been though she had little reason to follow them, and every reason not to. There was no reason to antagonise her aunt or place the servants in an awkward position. Leaving her clothes behind and being woken up in one of the earl’s nightshirts would be more than enough proof for Annie and Meriden’s valet. She now had some inkling of why her mother might bribe the servants at Winchester House. Abigail would have to bribe both as it was. Abigail was awake. And cold. And Meriden would sleep for hours—he’d spent most of the day outside in the saddle, then half the night turning her inside out.
Mrs Danvers was calling for her at the country hour of eight o’clock in the morning. Abigail had warned Annie to wake her early.
Abigail had no choice—she was going to have to escape. And now was the time—Meriden had rolled away and she was, literally, free to slide off the edge of the mattress. Her feet landed silently on the thick rug.
Luckily, Meriden’s earlier display of locking the doors had been mostly for show. He’d had to go into his apartments to clean up and find the nightshirt she was wearing, and he’d not locked the door when he had come back.
Abigail’s bed was cold and uncomfortable, but she found it safely. And, after she’d wrapped the blankets around her and warmed them, she stayed abed until Annie slipped silently into the room an hour later.
She warned Annie about her unusual,
manly
attire, relieved to find the girl amused rather than shocked, then ate her breakfast on a tray in her room and dressed. Grady was assisting her up into Mrs Danvers’ gig when Meriden strode through the front door and into the forecourt with a recognisable glare on his face. After the briefest of looks, she finished climbing into the carriage, relieved that Meriden was obviously trying to control himself before the rector’s wife.
At least he had dressed. Mostly. He’d forgotten his jacket, but his waistcoat was buttoned. And Abigail was fairly certain he’d neither bathed nor done more to his hair than run an aggravated hand through it, as the silky black locks brushed carelessly against his shoulders.
She bit her lip, catching Grady’s eye, but Margaret Danvers had no fear of the earl’s temper. “There you are,” she said gaily. “I’m so glad you are to lend me your lovely fiancée for the morning. We have so much to do today and it will take hours, I’m afraid. I’m planning to keep her for lunch at the rectory, but will return her this afternoon, safe and sound. And thank you so much for the dinner invitation, we’re delighted to accept.”
Meriden gritted his teeth as he nodded, walking around the front of the horses to Abigail’s side of the carriage. Grady jumped back, and Abigail obligingly bent down to listen to whatever indecency he was about to utter, making sure that he had an excellent view down the front of her otherwise perfectly acceptable dress. She had no wish to let Margaret Danvers in on whatever promise he was about to issue.
He did not disappoint. “You’re going to be so sore you won’t want to sit for a week.”
Abigail smiled at him, full of sunny confidence and joy. “I’m looking forward to it,” she said pertly, making sure her eyes flirted with his darker expression. She had no doubt her lighter, louder words would reach both Grady and Mrs Danvers. “Aunt Betsy is planning to supervise the opening of the ballroom this morning and rest this afternoon. I’ll see you when I return, my lord, unless you’d like to join us in making flower arrangements and purchasing pastries?”
He scowled and very softly uttered one distinct word. “Mine.”
“Have a good morning then.” She sat up and looked at Margaret Danvers, essentially forcing him to back away. “I think we’re all ready.”
She waited until they were well down the drive before she glanced at Mrs Danvers’ twitching lips. The lady, older than Abigail but not so aged as to not see what was going on right in front of her, met her glance briefly. “Whatever you do, don’t look back at him,” she advised.
“Oh, I won’t, Mrs Danvers,” Abigail assured her.
“Margaret, my dear, call me Margaret. And let me congratulate you. That was absolutely
spectacular
. I have no idea what he did to deserve that but you performed beautifully. He’s going to be climbing the walls by the time I take you home.”
Abigail couldn’t hold in her laughter. “Oh, I know. I was simply repaying in kind the consideration he showed yesterday—at least he bade me farewell today. But I confess I haven’t solved the problem of how to distract him for the afternoon. The dinner company will suffice for the evening, but he’s expecting to entrap me this afternoon now, and I confess that even the presence of the formidable Mrs Carlton is unlikely to deflect him. She’ll simply let herself be dismissed.”
Margaret smiled. “Oh, my dear, I believe we can solve that problem this morning. Before we go to the bakery, let’s stop and see Joseph at the church. I’m sure he has an entire list of things to speak to Meriden about—there’s no time like today, as he won’t want to disturb you after the wedding.”
Abigail grinned. Women were amazing.
* * * *
Hours later, she was still grinning, at least inside. When Margaret had returned her to Meriden Park after lunch, Joseph Danvers had Meriden trapped in the estate office with his secretary. She and Margaret had met Mrs Smart in the village and Margaret had casually asked after the preparations for the November hunting. Abigail had understood the implications and afterwards breezily chattered about how she was looking forward to quiet time alone with Meriden after the wedding and her aunt’s departure.
Mr Smart arrived before Joseph had finished with the earl. They had a long list of things to discuss—Mr Smart offered to take on more responsibility than usual for preparing the neighbourhood roads and fences for winter, as he expected the earl would be busy adjusting to married life. Abigail listened from the music room, where the servants were meticulously cleaning, and inwardly chuckled as they went into the library and closed the door.
Ninety minutes later, Meriden, eyebrows already lowered, cornered Abigail in the ballroom. The footmen were hanging yards of blue muslin just arrived from Birmingham over the faded wallpaper. She immediately launched into a list of her own. “Meriden, we haven’t discussed the household budget, but the drawing room simply must be refurbished before Christmas. Without women in the house, I suppose the neighbours have been tolerant and there hasn’t been anyone calling, but it’s almost shameful now that you’re marrying. I say Christmas because we’ll be expected to entertain at least to some degree by then, though I can delay it to December if we use refurbishing as an excuse, and I go out and make calls instead of expecting everyone to come here.” She pointed to the wallpaper they were carefully covering. “And it’s not the only eyesore inside the house. Just here, on the main floor, the music room and the billiards room have been neglected, and, while we can disguise the rooms easily enough for the wedding breakfast, it simply will not do if we’re to entertain the neighbours regularly. Lady Kresley made it clear that by all rights the Hunt Ball should be held here, though she’s happy to do it this year again since we’re marrying so close—”
“Do whatever you like with the house, including tearing it down and building it up again,” Meriden growled, grabbing her hand. “Have the accounts sent to Benjamin. He’ll pay them. C’mon, now.”
She looked at him, surprised, but knew he’d recognise she was manipulating him if she pretended complete ignorance. “We can’t
now
,” she whispered, glancing at Grady walking towards them. “Everyone will notice if I just disappear.”
“Who cares?” he returned, but sighed and released her when Grady stopped before them and refused to be ignored. “What is it now?” he asked the man bluntly.