To Marry an Heiress (9 page)

Did Lauren know a kiss involved more than lips? That a man’s tongue also played? And when a man kissed a woman from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and everywhere in between, did he use his tongue then as well? Did he stroke and swirl and apply pressure—

“Open your mouth.”

His voice carried an urgency that had her obeying without a second thought. His fingers clutched the sides of her head as his tongue swept through her mouth. Boldly, brazenly. Strange how the heat created by their mouths spread through her limbs all the way down to her soles. Tendrils of pleasure reached out and curled inward. He shouldn’t have
taken her off her horse, because her legs were growing too weak to support her.

As though sensing her struggle to remain standing, he wrapped one arm tightly around her and pressed her flush against his chest. He groaned low, and she felt the rumble vibrate against her breasts, over them, through them.

She couldn’t expect him to do all the work, to keep her upright, so she wound her arms around his neck. He had such a firm neck, corded muscles she hadn’t expected of a gentleman.

But neither had she expected this slow burning that promised to consume. Heated mouths, hot tongues, clutching hands. She’d always thought of Englishmen as prudes, had expected his kiss to be civilized, but the sensations rippling through her with increasing intensity bordered on barbaric. She wanted to moan, thought she might have moaned again and again as his hand slid lower and his fingers dug into her backside, pressing her firmly against him, her stomach to his hips, to the place in between. Against the startling evidence that he desired her.

She hadn’t expected that. She’d hoped, of course, but she hadn’t expected it to come about simply because of a kiss. But then she hadn’t known a kiss would be like this: consuming, passionate, wild.

Completely uncivilized. For the first time, she felt as though they were on even ground.

Abruptly he drew back, breathing harshly, as though he fought for each intake of air. His gaze was
as intense as his kiss had been. She wondered if her lips were as swollen as his, if his tingled as hers did.

She watched him swallow. He cleared his throat and swallowed again.

She felt bereft as he loosened his hold on her. He wrapped his hands around hers, moved them away from his neck, and brought them to his mouth. His hot breath skimmed over her knuckles as he studied her. She wondered what he was thinking. If he’d found her wanton, practically undulating against him, moaning. She was pretty certain a kiss was supposed to be a silent thing.

He was probably appalled by her lack of decorum.

She was grateful they hadn’t waited until they were in the church to share their first kiss. She would have humiliated them both. She lowered her eyes. “We won’t kiss like that in church.”

“I should hope not.”

Devon watched as the red splotches appeared on her face. She was embarrassed. Had he ever known a woman who was so easy to read?

Or so quick to rouse to passion?

By God, she’d been like a piece of kindling with a match held against it, quickly flaring into a full-blown inferno. Not that he’d been much better.

He’d wanted her. Here in the park. It had taken all the willpower he could muster not to drag her off to some secluded spot and have his way with her.

He hadn’t expected that reaction, hadn’t been prepared for the fire licking at his loins or the desire that continued to burn through him. She tasted so
damnably sweet and responded with such innocence, tiny mewling moans that had only served to heighten his fervor.

He tucked his knuckles beneath her chin and lifted her face until he could hold her gaze. He’d thought her eyes a dull brown, but when ignited with passion they were a mahogany shade as rich as her hair. He was no doubt the first to discover that aspect of her. It made him feel protective, possessive even.

He had a feeling she was going to riddle his life with surprises.

“However, we shall kiss like that on our wedding night.”

He grazed his thumb over the winsome smile she offered him, so apparently filled with gratitude that once again she humbled him. For the span of a heartbeat, he regretted theirs was not a love match.

He tossed aside the guilt. Since she had not found love before him, he thought it unlikely she would find it later. He would ensure she had the child she so desperately wanted. And perhaps he could offer her a bit of fondness as well.

“I shall escort you home.”

She nodded shyly and reached back to gather up her hair.

“Leave it,” he ordered.

The well-trained horses had wandered off to nibble on some nearby grass. Devon retrieved Georgina’s saddle from the spot where she’d left it earlier. He found it difficult to believe that she preferred riding without a saddle. But he was quickly
learning that she was not the most conventional of women.

He strode to the horses and saddled Georgina’s. Then he grabbed the reins of both horses and walked to her.

He extended his arm, and she entwined hers around his. As he escorted her from the park, he enjoyed her hair, in wild disarray, billowing around her in the breeze.

She was as untamed as the land from which she’d come.

A
s though she was handling a newly born baby, Georgina carefully folded her softest nightgown and placed it at the bottom of her valise. She should have been filled with anticipation and excitement at the prospect of being married.

Instead she simply felt numb, going through the motions, her stomach in knots. Tomorrow night Devon was going to kiss her as he had this morning and take the kiss farther.

If he worked such magical sensations with his mouth, what in the world would he accomplish when his entire body was involved?

“I don’t know why Huntingdon had to rush into a wedding,” Lauren’s mother said, obviously irritated, as she placed items in Georgina’s small trunk.

She’d offered to send up a servant to do the packing, but Georgina wasn’t comfortable with strangers handling her intimate apparel.

“I think it’s romantic,” Lauren said as she sat in a chair, sipping her tea and watching their efforts.

Her mother glared at her. “It’s given us no time to set up a proper trousseau.”

“I have everything I need,” Georgina assured her.

Lady Ravenleigh—Georgina had such a difficult time thinking of her as such; the name made her seem so unapproachable although her manners didn’t—ceased her fussing over things and smiled warmly. “I think a man would be content if a wedding consisted of nothing more than a handshake, but for a woman”—she sighed—“women dream of this day. It should be special.”

Georgina smiled brightly. “How can it not be special? I’m getting married.”

She still couldn’t believe it. What if Devon came to his senses by dawn and didn’t show up? She wasn’t sure if she’d be mortified or relieved.

Lauren released a tiny squeal, shot out of the chair, grabbed her hands, and swung her around as she had when they were children. Only then they’d spun until they grew dizzy and collapsed in laughing fits on a bed of soft green clover.

“I think it’s splendid!” Lauren cried before they made do with the bed and landed on the thick mattress. “You’re getting married! You’re actually getting married!”

“Unless Huntingdon comes to his senses and doesn’t show.”

“Oh, he won’t do that,” Lauren rushed to assure her.

“Lauren!” her mother chastised her.

“I didn’t mean coming to his senses. He’s sensible, indeed, to marry Gina. I simply meant he won’t cry off.”

“He might,” Georgina suggested cautiously.

“It’s simply not done. You could sue him for breach of promise.”

Which he could little afford. Georgina sat up. “Then I guess we can count on having a wedding in the morning.”

“I should hope,” Lady Ravenleigh said. “I have everything arranged. Our family will drive to the church in one carriage. You and your father will arrive in another. Gray horses, of course.”

“Of course,” Georgina murmured. It was as though these people lived within an elaborate play with nothing left to chance.

“Following the wedding, we shall return here for the breakfast. You will, of course, at that point travel in Lord Huntingdon’s carriage.” She shook her head. “I really feel as though I should have invited people.”

“I just wanted a small, intimate gathering.” In truth she would have foregone the breakfast altogether—but it simply wasn’t done.

Lady Ravenleigh held up her hands and stepped back from the trunk. “I really must check on the wedding cake.” She walked around the bed and hugged Georgina. “Your mother and I were such dear friends.” She leaned back. “So, I feel I should speak to you about”—she cleared her throat and wrinkled her brow—“what you can expect when you retire tomorrow evening.”

Georgina felt Lauren go perfectly still beside her.

Lady Ravenleigh glanced at her daughter. “Lauren, why don’t you run and check with the cook to make sure all is ready?”

Lauren thrust up her delicate chin. “Because I want to hear what you have to say. I’m old enough.”

Lady Ravenleigh’s cheeks burned red as she nodded slightly. She cleared her throat again and took Georgina’s hands. “Regarding the marriage act. It’s a very intimate moment between a husband and a wife. And you simply have to realize it’s a very natural…expression…of…love.” She cocked her head to the side. “Have you any questions?”

Georgina fought back her smile. “I don’t think so.”

Lady Ravenleigh appeared genuinely relieved. “Lovely. Should you think of some, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m going to check on the status of the cake.”

As soon as Lauren’s mother had left the room, Lauren fell backward across the bed. “She didn’t tell you anything!”

“She’s not at all comfortable discussing it.”

Lauren shoved herself off the bed and began to pace. “She said it was a very intimate moment. Do you think it only takes a moment, sixty seconds?”

Georgina felt the heat suffuse her face. “I don’t know.”

Lauren stopped pacing and screwed up her face as though it would help her decipher her mother’s cryptic words. “I should think it would take all night.”

“Why?”

“Well, because it’s done at night in bed. Since it
has a special place, a special time, it must take all night. Don’t you think?”

“It doesn’t take a horse very long.”

Lauren groaned. “But that’s a beast! Besides, if a man is kissing you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, it could take all night. Especially if he kisses you slowly.”

Georgina nodded contemplatively. “Devon does take his time kissing.”

She thought Lauren’s eyes were going to pop out of her head.

“What?” Lauren fairly shrieked. “Where?”

“On my mouth.”

“I know on your mouth, silly goose. I meant where were you when he kissed you?”

“At the park this morning.”

“Scandalous.” Lauren sat beside her on the bed and took her hand, grinning broadly. “Deliciously scandalous. What was it like?”

How could she explain it? “It was terrifying.”

“My God, he hurt you?” Lauren asked indignantly. “You’ll cry off, then. You don’t have to marry him—”

“No, no.” She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Two grown women who knew so little and assumed so much. “He didn’t hurt me. Quite the opposite, and that’s what’s unsettled me.”

She darted a quick glance around the room, trying to find words that would express what she’d felt. “I could barely stand, Lauren. I melted like a pool of wax. And he was so strong, sure, confident. I felt lost and confused. All this swirling going on, drifting into a fog of…well, of passion. I hadn’t expected
that. And he said that’s how we’ll kiss on our wedding night.”

He’d tasted heavenly. His breath mingling with hers. His tongue rough on one side, velvety on the other. She was embarrassed she’d spent a good deal of the day wondering if he might kiss her body with that tongue. How would he do it if he did, and how would it feel?

“It sounds to me as though making love definitely takes all night,” Lauren said.

Georgina couldn’t stop herself from grinning. “I’m fairly certain it takes more than a moment.”

Lauren leaned toward her. “Are you scared?”

“I’m nervous about tomorrow, and I worry that during the long haul I won’t fit in. All the rules make me feel like I’ve got no freedom.”

“You’ll have more freedom than if you married someone in Texas. There you’d be tied to the person, to the land, to struggling to survive. Here you can engage in the activities that interest you, and your husband will do the things that interest him. Sometimes husbands and wives even arrive separately at balls.”

“That’s not freedom, Lauren. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not freedom. Do you know if that’s the kind of marriage Huntingdon had with his first wife?”

Lauren shrugged. “As I mentioned, we seldom saw them.”

“What was she like?” Georgina asked.

Lauren hopped up and began to quickly place items into the trunk. “What does it matter? She’s dead, and he’s marrying you.”

Georgina reached across the bed and grabbed Lauren’s hand, stilling her frantic actions. “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

Lauren sighed. “Amazingly beautiful.”

“Did he love her very much?”

“Afraid so.”

Georgina laughed. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I didn’t mean I was scared,” Lauren said.

“I know. I’m glad he loved her. I won’t have to feel guilty that he’s spending the rest of his life with someone he couldn’t possibly love.”

“He might love you, Gina.”

She began folding her dressing gown. “And tomorrow morning the sun might rise in the west.”

G
eorgina thought she would forever remember her wedding day as the happiest day in her father’s life.

As they stood on the steps leading into the church, she decided his beaming face was reason enough to have agreed to this marriage. She had little doubt his jaws would be aching before all was said and done.

A part of her, the portion that harbored dreams, was glad for this day as well. She wore a gown of white brocaded silk. Her veil of Honiton lace wreathed with tiny white roses fell almost to her knees. With the slight breeze wafting around her, causing the lace to flutter, she felt almost dainty. Elegant.

It had cost a small fortune to have her wedding outfit sewn so quickly, but she thought it was worth every penny. It wasn’t often she splurged on herself.

Since she’d grown up with very little in the way of material possessions, even now she had a difficult time parting with money. Her father, bless his heart, had no such inhibitions.

She didn’t resent his spending, but she did worry about it sometimes. Particularly here in England, where merchants preferred for their customers to shop on credit, sending bills at the end of the month. It seemed as though a person could easily spend more than he had if he didn’t keep his own tally of expenses.

But this morning she didn’t want to think about her father’s expenses. She wanted to capture his smile, sparkling eyes, and wide grin.

He looped her arm around his and patted her hand. “You look beautiful, Gina.”

She almost told him she felt beautiful. For once in her life, she wasn’t worried about her gaunt features.

It was a glorious day, the sun shining and the clouds a billowy white. As though nature approved of this marriage.

She never would have thought she would have gotten married so quickly to someone she barely knew. But it somehow seemed right. If only because it was making her father so incredibly happy. She thought he might bust the buttons on his vest as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

Lauren stepped out of the church. She wore a lavender dress and a smile that rivaled Georgina’s father’s. She took Georgina’s hands. “Remember when we were little girls and we swore we’d get married on the same day?”

Georgina nodded.

“This way is better, Gina. It’s better to have your own day.” She pressed her cheek against Georgina’s. “Be happy, my dear friend. Be deliriously happy.”

She wanted to be. She truly did. Her life had always been a challenge. Nothing had ever come easy.

And now suddenly it seemed as though a husband would.

But nothing ever did.

So even as she followed two people who grinned like fools into the church, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding.

For nothing in life worth having comes without effort.

Be happy. Be deliriously happy.

Georgina knew she should be. Curled in a chair before the hearth in her bedchamber, she couldn’t help but reflect that her wedding day had been perfect.

Devon had worn a wine-colored frock coat, the shade accentuating his dark coloring but bringing forth the blue of his eyes. They had repeated their vows, words of deep meaning spoken with shallow emotion.

She felt as though the entire day had been one elaborate play, everyone behaving as actors upon a stage. Lines spoken as though rehearsed for generations. Everything done according to some grand scheme; nothing spontaneous. No laughter. No gaiety.

She’d noticed that aspect of the day the most. A funeral procession had more joy to it.

It had been a stuffy wedding. Vows exchanged ac
cording to plan. Still, her father had been pleased. And that alone made the day worth it.

Now for the night.

Here within Devon’s London house, in a room somewhere down the hallway, her husband’s bedchamber, Devon was preparing himself for her. She couldn’t help but wonder what that entailed.

She’d donned her nightgown, brushed her hair a hundred times, then two hundred. Waiting, waiting, waiting for him.

Maybe he wouldn’t come.

And if he did, then what? The proper touching. Lifting the hem of her nightgown…She didn’t want to think about it.

Marrying him was the craziest thing she’d ever done in her entire life.

But she wasn’t sorry for it. She was just experiencing wedding night jitters. Tomorrow all would be well.

She rubbed her finger over her wedding ring. A circle of gold that housed a garnet stone. In the carriage on the journey to his house, Devon had told her he’d selected garnet because it symbolized truth and constancy. It would forever serve as a reminder of the promise he’d given her to never lie to her.

Standing in the bedchamber down the hall from his, Devon studied the woman to whom he was now joined according to the laws of England. Wearing a white nightgown that billowed around her in a shapeless heap, she sat in one of two large chairs resting in front of the hearth. She’d tucked her legs
beneath her, but he saw her bare toes peering out. Tiny toes that somehow reflected her innocence.

She’d given him a shy, self-conscious smile when he’d first entered the room before returning her gaze to the low fire burning on the hearth, the snapping flames providing the solitary source of light in the room. Shadows advanced and retreated but never completely left the confines of the corners.

The room was designed for comfort, to serve as a woman’s haven. He supposed it would in time come to reflect its current mistress. It already carried her sweet fragrance. Lilies, he realized suddenly, and wondered why he hadn’t been able to put a name to the scent before.

Perhaps because here it was not competing with any outside influences. Perhaps because here their isolation narrowed their world.

After ten years of marriage, he was no novice when it came to making love to a woman. Therefore he was having a difficult time giving credence to his nerves. The entire day he’d felt as though he was merely a small-time actor in a badly written play. Now his most important scene was upon him, and he was determined to give a top-notch performance.

She was his salvation. The least he could do was grant her the gift of perceiving herself desired. Although the gift was not so distant from the reality. If he had not bartered his title, if he did not feel like a common doxy, he thought he might have cherished this moment as much as he hoped she would.

He poured a bit of wine into a glass and carried it to her. “Drink this. It’ll help you relax.”

She lifted her face and took his offering with such gratitude reflected in her eyes that it caused his chest to ache. Damnation, but a woman should be desired on her wedding night, this woman in particular, who had asked for nothing more than honesty between them. The one thing he could give without compromising his integrity.

He sat in the chair across from hers and stretched his legs toward the dancing flames. He did not normally indulge in a fire during the summer months, but Gina was accustomed to warmer climes apparently and had requested a small fire. Therefore he’d granted it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she slowly sipped the wine, careful not to look at him. She’d loosened her hair and brushed it until it glistened like rich mahogany with a reddish hue. Thick, it was truly quite gorgeous.

She enchanted him, prepared for bed as she was, obviously self-conscious about the fact he was here to perform his husbandly duties. And yet her careful preparation spoke loudly of her anticipating his arrival. Her hair, her gown, her fragrance…for him.

He’d done no less for her. He’d applied a razor to his face, a comb to his hair, sandalwood to his skin. He was as fresh now as he’d been when he’d headed to the church this morning. The only difference that he now wore a blue silk dressing gown, the corded tasseled belt tied loosely.

He’d considered remaining fully clothed, but he’d seen no point in pretending he was here for any other reason than the one for which he was.

The silence stretched between them, calming, welcome. They had rushed to this moment, and now neither of them seemed in any great hurry. He was not procrastinating, delaying the moment. He was simply allowing it to seep into him. He was once again wed, and he had a feeling this go round would in no way resemble the first.

She slid her gaze over to him then past him to the bed. “Did you make love to—to Margaret there?”

“No.”

She shifted her attention back to him.

“Margaret’s room is—was—next to mine,” he explained. “It’s common for a wife’s bedchamber to be beside her husband’s with a door separating the two. I thought you might prefer to have your own room rather than one that…” He was suddenly at a loss for words.

“Carried memories for you?”

Trust his little Texas wife not to have such a lapse.

“Quite so.”

She nodded. “How many bedrooms do you have here?”

“Four. You’re welcome to select another if you wish.”

She shook her head. “This one is fine. I appreciate your consideration.”

His consideration had been as much for himself as for her. He’d wanted few reminders of his first marriage this night.

“You’re gonna have to tell me what you want,” she said.

Interesting. He’d noticed before that she spoke
with a slight, charming twang, but it apparently deepened when her emotions were running high or she was anxious.

“What I want is for you to stop looking as though you expect me to ravish you.”

Her now familiar blush spread over her cheeks, along her throat. Strange how he was coming to anticipate it. More unusual was the warmth it stirred within him, the need to protect her that it brought to the surface.

“I don’t think you’ll do that,” she said.

“What are you thinking then?”

“That I just wish you’d get this over with.”

Leaning forward, he planted his elbows on his thighs and grasped his hands. She pressed herself against the high back of the chair. Advance. Retreat.

“Finish your wine,” he ordered gently.

She gulped it down, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth in a most unladylike manner, and set the glass aside.

A smile played at the corner of his mouth. He had not planned to seduce his wife. Bed her and be done with it. He didn’t know why she made him want to give her so much more. The courtship had been hurried. No need for this night to be. He had promised her father that he would make her believe she was beautiful. He didn’t think he could accomplish that undertaking, but he could ensure she experienced beautiful sensations.

“Come here,” he rasped softly as he unclasped his hands and held one toward her.

The tip of her tongue darted out and touched her
upper lip, leaving behind moisture that glistened in the firelight.

“You mean we’re gonna…in the chair?”

“I mean come here.”

She hesitated before slowly rising and walking toward him as though approaching a guillotine. He didn’t know why his heart went out to her. On his first wedding night he’d been eager to get his wife out of her clothing. But he’d been younger then and thought the strength of its physical aspect defined love.

As Gina stopped in front of him, her bare toes peering out from beneath the hem of her gown a scant distance away from his, he wondered if he’d known love at all. He patted his thigh. “Sit.”

Her eyes widened a fraction before she darted a glance toward the bed. “I haven’t sat on a man’s lap since I was six. I just thought we’d”—she flapped her slender hand in the air—“beneath the covers.”

An hour ago, half an hour ago, he’d harbored the same delusion. “We shall—eventually. Are you in some great hurry?”

She met his gaze. “I’m nervous as all get-out.”

Smiling warmly, he wrapped his fingers around hers. “I know you are, Gina.”

He tugged gently, and she eased slowly, provocatively onto his thighs as though she feared she might hurt him.

“I won’t break,” he teased.

She nodded and studied her hands, folded primly in her lap.

He heard her breath catch as he slid his hand be
neath the curtain of her hair and cupped the nape of her neck. With his thumb, he turned her head until they were looking at each other. “I’m nervous as well.”

Her mouth opened slightly. “Why? Surely you know what to do.”

Ah, yes, he knew. He knew how to tease, taunt, and titillate. He knew where to place his mouth, when to be gentle, when to be rough, when to move quickly, and when to proceed slowly. But his knowledge didn’t guarantee her pleasure. Not when he was under the impression she’d bolt at any minute.

He stroked his thumb over her bottom lip. “I know exactly what to do.”

He pulled her forward at the same moment that he moved toward her. He watched as her eyes slid closed just before his lips touched hers as lightly as twilight brings forth the night.

He felt her relaxing against him, sinking into him, as he drew her closer until her head was nestled in the crook of his shoulder. He settled his mouth more firmly against hers, coaxing with his tongue until she parted her lips and allowed him entry.

She tasted of wine and sweetness. Incredible sweetness and innocence. Her tongue danced around his with increasing sureness. Her fingers clutched his lapels, and he heard a little purr vibrate within her throat.

Unexpected raging desire speared him.

She was so giving, open, and candid with her thoughts, her emotions, and her physical sensations.
A man did not have to guess where he stood with her. She was refreshingly forthright. He could be no less.

He glided his hand to the buttons at her throat and nimbly loosened them, parting the material before trailing his mouth along the golden column of her throat. He dipped his tongue into the hollow at its base. She shivered within his arms and dug her fingers into his shoulder. She tasted of the outdoors, his wife, and he imagined them walking over rolling hills together, riding at dawn and twilight.

As though she was a taut bow, he bent her backward over the chair, nudged the soft cloth of her nightgown aside, and closed his mouth around her nipple, not surprised to find it already pearl-hardened. Her straightforwardness would not allow her to hide what she felt, thereby increasing his enjoyment.