Unraveling the Earl (16 page)

Henry smiled at her teasing and pushed aside his curiosity,
only too willing to drop the subject lest he be forced to admit that he would
be hard-pressed to remember the names of his first dozen lovers, let alone the
tales that went along with their encounters.

As soft hands caressed his leg and inched along toward his
groin, Henry settled back against the rim of the tub and allowed his eyes to
wander over the lady.

The steam from his bath had brought a rosy glow to her pale
cheeks and caused a few wayward strands of hair to pull free of her braids,
creating a soft fringe of bright coils around her face. With her tongue poking
out between her teeth and her eyes cast down so that her long lashes hid the
humor and sensuality that shifted within their lavender depths, she looked the
picture of a young innocent girl.

“You can eye me like a sugared plum all you like,” Georgie
drawled without looking up. “You shall not have me until I’ve finished bathing
you and you have eaten your breakfast.”

“I distinctly recall you promising to keep one or the other
warm for me,” he reminded her.

“I must see to your care and comfort, my lord. I wouldn’t
want to have you collapse atop me as I doubt I would have the strength to roll
you off.”

“I rather thought I might introduce you to the pleasures to
be had astride.”

“To be sure, I’ve never learned to ride,” she teased,
lifting her head to gift him with a grin that was pure mischief. “Who better to
teach me than the reigning master?”

“I’d like to master you,” he tossed back, enjoying her quick
wit.

“I’ve suspected as much,” she purred. “If you are a very
good boy and finish all your breakfast I just might let you.”

“With your hair in plaits and wearing that gray dress you
remind me of one of the maids who worked at Hastings Hall when I was a boy.” It
was an off-hand observation, delivered without much thought as Henry shifted
his chair back from the kitchen table.

“Do I now?” Georgie looked over her shoulder as she finished
drying the last of the breakfast dishes. “And what was this maid’s name?”

“Becky, no Betsy. Betsy Parker.”

“Did Betsy chase you about, begging for your kisses?”

“Didn’t I just wish.”

“You chased her around, did you?” she teased, tossing the
cloth beside the sink and turning around to face him.

“Only in my imagination,” he replied with a laugh. “I was
something of a late bloomer so by the time I appreciated Betsy’s charms I was
the earl and dallying with a servant was strictly forbidden.”

“But you wanted to do a bit of dallying with her.”

“In my head I had her on her hands and knees so often I
could barely look at her without blushing,” he admitted a bit sheepishly.

“Hmm, did you now?” she asked, her eyes gleaming. “Was this
Betsy a shy girl?”

“Hardly.”

“Ah, so she was a hussy, was she?”

“I don’t know that she was a hussy but she was certainly a
tease,” he replied. “According to my man Davenport, the gossip belowstairs was
that she liked to torment the footmen until they were hot and bothered, only to
laugh and flit away before they could see the deed done.”

“And you wanted to be the man to finally take what she’d
been flaunting,” she mused.

“Only in my most lurid imaginings,” he replied, heat searing
up the back of his neck. “I certainly never considered acting upon my
impulses.”

“It seems to me you have left a number of impulses unacted
upon throughout your years of debauchery.”

“I’ve acted upon quite a few since I’ve met you,” he tossed
back with his best leer.

Georgie pulled her bottom lip between her teeth to chew on
one corner while her eyes traveled over him where he sat sprawled in his chair
in nothing but a pair of well-worn trousers and he felt her gaze on him like a
warm breeze, setting his heart racing and his cock twitching.

“Will you excuse me?” Spinning away, she grabbed up the
dishrag and started for the door.

“Where are you off to?”

“I’ve some dusting to see to in the parlor,” she called back
as she pushed open the kitchen door.

“Dusting?” He bounded to his feet. “What happened to bath,
breakfast, lovemaking?”

If Georgie made a reply it was lost as the door swung shut.

Henry hesitated long enough to wonder if he would ever
understand what made the Scots lass tick before following her into the hall and
beyond to the parlor where he found her bent over a table plying her rag.

“You needn’t clean my house,” he said as he paused at the
threshold, his eyes sweeping over her bottom lifted in the air and her hips
gently swaying with each swipe to the cloth.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, my lord,” she said, shooting a
startled glance over her shoulder before ducking her head over her task once
more.

“What’s come over you?”

“I’m that sorry I haven’t finished this room, Lord
Hastings.”

“Stop that,” he barked, annoyed by the use of his title and
the sight of her behaving as a servant.

“I’ll be out of your way in a jiffy.” She must have found a
stubborn spot of dust on the gleaming wood judging by the manner in which she
scrubbed the surface, her bottom wiggling to and fro with the motion.

“Georgie, drop the damn rag and step away from the table.”

She dropped the cloth and spun about. “My name’s Betsy, my
lord, but I don’t expect a great man such as you to remember all of your
servants’ names,” she replied, dipping into a clumsy curtsy and sweeping her
gaze over his chest.

And then Henry understood, barked out a laugh even as his
balls tightened and his cock hardened beneath his trousers.

Peeking up at him through her lashes, she held her
obeisance. “You may call me Georgie if you like.”

Feeling a bit foolish, he entered the room. “Dusting, you
say?”

“If it please you, master…that is your lordship?”

“Master will do just fine,” he answered, liking the sound of
the word rolling off her tongue.

Henry ambled into the room on bare feet to take up a stance
in the center of the Turkish carpet and crossed his arms over his chest in his
best lord of the manor pose. “You may continue.”

She reached for her dishtowel but instead of continuing to
dust the table she crossed the room, passing near enough to him that her gray
skirts brushed his leg, and stopped before the settee where only the day before
he’d taken a tumble, in more ways than one.

“The other servants have gone to the village to see the
traveling show,” she said breathlessly.

Turning, he kept her in his sights, thoroughly enjoying the
show she was enacting in his parlor.

Flitting around the low sofa, she swiped her rag around the
curved back. “I thought to finish my housework and find a bit of fun for
myself.”

“Did you, now?” he murmured, one hand falling to adjust his
rising shaft in the close confines of his trousers.

Georgie’s gaze dropped to follow the movement, her eyes
widening.

“What sort of fun did you have in mind?” Henry asked,
getting into the spirit of the game.

“I don’t rightly know,” she answered. “The housekeeper said
as how I’m not allowed to join the others in the village.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve been naughty.” Her voice softened over the final word
before her tongue came out to brush over her bottom lip.

“Have you?” he breathed, entranced by the sight of her
laving the luscious pink flesh.

She smiled and lifted her gaze to his in a way only the
sauciest of servants would dare. “Leastwise the housekeep says I’ve been
naughty.”

“You don’t agree?” he asked, stepping toward her until they
were separated only by the settee.

“I didn’t do anything so terrible.” She continued to drag
her cloth over the back of the sofa even as she held her smile.

“Tell me what offense you’ve committed and I shall be the
judge,” he encouraged.

“I wouldn’t want you to think me a bad girl.”

“Are you a bad girl?” Henry asked, hoping the answer was
yes. His mind was filled with images of all the things a bad little maid might
do.

“Oh, no, my lord,” she exclaimed. “I am a good girl.”

“Oh,” he replied lamely, losing his place in the little play
she’d staged.

But, Georgie, bless her, knew just how to feed him his next
line.

Ducking her head, she peeked at him through her lashes as
her free hand came up to fiddle with the topmost button of her dress. “I’m a
good girl. It’s only…well, sometimes I have bad thoughts. Terribly wicked
thoughts.”

“And you acted on one of these wicked thoughts?”

“It was just a kiss,” she protested with a pretty pout.

“Ah, you were found playing with one of the footmen again.”

“How did you know?” she squeaked, blinking in surprise.
“That is, I don’t play with the footmen.

“Don’t you?” Reaching across the settee he brushed aside her
fumbling fingers and plucked the button from its hole.

“What are you about?” she asked with a giggle, stepping back
from his reach.

Henry sidled around the settee, watching in amusement as she
matched his steps until they stood at opposite ends of the long velvet piece.
“I am not a footman.”

“Of course you aren’t,” she agreed. “You are the earl.”

“And your master.”

Georgie drew in a swift breath and dropped her rag, her fingers
fluttering at her sides before she hid them within her skirts. “I’d best get on
about my duties.”

“Not just yet, my pretty little maid.” Henry pitched his
voice low as he circled around the back of the sofa, pleased when she held her
ground.

“I am a good girl,” she whispered.

“Good girls don’t tease a man until he has a cockstand
beneath his trousers,” he countered, stopping before her.

As he’d anticipated, she dropped her eyes to his crotch.
“Did I do that?”

“You did,” he answered. “The only question that remains is
what you intend to do about it?”

“Do you want me to touch it?” Head bent, she whispered the
words.

“Have you ever touched a man’s cock?” he asked, heat searing
up his spine and along his limbs, anticipation humming in his blood.

“Never,” she admitted quietly. “But…”

“You’d like to,” Henry finished for her.

“I know I shouldn’t. I know it must be wrong because just
thinking about it gets me all hot and bothered.” The words rushed from her lips
as she peeked up at him through her lashes.

Without a word, Henry reached for one of her hands and
brought it to the bulge in his trousers, pressing her fingers against his
straining length.

“Oh, my lord,” she breathed.

Henry heard the wonder in her voice and his cock pulsed
against her hand as he let loose a low groan.

“Are you in pain, master?” she purred.

“You might say that,” he muttered.

“Oh no, you must tell me how to make you feel better.”

“Release me,” he ordered.

“Do you mean that I should open your britches? I couldn’t.”

“Do it,” he demanded.

“Yes, master.” Nimble fingers plucked at the fastenings of
his placket, bumping against his shaft and heightening his anticipation until
the fall gaped open and his cock sprang free.

“Take me in your hand,” he commanded.

Long fingers curled around his shaft just beneath the fat
head and slid down and back up, her touch light.

“You’re so hard,” she said, lifting wide eyes to capture his
gaze. “So big and hard.”

Covering her hand, he tightened her grip and stroked down
his painfully hard length.

“Like this?” she asked, squeezing him almost to the point of
pain.

“Christ, yes,” he gasped.

Without warning, Georgie released his turgid flesh and
jumped back.

“Oh, no!” she wailed.

“What the hell?” he demanded, taking an unsteady step
forward.

“I am a bad girl, I am, master. I touched you and now I’m
all hot and tingly and my titties…”

“Do they ache?” he rasped out.

“How did you know?”

“Your nipples are hard,” he answered, staring at the tight
buds visible beneath the thin muslin of her dress. “They are begging for
attention.”

Georgie backed away until she was flush against the wall,
her hands raised to cup her small breasts, to shield their pouting peaks from
his view.

Henry followed to loom over her with his cock prodding her
belly.

“You are a tease,” he accused as he grasped her hands and
raised them above her head. “A bad girl who only pretends to be good.”

Georgie trembled, sucked in a stuttering breath. “I try to
be good, my lord.”

“Master,” he corrected, locking one hand around both of her wrists
and pinning them to the wall. “You are a wicked girl. For months you’ve been
flaunting yourself before me, daring me to take you.”

“Please don’t take me, Master.” Her sinful voice wrapped
around him, taking him outside himself, pushing him beyond any boundary he’d
ever known.

Henry grasped the neckline of her frock and wrenched
downward, the worn muslin giving way and splitting apart to the waist. The
sound of ripping fabric, of buttons scattering around the room, drove him on.

Parting the shredded dress, he dipped down to claim one
tight nipple with his lips.

“No,” Georgie whispered on a fractured breath as he pulled
the bud into his mouth. He lashed her flesh with his tongue, bit down just hard
enough to drag a raspy moan from her, before drawing her nipple deep into his
mouth and setting up a rolling suckling that had her back bowing off the wall,
her belly nudging his shaft insistently.

Placing his free hand over her other breast he cupped her
slight weight, lifting and squeezing as he pinched her nipple between two
fingers.

“My lord, my lord,” she panted.

“Master.” Releasing her pebbled peak and raising his head to
meet her eyes, he found them as dark as twilight, glassy and dazed.

“Master, please, I’m a good girl,” she said around a broken
moan. “You mustn’t use me so.”

“I’ll use you as I please,” he growled.

Georgie pulled against his hand at her wrists and he
released her to allow her to slip free and twist around to face the wall. It
was the work of but a moment to pull her tattered dress over thin shoulders,
down long arms, exposing a slender back, narrow hips and miles of legs. When
the gray fabric pooled at her feet, she placed her hands on the wall and
plastered her breasts to the flocked wallpaper.

“Think you’re safe from me, do you?” Henry asked around a
gravelly chuckle as he trailed one hand down her spine, over the bump of her
tailbone and into the crease of her bottom. “Think again, my little maid.”

“Oh no,” she wailed, clamping her thighs together.

“Open your legs,” he ordered.

Her only response was a defiant shake of her head that sent
her braids slithering across her back.

Before he quite knew what he intended, Henry lifted his hand
and brought his palm down on the smooth round orb of her ass, the slap of hard
flesh on soft drawing a soft cry from Georgie.

He opened his mouth to apologize, to beg forgiveness,
shocked and wildly aroused, when she arched her back and spread her fingers
wide on the wall, her hips twisting and rolling, her ass brushing the head of
his cock.

“I’m Master’s bad girl,” she gasped, sending blood thrumming
through his veins and pulsing down his shaft.

And still she did not open her legs.

Henry lashed out with his other hand, treating the opposite
cheek to the same punishment.