Unraveling the Earl (3 page)

“Georgiana,” he repeated. “Your footman called you Georgie.”

“Old habits die hard,” she replied, her eyes searching his.
“Perhaps we might begin our tour.”

Georgie peeked through her lashes at the devilishly handsome
man standing beside her, silently acknowledging that she was going to have to
provide him with a bit of sport.

She just couldn’t see any way around it.

She’d held him off for hours while they’d wandered around
the cold, silent house. She’d deftly avoided all of his rather clumsy attempts
to lure her into alcoves, coyly misunderstood each and every one of his ribald
suggestions, and evaded both his roaming hands and his soft lips. Not to say
there hadn’t been more than a handful of near misses. The earl had a way of
sneaking under the brim of her bonnet to brush his mouth over the shell of her
ear, the slope of her jaw and the sensitive skin of her nape.

But their tour was coming to an end. Already the sun was
dipping toward the horizon, painting the long portrait gallery in shades of
pink.

The only rooms she’d not yet seen were the countess’s
apartments and those belonging to the earl. Georgie doubted she would see the
former without first visiting the latter.

She could hardly ask to see the countess’s private rooms
today of all days.

There was nothing for it but to slake the randy aristocrat’s
lust. Surely when he’d fallen asleep after a bit of love play, as men were wont
to do, she could sneak into Lady Hasting’s chambers and find what she’d come
for.

Her greatest desire, indeed.

“It looks as if we’ve reached the end of our tour.” Hastings
voice was low and soft, a rough whisper, promising all manner of wicked
delights.

“Not by a long shot,” she murmured as she turned away from
the final portrait, a rather unremarkable rendering of the earl and his sister
sitting on a bench beneath a tree improbably blooming with red, white and blue
flowers.

“I beg your pardon?” One tawny arched brow winged up in
inquiry.

Damn, if he wasn’t the most beautiful of men. His
golden-blond curls were tousled from repeatedly running his hands through his
hair. His lovely blue eyes, as bright as a cloudless summer sky, shone with
anticipation. His bronze skin was flushed, twin spots of color on his chiseled
cheekbones. Decadently plump lips were pulled into a pout above a square chin
complete with a deep cleft.

As she drifted her gaze over his too damn perfect visage it
occurred to her that he’d enjoyed chasing her from one room to the next in this
great mausoleum. It was little more than a game to him, seducing women, and one
he was annoyingly confident of winning.

She would have liked nothing better than to put the foolish
man in his place and storm off in a cloud of righteous indignation.

How wonderfully amusing it would be to watch the cocky
arrogance drop away from his too-pretty face.

Ah, well, perhaps some other time.

“Oh, my lord, we can’t have toured all of the rooms in your
lovely house,” Georgie cooed, batting her lashes and feeling seven kinds of
foolish. “Surely I would remember if we’d seen your chambers.”

“We’ve saved the best for last, my dove,” he answered
smoothly, cocking out his arm.

Georgie ignored the gesture, instead sweeping out of the
gallery ahead of him. It was easy enough to guess where his chambers lay. There
was only the one wing they’d not yet explored and it must hold both his
ultimate destination and her own.

The hallway in this part of the house was wide, four sets of
tall double doors evenly placed along the dimly lit space.

“Will you allow me to guess?” She tossed the words over her
shoulder with a smile as she passed the first door on the right. That would be
a sitting room, either his or his mother’s.

Quickening her steps lest he put a halt to her progress, she
reached the next door and pushed it open.

“Not that one, dove.”

Disregarding his words, she stepped over the threshold into
a room that could only belong to the recently deceased countess. The walls were
papered in the lady’s trademark ice blue, rich velvet damask above stark white
wainscoting. A huge bed canopied in gray silk dominated the room. Delicate
gilded furniture was clustered about in quaint little seating arrangements. The
drapes were open, muted sunlight filtering across the blue and white floral
Turkish carpet.

It was a pretty room, but cold. Much as the woman had been.

Hastings came up behind her, his legs tangling in her
skirts, his hard chest pressed to her back, the unmistakable ridge of his
arousal nestled against her bottom. He reached around her to pull the door
closed and as one they stepped back into the hall, their movements as
well-choreographed as the steps of a dance.

The door closed gently before her and she drew in a deep
breath. She’d seen enough in those few seconds to find her way about the room
later, even in the dark if it came to it. She’d also seen the row of miniatures
lining the mantel, two more on a small delicately carved desk and still half a
dozen others hanging on the walls.

“Time to pay the piper,” she whispered beneath her breath.

“Ah, my lovely Georgiana,” Hastings breathed against her
neck just below her ear. “I’ve been dreaming of you playing my pipe.”

Georgie rolled her eyes at his nonsense. Honestly, was this
how the highborn went about seduction? Buttercups and bumbling caresses and
bawdy talk?

Where was the finesse? Where was the empty flattery, the
practiced maneuvers, the whispers and yearning sighs?

Where the devil was the lauded lover all of London gossiped
about in ballrooms, in theater boxes and in church for goodness sake?

Play his pipe, indeed.

It wasn’t a bad idea. She needn’t share her body with the
silly man. A quick tug and a swipe of her tongue and she’d bring him off.
Perhaps a glass or seven of whiskey and a bite to eat afterward. Surely he
would be snoring before it was full dark.

“Sweet is her blessing and kind her caressing,” she sang
softly, turning within the tight space between his big frame and the door. She
met his heated gaze, allowed her head to fall back as she wilted against the
door, the picture of a woman who’d ceased fighting a desire too great to
withstand.

“I’ll be damned if your voice isn’t the most sensual sound
I’ve ever heard,” Hastings murmured silkily, bracketing his arms beside her
head and allowing his weight to come to rest over her slowly, inch by inch,
beginning with his long legs wedged between hers. His hard shaft prodded her
lower belly. His chest was heavy and warm against her breasts.

With a quick flick of his fingers he sent the bonnet falling
from her head to bounce against her shoulder before falling to the floor.

“Wait, my lord,” Georgie gasped as his head lowered and she
realized he intended to kiss her right then and there.

“You’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?” His lips found
hers in a gentle press, a soft brush.

Georgie opened her mouth to correct his ridiculous
assumption that she’d in any way been waiting for the likes of him.

His tongue coasted over her bottom lip, dipped inside to
trail over the ridge of her teeth.

He nibbled her lips, top and bottom, flicked his tongue into
her mouth in search of hers.

She watched as his lashes fluttered and his eyelids dropped,
keeping her eyes wide open in an attempt to resist the lure of his kisses.

She gave him her tongue, slid deep into his mouth, curling
over and around his, stroking the soft underside and velvety top, taking
control of the kiss, intentionally pushing it from soft and slow to wild and
fast.

She had no patience for slow.

She had no preference for soft.

With a growl, Hastings wrestled control back from her,
taking her mouth in a primitive rhythm that set her blood heating. His tongue
plunging deep, parrying with her own, circling, retreating, again and again, he
kissed her until she had no choice but to close her eyes and give in to the
desire that he’d unleashed with no more than his wicked mouth.

His body was flush against hers, his cock pulsing just above
her mound. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her breast, knew
it matched her own.

Winding her arms over his shoulders, sifting her fingers
through the curls on the back of his head, she pulled him down as she lifted
onto her toes. Their mouths melded tight, the kiss exploding into a mad
coupling of lips, a dueling dance of tongues. Graceless and savage, they kissed
until Georgie was dizzy with the need for air.

“Damn,” Hastings growled as he broke the kiss to run his
mouth, open and wet, over her jaw to her neck. He latched onto the tender
flesh, teeth nipping, tongue laving.

“My lord,” she panted as need coiled in her belly. “Wait…I
need…I can’t…”

“No more waiting.” His voice was low and guttural.

Georgie released her grip on his head, wedged her hands
between them and pushed with all her strength. He stumbled back, his heavy gaze
raking over her heaving chest before coming to rest on her upturned face.

“Sure and you’ll not be taking me in the hall where anyone
might see.”

“My chamber,” he panted, grabbing her hand and pulling her
across the hall.

The door to his bedchamber crashed against the wall as he
tugged her over the threshold. She spun away from him, her eyes widening as she
took in the room done up in decadent silk and plush velvet in shades of emerald
and gold. The chamber might have been decorated for a sultan, so rich were the
fabrics, so ornate was the dark wood furniture. An enormous bed on a raised
dais was draped in tasseled silk.

The door slammed shut and she turned around to find the
sultan himself watching her from hooded eyes, his hands searching through the
folds of his cravat, no doubt searching for the ends of the immaculately tied
cloth.

“You’ve likely never undressed yourself,” she muttered as
she stalked toward him, impatiently tugging her gloves off and tossing them to
the floor.

She might have taken over the task and divested him of all
of his clothing in less time than it took him to figure out the workings of his
cravat. Instead she pushed his hands away and dragged his coat of fine summer
wool from his shoulders and down his arms.

Dropping to her knees before him, she fumbled with the
buttons on his trousers, her fingers shaking as they skimmed over the turgid
length beneath.

“Jesus, are you going to…” His words ended in a long hiss
when she dove her hand beneath the open fall, her fingers wrapping around his
shaft just beneath the head.

He was warm in her hand, wonderfully hard and terribly
large.

She released him long enough to pull his trousers past his
hips and his cock sprang free. Nestled in a bed of dark curls, he was
beautiful, long and thick with an engorged head already crested with a small
pearl.

With her hands on his muscular thighs, Georgie darted her
tongue out to capture the milky drop, satisfied when another immediately took
its place.

The earl, London’s greatest gift to the ladies, was so close
to spending she doubted she’d be on her knees more than a minute or two.

Which suited her just fine. The position played havoc with
her bad leg and with his amazing girth she’d likely end up with lockjaw if
forced to work over him for long.

Wrapping one hand around his thick shaft and cupping his
bollocks with the other, Georgie circled the crest with her tongue, licking
over and around the heavy bulb, playing with him.

“Christ almighty,” he groaned and she raised her eyes to
watch as he tossed his head back, his corded neck taut. His hands fisted at his
sides and she suspected he longed to clasp her head and hold her while he
thrust deep into her mouth.

The time for play over, Georgie balanced his testicles on
her palm, spread her fingers over and around, and began a steady massage of the
tight balls. She picked up the same rhythm with her hand wrapped around his
shaft, stroking him from base to head. With each downward stroke she took his
cock deeper into her mouth, her lips gliding over the warm flesh, her tongue working
over the pulsing vein on the sensitive underside.

She bobbed over him, relaxing her jaw until she’d taken him
nearly to the back of her throat, ignoring the unpleasant reflex that told her
she’d not be able to take all of him.

No matter, already he was panting above her, his hands
coming to hold her head. Surprisingly he did not clasp her tight, nor did he
thrust into her mouth. He simply threaded his fingers through her hair, sending
pins scattering to the floor all around her. Cradling her head, his hips barely
undulating, he allowed her to take him as she would.

Oddly touched by his restraint, she doubled her efforts,
picking up the speed of her strokes and pushing one finger deep between his
legs. She gently caressed his perineum, forward and back.

“Fuck me, that’s amazing,” he gasped.

His cock was good and wet now, and she used the moisture to
create a smooth glide with her hand and her mouth, increasing the suction as
she increased the pressure on the sensitive skin between his balls and the
small puckered hole beyond.

He was close, she could hear it is the sawing of his breath
around low moans, feel it in the pulse of his shaft in her mouth and the flex
of his hands in her hair.

With a final downward stroke that seated him deep in her
mouth, she pushed her finger into the shadowy crevice between his arse cheeks
until she found his anus. She tapped the small quivering hole once, twice.

“Holy mother of God!” His roaring shout reverberated around
the room, echoing off the ceiling and walls. He jism shot into her mouth,
filling the space around his spasming cock until she felt a trail of warm
liquid spilling from the corner of her lips.

She swallowed and began a gentle suckling, slowly working
over his shaft, while small bursts of liquid sporadically shot from the head.
Curling her tongue around him, she gently milked the velvety smooth tip while
her fingers trailed lightly over his barely diminishing length.