An Improper Seduction (21 page)

It took a few moments for Geoffrey to register Angeline was trembling in his arms and his chest was wet where her cheek lay against it. Gently he pushed her away. “What’s this? Tears? You can have no doubt I will marry you, can you?”

“No,” she sobbed softly against the warm fur of his chest.

“Of course I will. It’s what I wanted. I asked you weeks ago if you remember. When shall we set the date? I am sure the sooner the better as the local gossips will be counting the days when you deliver.”

“You cad. You planned it all,” she sobbed anew.

“Angeline,” he said, tilting her head up with a thumb and forefinger so he could look into her tear-stained face. “Surely you wouldn’t want to raise our child as a bastard when I am only too willing to wed you? I think we get along very well together. Would it really be so bad being married to me?” he asked, confused as to her actions when any number of other women would gloat to be in her position, especially since he had inherited.

Tears still streaming down her cheeks, she responded, “No, I guess it shan’t be so bad. It’s just I never wanted to get married, at least not this way.”

“Tell me, Angeline, why. Why is it that you don’t want to marry me? We share so much in common and you cannot complain about how we fit together in bed. Why do you not want me?” he asked, bracing himself to hear an answer he might dread.

Angeline sobbed loudly as she buried her face in his chest, “Because I love you.” Then renewed her tears and trembling.

Geoffrey lay still, contemplating her response. She loved him? She loved him. She did not want to marry him because she loved him?

“Angeline,” he whispered as he tilted her head up again to place the most delicate of kisses upon her lips. “You do? You love me? Oh, Angeline . . .” Holding her tightly he kissed her eyes, her hair, her throat, her ears, every place he could reach, with tenderness. He moved down her body to caress and kiss the tops of her breasts, to take the still swollen orbs into his mouth, lovingly, gently, reverently.

“No, Geoffrey,” she whispered, “I can’t possibly take you again,” she protested weakly.

“Yes, Angeline, let me make love to you,” he murmured against her stomach as he kissed his way down to the confluence of her legs. “Let me worship your body and make it sing,” he whispered as he parted the still tender, still swollen lips protecting her treasures. Placing his lips upon her clitoris, he kissed it gently then laved it lovingly with his tongue. He slid his hands under her bottom to tilt her hips up and spread her legs wide.

“Geoffrey,” she weakly protested.

“Hush, Angeline. It will be all right. Really it will be,” he assured her softly then went back to kissing her mons, her clitoris, the slit still wet with their juices. He took one hand from behind her to slide it between her legs. Two fingers gently probed within her until he found the spot that brought a small gasp from her lips. There he tenderly rubbed, fondled, caressed while still his mouth was upon her.

“Oh, Geoffrey,” she whispered as her hips started to undulate to the rhythm of his fingers within her and the tongue taunting her without. Her hands moved to his hair as her passion moved into a slow, heated burn. She ran her fingers through it while her hips moved, unrelenting, and her tension mounted out of her control.

Still he stroked her passion. Feeling her body throb around his fingers. Feeling the honey from her drip over his fingers. Feeling the hard, engorged nub that was the pearl of her passion, the key to her ecstasy, against his sensitive, titillating tongue.

“Geoffrey,” she screamed as she met her climax. “Geoffrey, please,” pulling his hair wildly trying to escape from the source of her pleasure and her pain. “Oh, God, Geoffrey,” she panted as her body released its juices wildly nearly drowning Geoffrey in her come.

Geoffrey, his cock throbbing yet again, moved away from her furcula, gathering her in his arms. There was no doubt he could enter her again, but, instead, he held her tightly to him basking in her afterglow, satisfied with the way he had made her feel. Her breathing gradually slowed as she fell asleep in his embrace. She loved him. There was nothing else he could ask for.

Chapter 24

Angus rose from his chair behind his desk as he watched Geoffrey enter his library. After the butler announced him, the marquess strode in all elegance and self-assurance. Angus moved around the desk with his right hand outstretched. “Welcome, my lord. You look as if there is business on your mind? Some problem with your holdings?”

With the release of the handshake, Geoffrey settled himself against the frame of the windows. Looking out he could just catch a glimpse of Angeline tending her flower garden. Instantly his body tensed, his phallus hardened. He reined in his thoughts then responded, “Not mine, my lord. Yours.”

“I have no problems on my lands.”

“Not your lands, Angus. I have come to ask for Angeline’s hand. I wish to marry her. As soon as she will allow it,” Geoffrey stated firmly as he turned back to the man who would soon be his father-in-law.

Angus, standing in the middle of his library on the richly colored Persian carpet, rested his elbow in one hand, his chin in the other, a pensive look spreading across his face. “She has agreed to this match, Geoffrey,” he queried warily.

“Yes.”

“Of her own free will, my lord?”

“Well, yes.”

“Is she increasing, Geoffrey? Have you played your final hand and gotten my daughter with child to win?” asked the earl quietly.

Geoffrey’s face flushed crimson as he spoke, “I will make her a good husband, Angus. There is nothing she will want for, no needs that will go unfulfilled. She will be protected and happy in my care. And . . . she says she loves me.”

“I have no doubt you shall tend her well, Geoffrey, but, do you love her?” the father asked, ignoring the fact his questions were not directly answered but sensing the answers anyway.

Geoffrey turned back to the window and the image of his purpose as he said, “I do not know what that emotion is. I know I miss her when we are apart. I enjoy her company more than any other when we are together. I want her to bear the children I wish to sire. Is that love, Angus? If so, then yes, I love her.” Having said that he thought even more about it. Was this love? This emptiness he felt when she was not near. The fullness he felt when she was. The constant need to be close to her and the total loss of control when he made love to her. Was this love? This incessant feeling of elation one minute and deflation the next. How did one live life in such a raucous way? Would it even out once they were married and he knew she would be by his side forever?

“Well, Geoffrey,” said Angus breaking into the marquess’s reverie, “I would say it’s close enough from my experience. Have you told Angeline?”

“Told her? I have told her I will marry her and care for her and protect her. Is that not enough?” Geoffrey still resisted Vanessa’s advice. Why should he play that hand when he had gotten what he wanted without it?

“Not for most women, son,” answered the older, more experienced of the two. “Most women want to hear the words no matter what the circumstance.”

“If she doesn’t know what I feel after all I have gone through for her, she is a fool.”

“Is she, Geoffrey? Is she? Well, let us have luncheon and begin the plans. Have you picked a date?”

The two men left the library for the dining room. They settled in comfortably waiting for the object of their mutual affection to present herself.

As Angeline entered and caught sight of her betrothed, she hesitated momentarily. Recomposing herself she nodded as she acknowledged him, “My lord. Papa.” Then she sat in a seat next to her father.

“Angeline, Geoffrey has come asking for your hand and I have given it. Was I right in doing so, my dear?”

Angeline looked down at the plate before her, playing with her food but not eating it. This was all going much too fast. But, in her situation, it was probably best not to tarry too long. “Yes, Papa,” she responded without raising her eyes, her voice sullen and resigned.

“So when shall the wedding be?” asked her father gently.

Angeline responded with hesitation, “The banns must be read, it will take at least three weeks, maybe four. The plans must be made, a gown, a breakfast. It will all take time to plan.”

“I have a special license,” Geoffrey quietly injected, “I obtained it while I was in London.”

Angeline looked up into her betrothed’s eyes, seething with unspent frustration and rage. “Well, you have just planned everything, haven’t you, my lord?” she commented, her voice tight with restraint.

“It pays to be prepared, my dear. I always try to be ready for whatever life presents me. It does help things run a lot smoother,” was the marquess’s calm reply. He knew she was not happy with his manipulation but felt the sooner they were wed the better off they both would be, the faster they would settle into their new roles of husband and wife. “Saturday would be a fine day. I think we should take the vows on Saturday,” he averred.

“Saturday?” retorted Angeline. “Impossible. There is just too much to do.”

“Nonsense,” answered Geoffrey. “I will take care of all of the preparations. You need only have a gown made and your things packed and moved to my manor. The wedding breakfast will take place there after we exchange our vows in the church. We can invite the local gentry and the villagers. What more need be done?”

“I see no need to draw this out, my dear,” commented Angus. “Surely the dressmaker will drop everything to make you a new gown. Or you could wear the one you just had made. You did look beautiful in it. And the household will help you pack your things. We have four days. I’ll send the footman down to the village to tell the seamstress you will be there shortly.” Angus picked up the bell next to his plate and rang it once.

“So you are both set upon this course. Well, I can see I have no say in the matter. I think I have had enough to eat. I will leave you now to make your wedding plans. Too bad you require a bride to go with them.” With that Angeline rose from her chair, tossed her napkin onto her plate and stormed from the room. The two men could hear her hurried footsteps as she mounted the stairs to her room.

“I fear, Geoffrey, you have won a battle but the war wages on. Your work is still cut out for you. I do not envy your position,” cautioned Angus as they returned to their meals.

At midnight the door of the cottage slammed open. “Still the bastard,” Angeline threw at him as she found him naked to the waist, his Hessians and socks also removed.

In two long strides Geoffrey crossed to her and gathered her in his arms. Before she could utter another word, his lips crushed hers with heat and desire. He moved his mouth not letting her come up for air. As she relaxed slightly in his arms, he slid his tongue in to meet hers and start a new battle for control.

Angeline pushed hard against his strength willing herself not to give in, not to relent. But she had met her match. The closeness of him, the scent of him, leather and sandalwood, the taste of him, was it champagne? All sent her senses spinning. Before she knew it, she was kissing him back, holding him, reaching for him, arching against him.

Evidently sensing her change of mood and her mounting need, Geoffrey released her lips to blaze kisses down her throat. His hands worked her buttons until her gown drifted quietly to the floor and he was holding her, naked, against him. He picked her up and placed her tenderly on the bed then unbuttoned his pants and slid them down over his hips.

“Geoffrey,” whispered Angeline as his throbbing sex sprang free.

He moved into the bed beside her and embraced her once again. “Yes, Angeline, I am here. I am yours. Tell me what you want.” His lips moved to hers again, then to her cheek, her jaw, her ear. Down her throat until he reached her breasts and then took one tight, pink nipple into his mouth suckling gently. The groan he heard escape her throat pleased him to no end. All would be well he swore to himself. Somehow it would work out all right.

He made love to her tenderly, passionately, but with great care. Angeline shattered in his arms and felt him return the intensity as he, too, met his moment of need and fulfilled it. He held her closely to him as they slept until morning came and she left him once again.

The next few days and nights followed in like pattern. Preparations went forth during the afternoons as all the necessary arrangements were made. When midnight arrived the two would meet at the cottage and spend hours in each other’s arms loving passionately but tenderly, so different from before.

Angeline spent her time joyous one moment, enraged the next. Part of her was elated to be marrying Geoffrey. There had never been another man she had felt so much for, had wanted to be with constantly, had loved so deeply. But he did not love her, he wanted a wife and an heir and that was why she would be giving up her freedom, the opportunity to run his household and brood his brats. They would be hers too, of course, but she expected there would not be much between them once the vows were said and the commitment made. She had heard the tale many times in her Seasons in the
Ton
. Young women swept off their feet by men who only wanted the money, title, lands they held or an heir to guarantee their blood line. After the wedding the men went off their own ways and spent the money anyway they chose fit only returning to the manor to beget another child for the wife to raise in his absence. Everything she loathed about marriage was soon to be visited upon her.