No Greater Love (27 page)

“Nicholas…”she said hesitantly, looking away.

“Mmm?” he replied, lost in the excitement of the feel of her soft skin pressing on him.

“I would like to give you pleasure too,” she said shyly.

“You are, my sweet. You are.”

“I would like to touch you,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“Touch me? Oh, please,” he said, raising his eyes to the ceiling in silent thanks. “Certainly. Do feel quite free.” He hardly dared breathe as her hand crept down between them, then, light as a breath of air, skimmed over him, and came back again, settling as delicately as a butterfly landing on a rose petal. She ran her fingers up and down his blazing skin, and then her whole palm, and Nicholas stiffened his thighs, trying not to shake.

“I do not hurt you?” she asked, her own breath coming faster as she explored him with amazingly accurate instincts.

“No, my love,” he croaked, “you do not hurt me. You give me great pleasure. Very, very … great … pleasure.” He clenched his teeth and twisted his hands through her hair, breathing shallowly into her soft curls. And then her fingers moved up and encircled him and he grasped her wrist in desperation. “Georgia … oh, Georgia, love … I think maybe a little break would be in order.”

Georgia sighed, for touching him had caused a shower of heat to explode through her body, centering between her legs in sweet desire. It was as if some unreasoning part of her had come awake and wanted to discover, to feel, to experience him, to hold the silky steel of him in her hand, to see his brow knot and know that he was caught up in the same passion she was feeling. “Nicholas, may I look?” she asked, possessed by a sudden need to see, to know.

“Look? You want to look?” he said, making a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

“Yes. Oh, yes, I do. You are not embarrassed?”

“Embarrassment has nothing to do with it,” he said. “Look to your heart’s desire.”

Georgia, her cheeks flaming with a combination of embarrassment, curiosity, and arousal, sat up and pulled the sheet away. She dragged her eyes down to his groin and drew her breath in sharply as she saw his masculine shape. He was nothing like Baggie at all. Nothing. Baggie had been terrifying. Nicholas was in perfect proportion to the rest of his body. He was beautiful. She knew she ought to be afraid, but she wasn’t afraid in the least: she was fascinated. Her eyes roamed up and down his length, taking in every detail. “It’s … you are…” She paused, searching for the right word to describe such a thing. “You are very nicely made,” she finally said, and Nicholas burst into laughter, then pulled her down on top of him.

“I am delighted that my proportions finally please you,” he said, entwining her fingers with his, then gently moved her onto her back. “And now it is my turn to look.” He pushed away the sheet and gazed down at her.

She felt she should be shy, but she was inflamed by the hungry way his eyes traveled over her body, by the impassioned look in his eyes as his hand stroked over her hip, came to light on the triangle of curls between her legs, moved away to her thigh, stroking the skin until she shook violently under his touch.

“You are exquisite,” he said. “You are the most exquisite woman I have ever laid eyes on. God, look at you. It’s enough to make me lose what’s left of my mind.”

Georgia looked into his eyes. The gray glittered as silver as the moonlight that washed over him, and she saw the laughter that still lingered, and the heat and the desire that burned over it. Her heart ached as strongly as her body, and she wanted to enfold him, to offer herself up to him, but she didn’t know how.

“Georgia,” he whispered. “What is it? Now why do you look at me so?”

She raised her mouth to his and softly kissed him. “Show me, Nicholas, for I am not afraid anymore. I want to give myself to you. I want you to take me.”

“Georgia, what do you do to me? It is not enough that I want you beyond any sane desire, but I must feel as if my heart is being torn from my chest as well?”

He bent down and kissed her soft belly, and then the indentation of her waist. He lifted her arms over her head and ran his mouth down the sensitive insides, then took her breast into his mouth, drawing heated circles with his tongue until he captured her nipple and tugged on it, sending shocks of fire through her. She writhed under him, whimpering, wanting everything he could give her, greedy for more, and his hands cupped her buttocks and shaped them to his palms. She jerked, her hips lifting, pushing against him, her legs opening in mindless need. She needed something, for his hand to touch her there, to take away the heated ache. And as if he had read her mind, he moved to his side and his hand traveled down to the juncture of her legs, tangling in her curls, pulling gently, sliding over the outside of her mound, and she twisted impatiently, pushing against his hand, wanting him to open her, to touch her more deeply. That she could be so wanton only dimly occurred to her, her wits occluded by this fierce, overpowering desire.

“Oh, Nicholas,” she sobbed. “Oh, please. I can’t bear it anymore.” She pulled up her knees, opening wider for him, and he obliged her, the tips of his fingers sliding along her cleft, gently parting the delicate flesh, and moving between the swollen folds. The breath caught in her throat as he ran his finger back and forth, homing in on a place that sent her nerves not just sparking, but into full conflagration. She cried out with a shock of pleasure, her back arching, pushing herself harder against his hand.

Nicholas knew he was lost. The feel of her hot, slick, quivering flesh under his fingers inflamed him to the point where he knew he would never be able to stop. They’d have to shoot him first. He dropped his open mouth to hers and invaded her with his tongue, and at the same time he pushed two fingers into her tight hot passage, reveling in the feel of her female muscles contracting around them as she buried her fingers almost painfully in his hair.

Georgia was not shy. She thrust her pelvis against his fingers and rocked, sliding herself back and forth with sweet little whimpers of excitement, and he watched her face, her lip caught between her teeth, her eyes closed, her head turning on the pillow, her breasts rising and falling in shallow pants. No, Georgia was not shy in the throes of passion. It was more as if she were lost. She grasped his buttocks and kneaded them, then pulled him down to her, her legs spreading for him, her hips pushing upward.

He wasn’t about to stop to ask her whether she was quite sure that was what she wanted him to do. He slid between her legs, rubbing himself between her silky folds, reveling in her heat, her arousal, her little cries.

“Oh, you truly were made for passion, weren’t you, my sweet,” he murmured hoarsely, burying his face in her neck. “You just didn’t know it.” He braced himself on his forearms and pushed against her entrance, and she yielded to him, her skin stretching to embrace him. He pushed a little harder and he was home, buried in her moist, heated flesh, her muscles gripping around him. She cried out, and he knew without doubt that it was in pleasure, not pain, from the way she trembled around him.

He leaned down to kiss her.

“Georgia,” he said on a groan, staying perfectly still in hopes of preserving himself. “Oh, you feel good. You are perfect, just perfect—even more perfect than I ever imagined. And oh,
God,
how I’ve imagined.” He began to move his hips, slowly at first, adjusting her to the feel of him inside of her. He brought his hand down between them, moving in her damp curls and touching her gently on her exquisitely sensitive nub, and she sighed and moved against his fingers.

“Nicholas,” she whispered against his cheek. “Why did you not teach me before? It is the most wonderful thing in the world.”

He wanted to cry from frustration. He had waited four months to hear this now? She might have been his that much sooner if he hadn’t been such a gentleman? He groaned, cursing himself for a fool.

“Nicholas?” she said, wriggling against him, pushing him more deeply into her.

“Patience, love,” he muttered. “Patience.” He took a few deep, shaky breaths, decided he had calmed enough that he could function again, and repositioned himself, slipping his hands under her buttocks and lifting her even closer to him.

Georgia wrapped her legs around his hips as if she had been doing it always, reveling in the fierce swelling of his body in hers, pushing up against it, feeling him slide in her in a pounding rhythmical dance, filling her one minute, nearly gone the next, then driving home again, causing her to sob with her pleasure. She rained kisses upon his face, his mouth, anywhere she could reach, her tongue tasting the salt of his sweat, her hands slipping over his slick torso as his muscles worked under her fingers. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the waves of sensation that rolled through her, and with each thrust she felt an exquisite building of tension, a movement toward something unknown but terribly important.

Nicholas kissed her neck and her mouth and then her neck again, and she opened her eyes to see him watching her, his eyes fixed intently on her face.

And then with a low moan he pulled his hips back and plunged into her hard and deep, holding fast inside her. It was as if a storm had been gathering, waiting for the first clap of thunder, the first stroke of lightning, for it broke over her violently, the lightning striking sharply, the thunder answering a second later in a great roar through her very core, echoing over and over and over. She was at the epicenter and she heard herself crying out, and then she heard Nicholas cry out as well, sharply, as if he were caught in the storm with her. She was no longer sure whose body was pulsating, for it felt one and the same.

And then finally, finally, the storm passed and it was, quiet again.

Nicholas dropped his face onto her shoulder and kissed the place it landed on. He was still breathing heavily, and Georgia ran her hands over the back of his neck, his shoulders, his arms, trying to work out what had just happened. She knew she had loved and been loved. She knew that she had just experienced a shared physical communion that bound her more strongly to Nicholas than anything she had experienced before. He had taken her, not in an act of violence, but in an act of love. She had trusted him, and he had proved himself not only trustworthy but also infinitely patient. For she finally understood what it was that he had been waiting for, and she knew that the price he had been forced to pay for his patience must have been steep indeed.

Her hand crept to her breast almost with reverence, then to the cheek that lay upon her shoulder, and she stroked his face.

“Nicholas,” she whispered, her hands smoothing over his skin, moving into his hair, and she relished the feel of the damp, silky strands under her fingers.

“Mmm,” he said, turning his face into her breast and kissing it.

“You were right.”

He lifted his head slightly. “Of course I was,” he said, then dropped his head back down on her shoulder.

“And you waited so long.”

“I know,” he murmured.

“I love you for it.”

“You love me for many things,” he said. “You’re just in the throes of sexual aftermath. You’ll remember the rest in the morning.”

“Nicholas!” she said, laughing softly and tugging on his hair. “You’re being exceptionally casual, considering that you just ravished me.”

“Excuse me, madam, but you ravished in equal part. I am too much a gentleman to take all the credit. By the by, you ravish rather well.”

“And you ravish in a most devastating fashion. I hope you will do it again very soon.”

Nicholas pushed himself up and looked at her. “I am a man, merely a man.”

“And a very fine man at that. And I’m sorry for thinking you were impeded.”

He smothered a laugh against her shoulder. “It was a blow at the time. But I am relieved we have it sorted out now. And if you give me an hour—no, maybe a few hours—I will impress my incredible manliness upon you again. I am full of tricks.’’ He kissed her mouth. “I think I love you.”

She smiled and snuggled up against him. “Your brain has been overheated. I know you love me. Now, sleep, my dear prince. I will look forward to dawn.”

“I’m no prince,” he muttered, and his breathing deepened.

“But you are mine,” she whispered, and held him safe into the night.

Georgia rolled over on her side and smiled in her sleep. Nicholas was panting from exertion, the point of his sword resting in the dirt, both of his hands on its hilt. At his feet lay something that looked like a small shriveled piece of cloth.

“I have conquered it,” he said proudly.

“But what was it?” she asked curiously.

“A balloon. What did you think, silly girl? It was a very large balloon, naturally, and it took a great deal of skill to bring it down to earth, for it flew about all over the place. However, I bested it in the end.” He straightened the gold band that circled his head, for it had slipped slightly over one eyebrow. “Are you not impressed?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, trying very hard not to laugh. “I am very impressed indeed. But, Nicholas, do you not think you should be chasing after dragons? Isn’t that what princes do?”

“Dragons do not interest me in the least,” he said, scoffing. “Every run-of-the-mill prince and his brother chases after dragons. I prefer more elusive challenges.”

“I see,” she said gravely.

“Now, kiss me as my reward,” he said, pulling her into his arms and shaping his mouth to hers. She felt his warm breath, his lips moving back and forth across hers, and she inhaled softly against him, feeling a sharp throb of desire between her legs. Georgia’s eyes slowly opened and Nicholas’ mouth was indeed on her, moving in a most seductive fashion. She slipped her arms around his strong back, answering him.

“Good morning, wife,” Nicholas said, lifting his head and kissing her nose. “Enchantress.” He kissed her ear.

Georgia responded by touching the curve of his shoulder with her open mouth and the tip of her tongue, and pulling him down to her.

“Wanton,” he said with a laugh, but she felt his hard arousal against her thigh, and she pushed against it, positioning herself so that he touched against her nest of curls. She opened her legs to him, and Nicholas made a guttural noise as she closed her thighs, capturing him between them.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” he choked as she slowly moved her hips back and forth so that he slid against her delicate flesh.

His head fell back and his eyes closed, and Georgia delighted in his knotted brow and his suddenly rough breathing. “Good morning, husband,” she said, and reached her hand down to cover him with a little shudder of pleasure at the feel of his maleness in her hand. She felt terribly bold, but she couldn’t help herself. There was something about touching him like that that she found wildly exciting. Apparently he found it exciting too, for he inhaled sharply and cupped her buttocks.

“You want to play erotic games, my love? Very well. Lie still and let me show you another way.’’ He moved his hands lower still, and he slipped down the bed, gently urging her knees further apart and slightly up.

“Nicholas, what are you doing?” she asked in alarm as his mouth traveled up and down the inside of her thighs.

“Pleasuring you,” he murmured, kissing her downy triangle. “Relax, sweetheart.”

“But, Nicholas…” she said, coloring with embarrassment as he spread her open to his gaze.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and Georgia felt his warm breath mingling with the cool air running over her hot flesh. “Sweetly scented, like the most glorious of fruit. Does the description remind you of anything?” But he didn’t give her a chance to answer, for he had placed his mouth on her.

“Oh, Nicholas,” she whimpered as she felt the touch of his lips. She knew she should be shocked with herself, with her wantonness, but she couldn’t have cared. All she wanted was more—more of this reckless excitement, more of Nicholas’ touch, more of everything. He obliged her, tracing her open cleft with his tongue, finding the hard bud of nerves and very gently tugging on it with his lips.

“Oh,” she gasped, and dug her fingers in his shoulders, which only served to bring him more forcefully against her. She sobbed with pleasure as he pulled her more deeply into his mouth, licking, stroking, penetrating her with his tongue until she was shaking from head to foot. And then he raised his head and kissed her neck, and her breasts, and he shifted over her, pulling her leg over his hip. He entered her in one powerfully smooth stroke, his body hot and full inside of hers.

“How the hell did I ever last so long without you?” he said roughly, pulling his hips back and pushing into her. “In the same damned house, day after day, night after night?” He thrust. “Tortured.” He withdrew and thrust again, and Georgia pressed up against him, drawing him deeper into her center. “Without hope.” He pulled her leg higher and thrust again, and Georgia trembled violently as she felt her tension building to breaking point. “Anguished,” he said, and caressed her exposed flesh with his fingers. “Unappreciated.” He took her nipple between his teeth and bit it lightly.

She exploded. “Nicholas!” she cried sharply, as wave after wave of furious release crashed through her. Nicholas trembled and pushed even deeper as she contracted in a fierce rhythm around him, and then he shuddered and drove into her with a strangled sob. She could feel his heavy release and she bit her lip against the new rush of pleasure that swept through her. Nicholas’ mouth came down on hers and his hips pushed her back against the bed as she thrust up against his still-engorged shaft, seeking the source of her desire. He moved slightly, and she was there again, crying out, falling, her body shattering into a million brilliant stars. Her whimpers finally faded as the paroxysms released her from their grip, and she slowly relaxed in Nicholas’ arms, hardly able to think at all.

“Oh, my God,” Nicholas groaned a few minutes later, collapsing onto his side, carrying her with him, his body still buried in hers, his breath still labored. “Oh, my God. Georgia. Georgia.”

“Nicholas, what is it?” she said in alarm, thinking that perhaps he was not yet strong enough for such excitement. “You’re not ill, are you?”

“I am a mightily sick man,” he said with a snort of laughter. He flung one arm over his head and stroked the hollow of her back with the other. He appeared extremely healthy to her, and she looked at him suspiciously.

“And what exactly is wrong with you?” she asked.

“I have just suffered a high fever, heart attack, and seizures, all at once. I am quite sure I was near death.”

She turned her face in the curve of his shoulder to hide her smile. “How tragic for you,” she said sadly.

“But is there a cure, O wise woman?”

“I’m afraid, my poor stricken husband, that the only cure for such a battery of illnesses is abstinence from such strenuous activity.”

“No!” he said. “Surely nothing quite so drastic. I think the only cure is to attempt to work this terrible thing out of my system with vigorous exercise. That is what I think. I would confine myself to my sickbed, of course.”

“Of course.”

He moved his arm and stroked her hair. “Do you know,” he said softly, “I never in my wildest dreams imagined it would be like this with you. You’re so damned responsive that it sends me reeling.”

“I feel most terribly shameless, Nicholas,” she said hesitantly.

Nicholas sat up abruptly and looked down at her, anger sparking in his eyes. “Shameless? You should thank God you are able to respond at all after what you’ve been through!”

“Yes, I know, but still, I know it is wicked of me to behave with quite such … such abandonment.”

“You listen to me well, Georgia. You’re a fantastically sensual woman, and it is your birthright to be so—anyone who has told you otherwise is not only wrong but also twisted. You are my wife. I love you. Why should we not pleasure each other? There is nothing wicked about it.”

“But to
want
you to do such things to me—and to want to do them to you just as much, that is not wicked?”

“God meant it to be so, sweetheart, or he wouldn’t have created us as he has, with the ability to feel such things, to desire such things, to come together in such a way. I’m going to murder die vicar’s wife for putting such ideas in your head, see if I don’t, and she can roast in hell. And I’ll murder the vicar while I’m at it, and he can roast with her. And it’s a damned lucky thing for Baggie that he’s already dead, or I’d kill him too for what he did to you.” Nicholas looked away, his hand clenching. “I hope he is burning in hell.”

“We are the ones who will be burning in hell, Nicholas, if we carry on like this,” she said with a small smile.

“If I burn in hell, it will not be for that, I promise you,” he said, looking back at her. “I am quite sure that God is happy with your pleasure, which means that for once he must be happy with me for giving it to you. And if I would like for God to continue to regard me with benevolence, then it only follows that I must continue along this course. You don’t want me to burn too, or at least not in hell, do you, Georgia?”

“And you think I have a peculiar brand of logic, Nicholas?” she said, slipping her hand into his. “I think you could talk any situation around to suit yourself.”

He lay down again and pulled her back into his arms. “Whom would you rather believe on the matter? Me or Mrs. Provost, who sounds exactly like a prune, all dry and wrinkled, with a large stone in her middle. No doubt she thinks in the same manner.”

Georgia burst into laughter. “You have her exactly.”

“I’m sure, although I find it terribly difficult imagining you in those circumstances. I cannot help but feel angered by the injustice of what was done to you. And I’m afraid I cannot be even remotely rational on the subject of Baggie. I still cannot credit the fact that all these months I thought you were passionately in love with him. I pictured him a Nordic god, you see.”

She shuddered. “If you had seen him, you would have understood how ludicrous the idea. He was covered everywhere in hair, Nicholas, and shaped exactly like a barrel. And his eyes, they never seemed really focused. He liked his drink overly much, but it wasn’t just that. He wasn’t capable of much real understanding. I am sure that was how Mrs. Provost convinced him to marry me.”

Nicholas groaned against her hair.

“But he meant no real harm, Nicholas, really he didn’t. I think he needed a wife to help him on the farm, someone to cook his meals and to look after him, someone he could take out his male needs on. I am sure he did not realize that the pain he was giving me was unusual.”

“Georgia, you are far too forgiving. He forced you to an act you did not wish, and he hurt you terribly in the process. I cannot even imagine what you must have suffered.”

“It is in the past,” she said. “It is finished.”

“Thank God. But, Georgia, do you mind if I ask you something? I have wondered why there were no children.”

“I found a formula in my mother’s book of medicines to prevent conception. I didn’t want Baggie’s children.” She ran her fingers over his nape, thinking how very much she did want his.

“Yes … I can well understand why not. It was a blessing you didn’t have any, either, or I cannot think how you might have ended up when Baggie died. By the by, what happened to him?”

“Who?”

“Baggie,” he said, smiling.

“The early mail,” she replied absently, wondering how someone as completely masculine as Nicholas could have such extraordinarily soft hair.

“What?” Nicholas pulled slightly away and looked at her. “What in God’s name do you mean by that? Did he have a shock of some kind?”

“Oh, no—Baggie couldn’t read. It was the mail coach. The wheel ran over his head.”

“How in hell did that happen?” Nicholas asked incredulously.

“He made his bed on the side of the toll road the night before. He’d had too much ale. I found the horse outside the barn the next morning.”

“You’re serious?” Nicholas gave a choked laugh. “He managed to be run over by the mail coach?”

“I told you, he was not much for brains.”

“And I imagine even less by the time all was said and done,” Nicholas said dryly. “Well, thank God for the Royal Mail, I say.” He swung out of bed and went over to the basin, pouring some water into it and wetting a cloth. “It’s cold,” he said, coming back to bed, “but you’ll want to wash. Shall I help?” He gave her a particularly wicked grin.

“No, thank you,” she said, taking it from him. “I know exactly where that would end, and we need to get on with the day, as tempting as spending it here with you sounds.”

“Very tempting. But you’re right. I have a great deal of work to do today. I’ve seven weeks of idleness to make up for. And, Georgia—thank you.”

“Whatever for?”

“For letting me love you. For loving me. For looking after me when I needed it, and for trusting me when I asked.”

“Nicholas, you are far more sentimental than you would have people believe.”

He bent down and kissed her. “For God’s sake, don’t tell anyone. I have a devilish reputation to uphold.”

“You must have nurtured it carefully. You have never been anything other than good and kind that I’ve seen. And patient. I love you, Nicholas.”

“You do, don’t you? It astonishes me. I’ve never considered myself particularly lovable.” He kissed her one last time, then quickly washed and dressed and disappeared downstairs.

Lily delivered the hot water along with a look of satisfaction when she saw Georgia in bed, her shoulders bare. “It is nice to see the master back to his old self,” she said, pouring it into the basin for Georgia. “He was singing a nice little song when he came down for his breakfast, and he put all of it away too. Never did see an appetite like his has been the last week, missus. He liked his new room, did he?”

“He did, Lily, very much.”

“That’s good, then, missus. He needs a few pleasures, does the master. Mr. Binkley was smiling himself this morning, though I don’t expect he thought I was watching. Mr. Binkley don’t like folks knowing he’s human, if you know what I mean.”

Georgia grinned. “I know exactly what you mean. Never mind, Lily, he’s a good man, and better than most. And speaking of good men, how are you and Lionel Martin coming along?”

Lily blushed scarlet. “How did you know, missus?” she asked in a near-whisper.

“Oh, Lily, it hasn’t been difficult to work out. The two of you have been smelling of April and May since February. ‘‘