Pretty Persuasion (23 page)

"But I think," he said between fluttering kisses over her neck and jawline, "I was absolutely persuaded when you began to undress me."

She reached between them and fumbled with the fastenings on his breeches. Robert swallowed on a groan. He ought to have known; give her an honest answer, and she'd not hesitate to use it to her advantage.

She undid the buttons with steady determination. Deciding he might as well assist her, he kicked off his shoes, then tore off his stockings, breeches, and drawers with intemperate haste. He moved to put one knee on the bed, stopping short when he noticed her staring wide-eyed at his private parts. Arching a brow, he waited.

Finally, her gaze climbed to his face, and her cheeks colored. "I, um…"

"Yes?"

"I'm merely… surprised."

Robert didn't know whether he should be flattered or embarrassed. "Why?"

"Well, there's…" She looked down again. "Hair. And it's, um…"

Comprehension dawned. "Not quite like classic statuary?" he drawled. "Or Atlas?"

She seemed puzzled for a second and then an impish grin slowly emerged. "No. Not quite—oh!"

Her eyes widened again as his erection bobbed. With a look of fascination that ought to have been amusing but which instead was wildly arousing, she reached for him. A consummate, belly-deep groan escaped him as her hand wrapped around his member. Caressing gingerly, she peered at his face through coyly lowered lashes. And with every wave of pleasure that had him weak-kneed and hissing in his breath, she appeared more self-satisfied.

He should have expected she'd turn even lovemaking into a competition. A test of control, of who had it and who lost it. This time, however, she was in over her head—and what a joy it would be to prove it to her.

"My turn," he murmured, grasping her hand to press a kiss on her knuckle. The anticipation of his own exploration lessened the torture of ending hers. Reaching behind her head, he tugged on the ribbon and undid her braid until her thick, raven locks tumbled down just past her shoulders. Time ceased to exist as he, in a dreamlike state, immersed himself in the sweet-scented, cushiony creature that was Georgie. His hands were a step ahead of his mouth as he worshiped his way down her body, leaving not a single spot untouched or unkissed.

She gasped. She purred. His lips grazed one nipple and she arched her back, her fingers twisting his hair in a way that both delighted and made him fear going bald before his time. He considered being gentle, worried that he might frighten her, but then thought, no—no, this was Georgie; frightening her was no concern. He caught her other nipple between his teeth, inordinately pleased when he felt goose pimples spreading across her skin.

Insistently, he pushed aside the blankets and nudged her backward until she fell across the bed. "Kiss me," she demanded, pulling him down on top of her.

He more than happily complied, keeping his weight on one elbow as he captured her lips. What started as a languorous exploration soon evolved into something hungrier, more mind-bending. It was a heated imitation of what was to come, a kiss so intimate and carnal it left Robert lightheaded and spiraling towards a loss of control. He retained his balance with the feel of her divine curves beneath his roaming palm, with awareness of finally having her naked in his arms. Naked and so willing there were no barriers between them, real or imagined.

Sliding his hand between her legs, he teased his way up her thighs, relishing the way she gasped into his mouth each time he brushed against her thatch of curls. He caressed her folds and found her moist, ready. And yet he paced himself.

He broke off the kiss to watch her while he touched her. Her face was expressive, as easily read as an open book. Not once did she close her eyes, giving him the satisfaction of seeing every spark of surprise, every flicker of pleasure as he slipped a finger inside her.

She took the first one easily, so easily that he soon dared add another. Her brows knitted, and she tensed. Then, as he slowed down, she relaxed, becoming slicker and more malleable with each probing stroke. Yet, despite her labored breathing and the wanton sounds rippling from her throat, she seemed to stay in control of herself. Her gaze never left his face, as if telling him with her eyes that he was only pleasuring her because she allowed him to.

It was not enough; he wanted her wild and abandoned, craved the satisfaction of bringing her to climax. He backed up off the bed, pulling toward him as he kneeled before her, hooking her legs—long and shapely, just as he had known they would be—over his shoulders.

"Robert!" she squealed, and he glanced up to see her eyes wide in surprise, though he could have sworn he saw a hint of fascination.

Her scent, faint and feminine, beckoned him. "I'm going to taste you, Georgie," he said, then followed through on the promise. She arched her hips off the bed as he teased and delved, slowly coaxing her to the brink. He soaked up every sigh, every whimper, every belly-deep moan that escaped her, reveling in it, not giving a damn that the sounds must be loud enough to wake the entire household.

Despite knowing he ought to push her toward completion now, doubting he could do it any other way this first time, he gave in to the selfish need to be inside her as she shattered. He nudged her further onto the bed, and she parted her thighs readily, cradling him there while pulling his head down into a kiss so hot it seemed an attempt to drink in his soul.

Her dampness coated the tip of his erection. She shifted, pressing herself against him, and urgency rushed over him—urgency that inspired an acute, gut-wrenching sort of apprehension. Sweat broke out on his forehead. How to go about it? One swift thrust, or a slow and gentle advance?

It suddenly escaped his understanding why he should have to suffer this dilemma at all. She had initiated this, seduction-bent wanton that she was, and by God, he'd let her finish it, too.

Grabbing her waist, he rolled over onto his back, and she squealed in surprised as he pulled her along. She landed across his chest, and, straddling his hips, she pushed herself up and stared down at him with widened eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Since you started this, I thought you might want to lead the way."

"How?"

He raised her up by the waist and urged her backward until he was poised at her entrance. That appeared to be all the guidance she needed. He couldn't suppress the groan that rose in his throat as she seized him far more confidently than she ought and lowered herself slowly onto the hard length of him. She met resistance. She hissed, and a grimace passed over her face, but she only hesitated for a moment. And then he was buried to the hilt, sheathed within the hot, tight softness of her.

She held herself still. Their breaths rasped audibly in unison. The candle glowed behind her back, wrapping her in ethereal light. And despite knowing they would have a lifetime of nights such as this one, he felt a pang of something akin to wistfulness. As if it was too good to be true, that he would never again experience the maddening intimacy of being inside her. Never again enjoy the sight of her naked body, of bringing such a look of bliss into her countenance.

"Are you all right?" He skimmed his hands up her side, brushing his thumb over the satiny skin beneath her full, perky breasts.

"Oh, yes," she said with a laugh. She finally stirred, and a tiny whimper escaped her as she braced her hands on his chest and raised herself. She moved so slowly he could see every hint of pain on her face, and it grew increasingly disturbing, until each wave of intense pleasure he felt was followed by guilt.

"Georgie…" She halted as he put his hand behind her head and pulled her down. They lay chest to chest, and her hair fell over her shoulders, a dark veil around their heads. He didn't know what to do, only knew he couldn't let her continue. So he made love to her mouth with his lips and tongue, and every other inch of her that he could reach with his touch.

She molded to him at first, matching his fervor, but she grew impatient too soon. Her hips rocked against him, and she pushed herself upright again.

"Georgie, I'm hurting you," he protested. It was killing him to say it, killing him to make her stop.

Her brows knitted, and she shook her head. "No. You were, but only a little. It feels… good." She cracked a tiny, almost secretive smile. "It feels
wonderful
, Robert."

She ground herself down on him, effectively crushing his objections once and for all. She needed no lessons; she seemed to relish the challenge of finding her own rhythm, of discovering what she liked—and what she loved. So he let her have her way with him, doing his damnedest not to let her enthusiasm excite him too much.

And soon, even that became impossible, when he grew so hard and ready to burst he felt as if he'd snap in half with the effort of restraint. Her pace quickened, and he felt that she was close, but he was closer yet, so he slipped his thumb between them. She shattered with a moan that came from deep in her throat, and his last thought before he found his own release was that her voice had surely carried all the way down to the servants' wing.

"I am Vex'd beyond endurance! I had been promised a trip to Hookham's lending library to-day, and it being Miss Pilkington's half day off, Mamma or Aunt Arabella was to escort me. It so turns out that they had both made another engagement, assuming the Other would be the one to take me, and so I was left with no one. This only proves what a great Evil assumptions are, and I vow to never fall prey to them!"

— From the diary of Lady Georgiana Montford, aged 11

GEORGIE AWOKE SLOWLY by intermittent flashes of alertness that grew in frequency until she was forced to open her eyes. She gave a start as she realized she was naked—and not alone. An undeniably male body warmed her back, pressed against her in an arched fit, and a heavy arm was thrown possessively around her, a palm resting beneath the curve of her breast.

Suddenly, she was wide-awake, awareness rocking her as she remembered that she was in Robert's bed, and why. The memories explained why she was boneless and spent, and why her private parts felt tender and bruised. Her cheeks burned as she recalled Robert wetting a cloth and gently dabbing it between her thighs. It had strangely pleased as well as embarrassed her, and her cheeks burned at the memory.

The candle had burned down, but the predawn light filtering through the slits in the curtains pierced the darkness and made shadows of the furniture. She had not intended to fall asleep. When Robert slipped back into bed, she decided to wait until he dozed off before going back to her bedchamber. But then he had wrapped his arms around her, and it had felt so pleasant—almost natural, as if that was how they went to bed every night.

They had talked for a while about why he was not yet comfortable staying in the master's apartments and about his father. The intimate atmosphere had made her want to ask him once more about Barbados, but she had recoiled at the thought of him drawing away again. And so his confessions had prompted her to speak of the discord between her father and herself. That had seemed natural as well, and so had, apparently, becoming so relaxed she had fallen asleep.

Now, however, she had to leave. The servants would rise soon, and she didn't relish the prospect of running into anyone on the way back to her room. She tried to wriggle out of Robert's embrace without rousing him but only managed to roll onto her back before he gave a sleepy grunt and tightened his hold on her. She stilled, listening to his shallow breathing. She could stay just a little while longer.

It was too easy to feel comfortable, wrapped in his firm embrace and the heat from his lean and strong body. With eyes closed and head tilted, she buried her face in the hollow of his neck, inhaling his scent. She memorized the smell that lingered beneath the hint of sandalwood and perspiration, the one that was purely his and which would forever remind her of this night.

She pondered how to escape without waking him, for she did not yet feel ready to face any possible awkwardness between them. It puzzled her that he would clutch her so securely in his sleep, almost as if that were his habit.

And perhaps he
was
used to cradling a woman in his arms at night. Not a notion that ought to bother her, but it did nonetheless. Bedding him had been an enjoyable means to an end and nothing more, and it certainly gave her no claim on him. If she was jealous—well, she could only hope it would pass once she was no longer in his presence. It had not been quite that easy when he went to Barbados, but she was older now and more… well, older.

An idea sparked. Grabbing the pillow under her head, she began to inch out of his grasp while slipping it between them. As his hand fell on the pillow, he shifted and stopped breathing. Georgie stiffened, waiting for a sign that he had woken up. Then she felt him tighten his arm around the pillow, and she released a soft sigh.

She edged out of bed, wincing at the taut soreness between her thighs, then found her nightdress and wrapper on the floor and slipped them on. Carefully, she opened the door and stole into the hallway. The door shut with a small click, and she hurried past the stairs and down the corridor to her bedchamber.

Her bed was indeed cold and empty when she crawled under the blankets. That fact need not necessarily be a melancholy one.

But it was.

SOFT AND WARM.
Floating in a state of half-asleep and half-awake, Robert strengthened his hold on the pliable body in his arms.

Too pliable.
He opened his eyes and found a pillow where a woman should be lying. Where Georgie had lain—or had it been a dream? Could a dream be so vivid, so heavenly yet earthy?

He released the pillow and turned onto his back, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the muted light flooding the room. Calmness flowed through him, a sense of serenity that could not have come from a dreamed release. Incredible though it seemed, last night must, indeed, have happened.

The back of his neck prickled. In the light of day, the rash and unthinking act of bedding Georgie before they had reached an understanding left him more than just a touch uneasy.