The Harlot Countess (21 page)

“Do you know,” he whispered before sucking the lobe of her ear into the slippery, lush heat of his mouth, “how long I have wanted you? How many nights I dreamt of your mouth or your breasts? I want to make this last. I want to—”

She turned her head and found his lips with her own, effectively cutting him off. His revelations brought memories, and this was no time to relive the past. Instead, she pressed up, attempting to get closer. He groaned and deepened the kiss.

Clever fingers disappeared from her breast, and cool air hit her legs as her skirts began to lift. Her body felt feverish, impatient with need. He stroked the skin of her inner thigh while his tongue continued to tangle with her own, and her knees fell open to afford him better access.
Please,
she wanted to scream, then let out a long moan as he finally—God, finally!—probed the entrance to her body.

“Christ, Maggie.” He broke off to pant against her throat. “You are so wet, so ready to take me. Do you want me inside you, darling?”

His finger worked inside her, a delicious fullness that made her shiver. She threw her head back, closed her eyes, and gulped air.

“Ah,” he breathed. “You like that. Perhaps one more, I think.”

He pulled back, then returned to stretch her further, and her back arched against the sweet invasion. A firm pull of his lips drew her nipple into the hot recesses of his mouth. He sucked hard and used his tongue to soothe before gently scraping the bud with his teeth. Each tug and lick stoked the flames burning her insides. Her muscles tensed as he continued with his hands and mouth, the pleasure nearly unbearable. She could do naught but react; he was a master applying his art, her body the canvas.

“Simon, now.” Her nails dug into his shoulders.

“Shhh.” He lifted his head. “We’re likely to overturn the carriage if we try anything adventurous. This is enough. Let me give you pleasure, Mags.”

“No, we will not. We’ll be gentle. Please,” she begged. Desire had made her desperate, but Maggie was too far gone to care. She snaked her hand down the front of his clothing until she found him, hard and hot, under her palm.

He hissed through his teeth and caught her wrist. “Stop. There’s no telling what may happen if you keep that up.”

She wiggled her fingers to lightly stroke his erection as best she could. “Did you not say I needed more surprises in my life?”

With his jaw tightly clenched, Simon clearly fought for control. “The stiffness of my cock should come as no surprise to you. I swear, you walk into a room and I grow hard.”

His grip on her wrist weakened and she took advantage. Traced the outline of him through his trousers. Dragged the heel of her palm down the thick length. He visibly shuddered. “Maggie, I—”

“Stop talking, Simon,” she whispered. “Just
feel.
”

Arms braced against the seat to prop himself up, he loomed over her. His chest heaved as she skimmed over him, and she carefully watched his face, gauging his reaction. While she had drawn him many times, the fierce expression he now wore, half-pleasure and half-pain, was one she had never seen. She loved that her touch affected him so deeply.

His harsh breathing echoed in the enclosed space as her touch grew bolder. When her fingers brushed his bollocks, he inhaled sharply. Leaning up, he reached for her waist and lifted her over him. Her knees slid to the outside of his hips, skirts pooling around them. With frantic hands, he worked the buttons on his trousers while she leaned forward to press her lips to his brow, his temple, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He gathered her skirts up with one hand, exposing her, and used his free hand to position himself at her entrance. Maggie wasted no time, bearing down, eager to take the full, heavy length inside.

“Wait.” Hands on her waist, he stopped her. “I want to watch. Lean back. Place your hands on my knees.”

Tentatively, she reached back with one hand to support herself but still held on to his shoulder.

Eyes dark and serious, he told her, “Go ahead. I’ve got you, darling. I’ll not let you go, I swear.”

The weight of that promise settled around her heart. Had she imagined it, or had there been another meaning behind those words? She released her grip on his arm and angled away from him. Thank goodness she’d worn her short stays for the long carriage ride; as it was, she could barely breathe.

He began a maddeningly thorough invasion of her body. Her lids fluttered closed.
Oh, yes.
God, yes. The impossible stretch, the slight sting of his length filling her . . . it was even better than she remembered. The carriage bounced and rocked beneath them, but Simon would not be hurried. He lowered her carefully, deliberately, until he’d fully sheathed himself inside her.

“Damn, but you are lovely. The way you feel around me . . .”

He trailed off and rolled his hips for a gentle thrust. They both groaned. Another slide, deeper this time. She gasped, sparks racing up her spine. He pulled her forward for a long, desperate kiss. The natural motion of the wheels knocked their bodies together, but it wasn’t enough. Seemingly of their own accord, her hips worked to create the delicious friction she craved. Simon broke off from her mouth, his head falling back against the squabs. “Christ, yes. Ride me, Mags.”

Encouraged, she braced her arms on the back of the carriage and undulated atop him. The swollen bud at the apex of her thighs dragged against him with each roll. When his mouth sucked on her exposed nipple, she moved faster, racing toward the bliss she’d only ever encountered with Simon. She no longer questioned what he was able to do to her. Something about the two of them blended together to create an incendiary reaction, like mixing two completely opposed colors and achieving the perfect hue.

An orgasm, both fierce and sweet at the same time, ripped through her. She gasped and shook, the walls of her channel clamping down on his erection as he continued to thrust up from underneath her. When she stopped convulsing, Simon’s grip tightened and he jerked away from her. Muscles taut, he fisted his shaft and pumped once before spilling his seed onto his belly. He groaned, eyes closed in bliss, as he spent himself.

At that precise moment the rear axle snapped in half.

 

 

Simon folded his arms and regarded the damage. He and Maggie were unharmed, a little shaken but otherwise unscathed, but the carriage was in a sorry state. Turned on its side, with a broken axle, and missing one wheel, there would be no more riding inside the vehicle today.

It had been a near miss. He’d barely regained his bearings after a spectacular orgasm when a loud
pop
rang out. Thinking quickly, he’d clutched Maggie and braced the two of them as best he could. No telling how adept the French drivers would be at remaining calm during an accident, and if they lost control of the horses then someone could be killed.

The drivers had been impressive, however. By the time the vehicle had lost the back wheel and flipped to the side, they’d considerably slowed the team of four. Everything had ground to a stop. Simon had righted his clothing, helped Maggie with hers, and then assisted her out the top of the vehicle.

Maggie, now in her bonnet, pelisse, and winter cloak, stood by his side on the road. He leaned over. “I told you we would overturn the thing, you insatiable minx.”

She let out a bark of laughter, her green eyes sparkling, and his chest expanded with emotion. He loved to see her happy.

No, he
needed
to see her happy. For years, he’d thought her devious and cunning, entertaining Cranford and the others while he pined for her. But Cranford had lied. Maggie claimed there had been no trysts during her debut, that she’d been a maid when married off to Hawkins. Which meant Simon should have believed her ten years ago, should have defended her. He hadn’t, and most of Society turned its back on her, himself included. Could he ever make amends for such unforgivable stupidity?

Possibly not, but he would die trying.

“Well,” she said, “what are we to do now?”

“We walk.”

Her head swiveled, taking in the barren fields and hills surrounding them. Thankfully no snow covered the ground, he thought.

“To where?”

He lifted a shoulder. “To the nearest town. I’ll find out from our driver.”

In French, Simon spoke to one of the drivers and learned their original destination, the town of Auvers, was not far. He and Maggie could reach it in less than an hour. The driver wanted to show him the source of the trouble, so Simon went to the rear of the carriage where the man pointed out the twisted, severed axle. The break was even. It could only mean one thing.

“
C’était délibéré,
” Simon said.

“
Oui,
” the driver concurred.

A long string of curses went through Simon’s mind. Someone had planned this carriage accident, most likely tampering with the vehicle at their last stop. But whom? A bitter wind kicked up, flapping the edges of his greatcoat, and he decided to worry on this later. Maggie would catch her death if he did not get her to shelter.

He found Maggie’s supplies and gave the drivers more than enough money to cover their troubles. With a promise to send assistance as soon as he and Maggie reached town, Simon led her along the road.

They walked quickly and said little. The two of them had reached a peaceful accord today, and he was loath to break it. They needed to spend time together, come to know one another, and an argument could destroy this fragile bond. So he traveled in silence, happily focusing his mind on what had occurred in the carriage moments before the accident. The decadent picture of her on top, arching back to rest against his knees, his cock sliding into her delicious wetness . . . now there was a portrait he wouldn’t mind owning. Perhaps he could commission Lemarc to paint it, he thought with a smile.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, her sharp gaze trained on his profile.

He looked down at her. “You.”

“Me? What about me?”

“You, on top. Riding me with your hands behind you. Breasts high and tight—”

“Simon!” She shoved at his shoulder. “Have you gone completely mad?”

He grinned. “There’s no one about to hear us. And did I not tell you I want complete honesty between us? I will not ever lie to you, Mags.”

“No lies? Ever?”

“Not a one.”

“Hmmm.” That noise should have warned him for what she asked next. “Why haven’t you married? I would have expected you to have secured the family legacy by now, with three or four children tucked out in the country somewhere.”

A strangled sound of surprise emerged from his throat. Of course she would ask the one question he would resist answering truthfully, the clever chit. But omitting details was not exactly lying, was it? “I almost did once. Even asked the countess for the Winchester rubies. In the end, it didn’t work out.”

“What happened? Did she turn you down?”

“Never got around to asking. She ended up with someone else.”

She nibbled her lip, something he found adorable. “Will you tell me who?”

“No.” She frowned and he chuckled. “Come now, what does it matter who?”

She straightened a shade too quickly. “Oh, it doesn’t. Matter. To me, that is.”

Interesting. Since she’d started down this conversational path, he forced himself to ask the one question he dreaded the answer to. “Did Hawkins . . . treat you honorably, as a proper husband should?”

She remained silent a long moment, kicking at a pebble with her boot. “He was not cruel, if that is what you mean,” she finally said.

Now she was being evasive. “Was he kind? Did he . . . care for you?” His chest constricted, but he needed to know the truth. He’d wondered over the years how she’d got on with a husband old enough to have been her father.

“He avoided me, mostly. I do not think he knew what to make of a young girl, ruined by scandal and yet not ashamed. He never understood my love of drawing and painting but never disallowed it. To be truthful, he spent most nights with his mistress and that suited both of us perfectly.”

“Were you happy?”

“Not particularly, but I also was not unhappy.”

“And you say I am gifted with words.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “But it’s true. For the most part, I could do as I pleased. A few of the women in the village became my friends. Artists like to spend time alone, and I had plenty of time to myself during my marriage. I used it to study and read and practice. I do not regret it.”

A small knot he’d been carrying in his belly since learning of Cranford’s deception eased. However, Simon hated that Hawkins had not cherished Maggie. Any man in his right mind would thank the saints she graced his bed and spend a lifetime devoted to her pleasure.

Not to mention Hawkins had been her first instead of Simon. Cranford would suffer, if only for that fact alone.

“And what of your mistress?”

Simon nearly stumbled at Maggie’s question. He could comment on the inappropriateness of the question, but such observations were pointless with Maggie. Boldness was never in short supply around her. “Adrianna, you mean. She’s an actress I met at Drury Lane. What else should you care to know?”

“Is it true you visit her every Tuesday and Friday evening?”

He did stumble then. He caught himself from falling and stopped to glower at her. “How in God’s name do you know that?”

“Then it’s true.”

He offered his arm once more. “It was true but no longer. Adrianna and I have parted ways.”

“Hmmm.”

“I am coming to fear that sound out of your mouth. May we cease speaking of my former mistress?”

“Who would have guessed you would turn out to be such a prude?” she teased.

“Oh, you think so?” He leaned closer. “I’ll show you prudish in the carriage on the way home, madam. We’ll see who is laughing then.”