The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere by Anna Bradley

Chapter Twenty-one

Neither Benedict nor Georgiana spoke on the carriage ride from Great Missenden back to Dunsmore. They collected Madame Célestine’s horses at the Silver Stagg, but Benedict insisted they ride together and bring the second horse on a lead. “I can’t promise we’ll be comfortable, but at least we’ll be…”

Together.

“Warm.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his gaze holding hers as he pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss on her palm. “Your throne, princess,” he said with a courtly bow, sweeping his arm toward the horse.

He half-expected her to protest, but instead she dipped into a dainty curtsy. “Why, how gentlemanly, my lord.”

He chuckled. “You’re too kind. It’s rather a poor throne, I’m afraid. Not a single cushion.”

“I’ll just have to recline on you, then. I daresay you’ll make a proper cushion.” A blush stained her cheeks, but she offered him a smile that went straight to the most secret depths of Benedict’s heart.

He removed his coat, draped it over her shoulders, then handed her up and swung into the saddle behind her. “Lean back on me.” He drew her into the space between his legs and shifted so she could rest her back against his chest. “Yes, just like that,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around her waist.

He urged the horse into a brisk walk, pressing Georgiana tightly against his chest. He glanced up at the first few faint stars studding the night sky before resting his cheek on the top of her head. He wouldn’t wish himself anywhere but here. If he could, he’d stay here with her forever.

They didn’t speak much. Neither of them said aloud that their investigation into the Duke of Kenilworth was over, that his ugly secrets seemed destined to stay buried. There was no need to say it. The marriage register had been their last hope, and even proof of a marriage between Clara and Kenilworth wouldn’t have been enough to save Jane and Freddy.

They needed Clara Beauchamp. Not just a glimpse of her in a carriage on a darkened street, but Clara in the flesh, her skin warm and her heart beating.

In the eyes of the courts, Kenilworth was no bigamist unless they could prove Clara was still alive, and they were as far from being able to do that as they’d been when this business first began. Now there was nowhere left to go except back to London, and for Benedict, from there to North America, to give Jane and Freddy a chance at a new life.

Benedict wished for a new life, too, but not the life he’d find in North America.

Not any life that didn’t include Georgiana Harley.

He wanted to tell her, but there was too much to say, and too little time left in which to say it. Neither of them tried to fill their last moments with frantic words. Instead she let her body melt against his, and he held her close.

This was the most he’d ever have of her. These fleeting moments, with her nestled against him in the saddle, her slender back pressed to his chest, his arms resting against her sides. He leaned forward so his face was mere inches from the back of her neck and inhaled a deep breath of a scent that had breathed new life into him—a scent he’d never forget, no matter how many miles came between them.

He was in love with her—had been in love with her for months now—and it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

“Sleep, Georgiana,” he whispered, his lips close to her ear. “It’s late.”

Too late to be making the long ride back to the gamekeeper’s cottage, but they’d decided not to remain at the Silver Stagg. If Benedict thought they’d come across the duke’s men on the darkened road he wouldn’t have risked it, but the duke hadn’t sent his men after them at all.

He hadn’t needed to. Any evidence of his marriage to Clara Beauchamp had long since been obliterated. Kenilworth had covered his tracks too well to believe they’d find anything they could use against him.

Benedict leaned closer to Georgiana, his eyes falling closed as the stray locks of hair that had come loose from her hat brushed against his cheek. “It’s all right to rest, Georgiana. I’ve got you.”

He waited for her to insist she wasn’t fatigued, and didn’t need to sleep, but the words never came. She drifted to sleep in his arms in such an unexpected show of trust it brought an ache to his throat.

The ride back to Burham was both too long and too short.

When they arrived at the cottage, he eased himself from the saddle and then reached up for her, taking care not to wake her as he lifted her down and gathered her into his arms. He nudged the cottage door open with his foot, strode inside with her cradled against his chest, and carried her to the bed in the corner.

She stirred when he lay her down, made a low, protesting noise in her throat, and caught his sleeve when he tried to draw away. “Don’t go, Benedict.”

He caught her wrist between gentle fingers and tried to free himself. “Shhh. You need to sleep, Georgiana. We have a long ride back to London tomorrow.”

A small frown crossed her lips, and she held him fast. “You need to sleep, too. Lie down here, next to me.”

A rueful smile drifted over Benedict’s lips as he shook his head. “You’re inviting a notorious rake into your bed?” He thought of how it would feel to hold her in his arms, their bodies pressed together, his every breath an echo of hers, the firelight playing over them and her lips mere inches from his. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, princess.”

She opened her eyes, and her answering smile was…Good Lord, he’d never seen such an inviting smile grace any woman’s lips before. It was innocent and sultry at once, the slight pout of her lower lip making him hard in an instant, all the blood rushing from his head to his cock in one thunderous surge, leaving him dizzy with arousal.

“I do.” Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

Benedict gazed down at her, his best intentions warring with a desire that grew stronger with every flutter of her eyelashes, each of her quickening breaths. She didn’t know what she was saying, didn’t realize how dangerous it was to tempt a man like him to lie beside her in a bed in a darkened cottage. How could she? She was inexperienced, an innocent.

But Benedict knew better, and so it was up to him to deny her, to pull away—

“Just for a little while, until I fall asleep,” she whispered, tugging him closer.

That whisper brushed across his skin like a caress, sparking across his nerve endings, and Benedict cursed himself for a fool as all thought of denial fled and he crawled across the bed to lie down next to her. He was careful to leave an ocean of empty bed between them, a thousand warnings not to touch her, not to lay a single finger on her whirling through his head even as his cock pressed eagerly against his falls.

When he didn’t make any move to take her into his arms, Georgiana raised herself onto her elbow and peered down at him. “You don’t look terribly comfortable, Benedict.”

“Nonsense. I’m as snug as a kitten in a basket.” A bald-faced lie, of course. He’d be more comfortable lying on a bed of iron spikes than he was lying here beside her, knowing he couldn’t touch her. “Go to sleep,” he added, squeezing his eyes shut and resigning himself to a night of torture.

“Don’t you want to take off your coat? Your waistcoat too, I think, and your cravat.”

Benedict nearly whimpered. “No. I prefer to sleep in my clothes. Go to sleep.”

He lay there with his arms at his sides, his entire body as rigid as a stick of wood, and prayed she’d leave it there, fall asleep, and leave him alone in his misery.

She was quiet for a moment, but then she stirred again, and he felt her fingertips brush his chin. He gasped, nearly jumping out of his skin. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you remove your cravat. I can’t sleep if I think you’re uncomfortable, and it’s crooked, anyway.” Her knuckles brushed against the sensitive skin of his throat as her nimble fingers worked on the folds. Finally, she got it unwound and slid it from his neck. “There, that’s one knot à la Haslemere undone. Now your coat.”

Benedict wasn’t usually slow to catch on when a woman wanted him, nor was he usually slow to take advantage of such a fortunate occurrence. Tonight, his brain was befuddled with love and desire, but at last it dawned on him what Georgiana was doing. “Are you…are you trying to take my clothes off?”

She let out a soft chuckle. “Yes. I confess I didn’t think it would take so much effort. Perhaps you’d be willing to help me?”

“No! That is, I mean…” Benedict shook his head to clear it. “You do realize what’s much more likely to happen between us if you strip off my clothing, don’t you?”

“I have some idea, yes.” She’d been trying to tug his arm out of his sleeve, but now she paused. “If you don’t want me—”

She let out a little squeal of surprise as Benedict heaved himself up and with one quick move rolled her onto her back and stretched out on top of her, his chest heaving with emotion. “Don’t you dare say I don’t want you. I do want you. I have since I first laid eyes on you, and you called me a selfish, useless rake.”

Georgiana’s lips quirked. “I never called you a rake that first night. I called you a scoundrel.”

“Ah, yes. I remember now.” Benedict stroked a fingertip over her lips so he might memorize that sly little smile. “Yet in spite of your cruelty, I want you more than any woman I’ve ever known.”

Her eyes went wide. “You want me more than Lady Wylde?”

“Lady Wylde!” Benedict gave her an incredulous look. “Why does Lady Wylde keep coming into it? I haven’t given her a single thought since the day after her masque ball, whereas your face haunts me no matter where I am, or what I’m doing. How can you even imagine she compares to you?”

“But she’s very…and I’m just—”

Another rumble tore from his chest, and he silenced her by pressing his fingers to her lips. “Not another word about Lady Wylde, Georgiana. Do you understand me? She’s of no importance to me at all.”

Georgiana peeked up at him and gave a quick nod.

“Good.” Benedict reluctantly pulled his fingers away from her soft, warm lips, and dragged a hand through his hair. “This isn’t about my not wanting you, Georgiana. Far from it.”

She twisted one of the buttons on his coat. “This is our only chance, Benedict,” Georgiana whispered, the ache in her throat unbearable. How could she let him go without spending a night in his arms?

Benedict’s breath caught. “Do you want me, Georgiana?”

She nodded, still avoiding his gaze, but that wasn’t enough for Benedict. He tipped her chin up with his fingers. “Look at me. When you tell a man you want him, you say it aloud, Georgiana, and you look him in the eyes.”

Her eyes met his, and the faint embers still glowing in the grate were reflected in their golden-brown depths. “I-I want you, Benedict. I can no longer remember a time I didn’t want you.”

Her words flowed through him, touching every place inside him, then settling in his heart. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss into her palm, but he was already shaking his head. “You shouldn’t want me, sweetheart. Nothing but heartbreak will come from it.”

“Please don’t say you’ll break my heart because you’re a rake or a rogue or a blackguard who cares for no one, because it’s not true. I may have thought that of you once, but that was before…” Her throat moved in a rough swallow. “Before I knew you. You’re a loving, caring brother and uncle, and…and a good man, Benedict.”

Benedict’s eyes drifted closed at her words. He loved her, and to hear her say she believed he was a good man meant everything to him. All he could do, the best he could do was be worthy of her faith in him. “Listen to me, love. I…I’m taking Jane and Freddy away, Georgiana. The only way I can be sure they’ll be safe from Kenilworth is if we leave England.”

For a brief moment, Georgiana’s dark eyelashes swept down to hide her eyes. They were glistening when she opened them again. “Where will you go?”

“North America. I don’t think…I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to return, Georgiana. Do you think I’d steal your innocence only to abandon you?”

He shifted to move away from the temptation of her, but she twined her arms around his neck, stopping him. “You can’t steal something I’m offering to give you, Benedict.”

“You think so now, Georgiana, but later, after I’m gone, you’ll regret—”

“No. My only regret will be not giving myself to the man I love.” She slid her hands from the back of his neck to his face, cupping his cheeks in her palms. She could only give the gift of her innocence to one man, and she would give it to the man who already held her heart. “If it isn’t you, Benedict, it won’t be anyone.”

* * * *

It was nothing but the truth, and a truth that came from the very depths of her, from a place so deep in her soul no one had ever touched it before. She’d thought no one ever would.

Until him.

With that realization came the feelings she’d evaded for so long, a raging flood of them, one wave after the next, so strong, so relentless nothing could hold them back, nothing could stop them.

There was nothing left for her to do but feel them, and it was as frightening as she’d always imagined it would be to be at their mercy. Yet at the same time it was glorious to feel them unfurling like a clenched fist opening inside her.

Benedict didn’t speak, but the emotions running wild inside her must have shown on her face, because he made a choked sound, and then…

Then he was kissing her, his hands buried in her hair and his lips tender and demanding at once. “Open for me, Georgiana,” he whispered against her lips, and she did as he commanded, her lips yielding to his hot, coaxing tongue.

“You taste so sweet, like Mrs….Mrs….confound it, what’s Gray’s cook’s name again? The one who makes the quince preserves?”

She blinked up at him. “Are you talking to me about Lord Gray’s cook while you’re kissing me, Lord Haslemere?”

Benedict dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. “Hush. I’m trying to be romantic by telling you that you taste sweeter than the sweetest fruits, and you’re ruining it.”

“I beg your pardon.” Georgiana tucked her face against his neck to smother a laugh. “It’s Mrs. Beeson.”

“Right. Mrs. Beeson.” His lips curved in a smile against her temple. “Unfortunately, I think the moment has passed, so I’ll just say you’ve cursed me with your sweet tooth, and now I can’t get enough of you.”

Georgiana thought that quite romantic indeed, and urged his face down to hers, eager for his lips. He crooned to her as he took her mouth again and again, jumbled words of passion and tenderness, his whispers hot against her mouth and the tender skin of her throat and neck. She couldn’t make sense of everything he said, but it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, because she could feel it in the brush of his lips against hers, each dizzying stroke of his tongue in her mouth.

He murmured to her as he nibbled and licked his way from her lips to her jaw, and from there to her throat, the lobe of her ear. She cried out when his teeth closed over that sensitive flesh, her body arching under his. “Oh, that’s…”

“Yes? What is it, princess? Tell me.” His wicked lips danced over her skin, nuzzling into the secret place behind her ear before suckling at her lobe again, a quiet laugh escaping him when she arched under him a second time.

“It’s…it makes me shiver.” Georgiana sank her fingers into his thick hair and gave it a quick, sharp tug that made him moan. A bolt of pure, feminine pride shot through her at his obvious pleasure, and all at once she was desperate to get closer to him, to feel his warm skin against hers. “Take this off.” She gave the hem of his waistcoat a fruitless tug, then her restless fingers tugged open the buttons of his coat and tried to drag it over his broad shoulders. “It’s too tight!”

He nipped at the hollow of her throat. “I’ll have you know that’s a perfectly tailored Weston coat.”

Georgiana ceased her struggles with the tight sleeves and raised an eyebrow at him. “Does that mean you wish to leave it on?”

“God, no.” A grin crossed his lips as he wrestled his way out of his coat and waistcoat, threw them on the floor, then eased himself back on top of her, taking care not to crush her. “There. Are you satisfied, madam?”

Georgiana hardly heard him, she was so distracted by the smooth expanse of his bare throat and the hard chest revealed by the open neckline of his shirt. “This is very nice, right here.” She traced the hollow of his throat, then fanned her fingers over the length of his collarbones.

He seemed to hold his breath as her fingers wandered over the muscles of his shoulders and arms and his taut, straining biceps, then let it out in a low moan as she scored her fingernails lightly over the warm flesh of his back. “You’re driving me mad, Georgiana.”

“I am?” She paused in her caresses. “But dozens of ladies must have touched you here before me.”

The corners of her mouth turned down in a frown at the thought, but he swooped down and kissed it from her lips. “No ladies who matter the way you do.”

“Oh.” She gave him a shy smile. “I think I like driving you mad.”

He pulled back to gaze down at her. “You always drive me mad, without even trying to. Your sharp tongue, the occasional flash of temper in your eyes, your smile, that enticing way you bite your bottom lip—everything about you drives me mad, Georgiana. I’ve been on the verge of ravishing you from the moment I met you that night in Maiden Lane.”

Georgiana’s mouth fell open. “But I was horrible to you that night!”

“I know.” He grinned, obviously relishing the memory. “No lady has ever dared to scold me like that before. It was…stirring.”

Georgiana fingered the neckline of his shirt, peeking up at him from under her eyelashes. “What do you suppose would happen if I tried to drive you mad?”

He let out a strained laugh. “You’d find yourself with a deeply aroused earl in your bed, and you might regret it. Aroused earls are demanding creatures.”

“Hmmm. I think I’d like to see for myself.” Georgiana tugged on the hem of Benedict’s shirt. “Take this off.”

Benedict didn’t need any more coaxing. He rose to his knees, tore his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor behind him. “As you wish, Miss Harley. May I remove anything else for your pleasure?”

Georgiana was vaguely aware he’d asked her a question, but she was so distracted by the sight of his bare chest she didn’t reply. He was…dear God, the long, lean lines of him, his broad shoulders and muscled arms and the hair-roughened expanse of his hard chest…

He was magnificent. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to tear her eyes away from him. Until he moaned, that is, and her gaze flew to his face. “Is…is something wrong?”

“The way you’re looking at me.” His voice was hoarse, his dark eyes burning with heat. “It feels like my skin is on fire.”

Georgiana’s tongue crept out to touch the corner of her mouth as she reached out her hand and lay her palm flat against his ridged stomach. “You, ah, you do feel rather warm.”

Benedict took her wrist in his hand and slid her palm up his torso to the center of his chest. “Touch me, Georgiana.”

Georgiana dragged her hand slowly over his heated skin, caressing his shoulders, the strong column of his neck and his bare chest, mesmerized by the smooth skin under the sprinkling of dark red hair, the tickle of it against her palms.

He kept his gaze on her face as she stroked him, his lips parted, his burning eyes watching every shift in her expression until the edge of her thumb grazed his nipple. He sucked in a breath at her touch, his eyes squeezing closed.

“Benedict?” Georgiana snatched her hand away. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He caught her hand in his and dragged it back to his chest. “Touch me there again.”

Georgiana did as he bid her, stroking her thumb lightly over his nipple once, then again. He let out a ragged moan, his throat and chest flushing and his nipple stiffening under the pad of her finger. She went on stroking him with both her hands on his chest, her thumbs tracing circles around each of his nipples.

“Yes,” he hissed when she scraped her fingernail over the rigid peak. “Again.”

She hesitated, then did it again, catching her bottom lip in her teeth when his body jerked under her hands. Was this what he meant by driving him mad? “Does it…does it feel good?”

Benedict’s eyes had gone dark and sleepy under heavy eyelids. “Let me show you.”

Georgiana gave a tiny nod, a soft sigh rising to her lips when Benedict caught her wrists and raised her arms over her head, then settled his big, warm hands on her sides, close to her breasts, but not yet touching.

“It feels like you’re pulling a string inside me here.” He lay a heavy palm on her lower belly. “It pulls tighter with every touch, an unbearable tension building inside you, so deliciously tight, Georgiana, until you become desperate to release it.”

He began touching her then, just a light stroke of his thumbs against her sides. Just that soft, simple touch was enough to make her breath catch, but then his thumbs were edging closer to her nipples, closer still, and they were already stiffening for him, aching for his touch…

She cried out when it came at last, a quick caress, as light as a breath. Georgiana opened her mouth to beg for more, but before she could get the word out, Benedict’s hands were on her again, stroking and teasing, gentle at first, but relentless, and then firmer as she began to squirm under him. He circled and pinched her tender nipples until her back was arching to get closer to those wicked fingers. More, she needed more…

“Do you feel it, Georgiana? That knot, deep inside you?” His dark eyes glittered down at her. “So tight. It’s maddening, isn’t it? That’s why you’re squirming for me, princess—because you want me to soothe that ache.”

Georgiana was so lost in his touch and his wicked words she didn’t notice his hands had moved to the back of her gown to release her buttons until she felt the tantalizing slide of cool air across her skin and realized the bodice of her gown was now bunched around her waist.

Benedict drew back a little, sitting on his heels as he stared down at her, his gaze moving from her stiff nipples to her lips, then back to her eyes. “I’ve dreamed about you like this, Georgiana. I can see your nipples through your chemise. Such a dusky pink, and so hard for me.” He tweaked one, then squeezed it gently between his forefinger and thumb.

“Oh.” Georgiana gave a soft gasp as he did it again, pinching the turgid peak until she couldn’t lie still anymore.

“Yes,” he whispered when her head fell back. “You need more.”

It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t wait for an answer before he brought his mouth down to her breast, his lips closing around one stiff peak. Georgiana gasped again, her hands sinking into his hair as he licked at her nipple, quick, hard strokes with his tongue, his hot breath turning ragged as a moan broke from her lips.

She whimpered when he lifted his head, her fingers tightening in his hair to bring him back to her breasts.

“Shhh.” Benedict brushed a curl back from her forehead. “I want to make you feel good, Georgiana. Will you let me touch you?”

Georgiana, who’d nearly started weeping when he stopped touching her, gave him a dazed nod. “Yes. Please, Benedict.”

He brushed his lips over hers, then kissed his way down her neck, pausing to taste the hollow of her throat before he moved lower, his lips grazing her breasts. He sucked a tender peak into his mouth as he trailed his fingertips up her leg, dragging her skirts up as he went.

Georgiana gasped when he touched the soft tuft of hair between her thighs. For long moments he simply stroked her there, letting his fingers drift through her curls until she grew restless for more of his touch, her legs parting as she squirmed against him. She caught her breath when he slipped a finger between her damp folds, delving gently, rolling his fingertip over the swollen nub and making her cry out.

“So wet. So hungry for me, Georgiana. You feel like warm silk.” A harsh moan fell from Benedict’s lips as he rubbed and circled and teased until she was slick from his wicked caresses. “Open your legs for me.”

In that moment, Georgiana couldn’t have refused him anything. She let her knees slide apart, arching her neck when he eased a long finger gently inside her as he continued to stroke her throbbing center. “Here, princess? Is this where you ache for me?”

“Yes.” Georgiana gripped his wrist, desperate to keep his teasing fingers where they were, the word nearly lost in her gasping breaths. “I…oh, please, Benedict.”

“Shhh. I’m going to take care of you, Georgiana,” he rasped before leaning down again to torment her breasts with slow, wicked strokes of his tongue. Her taut nipples strained for his lips and the pleasure swelled until it all blurred together into a throbbing ache inside her. Benedict was merciless, pinning her hips to the bed and stroking her, his fingers quickening until the pleasure built to a sharp edge, pushing her higher and higher until at last the tight heat unfurled in long pulses of bliss. They seemed to go on and on until at last she collapsed against the sheets, damp and trembling and breathless.

Long, quiet moments passed, their panting breaths the only sound until at last Georgiana opened her eyes.

Benedict was kneeling between her legs, his chest heaving. His lips were red and swollen, his hair mussed and falling over his forehead as he stared down at her with wild dark eyes.

“Benedict.” She reached for him, a drowsy smile curving her lips.

He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth, his lips grazing her knuckles. “I’ve never seen anything more breathtaking than you taking your pleasure, Georgiana. Nothing is more beautiful to me than you.”

A spasm of pain twisted his face, and Georgiana knew he was thinking of their parting tomorrow. For an instant her own heart felt heavy, but she made herself push the sadness away. These were the last hours she had with Benedict, and she wouldn’t waste them wishing for something that could never be. She’d love him now, and be grateful for the brief time they had together.

“You know, I wasn’t done teasing you before.” She traced a pattern over his thighs with her fingertips, her gaze fixed on the hard ridge straining against his breeches. Her eyes met his as she toyed with the buttons on his falls.

Benedict caught his breath, but he didn’t move as she twisted the buttons loose and pushed the fabric aside. “Oh.” Her eyes widened when his long, stiff length sprang free from the tight confines of his clothing.

She gazed at his erection, curious and baffled at once. It seemed impossible such a large thing could fit…well, where Sophia and Cecilia insisted it was meant to go, but Benedict had reduced her to a quivering, moaning heap of flesh with just the touch of his mouth and fingers alone, so perhaps this was like that had been.

Inexplicable, but wondrous.

It didn’t occur to her she’d been staring for quite a long time until she noticed Benedict had gone strangely still. Her eyes flicked to his face, and her heart clenched at his anxious expression.

He thinks I’m frightened.

She wasn’t. Not of it, and not of him—especially not of him, and she wouldn’t let him think otherwise. So, before he could say a word or draw away from her, she reached out her hand and touched him.

“Warm,” she murmured. “And your skin here is so soft.”

There was nothing else soft about him, though. Under the smooth, sleek skin he was as rigid as an ebony walking stick. She slid her hand experimentally over him, marveling at the smooth slide of that impossibly delicate skin over the hardness beneath, and the bead of moisture that rose on the blunt head.

She ran her thumb gently over the tip and a low moan broke from Benedict’s chest. Her gaze snapped to his face to find his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. She snatched her hand away at once, afraid she’d hurt him. “I’m sorry, Benedict. I didn’t mean to—”

“No. Touch me.” He grabbed her hand and pressed it against himself, letting out another desperate groan when she wrapped her fingers around him.

“It sounds as if I’m torturing you.”

A hoarse laugh broke from his lips. “You are. The only thing worse than your teasing strokes is not having your hand on me.”

Georgiana touched her tongue to her bottom lip. “Show me.”

He covered her hand with his and closed her fingers around his length. He gripped himself much more tightly than she ever would have dared, but any anxiety she might have felt about hurting him fled when his mouth went slack, and his eyelids fluttered closed.

“Yes, sweetheart. Just like that. Now stroke me, like…ah, yes.” His head fell back as he guided her hand up and down his shaft. Georgiana stared, fascinated as the rigid length in her hand grew impossibly harder. The swollen head flushed and wept, turning the tip a dark, glossy red.

“So good, Georgiana. Harder, sweetheart, please…please, ah, ah…” He seemed to grow more desperate with every caress, broken pleas breaking from his lips and his hips jerking as he thrust his hot, straining length into her fist.

Georgiana bit her lip, an intoxicating sense of triumph sweeping through her as her gaze darted from his face to the twitching length in her palm. She was giving him this pleasure—she who’d always thought of herself as the perennial virgin spinster—was making this beautiful man shudder and moan and plead for her.

It was…heady, touching him like this, so much so she wanted to get closer, touch him everywhere. Georgiana rose to her knees, her hand still moving up and down his length, and pressed her open mouth to his.

He let out a helpless groan as she darted her tongue out to lick at his bottom lip, and a hard, muscular arm wrapped around her waist, his hand settling low on her back to press her harder against him. “Are you teasing me, princess?”

Was she? All Georgiana knew was that she wanted to wring more of those delicious pleas from him. “Perhaps I am, a little.”

“Teasing a rake?” His hand slid lower to cup her bottom. “Do you think that’s wise, Miss Harley?”

Georgiana’s lips curled against his. “Well, it’s been delightful so far.”

He nuzzled her neck before catching her earlobe in his teeth, his tiny bite making her shiver. “Oh, princess. We haven’t even begun.”

“You mean, there’s more?” Georgiana knew there was more. Cecilia and Sophia had, for better or worse, shared every breathless detail of their experiences with her, but she hadn’t understood until this moment that no one could explain what it would mean, or how it would feel to her to be with the man she loved.

She wanted Benedict. Desire pooled in her lower belly, and every inch of her skin burned for his touch, but her heart, the swell of tenderness there…no one had told her about that.

Because they couldn’t. This moment belonged to her and Benedict alone.

She met his heavy-lidded dark eyes, saw the softness in them as he gazed down at her, and her heart flailed in her chest, its frantic rhythm both exquisite and painful at once.

Slowly, she began to stroke him again, pressing the weeping head against the soft skin of her belly, her mouth opening when she felt a streak of dampness there.

Benedict sucked in a sharp breath, then caught her wrist to still her hand. “Stop.”

Georgiana didn’t want to stop. She wanted to press her lips to his and make him fall apart for her. “No, I want…Benedict!” She squealed and threw her arms around his neck as he tumbled her onto her back in the bed.

“I know what you want, sweetheart.” Benedict buried his face in the curve of her neck, nuzzling her there as he eased her legs open and settled himself between them.

Georgiana sank her hands into his hair as he dropped a string of tender kisses from her neck to the hollow of her throat.

“Do you trust me to take care of you, Georgiana?” He brushed her hair from her forehead, his dark eyes serious as they held hers.

He even had to ask? A small smile drifted over Georgiana’s lips and she opened her legs wider, cradling his hips between her thighs. “Yes.”

He drew in a deep, shaky breathy and reached between them to stroke her, teasing and pinching her tiny bud until she was slick with arousal, and gasping and arching against him. “I—I need—”

“Sshh. I’ve got you, princess,” he whispered, shifting his hips so the tip of his cock nudged against her throbbing center. He didn’t thrust inside her, but remained still, caressing her damp folds and suckling and licking her nipples as he let her get used to the sensation of him between her legs.

Soon that slight heaviness there wasn’t enough, and she was writhing against him, soft whimpers on her lips. She wanted…she wanted…

“Oh!” Georgiana’s back arched as he sank one long finger inside her.

Benedict gazed down at her, his lips parting. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

Georgiana’s reply was lost in a strangled moan as he shifted his hips again, dragging the head of his cock over her center at the same time as he stroked his finger inside her, taking up an easy rhythm, his glittering dark eyes on her face. He kept up the slow, steady thrusts until her hips began to move to the pulses of his finger inside her.

Then he added a second finger, groaning as her legs fell open to welcome him inside. “God, look at you. So beautiful, and so wet for me. Do you want me, Georgiana?”

“Yes!” She clawed at the sheets beneath her, desperate. “Please…”

She cried out in protest when he suddenly withdrew his fingers, her head thrashing on the pillow at being left empty and aching, but he caught her chin in his hand to still her. “Look at me, Georgiana.”

She stilled, meeting his hot, dark gaze.

“I need to see your face when I take you,” he gritted out, his voice hoarse. “Do you feel me, sweetheart? Do you feel how much I want you?” As he spoke, he was pressing into her, at once impossibly large and hard inside her and somehow necessary at the same time.

Then he gave a quick, hard thrust and a sharp pain exploded inside Georgiana. She sucked in a breath, stunned, but Benedict was there, stroking her damp hair back from her face and murmuring to her, tender words of praise mixed with regret at having hurt her, until at last the burning pain receded, and her body relaxed around his.

He began to move then, slow, gentle strokes at first, crooning to her as he kissed her lips and neck and teased his tongue into the hollow of her throat, and she was so lost in his kisses, so lost in him she wasn’t aware she’d wrapped her legs around his waist and was urging him on, her body and her words begging him for more.

“Benedict, please, please…”

He threw his head back with a groan when she sank her nails into the sweat-slick muscles of his back, the cords of his neck straining as he worked his hips to give her what she needed. “Come for me, princess. I need to feel you come…”

Georgiana didn’t understand what he meant, but her body cooperated instinctively, pulling tighter with each snap of his hips, pushing her closer and closer to the edge of the peak, then holding her there for a breathless instant until the tension inside her began to unravel in warm waves of bliss, and she clutched at Benedict, lost in pleasure as she cried out his name.

She clung to him as he went rigid above her, a hoarse groan tearing from his chest as he took his pleasure. She held him tightly against her as the final spasms rocked him, a dazed smile on her lips as damp heat rushed between her legs.

Then his lips were in her hair, and his whispered words in her ears, and she was falling, falling into a dark, soft place where no one had to go away, and she and Benedict might stay here forever, with his arms wrapped around her and his heart beating against her cheek.