"No," she whispered. She might never walk again, considering her bones were now the consistency of apple jelly.
"You are madness. Rum touch madness." He grazed his lips across her exposed flesh above the top of her night rail, leaving a searing trail of heat in his wake. With a soft finger, he traced the line where his mouth had been and then slowly explored under the gown. She caught her breath when his fingers brushed over her peaking interest. Instead of pulling away, she leaned into him.
His hands circled, cupped, teased, until her breath came fast and her legs gave way. He helped her sit down on one strong thigh even as his free hand undid the ties of her night rail, exposing her breasts. She gasped at the sensation of his mouth on her breast, his tongue circling, his soft lips caressing. He suckled her until she whimpered, giving herself wholly to the experience.
He shifted around, placing her easily on the bed, and raked her up and down. Instead of wanting to cover herself, she leaned into his gaze, giving herself to him, for in his eyes she saw nothing but pure desire and awe.
"Take off your gown," he rasped. "But leave that wrap on."
It was an impossible request, but she was more than willing to comply. She removed the wrap for a moment, tossed the sensible flannel night rail aside, and slid back into her gauzy wrap that hardly hid what it should. In fact, it was more of a tease than anything, and when she met his eye again, she knew it was having a powerful effect.
He fumbled with his shirt buttons until she laughed. "Here, let me help." She began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Instead of helping, his hands went to her, smoothing down her arms to her shoulders, where he massaged away the tension she had carried with her.
When she had relieved him of his shirt, she smoothed her hands over his toned chest. He looked good in his clothes; he looked better without them. Unlike some men who used clothing to hide flaws, his clothing only hid perfection. His muscular chest and rippling abdominal muscles made her want to kiss him. So she did.
She ran her lips across his chest as he had done to her, earning her a sharp intake of breath. She trailed kisses down until she came to his trousers. With shaky fingers, she untied his trousers, fumbling with the closures which were unfamiliar to her. With a grunt of impatience, he helped her remove the last of his clothing until he was standing before her naked, giving her his full attention.
She stared at his male member, having never seen one before. She touched and he groaned. She ran her hand down his length and he trembled.
The candle in the lantern gutted, plunging them into total darkness. She welcomed it. He gently pushed her back and she moved up to the top of the comforter and snuggled down underneath, with him next to her. He opened her wrapper like she was a precious gift and ran his hand from her breast down to her thighs.
Wanton that she was, she embraced him in return. He started soft and slow until he touched her in a place that made her gasp. He moved against her, with her, until something building inside her was bubbling up to the surface. She pressed herself closer, running her hands down his back. He slowed and nuzzling closer, he kissed her. His kiss was long and deep and opened the door to a world she had only before visited in her dreams. He was everything she ever wanted and she was flushed with arousal and pounding love and a sudden flash of pain in the realization that he must have found her wanting, for he would give her all of himself, except his name.
He kissed his way slowly down her throat until he lavished his attentions onto her breasts. She arched her back, giving herself over to him. She may not have won his heart, but he had a kiss that could make a girl forget. He covered her like a warm blanket, propping himself with an elbow so as not to squish her, but never ceasing his sweet caress. He moved faster and faster until she writhed beneath him, panting, crying out in spite of herself. Something within her was building stronger and stronger until she was certain it would consume her, and she rushed headlong into it.
Waves of sensation crashed over her, flooding her with indescribable pleasure. He plunged himself inside her at that moment, mixing pleasure with a sliver of pain even as it brought a new wave of pleasure rippling through her. He moved within her and cried out.
Collapsing beside her, he was instantly asleep. She took several deep breaths, the aftershocks of pleasure and pain still rippling through her. She closed her eyes and sunk down into the soft mattress. She sighed and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Thirty
Grant woke in a groggy stupor, unwilling to be wrenched from the blank unconsciousness only whiskey, with a mixture of whatever other hard spirits he had in the house, can produce. His need overtook his reticence and he forced himself to sit upright, grabbing for the chamber pot. He heaved the roiling contents of his stomach until he feared he may have tossed an organ of some importance. His body shook involuntarily with a sudden clammy chill.
"Are you all right?" asked a woman's voice from behind him on the bed.
Grant closed his eyes and shuddered again. Had he brought a doxy back home with him? He could not remember it. Then again, he could not remember anything about the night before. He must have been truly far gone to bring back a lightskirt to his mother's house. Some things one does not do, and this was one of them.
It was still dark outside, which gave him hope. Best to get the girl out of the house before the staff awoke to tell his mother of his exploits. He would like to think they would protect his secret, but he knew better.
"Are you well?" asked the woman again.
He supposed he would have to escort her back to wherever she belonged. His head pounded, and he would have much preferred going back to the dreamless sleep alcohol provided.
"We should get you back home," said Grant, standing up to find water. His throat burned. He could not remember eating sand, but he sure felt it in his mouth.
"Home?" The female voice raised an octave. "But I thought I would stay here."
Stay here? Was the woman mad? He really needed to stay home when he drank too much. Odd though, he thought he had intended to do just that.
"No, we need to get you-" Grant turned around. Miss Talbot sat on his bed. No, not on his bed, in his bed. The covers were pulled over her chest, her naked shoulders clear evidence of …
The room slanted and Grant stumbled to his knees. Miss Talbot was in his bed. Genie Talbot was in his bed. How could this be? Was he mad?
Genie pulled a blanket around herself and rushed to his side. "Grant, whatever is wrong?"
"How, how is it that you are here?" he croaked.
"Do you not remember?" Genie blushed.
Blushed! That was not a good sign. His brain spun. He must remember, he must. But no, there was nothing, just a big hole where Genie Talbot was supposed to be.
"I do not know how … I must be mad." Grant ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. "Mother said drink would land me in Bedlam someday. Guess the old gal was right."
Genie laughed, a merry sound. "You are not mad. I came to you last night. Do you truly remember nothing?"
Grant shook his head. He remembered nothing. That was the point of drinking until he could no longer find his mouth with the bottle, but he had never regretted it so wholly as he did now. The time for self-recriminations would come soon enough; now, he needed to act fast. If the scullery maid were to come and find her naked in his room, he would be forced to put a bullet through his own head and save Genie's family the trouble.
"We must get you home."
The light in her eyes died, as if he had smothered it. She clutched the blanket around her with both hands. "I would rather stay with you. I thought we had an"-she paused and took a slow breath-"an arrangement."
"No, no, we cannot." Grant stood and offered her a hand off the floor. She rose as dignified as one could without his assistance.
"I see," she said, but she stared out into nothing, her eyes dull.
He hated himself. Utterly. "I am so sorry. I must see you home before anyone can find you here."
That seemed to rouse her. "Yes, yes of course."
"I will remove myself to allow you to dress." He fled into his dressing room, giving her the privacy he was certain she needed. He could not imagine what turn of events had led her here, but now he was in a pulsing panic to try to make it right and protect her reputation by putting her back where she belonged. Maybe no one would know. Maybe no one would find out.
He dressed fast, without a care to style. Nothing mattered now but getting Genie back. He knocked on the bedroom door and opened it slowly to find Genie standing in the middle of the room dwarfed by a large coat. She was small and delicate, and silently crying.