Wedding In Springtime(45)

"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.