Georgianna: The Last Real Duchess (The Real Duchesses of London) (6 page)

She forgave him – and somehow understood.

It was a single perfect moment. A single moment of peace.

But, of course, he was a man – and a man's body had its own response to warm breasts and intertwined limbs. He had grown hard in anger and now that fullness pressed against the tender curve of her belly. He began to pull away, not wanting to startle her, to frighten her further.

"Don't go." Her words were a barest whisper, but the damp kiss Georgianna lay above his left nipple left no doubt to her meaning. She arched her back, pressing his erection tight between them.

His whole body tensed for a moment, and then he was turning to lie on his back, pulling her up over him, his lips finding her lips in a single, lasting, soul-revealing kiss. Georgianna responded as she always had, open and still trusting – and innocent. It was like moving back to those wonderful early days of their marriage when all had been clean and true.

His hands wandered down the firm muscles of her back to cup her rounded buttocks. Her curves were fuller than he remembered, and all the more delightful for that.

And still the kiss went on, lingering moans of delight sneaking out from their tight pressed lips.

He edged back upon the pillows, bringing himself more upright, pushing her chemise up, until he could center her moist core upon his ever-growing need. Oh God, that felt good. Her thighs tensed about his legs as she drew back for a second and then lowered herself slightly, moving, teasing.

He would explode in a moment. They had not even begun and he was feeling like a schoolboy caught in a naughty dream. Opening his eyes wide, he stared up at her, forcing himself to concentrate on her and not on his own needs.

Her face was flushed, her eyes unfocused, her lips soft – and nervous? She only nibbled like that on her lip when she was nervous.

Were they moving too fast for her? In the past she'd never been adventurous. She'd only been on top once or twice and as his ardor cooled slightly he could see how difficult this was for her.

As if catching his change in mood she looked down at him. "Am I doing something wrong? I thought you wanted . . ."

"I do want, don't worry about that." He smiled up at her, relaxing his cheeks. He lifted his hips slightly, rubbing against her, to demonstrate.

"Oh." Her flush grew darker even in the dim light.

"Oh is right." He moved again – then, placing his arms about her, he turned swiftly bringing her under him.

And then it was again lips against lips. Soft, sweet kisses. Hard, punishing ones. And passion.

He had not remembered the passion that flew between them at these moments.

Apples, she'd always tasted of apples, the sharp crisp ones found only at the very beginning of harvest, before they were quite ripe.

He kissed her again, hard and fast, then let his lips travel lower, over the rounded point of her chin, down her neck, pausing to nibble at that magic spot, right at the base, then further down up the gentle swell of her breasts to his ultimate target, her tight nipples. They were too much to resist.

She might taste like apples, but these were berries. The plumpest, ripest berries of summer.

He flicked his tongue across the tips.

With a gasp, her whole body drew tight.

He flicked again.

A soft moan this time.

And then he feasted, hands, lips, tongue – drawing, sucking tasting.

This was the closest to heaven that a man could come.

Keeping his lips firm about one nipple, he teased the other with his fingers, squeezing first gently and then with some strength. Her hips moved restlessly under him, indicating her desire.

He allowed the fingers of his other hand to trail down her belly, crossing velvet skin to the nest of curls below. His fingers tangled in the curls, pulling, stroking, but not delving.

His lips loosened upon her nipple, gentle and soothing. He blew softly, waiting as her body quieted, relaxed.

He let his first finger trail across her slit then, still not entering, but lingering. He could feel her whole body center on the motion of his hand – waiting. She wanted more.

He sucked the nipple deep then, even as a second finger joined the first, parting her.

The muscles of her thighs grew tight about his hips, and then he could feel her relax. He knew the effort even that small task must encompass.

He stroked with his fingers, sucked with his lips, again and again. Each time his fingers went the tiniest bit deeper.

She was slick and moist and his mind filled with picture of just rising up, thrusting into her, burying his cock to the core. His balls drew up at the very thought.

Relax. Deep breath. Relax.

He would bring her there first, bring her to that ultimate peak. He could feel her quivering about him, her muscles drawing firm and then relaxing. He pulled his fingers back and then thrust again, his thumb forming circles on that tight knot of nerves. Her breathing was growing faster, her sighs louder. He moved his fingers in ever increasing rhythm. Waiting. Fighting his own needs.

He could feel the skin of her thighs brushing against his cock, urging it up, urging it to replace his fingers.

He fought the need.

Her first.

This time he would put her first.

But God, let it be fast.

"Please, please . . ." Her frantic whisper pushed him onward.

He wished he could see her face, look into her eyes, but darkness and the angle of their bodies prevented him. He drew a nipple deep into his mouth, his tongue eagerly working against the tip, while his fingers continued their play below.

And then he felt it, that first shudder running through her. Her whole body tightened, her breath grew still – and then released. And again. Again.

She hit the edge of the cliff and tumbled over.

His name passed her lips, a cry, a prayer.

And then relaxation. She melted atop him, her whole body easing against his.

#

Had it been like that in the past? Annie remembered it had been wonderful, but this had been a step toward heaven and they hadn't even . . . Did he still want to? Did he still want her?

For a moment Annie felt all the insecurities of the last years rise within her. She hadn't been enough for him then, why would she possibly think she could compete now?

No. She would not think that way.

He had never done this thing to her before. Perhaps that meant he was beginning to see her differently, to see her as more than a silly innocent girl.

With some trepidation she raised her head from the comfort of Richard's chest and stared up at his face. It was hard to see in the dark, but she could make out the square line of his chin, tight lips – and closed eyes. Was he asleep?

No, his breathing was not steady or quiet. In fact, it sounded remarkably fast and – she shifted her body lower along his torso and felt him heavy and hard against her leg.

She might have climbed to heaven, but he clearly had not.

Shifting again, she felt him gasp against her.

"Give me a moment," his voice rasped.

A moment for what? She shifted again.

"If you don't stop that I'll embarrass us both."

Instantly, she stilled.

She heard him draw in a couple of deep breaths – and then he moved, pushing himself above her. This part she knew – and rather enjoyed despite all of her mother's warnings. Her legs parted and she felt his weight settle between them. Raising her knees on either side of his hips she waited.

For a moment he didn't move.

She could feel him there and ready, but still he paused. Sliding her feet along the sheets she attempted to move herself against him.

He chuckled. "I don't remember your being so eager."

Was that a good thing? He was smiling. She couldn't remember him smiling since those first few times before they were wed. Those forbidden times.

And then he moved, sliding forward he filled her. God, that was good. It was probably sacrilegious to think of God at such a moment, but . . . And then thought faded away and he was all there was – moving, withdrawing, filling her again. Her still tender nerves cried for more.

She pushed against him, trying to find that moment of release, but he held back, teasing.

She looked up and met his eyes.

And se saw more than she could ever remember seeing before.

Even now. Even in this moment, she could see his pain. His loss.

But there was more – so much more.

She saw herself reflected in his eyes, saw an appreciation she had never even imagined.

And then it was too much. She felt her world explode upon itself, every nerve shattering into a thousand pieces.

#

He had never felt anything like it. As the last of the shudders ran through his body, Richard lowered himself carefully beside Georgianna. He did not look at her, but kept his eyes fastened on the canopy.

What had just happened?

At the age of twenty-six a man did not suddenly expect to discover such a thing for the first time.

He'd had orgasms before, plenty of them, in fact. But never before had he felt as if the world had been made anew, as if his whole body had been pulled apart with pleasure and then magically reborn.

He felt better than he could ever remember feeling.

It shamed him. Paul was dead and he had just . . .

He didn't even know what to call it.

Damn it all. All he had wanted was comfort, the feeling of two warm bodies pressed together in need.

He hadn't expected this.

Certainly hadn't wanted it.

Except, blast it all, how could a man not want that?

Most men would probably sell their very soul for it.

Hell, he'd sell his soul for it.

Only he felt as if he'd sold his brother's soul instead – and that he could not - would not allow.

He glanced over at his
wife, as she lay there, soft and rosy.

He should take her in his arms. Women expected these things and he'd always complied. It was part of being a gentleman, most particularly when the woman involved was his wife.

But not now – not when Paul was dead.

He eased to his side of the bed, felt her glance at him and then away.

Bloody hell. He didn't want to hurt her. He'd hurt her enough over the years – but he had nothing left in him.

He would have left if it had been her bed they occupied, left without a word, waiting for morning light to bring the right answers – to bring any answers.

But they were in his bed. He could hardly ask her to leave.

At least she didn't talk. He could remember the early days of their marriage when he'd fallen asleep to the sound of her soft chatter – and awakened to . . .

He pulled farther away, hugging the edge of the bed.

He forced himself to remember his brother lying in his bed, cold and bloodless.

All desire faded – but there was no mistaking the careful, measured breath of his wife, lying beside him.

#

It was hard to hold back the tears, to swallow the gasps of pain that filled her.

She didn't understand what had happened. One moment she'd felt closer to Richard than she'd felt since – no, she'd felt closer to him than she'd ever felt – and the next it seemed a wall had risen between them, cold, hard stone.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. Do not cry. Tears could not be allowed.

She'd cried before him once and she never would again. Never.

The desire rose within her to creep away to her own bed. She knew he would not stop her. He'd probably not even acknowledge that she'd gone. But that would be cowardly.

And she was no longer a coward. She'd survived too long by herself not to know her own worth.

And now there was Robbie to think of. He would grow up knowing his mother was brave and strong. He would never know the young girl who had given up on love without a fight.

The plain underside of the canopy was bare above her. She focused her eyes upward. In. Out. In. Out.

Sleep would come. It always did. If she stared long enough her vision would blur and then fade away.

#

He was gone. She knew it the moment she opened her eyes.

It should not surprise her. The morning sun was shining brightly through the window and Richard had always been an early riser – but there'd been a time when he would have woken her too.

It should not surprise her, but it did. He'd needed her so much last night – surely that need could not creep away and hide before the dawn? Only it had – at least for him.

She should have known better. The last time she'd let herself care for him he'd ripped her heart to shreds and destroyed her youthful innocence. It would never happen again.