The Leopard Prince (17 page)

He tilted his head forward so that her hair tickled his nose. He could smell that exotic scent she wore, and his cock throbbed, like a trained dog sitting up at his master’s signal. He searched through her hair until he found the back of her neck, warm and damp with sleep. He opened his mouth to taste her.

She mumbled and hunched her shoulder.

He smiled and inched his hand down, slowly, slyly, until he felt her bush tangling about his fingers. He touched her pearl. That bit of female flesh had been his greatest discovery as a young man. The revelation that women held such secrets in their bodies had been heady. He didn’t even recall the face of his first lover, but he could remember his awe at the way women were made.

He flicked his lady’s pearl now. Not hard, barely a feather touch, really. She didn’t move, so he grew bolder and pressed down gently. Sort of petted. Her hips twitched. Harry licked the back of her neck and could almost taste what he’d licked last night—the place where his fingers played. She had liked that, his lady, when he’d kissed and licked and sucked her there. She’d arched her back and moaned so loudly he’d wanted to laugh out loud. Now he slowly stroked, playing with her sleek, soft folds, and felt her wetness build. His cock was almost aching, as hard as he could ever remember it. He lifted her upper leg and draped it over his hip. Her breathing hitched, and he felt a smile break his face.

Harry took his prick in hand and guided it to that warm, wet place. He flexed his arse and slid in, so tight, so smooth, he wanted to groan in pain and in pleasure. He shoved again, gently but steadily, and slid farther in. One more time, and the hair around his cock met her bum. She was panting. He lowered her leg and finally had to groan aloud.
So perfect.
Harry reached around and found her pearl again. He pressed. Christ, he could feel her squeezing around him. Instead of thrusting, he ground against her, pressing that part of her until she squeezed again.

“Harry,” she moaned.

“Shh,” he whispered, kissing the back of her neck.

She was pushing back against him. So impatient. He grinned and ground some more.

“Harry.”

“Dearling.”

“Tup me, Harry.”

And he thrust hard, in surprise and in pure lust. Good God, he never thought she’d know that word, let alone say it.

“Ohhh, yes,” she breathed.

He was humping now, nearly out of control, and her moans were so erotic. Each time was better than before, and he thought uneasily that it was possible he could never get enough of her. That he’d always want her this much. But then he felt her spasm around him as he gripped her hips and that thought fled. It was so agonizingly good that he nearly forgot; he was almost too late. But in the end, he pulled his cock out of her in time and spent, shuddering, in the sheets next to her.

He stroked her hip and tried to calm his breathing. “Good morning, my lady.”

“Mmm.” She turned to face him. Her face was flushed and sleepy and satisfied. “Good morning, Harry.” Lady Georgina pulled his face to hers and kissed him.

It was a light, gentle touch, but it made something in his chest contract. Harry knew suddenly that he would do anything for her, his lady. Lie. Steal. Kill.

Relinquish his pride.

Was this how Da had felt? He sat up and grabbed his trousers.

“Are you always this active in the morning?” she asked behind him. “Because I must tell you that some do not consider it a virtue.”

He stood up and pulled on his shirt. “I’m sorry, my lady.” He finally turned to face her.

She was propped on one elbow, the bed linens about her waist. Her orange hair cascaded around her white shoulders, tangled and wanton. Her nipples were pale rose-brown, darker pink at the tips. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.

He turned away.

“I’m not exactly disappointed. More like tired,” Lady Georgina said. “I don’t suppose you ever just lay around in bed in the morning?”

“No.” He finished buttoning his shirt.

He started into the other room and heard a faint scrape. He stopped.

It came again.

He looked back at her. “I thought your brother didn’t mind.”

Lady Georgina looked as indignant as a naked woman could. “He wouldn’t dare.”

Harry merely raised an eyebrow and closed the door to the bedroom. He crossed to the cottage door and opened it. On the step huddled a small bundle of rags. What . . .? The mop of hair raised its head, and Harry stared into the face of the boy he’d seen at the Pollard cottage.

“She went drinking and didn’t come back.” The boy said it flatly, as if he’d been expecting to be abandoned someday.

“You’d best come in,” Harry replied.

The boy hesitated, then stood and ducked inside.

Lady Georgina poked her head around the corner of the bedroom door. “Who is it, Harry?” She caught sight of the small shape. “Oh.”

Boy and lady stared at each other.

Harry put the kettle on for tea.

She recovered first. “I’m Lady Georgina Maitland from the manor. What’s your name?”

The boy merely stared.

“Best to nod when a lady talks to you, lad,” Harry said.

She frowned. “I hardly think that’s necessary.”

But the boy tugged his forelock and dipped his head.

Lady Georgina sidled into the room. She’d thrown a bed linen over her gown from the night before. Harry remembered he’d torn the bodice. “Do you know his name?” she whispered in his ear.

He shook his head. “Would you like tea? I don’t have much else. Some bread and butter.”

Lady Georgina brightened, whether at the offer of food or something to do he wasn’t sure. “We can make toast,” she said.

Harry cocked an eyebrow, but she’d already found the bread and butter, the knife, and a bent fork. She hacked at the bread and sawed off a shapeless lump.

All three of them stared at it.

She cleared her throat. “I think cutting may be more of a man’s job.” She handed the knife to Harry. “Now, don’t make the slices too thick or they won’t toast and they’ll have that awful spongy bit in the center. And it’s important they’re not too thin or they’ll burn, and I detest burnt toast, don’t you?” She turned to the boy, who nodded his head.

“I’ll do my best,” Harry said.

“Good. I’ll butter. And I suppose”—she looked critically at the boy—“you can toast. You
do
know how to toast bread properly, don’t you?”

The lad nodded and took the fork as if it were the sword of King Arthur.

Soon there was a pile of crusty bread, dripping with butter, in the center of the table. Lady Georgina poured tea, and the three of them sat down to break their fast.

“I wish I could just stay here,” she said, licking butter from her fingers, “but I suppose I shall have to return to the manor at least to dress properly.”

“Did you leave word to have the carriage come for you?” Harry asked. If she hadn’t, he would lend her his horse.

“I saw a carriage this morning,” the boy piped up.

“You mean waiting on the drive?” Lady Georgina asked.

“No.” The boy swallowed a huge mouthful. “It was going up the drive at a gallop, fair flew by, it did.”

Lady Georgina and Harry looked at each other.

“Black with red trim?” she asked. The color of Tony’s carriage.

The boy reached for his fifth piece of toast and shook his head. “Blue. All over blue.”

Lady Georgina gave an exclamation and choked on her tea.

Harry and the boy stared at her.

“Oscar,” she gasped.

He raised an eyebrow.

“My middle brother.”

Harry set his teacup down. “Just how many brothers do you have, my lady?”

“Three.”

“Hell.”

“You aren’t helping.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb.

“Yes, Oscar,” Ralph, the youngest Maitland brother, put in his two pence. Gangly and large-boned, his frame was just beginning to show the bulk of manhood. “Georgina couldn’t seduce anyone. She’s not married. He must have seduced
her,
the bounder.”

Oscar and Tony stared at Ralph for a moment, apparently stunned into silence by his recitation of the obvious.

George sighed, and not for the first time since entering her library.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
At first sight of Oscar’s carriage she should’ve tucked her tail between her legs and made a run for the hills. They might not have found her for days; weeks, if she’d been lucky. She could’ve slept under the stars and lived on wild strawberries and dew—never mind that strawberries didn’t fruit in September. Instead, she’d meekly dressed in her most demure gown and presented herself to her three younger brothers.

Who were all now glaring at her. “Actually, I believe it was a mutual seduction, if that’s important.”

Ralph looked puzzled, Tony groaned, and Oscar laughed, nearly choking on a mouthful of his bun.

“No, that’s not important,” Tony said. “What is important—”

“Is that you break it off at once.” Oscar finished for him. He started to shake a finger at George and realized he still held the bun. He looked around for a plate and set his bun down. “Now, after you have married a suitable gentleman,
then
you may take up with whoever—”

“I think not!” Ralph jumped to his feet, an effective move, since he was the tallest. “Georgina isn’t like the macaronis and libertines and whores you hang about with. She’s—”

“I have never,
ever,
in my entire life, consorted with macaronis.” Oscar arched an awful eyebrow at his younger brother.

“Gentlemen, please,” Tony said. “Save your teasing for later. George, what do you plan to do with your land steward? Do you want to marry him?”

“I say!”

“But, Tony!” Both Oscar and Ralph started.

Tony held up a hand, silencing them. “George?”

George blinked. What did she want from Harry? To be close to him, she knew, but beyond that, matters became complicated. Why, oh why, couldn’t she muddle along as she always had?

“Because,” Tony said, “much as I hate to admit it, Oscar and Ralph are right. You must either break it off or marry the fellow. You aren’t the type of lady to engage in this kind of behavior.”

Oh, Lord. George’s chest felt suddenly tight, as if someone had crept up behind her and yanked her corset strings taut. She always felt this sensation at the thought of marriage. What could she say? “Well . . .”

“He kills sheep. Violet says so in her letter.” Ralph crossed his arms. “Georgina cannot marry a madman.”

No wonder Violet was hiding. She must’ve sent letters to all three of their brothers. George narrowed her eyes. Her sister was probably in the hills at this very moment, trying to figure out exactly how one went about drinking dew.

“You’ve been reading my mail again.” Oscar selected a tart from the tray, apparently having forgotten the bun, and shook it at Ralph. “That letter was to me. Yours said nothing about sheep.”

Ralph opened his mouth and closed it a few times, like a mule unsure of the bit between its teeth. “How would you know that if you hadn’t been reading my letters?”

Oscar smirked in a loathsome way. One day someone was going to hit him. “I’m older than you. It’s my duty to keep tabs on my impressionable young brother.”

Crash!

Everyone jerked around to the fireplace, where shards of glass lay on the hearth.

Tony leaned on the mantel and frowned sternly back. “I hope you didn’t care for that crystal vase, George?”

“Uh, no, not at—”

“Good,” Tony clipped. “Now, then. Edifying as this display of brotherly love is, I think we’ve wandered from the main point.” He held up a hand and ticked off his large-knuckled fingers. “One, do you think Harry Pye is a madman going about the countryside killing Granville’s sheep?”

“No.” That might be the only thing she was sure of.

“Fine. Ah. Ah.” Tony shook his head at Ralph, who’d begun to protest. “Do you both trust George’s judgment?”

“Of course,” Ralph said.

“Implicitly,” Oscar replied.

Tony nodded, then turned back to her. “Two, do you want to marry Harry Pye?”

“But, Tony, a land steward!” Oscar burst out. “You know he’s only in it for . . .” He stopped and looked flustered. “Sorry, Georgie.”

George tilted her chin away. She felt as if something fluttered in her throat, impeding the air.

Only Tony met the objection head-on. “Do you think he wants your money, George?”

“No.”
Beastly, beastly brothers.

He raised his eyebrows and stared pointedly at Oscar.

Oscar threw up his arms and pushed his open palms at Tony. “Fine!” Oscar went to brood by the window, taking his plate of food with him.

“Do you want to marry him?” Tony persisted.

“I don’t know!” She couldn’t breathe. When had it come to marriage? Marriage was like a fluffy coverlet that enveloped its occupants closer and closer, the air growing thin and stale, until they stifled to death and didn’t even realize they were already dead.

Tony closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “I know you’ve avoided marriage thus far, and I can understand. We all can.”

At the window, Oscar shrugged one shoulder.

Ralph looked at his feet.

Tony just stared at her. “If you’ve given yourself to this man, don’t you think the choice has already been made?”

“Maybe.” George got to her feet. “Maybe not. But in either case, I won’t be pushed. Give me some time to think.”

Oscar looked up from the window and exchanged glances with Tony.

“We’ll give you time,” Tony said, and the sympathy in his eyes made her want to cry.

George bit her lip and turned to a nearby wall of books. She trailed a fingertip over the spines. Behind her she heard Ralph say, “Up for a bit of a ride, Oscar?”

“What?” Oscar sounded irritable—and like his mouth was full again. “Are you mad? It’s begun to rain.”

A sigh. “Come with me, anyway.”

“Why? Oh.
Ooh.
Yes, of course.” Her two younger brothers quietly exited the room.

George almost smiled. Oscar had always been the least perceptive of her siblings. She turned to look behind her. Tony was frowning into the fire. She winced. Oh, damn, she’d forgotten to tell him yesterday.

Tony must have uncanny peripheral vision. He glanced up sharply. “What?”

“Lord, you’re not going to like this. I meant to tell you right away and then . . .” She turned over a palm. “I’m afraid there’s another sisterly problem you must deal with.”

“Violet?”

George sighed. “Violet has gotten herself into a bit of a fix.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“She was seduced this summer.”

“Bloody hell, George,” Tony said, his voice more sharp than if he’d yelled. “Why didn’t you tell me at once? Is she all right?”

“Yes, she’s fine. And I’m sorry, but I only got the story out of her yesterday.” George blew out a breath. She was so weary, but it was best to get it over with. “She didn’t want to tell you; she thought you’d make her marry him.”

“That is the usual response to a lady of good family being compromised.” Tony frowned at her, his eyebrows ferocious. “Is the fellow suitable?”

“No.” George pressed her lips together. “He has been threatening her. He says he’ll expose her if she doesn’t marry him.”

He stood still for a moment before the fireplace, a big hand propped against the mantel. One forefinger tapped slowly on the marble. She held her breath. Tony could be unbelievably stuffy and conventional at times. It probably came from growing up the heir.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” he said abruptly, and George let out her breath. “Who is this man?”

“Leonard Wentworth. It took me forever to get it out of her. She’d only tell me when I promised that I wouldn’t let you force her into marriage.”

“Glad to know I’ve been cast as the choleric father in this drama,” Tony muttered. “I’ve never heard of Wentworth. What is he?”

George shrugged. “I had to think about it, but he must be one of the young men who came up with Ralph this summer. Remember when you had that hunting party in June?”

Tony nodded. “There were three or four friends with Ralph. Two of them I know, the Alexander brothers; they’re from an old Leicestershire family.”

“And Freddy Barclay was there; he didn’t bag any grouse, and the others teased him about it unmercifully.”

“But one of the others shot ten birds,” Tony said thoughtfully. “He was older than the rest of Ralph’s party, nearer my own age.”

“Violet says he’s five and twenty.” George grimaced. “Can you imagine a man of that age seducing a girl not even out of the schoolroom? And he’s pressing her for marriage.”

“A fortune hunter,” Tony said. “Damn it. I’ll have to question Ralph about him and find out where to look for this scoundrel.”

“I’m sorry,” George said. Nothing she did recently seemed to work out well.

Tony’s wide mouth softened. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t get cross at you for this man’s sins. Oscar, Ralph, and I will sort this out, never fear.”

“What will you do?” George asked.

Tony frowned, his heavy brows drawn together. He looked just like Father. For a moment he didn’t answer, and she thought perhaps he hadn’t heard. Then he looked up, and she drew in her breath at the steel she saw in his blue eyes.

“What will I do? Make him understand how very foolish it is to threaten a Maitland,” he said. “He won’t be bothering Violet again.”

George opened her mouth to ask for details, then thought better of it. This was one time when it might be better to mind her own business. “Thank you.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “It’s one of my duties, after all, to look after the family.”

“Father didn’t.”

“No,” Tony said. “He didn’t. And between him and M’man it’s a wonder that we survived at all. But then that’s part of the reason I vowed to do better.”

“And you have.” If only she had done as well with her own responsibilities.

“I’ve tried.” He smiled at her, his wide mouth curved boyishly, and she realized how rarely he smiled anymore. But then his smile died. “I’ll take care of Violet’s problem, but I can’t do the same for you until you tell me which way I should start. You need to make a decision about Harry Pye, George, and you need to make it soon.”