Wicked Mourning (4 page)

But the other skimmed her skin, her belly, and then touched her curls. Clara arched toward his fingers and moaned. “Please, Reggie. I need you.”

Their eyes met. Held. And then he thumbed her nub softly. Clara panted as her body throbbed from just that small touch. He moved his hips, settling deeper with every thrust. Clara’s body burned and a whimper of frustration escaped her lips.

Reggie plunged in, pulled out. Hard. Fast. Deep. Clara clawed at his arms as her body arched and clenched around his stiff wonderful cock. She climaxed and shook. A scream escaped her lips. Reggie continued to thrust, but he slowed his pace. He clutched her hips and held them still as he worked his thick length in and out until her body quivered again. She didn’t come down from her peak. Another climax struck her and this time Reggie cried out too. He shuddered above her, hips driving his cock deep inside until her tremors stopped.

Clara blew her hair from her eyes and cradled Reggie’s face between her hands.

He gasped for breath, and then laughed. “Well worth the wait, my love.”

“Perfection.”

He smiled and withdrew from her, nudging her toward the pillows. “My turn to tuck you in and this time I’m going to join you.”

“Hmm,” Clara laughed. “Are you going to join with me again too?”

Reggie shook his head and curled hard against her back. “We have the rest of our lives for these pleasures. I’d not like to overtire you, but if you insist.”

Reggie lifted her upper leg and smoothly entered her body again. Pleasure rippled along every nerve and Clara shuddered as he thrust into her.

His lips nuzzled her neck. “Can you find pleasure again today so soon?”

Reggie swept his hands over her skin and Clara pulsed. She clenched her body around the hard invasion inside her and rotated her hips to gain more pleasure.

He swore softly against Clara’s throat as his thrusts grew erratic. He pinched her nipple, and then juggled them till he had both his arms wrapped around her body. Clara lay somewhat awkwardly on top of him, yet she had his cock inside her, thrusting with surer strokes, one hand molding her breast, the other clamped over her quim.

Clara trembled anew. How could she already be so needy? She had never experienced desire like this before, but she was moments away from another release. Instead of fighting her desire, Clara closed her eyes and clung to whatever part of Reggie she could reach. He slowed his thrusts and pressed harder to her nub. Clara moaned and writhed against his fingers, straining toward the pleasure he gave so effortlessly.

His mouth pressed against her hot skin. “Clara love, are you ready? Come for me. Now.”

Clara clenched tight about his length and his fingers rubbed harder. Her body exploded around her and she fell into a fast sea of nothingness.

Chapter Five

Reggie pulled the blankets tight about Clara’s body, listening to her light snore and the frantic beating of his own heart. He’d done it. He’d made her his very own, and all in one afternoon. He couldn’t believe his good fortune, or his luck.

Reggie slipped his hand under the sheet and touched her belly. The little miracle beneath her skin pushed against his palm and made him smile. In just a few months time he could hold his child in his arms. It didn’t matter to him who’d fathered Clara’s babe. But he would love them and protect them and their beautiful mother for all the days of his life.

Clara stirred restlessly. “Do you two think you could wait to play until after the birth? I was trying to rest.”

Reggie smiled and touched her cheek. “Forgive us. We were just getting better acquainted. I cannot wait until the child comes.”

She opened one eye and regarded him solemnly. “You are so very different than I expected. Blackstone never wanted a child. He thought a pregnancy would interfere with his pleasures.”

Reggie sighed. “What a fool he was.”

Clara glanced down, a nervous smile hovering on her lips. “I never told him, you know, about the child. It seemed I didn’t have to. When I suspected I was increasing he’d already left my bed. Of course, he had other women to entertain that I didn’t know about then.”

Reggie slipped his knuckle under her chin and raised her gaze back to his. “You will never get me out of your bed, or you out of mine for that matter. I want to share every single moment of our life together. Including the difficult parts. I want to attend the birth.”

Clara’s eyes widened. “Reggie. You can’t. What will people say?”

“I don’t care. They’ve flapped their gums enough over our lives anyway. Why can’t the two of us create a little scandal all our own?”

Clara rose to her elbow. “Reggie. The process of birthing a child is best left to women. I would not like you to become distressed.”

“Distressed or not, that child will be mine once the words are spoken of course. I’ll not part with you in your time of need. Haven’t I already stood beside you through everything else?”

Clara blinked back tears. “You have. You’ve been the truest of friends.”

“Then let us end our mourning by being decidedly wicked. Do you perhaps think I could indulge you once more?” He slipped his hand between her legs and squeezed. He drew her close to kiss. Their lips brushed.

Clara drew back, her eyes full of mischief. “Oh, Reggie. We are the wickedest of mourners.”

“That we are.” The click of the lock had Reggie curling his arm about Clara’s shoulders. He leaned close to her ear. “Brace yourself for the beginning of our own scandal, darling, we are found out. Mrs. Blackstone stands aghast at my door and she looks shocked enough to faint. Could we be that lucky?”

Clara met his gaze, her lips pressed tight over a smile. “She swore to disown me should I ever fall prey to your charms. And it seems very obvious that I have. We must be the luckiest couple in the world, my darling.”

About the Author

Heather Boyd
is the author of erotic romance with an historical bent. A fan of regency
England
settings, she writes m/f and m/m stories that push the boundaries of propriety and even break the laws of that time. Brimming with new ideas, she frequently wishes she could type as fast as she can conjure up new storylines. She lives with her testosterone-fuelled family north of
Sydney
,
Australia
.

Heather loves to hear from readers. You can visit her on the web at
www.heather-boyd.com
or send her an email at
[email protected]

Chills

Book 1 of the Distinguished Rogues series

Chapter One

London

Spring, 1813

Constance Grange tucked a stray, dark curl behind her ear and stared at the numbers on the page until they blurred into meaningless shapes. “This simply must be some sort of terrible mistake?”

She liked the indistinct blobs far better than the appalling amount of debt accumulated since her father’s death. No matter which way she looked at the single sheet, her small family was in a precarious position.

 “As far as I can tell, this is the bulk of your extravagances,” Mr. Medley assured her.

Constance
gripped the page until it bent to fit the contours of her fingers. Medley, her family’s man-of-business, had followed her to the Marquess of Ettington’s
London
residence to demand payments she did not have. She had come to visit
Virginia
, not to deal with another parental mess. She wished he had waited to deliver his bad tidings on her return home. Could he not have waited a mere six days?

He placed a leather-strapped box onto
Constance
’s lap without her pardon, smiling in a way that hardly reassured. It sat awkwardly on her knees, but she opened the lid to examine the untidy stack of papers contained within.

To Mrs. Peabody of
Sutton Place
, one thousand pounds, Faro. The bill dated February, 20.

She prayed the stiff paper would turn to dust once exposed to light. When it didn’t, she set the bill aside and read the next.

Mrs. Brampton of Currant Place five hundred and five pounds, Whist. This one dated January, 16.

Constance
laid the promissory note atop the first and delved into the stack of papers. Aside from debts to her mama’s so-called friends, there were outstanding bills to almost every tradesman in
Sunderland
. The tally was a huge blow.
Constance
could not afford the luxury of visiting with
Virginia
now. At the rate her mama was going, they would need to sell their home to repay even half the debt. Thank heavens it was not entailed.

When she reached the bottom,
Constance
stared at the fine, timber grain before methodically returning each sheet of parchment. She closed the lid tight.

The embarrassment was overwhelming. She couldn’t meet
Virginia
’s gaze. “You said there might be more?”

“It would be useful if your mother had kept a record. I've often requested prompt notice of her spending, but she has never obliged me in that regard.”

Since the beginning of this interview, there had been an undercurrent of hostility in Mr. Medley’s tone. She studied his pallid countenance. The smirk twisting his lips confirmed he enjoyed his errand.

Her stomach churned. “I thank you for bringing this matter to my direct attention. You can be sure we will provide the funds as soon as possible.”

Constance
attempted to return the box to his hands. As the family’s man-of-business he would normally see to any payments, but he shook his shiny head.

“There is only one more bill for your attention.” Mr. Medley pulled a folded sheet from his inner pocket and placed it on top of the lidded box. “That one I would appreciate payment on as a matter of some urgency.”

He pulled a second paper from his other pocket and placed it on top without a word.

“What is that last bill?”

“It is not a bill for payment, Miss Grange, it is my notice. In all my years in business, I never entertained the notion that I would have two such frivolous women in need of my services. You are both horrifically excessive in your tastes and should be heartily ashamed of yourselves for squandering a fortune such as you had. And so quickly, too. Debtors prison will teach you to curb your—”

“That will be enough.” A chilling voice cracked across the room, halting Mr. Medley’s tirade.

Constance
dropped her gaze to her lap. Of all the mortifying events that could occur today, this interruption ranked the highest. Why couldn’t the Marquess of Ettington still be busy elsewhere? Today wasn’t a good day for him to interrupt a private conversation when he had done his best to be unavailable for civilized discussion during the past week.

Constance
didn’t dare look at her former guardian, so she opened the last of the papers before her. True to his word, Mr. Medley was breaking his connection with her family. His harsh wording brought tears to her eyes.
Constance
dropped the note as if it burned.

She drew in a shaky breath, tasting cinnamon on the air. When a long-fingered hand crossed her line of vision and picked up that derogatory note, panic threatened. But at least here was one man to whom her family was not indebted. They were free of the marquess’s interference in their lives. There was a long pause as the marquess read the note, and then the harsh sound of parchment being torn into pieces.

“Get out, and do not show your face again,” Ettington demanded. “You will get your funds soon enough, but if I hear slander of the Granges’ reputations, I will personally see to it that no one will employ you again. Is that understood?”