A Love by Any Measure (9 page)

Goodness, no, that would not do. August took a few breaths and focused on a frog swimming about in the fountain. The image was enough to distract his licentious train of thought and dissuade the arousal that had begun to stir below.

Perhaps while he was in Killarney he could purchase a petticoat for her. But that could set rumors running. If Maeve’s good name was to be protected, wouldn’t he be undermining his own efforts?

Then it occurred to him what to do. August quickly climbed the servant’s stairs to the third floor attic. Following his mother’s death, his father had attempted to wipe away all evidence of her memory, even going as far as placing Caroline in the custodianship of her governess outside Norwich so he wouldn’t have to look into the echo of Eliza’s eyes. All that Lady Grayson had brought over from England that summer remained in storage above, and her size was about the same as that of Maeve’s.

August spotted the collection by a far ventilation window. The outer edges of the cedar chest had darkened to a grimy brown after years of neglect, but he opened it to find the items inside still in good condition, and other than being seeped in the cedar scent, fresh. He rummaged through sheets, lace work, and quilting to find what he sought: a singular ivory silk petticoat with fine lace trim.

It should have seemed wrong, giving away his departed mother’s things, but nothing about it felt inappropriate. And if Maeve hesitated in accepting, he could call it a wedding present. On her wedding day at least, she should feel beautiful, he’d explain. Women felt beautiful in silk, and the material would slide delicately along her …

It didn’t matter. She’d belong to someone else then.

At eight-thirty, August placed the lantern in the window and retired to his room with the sack of bread concealed beneath his robe. Not that Caroline ever emerged from her quarters this late. She’d be sitting by her fireplace reading, if not in bed. He set the bread on the table by the door, placed the folded, silky petticoat on the bed, and took up his place by the fire. His poetic mood was filled by Don Juan. As the Comtoise clock struck nine, August trained his ears on detecting her footfalls.

Five minutes later, Maeve still had not arrived. Perhaps she had been scared off?

Ten minutes more, and the clock struck a single soft ding for nine-fifteen. With a panic, he concluded she wasn’t coming.

August began to pace the room, considering the possibility that Maeve had fallen down on her way up the road and was lying, bruised, bloody, and helpless. Perhaps she had chanced upon some vagabond walking the lane who saw her as a quick opportunity.

Or maybe she had just plain decided to stop coming.

August was turning the handle to his door before he even realized he had arisen. The need to strike off into the night and assure she was unharmed was a compulsion.

But as he struggled to get his arm through the twisted sleeve of his overcoat and opened his chamber door, two brown eyes stared quixotically back at him.

“Maeve?”

She wet her lips before speaking softly. “I ... made an agreement with you and I shall hold to it, even if it is all a matter of business … to you.”

The air rushed from her lungs as August pulled her through the door and into his embrace. Her body was stiff and unyielding, shock holding her still, but August didn’t care for the moment. His was an expression of pure relief that she was safe. He kissed her forehead softly and rocked her gently back and forth.

“Is this time?” she muttered, her face buried in his shoulder.

He released her immediately and caught her caustic gaze.

“Most certainly not,” he answered. “I only … When you were delayed … I began to wonder if … I thought perhaps you … Maeve?”

“I am certain I am fine, Lord Grayson,” she answered, curiosity coloring her words. August turned and closed the door as Maeve crossed the room and threw her cloak over the chair. When he turned back, he nearly fainted; Maeve stood silent and unmoving, dressed only in a cotton camisole and knickers.

He had never supposed she would actually be so bold, nor had he thought a woman could appear so desirable in the pantaloons so reminiscent of boy’s clothing. August had seen English ladies attempt it, and the result was always comical. Maeve’s pale Gaelic skin, deep brown eyes, and curled brown locks, however, made her nearly irresistible.

“I’ll admit you’ve utterly surprised me. You look … ” He swallowed. Hard. “ … different.”

She seemed confused, examining the lines of her figure, looking for a flaw. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Wanted, yes. Expected, no. “What convinced you to do it?”

She settled into the chair. “I can’t rightly say. I just … If you don’t like it, fine. I’ll—”

“No!”

As Maeve rose and attempted to gather her cloak back around, August grew anxious. He could not see her leave so soon, especially not with what he was planning.

Maeve froze, staring at him.

“I like this,” August added, vaguely motioning to the entirety of her body. “I like it very much, in fact. I just can’t believe you did it. For me.”

She actually blushed. “I would not chance your further ire. Nor your rejection. I am flattered that you even consider me … desirable.”

If only Maeve knew how tempting she really was. And not just her body.

It was hard to tell who was the more surprised, then, when August hesitantly replied, “You have no conception of how much I desire you.”

At once, he felt his insides quiver, the seeping suspicion that he had hinted at something which, even to himself, was revelation, making him shiver.

Maeve blinked twice, and August breathed a sigh of relief when she seemed to take no notice of it. Her eyes froze when she glanced at the bed, focusing intently on the petticoat. Without saying another word, Maeve paced the length of the room and held up the silky garment as though it were sacred. August saw her slowly pull it to her frame, testing it against her curves.

“Is this for me?”

August drew close behind her, skirting his fingers inches above her skin, his breath speeding.

“If you like it,” he answered, kissing the nape of her neck ever so lightly, so that she might not have even noticed. But Maeve certainly did notice, and she momentarily melted as she tilted her head to the side, giving August a wider patch of skin to utilize. Then she recalled her senses and snapped away, tossing the petticoat on the bed. She shut her eyes, sat on the bed, and stiffened.

“The hour is already late, Lord Grayson,” she hissed. “I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome or overstep my place.”

Her words were full of venom, and August regretfully recalled the cruel lecture he had given her the night before. He might well need such a lecture himself tonight as pangs of unease filled him, his mind beginning to question how much he bought into his own philosophy. It wasn’t Maeve’s fault she was born poor and he had the blessings of being born of the aristocracy. It wasn’t Maeve’s fault that she was born Irish. It wasn’t even her fault that she was born beautiful and entrancing.

“Eh, you’re doing the damned thing again!” she snapped.

But for her lack of respect, Maeve was wholly to blame. “Doing what?”

Her eyes opened, her glare full of fire. “The same thing you did when we were younger. You know something I don’t know, and you’re right happy about the fact. That smile you wear is unmistakable.”

He cocked his head and grinned. “I never did such a thing.”

“Did, too.” Was she actually smiling? “Like when you knew why Guinevere wasn’t having children. You wouldn’t tell me what s … Why you thought what you thought, and now I know what you knew and I didn’t.”

“And you noticed this supposedly knowing smile back then?” He vaguely motioned to his face.

“Aye.”

“Same one I’m making now?”

Her voice trembled in time with her body as he stepped her way. “Aye.” She paused, musing over what she just said. “What is it that you know now?”

August didn’t answer, but instead removed his robe and tossed it next to her cloak on the chair. He stood before her in only his undergarments, and already the thought of what he was about to try was causing his arousal to become visible beneath the cotton shield.

He made his way to the far table and to the graduated hour glass.

“Goodness, five and a half minutes already?” he asked coyly as he situated the plug and slowly filled the sand to the appropriate mark. That knowing grin widened when he considered that their next occasion would make the specialized time piece with a maximum ten-minute capacity insufficient. August turned back to her and brought his mouth right up to, but not touching, her ear, so that the heat of his breath danced over the sensitive skin.

“I apologize, Miss O’Connor,” he started in a low, husky voice. “I forget sometimes that you have never felt a man’s touch. I forget that while your kisses light primal fires in me, the sensation to you is very new and disorienting. I should tell you how sorry I am that I caused your body to escalate so quickly into what it might not have been ready to interpret.”

August leant down to her, his hands ghosting over her frame but never, never touching. Maeve began to tremble more with each word, her composure easing with every additional utterance.

“I should not have thrown up the fact that we both had the misfortune to be born into stations of life neither of us would have otherwise desired as a wall between us. I should not have been so dismissive of your willingness to enter our agreement.”

He lowered his jaw and spoke into the valley between her breasts. Beneath the thin cotton covering, August saw her peaks pebble as his heated gasps called them to attention. Her breathing picked up pace, and the fact was making him anxious and eager.

“As I told you the first night, you are free to end our contract at any point you desire, knowing the consequences. You are still here tonight, and so you desire to be with me, and I am pleased by that fact alone.”

She grimaced but kept her eyes closed. August could tell she was fighting a longing to lean into him as his mouth found hers, but still did not make contact.

“You know why I’m here,” she whimpered. “So that I have a home to go to when you’re done using me. I am here for your pleasure, Lord Grayson, not my own. You made that perfectly clear.”

“True,” he agreed, ever so delicately blowing on Maeve’s lips. They parted as though expecting a deeper answer, but he withdrew. “But that’s only because you don’t know what pleasure is, Maeve. If you knew what your body was capable of, if you knew the things I can help make your body do, of the feelings I can create for it, around it, inside of it … That’s the reason for this ‘knowing’ smile. Because I do know what I can do to you. And I do know that what pleases a man most is giving a woman that … pleasure.”

August turned back to the table and removed the catch holding the sand at bay, letting it fall into the bottom chamber in a slow and steady stream.

“What would please me tonight is to share that knowledge with you.” His fingers reached the cotton folds of her knickers and he was delighted to find her wetness already soaking through. “Now,” he pushed his finger over the apex of her legs and clutched her, causing her eyes to shoot open and her breath to go staccato, “lay back, and let me show you what happens … ” He slid his hands under the waist of her knickers and into the moist heat beyond, making one quick twirl into her with his fingers and causing her knees to tremble. “ … when I keep doing this.”

Maeve gasped. She fell back fully without hesitation as August eased her knickers down over her hips and past her ankles, tossing them unceremoniously on the floor. He pushed her back so that she rested comfortably and pulled her legs open slightly. Mysteriously, she surrendered herself completely to the action.

August inverted his right hand to a better angle and pushed two fingers into her. Even the first stroke shook her frame, and she threw her arms to the side, fisting the quilt in her hands. He established a steady rhythm of pull and push, arching slightly on the outbound, stimulating the bundle of nerves within her, certain she had never had a clue that they existed. Her breaths grew staggered and crisp as delicious, meager ahhs rose from the base of her throat.

Much to his chagrin, half the sand allotted for their subscribed time had fallen away.

Without disrupting his hand’s labor, he pulled his body alongside hers and licked the rim of her ear. “This is about where we left off before.” He unclenched his hand and moved the thumb over the pearl of her pleasure, echoing the rhythm he had already established, then speeding it. Her essence flowed freely, covering her thighs and his hand. Her whole body gave a tremendous pulse as she felt the tensing of her muscles in response to his efforts.

Every little push made into her was reverberating up her torso, causing her breasts to heave. August’s mouth wanted them, wanted to taste them. He undid the ribbon that laced the front panels of her camisole and peeled it aside. Her stiff-peaked mounds were revealed as his lips surrounded them, taking one of her nipples between his teeth and nipping.

“Oh, Grayson … ” she moaned. He could tell his efforts were being properly appreciated.

August looked up at her, catching her smoldering brown eyes. “August.”

“Au … gust,” she repeated, her breath so ferociously humming in and out that stringing two syllables in one gasp became impossible. “What … is … this … ?”

He hushed her by pressing his lips to her mouth, sucking her bottom lip as he quickly pulled away, allowing her the air she needed. The air she would need soon to gasp in pleasure.

“Trust your body,” he told her. Trust me. “It knows what to do. Let it go. Don’t hold back.”

The bell of the timer rang. August ignored it, and Maeve didn’t hear it over her own racing breath. His hand manipulated her every nerve, leaving her body dancing on the edge of climax, her hips instinctively rocking against the sensations and inducing further friction.

August felt his own hips involuntarily shifting, trying to align his arousal. His control was slipping, his reluctance to take her lessening with each moment.

“Maeve, let go.”

Her body began to answer the request. August felt her tighten, and her segmented whimpers began to bleed over into each other, graduating into a sustained ecstasy-driven moan.

“Yes, that’s it,” he coaxed, quickening both pace and pressure. “Give in.”

Her hand rose from the bed, and she placed it on his cheek. Her body was so consumed with achieving its first release, however, that she didn’t notice August’s confused expression. Her hand quickly fell, skirting along his chest and falling into his lap, right where his erection was pushing against the restraint of his undergarments.

“August!” Her face contorted in a most alluring way. She licked her lips, and the image of her glistening wet tongue running over her reddened, swollen bottom lip nearly undid him. “Oh, my … August … Ungh … ”

A hard pinch of her nipple tipped the scale, sending Maeve reeling on the crest of her climax. Her moans echoed around the bed chamber, drowning out the sound of both the clock and the crackling fire. He slowed his workings gradually as the tightness that had squeezed them so delightfully washed away, leaving Maeve gasping and flushed.

“That’s what happens when I do that,” he teased, drawing a trail of her wetness down the inside of her thigh. “And ecstasy looks so beautiful on you.”

She rolled her head, her eyes meeting his. She was overwhelmed, and he was over-proud. Maeve’s lips quivered, and for a moment, it looked as though she were trying to say something.