Lady Harriet's Unusual Reward (11 page)

“Do you like that, my love?” he asked, moving to the other breast.

“Very much,” she managed, raking her fingers through his hair. He sucked on the hard peak and she gasped as sensation ripped through her insides into the most private part of her, as though her breast and that part of her were joined on a string.

“Oh Harriet, you are a wonder to behold. You are so sensual.” Stephen kissed along the side of her breast, flattening the cotton as he moved, tweaking her other nipple. Harriet was aware of a sort of tension and a need to move. She was restless under his touch but she did not want him to stop. Anything but that.

“Please, Stephen.” She did not know for what she asked. For him to return to suckling on her nipple. He seemed to know instinctively what she needed because he bit gently on the hard nub and she hissed in surprise, but not pain, then the wet cotton was swirled to soothe.

Stephen moved his hand even while he continued to suck and lave at first one breast then the other. Harriet wondered if it was possible to go mad under an onslaught of such sensations. Slowly and carefully as if he was petting a horse that may spook, he caressed his fingers down her ribs, over the roundness of her belly, out to her side and over her hip. Then he drew them in to her feminine place, where the nest of red curls was covered by her shift.

“Open your thighs, love,” he murmured gently. She did as she was bade. If she was going to marry him, this was not time to become shy. Biting her lip and closing her eyes, she parted her legs. “Look at me, Harriet. I promise, you shall like it.”

Giving him a shy smile, she gathered her courage and opened her lids. His gentle smile melted her heart. Gone was the joking Stephen who had vexed her so badly earlier. He ran the back of his fingers over her curls and onto the intimate flesh underneath. It tickled, but something else too. She squirmed slightly. The second stroke of his hand was a slightly firmer touch, less tickle and more of the feeling that made her crave more of his touch. Her body instinctively moved towards it.

Stephen kissed up her chest and throat as he pressed his fingers into the intimate creases of her flesh, seemingly unhindered by the cotton between his fingers and her womanhood. Then he moved his middle finger backwards. She wriggled slightly, trying to discourage him. He had made her excited and somehow she knew she was damp there. He would feel it and she would be embarrassed, for she did not understand what caused that dampness. No one had ever quite explained it but she was sure it had something to do with her courses.

She wriggled again as he pressed the cotton into the dampness.

“Shh, Harriet. God, you’re so wet for me.” His voice was reverent. As though the wetness was a good thing. He caressed his hands and the material through her damp flesh, a groan escaping him. Then he lifted his hand and licked his fingers, smiling at her. “Like nectar,” he whispered.

She was flabbergasted. There was no other way to describe it.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, concern creasing his brow.

She shook her head vehemently, unable to speak but sure of one thing—stopping was the last thing she wanted him to do.

He nodded solemnly and returned his fingers to her folds, moving them until he found one small area that made her writhe and mewl. She grasped his shoulders and rocked into his touch, lifting her mouth to his lips for a kiss. He covered her mouth with his, pushing his tongue immediately into her mouth and swirling it gracelessly and desperately around. It was as if he was trying to consume her. She was reminded of their first kiss—brutal and needy yet not frightening in the least. He tugged her against him and it was then that she felt the hardness of his manhood against her thigh.

Stephen moved one leg between hers and rubbed it up and down her leg, groaning into their kiss as he pressed his fingers more insistently upon her intimate spot. Then he began to move down, kissing her neck again, her chest and finally capturing her nipple between his lips. As he did so, his hardness rubbed deliciously against her thigh.

Harriet closed her eyes and pushed a hand through his hair. It was absolutely divine to feel his lips on her breasts. And the hardness against her thigh filled her with anticipation, though she did wonder how something so large would fit inside her. This is what Lizzie had meant about men becoming lost in their own passions.

My, but he looked wonderful. So virile, with sweat glistening on his brow, his eyes dark with passion, his jaw set and determined as he let go of one breast and without lifting his head rooted for the other.

Suddenly he stopped.

“Devil take it. This is why I did not want to do this. I knew this is what would happen.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Let me go and I shall sort myself out in the dressing room.”

He moved to climb over her and get out of bed but Harriet was in no mood for it. She was innocent and confused and he could just explain to her what the devil was going on. She raised her knee and wrapped her arms around his neck, effective jamming him between her legs.

“What the devil…”

He moved.

It felt….

Well it felt wonderful. His hardness now rested against her most intimate place.

“Let me go, Harriet.”

“Not until you explain why you were fine one minute then trying to escape the next.”

“Because I nearly lost control. And devil take it but lying like this, I’m about to lose it again.”

“Perhaps if you stopped wriggling, it would not feel so good.”

“Harriet, I… let me go.”

“Not until you explain.”

“Fine… If you must know, the truth is that I do not want to make love to you until our wedding day because it has been such a long time since I have been with a woman that I fear I will lose control and it shall be… well… disappointing for you. I thought if I did not penetrate you that somehow I could control myself and you would see how good lovemaking could be and so the wedding night would not matter so much. But now…” he moved against her, long strokes of his hardness against her aching womanhood. She saw the moment he gave in. The moment the defiance left his gaze and passion resumed. She moaned and rolled her head on the pillow, digging her heels into the mattress. “Now I could not stop if I tried.”

“Then do not stop, my love, because that feels wonderful.”

“You are going to be the death of me, my lady,” he murmured, moving down onto his forearms and pressing a kiss to her neck. “Wrap your legs around me, my darling, and tell me when it feels as if you might burst with the tension.”

He pressed his mouth over hers again, kissing her passionately, ramping up her need for him. Their clothing was now rumpled and scrunched between them but still they did not touch skin to skin at the place where they rocked against one another.

He pushed his hands under her buttocks, pulling her ever harder against him. She pushed and rocked, reaching for that something that she could not yet describe—did not understand—yet somehow knew was the secret that married women held back from innocents.

Harriet pulled her mouth away from his, burrowing her head in his shoulder, concentrating on finding whatever her now slow, determined movements craved.

“Oh God. Oh Stephen, please… help me.”

“Let go, my love,” he crooned. “Let it happen.”

Something snapped inside her and a cry escaped her lips as a wave of euphoria surged through her body. She clung to Stephen as if he was her lifeboat in a storm. He continued to stroke his hardness against her. She was trembling, her body awash with sensations and feelings she had never imagined possible. She gasped in breaths and Stephen nuzzled her neck gently.

“Well done, my Harriet,” he murmured into her flesh. “You are beautiful when you come. Beautiful always but more beautiful when you come apart in my arms. I should stop now but I cannot. I pray you shall forgive my crudeness and ungentlemanly behaviour. I am too close to the edge, you see.”

Then he wrapped his arms more tightly and began to thrust harder against her, apologising every dozen seconds or so. Harriet tightened her grip and kissed his neck. She did not want him to apologise for this. It was wonderful. And she had been warned he may become caught up in himself at the end. What was it he had said to her?

“Let go, my love,” she whispered. She hoped he did not think she sounded like an imbecile. Perhaps only men said it to ladies. But his rhythm had faltered and he thrust a few more times.

“Oh Christ,” he growled. His body stiffened and he made a feral grunting noise. She noticed the veins standing out on his neck. He thrust slowly a few more times. And then he stopped, propped up on his elbows over her, sweat dripping from his face, panting and dishevelled, a wary look in his eyes. He looked the most handsome she had ever seen him. She smiled reassuringly at him.

“Well, my lord, I am not sure whether I should accept your apology. If I accepted your apology, I fear that you would be unwilling to do this again. And I would very much like to do this again.”

“At the end,” he gasped. “I was crass. I lost control.”

“Did you never lose control with Sarah?”

“Not on our wedding night.”

“Well firstly, this is not our wedding night and secondly, that is much to Sarah’s detriment because you look magnificent when you lose control.”

“You do not have to be polite, Harriet.”

Harriet lifted her hand to her mouth and laughed.

Then she raised her other hand running it through his damp hair, caring naught that she splashed herself with his perspiration.

“Oh Stephen, I am polite when I am in a duchess’s drawing room for afternoon tea or a countess’s ballroom or being introduced to a viscountess in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour. I believe that with you atop me, my shift and your shirt all a-tangle, my body tingling from your ministrations and after a day of chasing after my brother and his pregnant ex-kitchen maid fiancée up the Great North Road, politeness is not high up on my list of priorities. Since the moment you first kissed me, I have loved every second of what we have done. I look forward to our wedding night when I become your wife in every sense of the word. But I shall not force the issue now until the wedding is over.”

He stared at her for a long moment then bent his head and kissed her softly.

“Thank you,” he said quietly before moving off her and to the side, tugging her against him as he went. He adjusted his shirt, wiping his stomach with the fabric, then he adjusted her shift.

“Now can I touch it?” She giggled.

“No,” he murmured, giving her an admonishing tap on the bottom. She giggled into his chest. “It is time for sleep.”

“I suppose it is. But Stephen, thank you for tonight. I really have enjoyed it.”

“So have I, my love. More than you could ever know.”

“Mmm!” She snuggled against him, one hand nestled between their bodies, the other lying over his hip. It was not long before she could feel moments of consciousness being snatched away by slumber. She burrowed her face into the crook of his arm and he murmured contentedly, throwing his free arm around her.

Marrying Stephen may yet be the best decision she had ever made.

****

Stephen was aware of the warm body at his side as consciousness filtered into his strange dream. The warm body was beginning to stir and the small hand on his chest was moving south.

“That hand had better not move any lower, Lady Harriet, or I shall not be responsible for my actions.”

“And who said I wanted you to be responsible?”

He caught her hand and moved half over her, lifting her hand above her head, grinding his morning hardness into her thigh.

“Much though I would love to, it is not quite dawn. I believe if we make a move quickly, there is a good chance we shall catch up to your brother. I doubt he shall be on his way early. He is not much of a morning person and I do not want to spend more time than necessary chasing him up the Great North Road. So rather than pre-empting our vows, might I suggest we dress quickly and start travelling. I already asked for a breakfast to be packed into your picnic hamper.”

“I see. That was very sensible of you.”

“Do not think for one moment it is because I do not want to spend today in this bed making love to you, Harriet.”

“Thank you for caring for William and doing your best to ensure his safety. I could not ask for more. I would rather we found William than stay here. There will be time enough for this.” She waved her hand around to show she meant marital relations in general. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips before he reluctantly rolled off her and climbed out of bed, hastily finding his breeches. He forced himself not to look around at Harriet, and was aware when she scurried into the dressing room, having grabbed her valise and a few other necessities. He hoped he had done the right thing.

He had to admit to himself that physically and mentally he felt better after last night’s events. He now felt that come the wedding night he would be able to make a better account of himself and ensure Harriet’s pleasure before finding his own release.

It did not take long for them to be ready and the servants had the carriage prepared and picnic hamper stowed under the seat. Harriet looked bright and well-groomed despite not having a maid to help her dress. Stephen felt slightly tired but happy despite his concern for William.