The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2 (20 page)

She couldn’t fail to notice the tension in his jaw, the burning intensity in his eyes. Entering her with such restraint when he was so engorged was obviously difficult for him too. Tenderness pierced her heart and she pulled him down for a brief, fervent kiss. “I will.” She rolled her hips, urging him to move. “Now, show me everything I’ve been missing.”

Rafe closed his eyes and groaned. “If you keep talking and moving like that, this will be over in seconds, my sweet. I don’t think either of us wants that.” He lowered his head and seized her mouth in a passionate kiss, his tongue lashing against hers as he began to withdraw on a long, slow glide. She moaned, lamenting the loss of him until he thrust back into her.

Oh yes.
Her sheath immediately clenched around him. Her womb contracted. “Keep going,” she urged on a gasp, wrapping her legs about him, tightening her hold on his shoulders.

“With pleasure,” he growled. He loomed over her, his sweat-slickened chest brushing over her sensitized nipples, his eyes never leaving her face as he slid out, then surged back into her, each thrust harder. Deeper. She felt every powerful stroke, every throbbing, rock-hard inch of him. Her memories of sex were hazy but she was sure it had never been like this.

So intense. So intimate.

Raw passion tempered by tenderness, perhaps even affection.

She dare not think, even for a second, that Rafe was actually making love to her.

Burying her face in his neck, she pushed the thought away—an easy thing to do considering the brilliant, blinding whirlpool of sensation that was rapidly engulfing her. Rafe began to increase the pace of his thrusts, stroking in and out of her with glorious, purposeful precision. And somehow, she met his every demand, lifting her hips again and again to perfectly match his driving tempo. Sounds of their feverish coupling filled her head; the creak of the bed, the slap of Rafe’s flesh against hers, her frantic gasps and cries, his harsh groans. Anyone passing by her room would know exactly what they were doing, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered at all except for Rafe and the incredible things he was doing to her body.

Her inner passage began to ripple and a sob of joy escaped her. She was going to climax this way, she was sure of it.

Leaning his weight on one arm, Rafe suddenly grasped one of her legs with his other hand, changing the angle of his penetration. His hips ground harder against her excruciatingly sensitive sex whilst his relentlessly pounding cock, abraded some place deep inside her. Her sheath spasmed around him.
Oh God
. She was almost there.

As if attuned to her verging climax, Rafe released her leg and slid his hand between their bodies. His clever fingers stroked her swollen clitoris, pushing her higher. So high. He dipped his head and sucked on her bottom lip. “Come for me, Georgie,” he rasped against her mouth. “Come now.”

She couldn’t resist him. On a jagged cry of pure elation, she let her orgasm take her. It crashed through her like a tidal wave; the intensity of the pleasure was devastating, overwhelming; the rapture assailing her unlike anything she’d ever known.

As she quaked in Rafe’s arms, he continued to slam into her, prolonging her ecstasy even as he sought his own release. He swelled inside her then on a guttural groan, wrenched himself free of her body. His chest heaving, his whole body shuddering, he came, his hot seed spilling across her lower belly before he collapsed on top of her.

His substantial weight pinned her to the mattress but she didn’t mind. Not when she could feel his satisfied gasps warming her ear. The press of his lips against her temple. Her cheek.

She laced her fingers through the sweat-soaked hair at his nape and stroked the strong sinews of his neck. Completely content to bask in the warmth of her own afterglow, she began to surrender to the pull of drowsiness; until Rafe moved a little, reviving her awareness of the telltale stickiness between their bodies.

It wasn’t lost on her that Rafe had kept his word. Even in the throes of his own orgasm he had taken care of her, just like he’d said he would. He’d withdrawn from her before he’d expelled his seed. She supposed it was a sexual practice he customarily employed to guard against unwanted conceptions. Regardless of the reason behind his actions, she was grateful.

She’d already learned the hard way that not every man was so solicitous during sex.

Rafe stirred again and she hastily buried her unwanted, bitter memories.

“Forgive me, my sweet.” He raised himself onto his forearms and smiled down at her with such affection, her breath caught. “I’m crushing you.”

She smiled back and caressed his stubble-clad jaw. “I barely noticed.”

“Liar.” He gave her a lop-sided grin. “I’m sure I weigh a ton. And I have made a mess of your very beautiful belly. A most unsatisfactory situation that I must rectify.” He eased himself off the bed and within a minute, he returned to her side with the basin from her washstand, a washcloth and towel. As he gently sponged her body clean, she closed her eyes, content to enjoy the pleasurable sensations his touch never failed to arouse. Strange how within the space of a few hours she’d also become so completely unselfconscious around him. There was no doubt at all that he’d unequivocally changed her. She’d become the woman she’d longed to be—a woman no longer afraid to take a lover. A woman who took pleasure in sex.

A woman who could fall in love... If she let herself...

“There,” he said softly when he’d finished drying her. “Perfect again.”

She opened her eyes and caught his hand. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her eyes suddenly misted with unexpected tears. “You’ll never know how much...” She hesitated, biting her lip, trying to regain a measure of control. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually this emotional. It’s just that you wanted to make this evening special for me and you have. I will never forget this night as long as I live.”

“Oh, Georgiana.” Rafe slid onto the bed and gathered her against his warm chest. “Don’t be sorry. I love it that you are sharing so much of yourself with me. And that you’ve let me show you the pleasure you’ve been long denied.” He raised one hand and cradled her cheek; his gray eyes held a tender light. “It is my fervent hope that you and I will share many more nights like this.”

His mouth suddenly kicked into a small, wicked smile as his gaze dropped to her lips. “And days.”

Oh, sweet Lord. He is insatiable. But then perhaps, so am I.
Georgie pressed her mouth to Rafe’s, seeking the kiss he clearly offered. Gently, he explored her mouth, his lips sliding over hers with satiny softness, his tongue languidly entwining with hers. Tasting and teasing her.
Loving her
.

Dear God, she wished that were true.

“Stay with me tonight,” she whispered, when they at last broke apart, both of them breathless.

“Of course.” Rafe pulled the sheets and silk counterpane over them then settled back into the pillows. He gathered her close in his arms again and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Sleep now, sweetheart.”

“Good night, Rafe.” She snuggled into his beautiful, warm body, her head tucked beneath his chin. The sound of his strongly beating heart and the steady rise and fall of his chest lulled her. The scent of his skin, clean male overlaid with a pleasant muskiness, gently beguiled her. When he stroked her hair away from her face, she wanted to weep. It was so close to the heaven she’d always dreamed of when she was a debutante, it made her heart ache.

She closed her eyes. With all her heart, she wanted to trust Rafe, to believe that everything he’d said to her tonight was sincere. Even though she now believed she was more than a mere tumble for a few days, other concerns had begun to take form in her mind. She had no doubt that Rafe was a man she could fall deeply in love with. But despite the fact they’d been intimate in ways she’d never imagined, and now shared a bed, she still felt she barely knew him.

You know he has secrets that he’s keeping from you, Georgiana. Things he doesn’t want to talk about.
She strongly suspected Rafe had never been just a diplomat, if he’d ever been one at all. He’d led a mysterious life on the Continent. He’d encountered physical violence and was plagued by nightmares from his past. He habitually scoured the shadows for danger. He was adept at both charming and reading people. Uncovering secrets.

He worked for the Crown.

She wasn’t naïve. He was most likely a spy. A man accustomed to living by his wits and telling others what they wanted to hear. A pretender of the highest caliber.

He might claim that he wished to establish a home here in England, but could a man with an obviously shadowy, perhaps even dark past, ever truly be free of it? Furthermore, would a man such as he, really want to settle into genteel domesticity with a woman like her—a twenty-eight-year-old widow with her own, much too complicated history? He’d hinted he had feelings for her more than once tonight. Made love to her; what they’d done, it went beyond sex. But even so, she was the type of woman that men like Rafe typically had affairs with. At best, she’d be his lover for a season. Nothing more.

But, God help me, after tonight, I do want more.

She drew a deep breath and Rafe’s addictive scent flooded her senses again. As tempting as it was to throw all caution to the wind, she must be circumspect when contemplating the future direction of any relationship with this enigmatic man. Somehow she must contain her welling hope and guard her heart for a little longer until she knew more about him. And his true intentions.

Because when she gave her heart away, this time, it would be forever.

T
his is heaven
... That was Rafe’s first thought when he awoke to find dawn’s early light beginning to creep around the edges of the rose velvet curtains in the guest bedchamber. And Georgie’s beautiful naked body pressed against his. He’d stayed the entire night in her bed; a highly significant turn of events simply because it was something he’d rarely done—slept with a lover entwined in his arms. And on those few occasions that he had, it hadn’t compared to this. Not in the slightest.

His mouth lifted into a smile and his already erect cock grew harder as one of Georgie’s long, slender thighs brushed against his shaft. As she moved, her silky brown curls tickled his chest and the intoxicating scent of warm, sleepy female and her floral perfume filled his head. He had to have her again before he left this room.

More importantly, he wanted to show her how much he cared for her.

The fact she’d begun to trust him, combined with the knowledge that he was the first man in a very long time to have brought her satisfaction, was deeply gratifying to say the least. Warmth bloomed in his chest as he mentally revisited everything they’d done.

The night had been absolutely perfect except for one thing; his nightmare about Solange had been both unexpected and regrettable.

His smile turned to a grimace. What the devil Georgie would make of it all, he wasn’t sure. She had seemed to accept his feeble explanation about why he’d had the dream. And he was grateful she hadn’t pressed him for further information. God, he’d even spoken in French. He’d had no idea at all he sometimes called out in his sleep. Even more miraculous was the fact Georgie hadn’t thrown him out of her bed for calling out another woman’s name. One truth he’d been able to share with her was that he honestly hadn’t dreamt about his former paramour for years.

Poor, sweet Solange.

Rafe hastily pushed away the guilt and lingering sorrow that always accompanied his recollections of her and their time together. Even though their affair had been eight years ago, the way Solange had died—so unexpectedly and so brutally—it still took his breath away. Yes, it was best that he kept the manner of her passing and his pain, buried.

He’d never spoken to anyone—not even Phillip—about the horrendous circumstances.

He certainly couldn’t disclose the details to Georgie. Indeed, he was loath to share anything at all about his former life with her.

Rafe sighed deeply. He knew Georgie was curious. No, that wasn’t the right word—she was suspicious of his diplomatic activities. And rightly so. She was smart. She’d have noticed the scars upon his body. She’d already jested that he was a spy.

The problem was, if he confessed she was correct and told her all about the sorts of nefarious activities he’d really been engaged in over the years, she’d probably run a mile. He was used to redirecting the attention of both men and women alike onto topics other than himself. And for the most part, his strategies worked. But Georgie had seen through him. Her observation that he frequently used his charm to deflect inconvenient interest was quite accurate.

If she knew what he was really like. What he was capable of. The things he’d done...

Would she want anything to do with him?

No, Rafe couldn’t take the risk of letting her know everything about himself. Not when he felt like this.

He groaned and took a moment to indulge in the simple pleasure of holding Georgie in his arms. He was on the brink of falling in love. There was no point denying it. It seemed he’d completely lost control of his usually tightly reined-in emotions.

If truth be told, he’d almost let slip how he'd felt in the unguarded moments after his nightmare. But it was too soon to confess such things. He doubted Georgie would believe him. Not yet. It would take time for her to have complete faith in him. To let him into her heart.

But how was he to win her trust and love when he couldn’t be totally honest with her?

Rafe’s jaw tightened.
Face it, man. Your bloody past will always be a thorn in your side—a filthy, cankerous burr that you must keep hidden.

Georgie stirred a little, pulling him away from his dark, circuitous and altogether frustrating thoughts. He brushed her tumbling curls away from her face; her cheeks were adorably flushed with sleep and her breath sighed in and out of her slightly parted, oh-so kissable lips. She looked vulnerable and alluring in equal measure.

And he needed her.

He cupped her face with deliberate delicacy and kissed her gently, rousing her from slumber. When she kissed him back, he smiled, against her lips.

Even if he couldn’t tell her, he would clearly demonstrate exactly how he felt before she left Rivergate.

When Rafe took a seat in the morning room with a laden breakfast plate an hour and a half later, he caught himself grinning like a besotted boy. Indeed, when he’d returned to his own rooms to attend to his usual morning ablutions, his valet had even had to prompt him to stop smiling during his shave.

Now, as Rafe attacked his eggs, bacon and grilled kidneys with relish, he regretted not inviting Georgie to take breakfast with him. She’d fallen into a light doze after he’d made slow, delicious love to her, and he’d been reluctant to wake her. He assumed she’d probably send for a tray in her room when she did eventually rise. Even though a scant half-hour had past since he’d left her bed, he realized he already missed her.

He shook his head.
Besotted indeed.

He’d begun to glance over yesterday’s broadsheets for any vaguely interesting stories he might have missed—the rain had eased somewhat, but the roadway was obviously still cut as this morning’s deliveries and post hadn’t arrived—when the door clicked open and Georgie stepped into the room. Dressed in a simple, lavender blue morning gown, she looked as fresh and lovely as a rain-washed sky in spring.

His blood thrumming with anticipation, he immediately stood and bowed. “Your Grace.”

Her answering smile was radiant. “Lord Markham. I am rather hoping that you will not mind some company as you partake breakfast this morning.”

“Of course not. I would be honored if you joined me.”

After Georgie had selected a simple repast of a roll, butter and marmalade from the buffet, she chose the seat at the opposite end of the cherrywood dining table. As one of the attendant footmen served her hot chocolate, Rafe rued his decision to staff Rivergate so well. Breakfast rolls and hot chocolate be damned. If they were alone, he would have loved nothing more than to ravish her upon the very table that separated them.

“I hope I am not disturbing you, my lord.” Georgie was studying his face, a slight frown of concern creasing her forehead.

Rafe obviously hadn’t hidden his scowl of annoyance as well as he’d thought and quickly replaced it with a smile. “Not at all. I apologize for my less than hospitable manner. I was silently lamenting the abysmal state of the weather. I’m afraid our activities will be confined to the indoors.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Nevertheless, I dare say we shall be able to entertain ourselves one way or another.”

A faint blush stained Georgie’s cheeks as she darted furtive glances to the apparently disinterested footmen by the door and buffet respectively before her gaze returned to his. Her eyes gleamed with challenge. “No doubt,” she replied smoothly enough. “I would be particularly interested to hear more about your adventures abroad. I’m certain you have many interesting tales of derring-do to share.”

Touché
. “Indeed I do, Your Grace.” Rafe was going to have to regale her with some of his tried-and-true—and largely fabricated—stories in an attempt to quell her persistent curiosity. He didn’t want to lie to her, but it appeared that he must.

“So...” She took a sip of her hot chocolate before pinning him with a sharp look. “Given your French is quite impeccable, it would seem that at some point you have spent time in France or its territories. Perhaps the Caribbean or Saint-Domingue? Pardon me, I should say Haiti.”

“Nowhere as exotic as Haiti I assure you.” Rafe let the silence stretch as he sipped his coffee. Georgie’s keen scrutiny continued; her head was tilted to the side and her frown had grown deeper. He was evidently still a mystery she was intent on solving.

With a sigh, Rafe placed his cup down and pushed aside a fresh pang of guilt. Perhaps a tale or two about his long ago
affaire
with the fictitious French émigré, Solange, the Comtesse de Fougères would suffice; he most certainly wouldn’t reveal his former lover had really been the wife of a man named Duchamp, one of old Boney’s generals. But relating any cock-and-bull story about Solange would have to wait until they were at least out of earshot of the staff. For now he would tell her something that approximated the truth.

“In actual fact, most of my French was acquired in the schoolroom at Avonmore Park,” he offered with one of his most charming smiles. “My father insisted my brother and I receive expert tuition in several languages from quite a young age. Our French tutor, Monsieur Bastien was actually an émigré—”

Over the ever-present patter of the rain against the windows came the distinct sound of carriage wheels crunching upon the gravel drive.

“Jonathon.” Georgie discarded her napkin and sprang to her feet before rushing from the room. Rafe followed her out to the terrace and sure enough, the duchess’s carriage had halted before the stairs. Two of Rivergate’s footmen waited nearby with umbrellas at the ready.

“Hey ho, sis, did you miss me?” called a grinning Jonathon as he alighted and took one of the proffered umbrellas. Lord Farley followed before assisting his aunt, Lady Talbot, and then his sister, Lady Lucinda, to alight also.

Damn.
Rafe pushed down an exasperated sigh.
So much for having Georgie all to myself.

“You know I missed you,” replied Georgie when her brother reached the shelter of the portico. She stepped forward and clasped his hand. “If truth be told, I was worried to the point of being quite ill. What if you had been caught in flood waters?”

Discarding his umbrella, Jonathon leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “You are such a peagoose sometimes, Georgie-bean,” he said with an affectionate smile. “You had nothing to worry about. I would never have let Benson drive me into harm’s way. And I must say, the White Swan Inn where we holed up for the night does a splendid pie. We must stop there on the way home so you can sample one.” His gaze shifted past her to Rafe and his smile became impish. “I trust that you have been taking good care of my sister.”

Georgie’s mouth flattened as a bright red blush stained her cheeks. “Jonathon...” Her voice was tinged with warning.

Impudent sod
.
I’m sure you’d rather
not
know...
Rafe struggled to keep his expression neutral as he inclined his head. “Of course. But I might add, it’s very good to see you have arrived safe and sound.”

At that moment, Lord Farley, his sister and their aunt all appeared at the top of the stairs. After Rafe welcomed his newly arrived guests to Rivergate, they all moved into the vestibule. Damp coats, hats and gloves were quickly discarded, and then as the housekeeper and butler began to arrange for everyone to be shown to their rooms, Jonathon approached him. The man’s affable expression had disappeared. “A quick word if you wouldn’t mind, Markham.”

Rafe glanced over Jonathon’s shoulder but Georgie didn’t seem to have noticed their brief exchange; she was chatting animatedly to Lady Lucinda as they followed Lord Farley and Lady Talbot into the main hall.

“What is it?” he asked. Jonathon’s expression had turned grave and a sensation of foreboding slid over him. “Is it to do with Georgiana?”

Jonathon ran a hand through his damp brown hair. “Look, it could be nothing at all. But...”

“Out with it, man.”

Jonathon blew out a sigh. “This morning, just after I’d settled the account at the White Swan, I couldn’t help but notice that the next customer who approached the innkeeper was a foreigner. A tall man with dark hair who spoke with a marked accent—very guttural sounding, perhaps Germanic. Not that I’m any great judge. But what caught my interest the most was that he sought directions to Rivergate. After Georgie’s incident last week, and your subsequent concern, I just thought it rather peculiar.”

Christ.
Rafe’s blood turned to ice. “Did you catch his name or get a good look at his face? Question him about his interest in Rivergate?”

“Well, no.” The expression in Jonathon’s eyes suddenly hardened. “Are you meaning to tell me that Georgie is in danger?” He gripped Rafe’s arm with surprising force. “Do you know this man? And is there something I should know about him? Or more importantly, about you?”

“Honestly, I have no idea who he is or his agenda,” Rafe replied grimly. “But to answer your last question, ask me anything at all and I will do my level best to give you a straight answer.”

Jonathon released his arm and snorted. “That’s the response of a silver-tongued diplomat if ever I heard one. Phillip and Helena seem to trust you implicitly, but now, I’m not so sure. Georgie was right. You are hiding something.”

Rafe inclined his head. “Your concern is duly noted. But please, you can be rest assured that my intentions toward your sister always have been, and continue to be nothing but honorable. I would never let anything, or
anyone
harm her.”

Jonathon scowled. “Well, I should bloody well hope so.” He moved away, heading for the hall. “We will talk later.”

Rafe’s mouth tightened. “Of course.”

When Jonathon had disappeared from view, Rafe ordered one of the footmen to have his horse readied before he, too, headed to his own rooms to change into suitable wet weather riding attire. Enough was enough. It seemed the viper had at last stuck its head out of the undergrowth.

And if Rafe had to, he would strike it off.