The Trouble with Honor (22 page)

Her eyes suddenly began to water, and she dropped her hands. “Because you cannot return my affection,” she said.

He didn’t mean to chuckle, but he couldn’t help it. Honor blinked; she began to turn away, but he caught her hand. “Because I can only return it tenfold,” he said. “I couldn’t bear to hear it because I can’t have you.”

Her eyelids fluttered; she eyed him warily, as if she expected him to declare he was jesting after all. When he did not, she turned to him and said, “Do you want to know how you can help me? You can show me your deepest affection before I am forced to marry the vicar. Before the ache of missing you turns my heart to dust.”

Those words were a salve to old, ancient wounds, and he scarcely knew what to do with them, which way to turn. “I can’t do that, Honor. You know as well as I that it’s impossible for us.”

“Impossible?” She laughed. “I don’t know which way is up or down anymore. I only know what I feel in this moment, Easton, and I have
missed
you.”

“Honor, please,” he said, begging her now. “I
cannot
resist you.”

She curled her fingers around his, squeezing them tightly. “Then
don’t.
”

He reached for her at the same moment she reached for him, slipping into his arms as if she belonged there, had been there all his life. George’s heart began to reel. Her lips felt like silk beneath his, tantalizing the beast in him. He crushed her to him, felt her breasts against his chest, the heat of her body mingling with his, flaring in his groin.

He lifted his head, gazing down on the woman who had the power to do this to him. She opened her eyes and smiled so seductively that it was a wonder George didn’t fall to his knees. He was on fire, fully engulfed by a woman whose smile could reduce him to ashes. She touched her finger to his lip and whispered, “Did you miss me?”

“More than the air I breathe,” he growled, and lust for her flooded into every part of him, hardening his cock to the point of aching. Her hands moved over his body; he grabbed her bottom, kneading it, pushing it against his erection, showing her just how badly he wanted her. She began to move against him, pressing into him, nipping at his lips, sliding her tongue into his mouth. She was a hellion, so brazen in her desire that he was melting with it.

He put her on the settee and moved over her, trapping her beneath his body. Hungry for the taste of her skin, he moved his mouth to her throat, down to her breast, nipping at the hardened nipple through the fabric of her gown. Honor whimpered softly, shoved her fingers into his hair as she instinctually lifted her breast to his mouth. He pulled at her gown, freeing both breasts, uncaring that he was devouring her, uncaring of anything but the dangerously desperate need to touch her, to be in her once more.

He suddenly sat up, clawing at his clothes, his gaze locked on Honor. When he had thrown off the coat and waistcoat, had removed his neckcloth and shirt, he slipped his hand under her back, lifting her up, kissing her deeply with all the emotion that was surging through him, and lowering her down once more as he found the hem of her gown. The need to feel her body surround his was overpowering; when she kissed his nipple, he caught her hands again, pinned them above her head. “Be still.”

Honor laughed breathlessly. “Why?”

“Because you drive me to madness.”

Her eyes were glittering up at him, her lips, wet and lush, curved enticingly. “Touch me, George,” she whispered. “
Touch
me.”

George unbuttoned his trousers and freed himself, then lowered her hands to his member. She wrapped her fingers around him, squeezing lightly, feeling him as he slipped his hands between her legs, into her wet depths. The lids of her eyes grew heavy as she lost herself in the sensation. She bit her lower lip as he stroked her—she was so alluring, so seductive. George moved down her body, leaving a trail of kisses over her gown, finding the bare flesh of her thigh and licking his way up, pushing her thighs apart and dipping his tongue into her sex. She bucked at the sensation of his mouth and tongue in her, which in turn sent blood pounding through George, engorging his heart and his cock. Had she been anyone else, he would have hurried his pleasure along. But with Honor, he desired her pleasure almost more than his own. He held on to her, holding her firmly as he carefully explored her every crevice, flicking airily across the core of her desire, then deep into the recesses of her body.

Honor gasped for air as she moved against him, thrilling him, inciting him with small whimpers of pleasure as she neared her release. George stroked her and nibbled as if she were a delicacy, bringing her to the brink of fulfillment, then backing away, finding another way to tantalize her. But Honor couldn’t bear it. She grabbed his head between her hands, pulled him up and kissed him wildly before she sought his cock with one hand and pushed against his trousers with the other.

He helped her, pushing his trousers down. Honor drew a shallow breath as she cupped him in one hand, stroking him with the other. Her fire was consuming him, burning him up. George moved between her legs, pushing them apart and pressing the head of his cock against her slick sex. Honor came up on her elbows, her gaze locked on his as he began to slide into her. He held her gaze as he slowly worked his way inside her tight, wet sheath. He felt her body open to him, wrapping firmly around him, claiming him.

God, he was mad for her, utterly mad for her. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he said roughly.

Honor smiled as if that pleased her. She closed her eyes, and let her head drop back as he began to move inside her. And then she began to move with him, meeting his thrusts, learning the rhythm of lovemaking. He felt himself filling up with heat, and he moved faster, harder in her, circling his hips, stroking her differently. He was panting, he realized, trying desperately to hold on to the massive climax that was brewing in him. He felt her body coil around him and draw him in, felt her tightening. When he thought he could not endure another moment of it, her body contracted tightly around him, and she shuddered violently as she cried out with an explosive release that convulsed around his body.

It pushed George over the edge. He spilled into her in quick, explosive bursts at the end of almost savage thrusts until he was completely numb. He slowly lowered himself to her, pressed his racing heart against her breast.

He had never in his life been so completely and wholly satisfied.

He had never loved a woman so.

She reached for his hand, clung to it tightly as she tried to regain her breath. And when she had caught it enough to talk, she opened her eyes, smiled up at him and said, “You
did
miss me.”

More than air.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

H
ONOR CAST A
deliriously happy smile up at a sky shrouded by the smoke of chimneys as she walked home and thought it never seemed so blue.

She’d refused George’s demand that she take the coach, as well as his demand that he see her safely home. She wanted these moments to herself, to relive every moment of it, to marvel at it all again. She wanted to float home with her heart and mind full of George Easton, of the extraordinary command he’d had of her body, of the way he had looked at her and made her feel so very beautiful and desirable.

She had finally agreed that a houseboy might follow her to see that no harm came to her. It was the only way George was willing to let her go. It was difficult enough to take her leave, what with all the kissing and his apparent need to keep her in his embrace, and really, the boy was so small he could not be at all useful if she were set upon by thieves. Nevertheless, Honor had agreed and George had let her go.

She glanced down at her gown. Not only was George capable of lacing a corset, he’d also proved himself capable of pinning hair, at least well enough to tuck it up under her bonnet. Honor had cupped his chin and bestowed a soft kiss on his lips.

George had seemed rather disconcerted by it. He had taken her hand and held it tightly in his, looking at her with concern and affection. Honor had never seen him so uncertain. “Will you be all right?” she’d asked him.

“Me?”
He’d said it as if she somehow had it wrong, that she should be the one who was disconcerted. “Yes!” he’d said, flustered. “But I...” He’d groaned, closed his eyes a moment then opened them, looking at her intently. “Honor, heed me. This cannot happen again. That is to say, we can’t—”

She’d smiled, kissed him before he could tell her it was impossible again. “Calm yourself, Easton,” she’d said quietly.

He’d pressed his lips together and nodded. And then he’d gathered her in his arms one last time, held her tightly as he kissed the top of her head, her neck, her cheek, before letting her go. “You astound me,” he’d said. “In so many ways, you astound me.”

She didn’t know why.

“I will fix things, Honor,” he’d said to her, her hands clasped tightly in his. “I won’t allow them to force you into a marriage you don’t want.”

She appreciated the sentiment, but it wasn’t possible for him to stop a marriage. Unless he—

She swallowed down that impossible, fantastical thought and carried on.

At Beckington House, Honor managed to slip upstairs to her rooms, unnoticed except by Hardy, who scarcely noticed her at all, as he seemed a bit distracted. Later, when Grace came knocking on her door, Honor understood why he’d seemed so.

“Where have you been?” Grace asked, glancing down the hall before shutting Honor’s door.

“Walking,” Honor said with a shrug she hoped didn’t look too suspicious. She removed her bonnet and set it aside.

Grace shook her head and studied the palm of her hand for a moment.

“What is it?” Honor asked.

“I’ve had a letter from Cousin Beatrice. She is in Bath and writes that she would welcome my visit at any time.”

Honor patted Grace’s hand. “We hardly have time for a trip to Bath, what with all the weddings on the horizon,” she said, gesturing to herself.

“I don’t mean you are to go, Honor. I mean to go alone.”

Grace sounded the same as she always did, but she looked different somehow, Honor thought. Resolved. When she realized it, a shot of panic jolted Honor.
“No,”
she said instantly. “Grace, you can’t desert me!”

“I’m not deserting you,” Grace said, and took Honor’s hand between both of hers. “Come now, we are agreed that we must
do
something
.
First, I owe you an apology for laying the blame for our predicament at your door. I was so very frustrated that afternoon, but God knows I am aware how hard you’ve tried, Honor. I am going to Bath because Lord Amherst is there. He’s shown a particular fondness for me. You know he has. I mean to secure an offer—”

“Are you mad?” Honor demanded, yanking her hand free from Grace. “You scarcely know him! You have no
affection
for him.”

“Frankly, I am
quite
sane and apparently the only practical one in this room! It is true, I have no deep affection for him, but I do rather enjoy his company. What else is required? He’s not a vicar, he’s a titled man of means. At the very least, I shan’t be forced to live in some cottage in the country.”

Honor couldn’t abide it. “It’s not what you want!”

Grace laughed sourly. “Pray, what do I want, Honor? Please tell me what it is, for God knows I can’t name it. I haven’t given the slightest thought to what I really
want.
” She shook her head as if she found that mystifying.

Honor groaned with misery and laid her head on Grace’s shoulder. “When are you leaving?”

“At week’s end.”

“So soon!”

“Lady Chatham is to Bath to take the waters, and I...I invited myself along. I’ve waited long enough,” Grace said firmly. “Now then, what have you done to your hair?”

Honor sat up with a start. She put her hand to it. “A pin fell from it while I was walking,” she said, and stood up, moving away from Grace to her vanity, before her sister could examine her hair more closely. She quickly pulled it down and picked up her brush.

Grace stood and moved to the door. “I’ll send Hannah around to help you repair it. You’ve not much time, you know. We’re to meet the charming Mr. Cleburne in an hour.”

When she was alone, Honor folded her arms on the vanity and lowered her forehead to them. She closed her eyes, thinking back to the moments she’d had this afternoon with Easton. It made her a little queasy to imagine Mr. Cleburne in a similar situation. It made her positively ill to imagine it all without Grace.

An hour later, Honor arrived in the foyer in the most demure, lifeless gown she could find in her wardrobe. She wore it as a symbol of her silent protest to this match, to the life that had led her to this moment. It was plain and sedate, just like she imagined marriage to Cleburne would be. This was what Augustine had done to her, she absently mused as she and Mr. Cleburne followed at a bit of a distance behind Augustine and her sisters to the church—he’d taken the desire for fine gowns out of her. She scarcely cared if she ever wore one again.

Honor managed to endure the service and the walk back to Beckington House. She thought she had managed to make it through an interminable evening in the company of the vicar and that she could at last turn her attention to something else, but then Augustine had the audacity to push her once more.

“Mr. Cleburne, you’ve not forgotten our ride and picnic in the park on the morrow, have you?”

Mr. Cleburne smiled self-consciously at Honor. “I have not. I have heard that you are an excellent horsewoman, Miss Cabot.”

Honor said flatly, “I am.” Perhaps she would ride away from him. Point her horse north and ride it until it could not carry her another step.

“You must see her,” Augustine said cheerfully. “That is, if you dare to be bested by a woman.” He laughed as if that were entirely impossible.

“I sit a horse respectably well,” Mr. Cleburne said with a modest shrug.

Honor said nothing. Augustine glared at her, and she said, “You must join us.”

“Excellent!” Augustine crowed. “We’ll have a picnic, the four of us.”

“I want to go,” Mercy said, and pushed her spectacles up the ridge of her nose. “I’m a good horsewoman, too.”

“Oh, but you are needed at Beckington House,” Augustine said.

“Why am
I
needed?” Mercy complained.

“Because someone must keep an eye out for the ghosts,” Mr. Cleburne said congenially.

That seemed to give Mercy pause, and in that moment, Mr. Cleburne turned his smile to Honor, clearly pleased with himself for showing some attention to her youngest sister.

Honor was entirely certain that her attempt at a smile failed. “Mercy, tell us a ghost story,” she said, and looked away, lest Mr. Cleburne see her great disappointment in him.