A Daring Liaison(19)

Seven years had changed Georgiana considerably. She was no longer a maiden. She was a woman of experience, schooled to passion. No demurring now. No fear. No crimson blushes. She arched to him, her breasts crushing against his chest. He felt a shiver of passion shoot through her and nearly choked on his body’s response—a desire so strong he was hard-pressed to contain it. And, sooner than he’d thought, he had the answer to his question. No, Georgiana Huffington was no man-hater, and yes, she would love fiercely. Or, at least, make love fiercely.

And who had the upper hand now?

“Charles...” she murmured when he softened his kiss.

The single word was more declaration than denial. She wanted him. Him. Whom she’d had so little regard for that she’d had her aunt reject him. Well, she could have him. Far be it from him to leave a lady wanting or waiting.

Her shawl slipped down her arms, baring her slender neck. The warmth of her skin and the subtle scent she wore rose to him, wrapping him in a seductive cloud. He answered in the only way he could.

He relinquished her lips to nip at one earlobe, tugging gently until, with a faint moan, her head dropped back to expose her throat. He accepted that invitation and traced a path of kisses to the hollow where her heart beat closest to the surface. Lingering there, he triumphed in her gasp and the quickened beat against his lips.

Georgiana Huffington was his for the taking, and he was mystified by how deeply he wanted her, too. Could it be possible to love and hate at the same time? To want to give both pleasure and pain?

She tangled her fingers through his hair and held him close, lifting her throat to his lips with a longing sigh. He left that sweet spot, moving downward, scraping her delicate skin with the coarse stubble emerging from his morning shave. She shivered and wiggled closer.

He wove his fingers through her hair to hold her immobile while he continued his exploration. He moved his other hand to push the willow-green bodice lower. Even through the gloom of the coach, he could see the delicate pink contrast of her breast appear above the trim, and his sudden need to sample it was greater than he’d thought possible.

He captured the little crown between his teeth and drew it deeper into his mouth. The peak, already firm, tightened into a bead against his tongue, teasing, tickling. He rolled it against the roof of his mouth and she made a soft keening sound. As she’d done all those years ago, before she’d stopped him with a desperate cry.

But there was no plea for mercy this time. No demurring. Her hand, still tangled in his hair, pressed him even closer—so deeply that he feared he’d hurt her. He swept his hand downward to lift her hem and skim his palm up the inside of her thigh. Past stocking, past garter, past a soft chemise, until he found the soft heat of her sex.

She shivered and twitched as if she would draw away or stop him. But he nuzzled her breast again, drawing her ever deeper into his mouth, and she hesitated. That split second was all he needed.

He stroked lightly and she was almost wanton in the way she arched to his teasing touch. He circled her opening with one fingertip, gathering the dew of her passion, and then slipped it upward to find the source of her need. At his first touch to the little nub, she moaned and pressed against his palm. Oh, she was ripe and ready, but he was in no position to join her—damn the luck. Their coach had just passed the park across from her home.

Ah, but he could bind her to him with a lesser satisfaction and leave her still craving more. The next time they met she’d be ready and eager for anything he’d be willing to give. She’d think him smitten and never suspect that he had other motives.

With a few deep strokes, she was finished, gasping and trembling in his arms. She seemed so surprised, so genuinely disconcerted, that he almost believed she had not experienced that particular pleasure before. He eased his hand away and smoothed her skirts as the coach drew up outside her town house. He tugged her bodice up to cover that wanton nipple and lifted her shawl to cover her shoulders. No trace remained of their indiscretion.

“’Ere we are, gov’nor,” the driver said as he threw the door open and lowered the step.

Charles exited first and flipped the driver his coin before he lifted Mrs. Huffington down. He steadied her as the coach pulled away, leaving them in the dim glow of a streetlamp. Even in the darkness, he could see the deepness of her blush. A bit late for that, was it not?

“I...I...” she stuttered. She held his arm as she steadied herself.

He grinned. He liked having the upper hand and vowed not to give it up again. “An auspicious beginning to our new arrangement, is it not?”