Dukes Prefer Bluestockings Page 17

  It could remain utterly wrinkled for the rest of the trip, and he did not care. If it meant he had a moment more of kissing her, then it was worth it.

  His sleeves billowed, unconstrained now by his coat. Georgiana, though, was more interested in his vest, or at least, the process of removing it. Her fingers were gentle but not without efficiency. He decided to get to work on his cravat and unwound the linen fabric. Before long his chest was bare, and Georgiana traced his muscles with her fingers. Her silky touch managed to send fire jolting through his body, and he ached to be inside her. His muscles flexed at her touch, and her cheeks pinkened. “Continue,” he said.

  “It’s so hard,” she said.

  He smirked, and her blush deepened.

  “And your body is delightfully soft,” he said.

  She bit her bottom lip, and he feathered kisses over her face. He pulled the pins from her hair, so her luscious locks fell to her pillow. He ran his fingers through her hair, moving the satiny strands to her waist.

  “You’re glorious,” he said. “Utterly glorious.”

  She wrapped her arms about him, as if to clasp him more tightly to her, as if she agreed that any space between them was to be avoided. She combed his hair with her fingers and wrapped her ankles around his.

  For some strange reason Hamish felt that he belonged to her every bit as much as she belonged to him.

  It was sentimental nonsense of course. Utter balderdash, the sort of thought that would make him roll his eyes if another man expressed it, and yet, here he was, in Georgiana’s arms, thinking the thought himself.

  He was hers.

  He wanted to pleasure her.

  She was his queen.

  Evidence of his desire arched against her. He craved her, and the urge to raise her shift and slide into bliss thrummed through him.

  He resisted the temptation. This was about Georgiana.

  The shift didn’t come off. Kissing was becoming far too interesting, and separating from her again to tear off further garments seemed like an inefficient use of time. Her skin was warm against his, and he smiled knowing that the fire that blazed through him was not imaginary.

  He craved her, and she, despite her propriety, gave every evidence of craving him.

  He cupped her breast, and even through her shift, he felt her quiver beneath him. Her cheeks darkened, and her eyes widened as she gave a sudden moan. She hooked her ankles more tightly around him, as if realizing that it was his body that could bring her relief. Beads of sweat lined her brow, and he wiped them away with his hand.

  It didn’t matter that he was the brother without a title, the brother who had been just a bit too late. It didn’t matter that he didn’t spend his time in gaming halls and that, unlike his cousin Lord Rockport, he didn’t top lists of rogues. He spent too little time in high society for women to decide whether to adore or avoid him.

  “If you were to seduce me,” Georgiana asked. “Would you be wearing pantaloons?”

  He grinned. “Absolutely not.”

  “Ah.” She lay back onto the bed, and her eyes glimmered. “Perhaps you should demonstrate.”

  He tore his pantaloons off. His valet would have been impressed by his speed, and Hamish flung the pantaloons in the general direction of the door. The one good thing about staying in a posting inn would be that there would be no maid to come to light a fire in the hearth who might be shocked by his behavior.

  Georgiana had removed her gaze from Hamish’s face, and it was now pointed directly at the evidence of his desire.

  Her eyes were wider than before. “That is—”

  “Massive. Magnificent. Mighty.” Hamish grinned. “I want to spare you the bother of making conversation.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Is that how you seduce women?”

  It wasn’t, he realized. Those situations had been formal in their own way, comprised of each party giving a series of appropriate compliments as they entered each stage of the act. He’d already spent more time with Georgiana than he had with any other woman, and somewhere along the way he’d found an easy comfort with her.

  The ropes sank between them, tumbling her closer to him and she laughed.

  “That shift is going to have to come off,” he growled.

  “That shift is the only item keeping me proper.”

  “Then I despise it,” he said, directing a glower at the coarse linen.

  She laughed. “Then I think you’ll have to remove it.”

  “I will.” Hamish clutched both sides of the bottom of her shift and pulled it over her head. He’d already removed her stays, and he removed the shift without a great deal of effort.

  And then he was silent.

  Transfixed.

  Georgiana was still in his arms, but this time she was utterly naked. His pulse quickened. His desire throbbed, jutting into her soft flesh.

  He drank her in. Imbibed her. She surpassed the finest wine, the finest whisky. Her skin was luminescent, save for the auburn curls on her intimate part. Her waist was slimmer than he’d imagined, fragile in his arms, though her hips splayed in a delightful, rounded manner. Her bosom was perched high, and he circled her rosebuds with his fingers, tracing the manner it pebbled against his hand.

  “You’ve gone silent,” Georgiana said, and her long lashes fluttered up.

  Hamish blinked and pulled her onto his lap.

  Perhaps silence was not the sort of thing a woman wanted in bed.

  His throat was dry, and he willed his mouth to speak, even though speech seemed like an overly complex act in the circumstances.

  “You are utterly beautiful,” he said finally, conscious that his voice was hoarse. “You’re a queen. A goddess. A—”

  “You can call me goddess,” Georgiana said, rolling off his lap and displaying a wonderfully pert bottom before splaying before him on her back.

  Every part of Hamish tightened, and the room was suddenly much, much hotter than it had been moments before.

  The woman didn’t understand what that position was doing for her body as she stretched, and with a groan he lowered himself over her.

  Their lips met, and bliss ensued.

  Her skin tasted like the ocean, and their legs tangled together. They kissed, and his body thrummed. Any initial timidity from her had vanished, as if her tongue knew just what to do to his, as if her lips were meant for him and him alone, and as if her arms knew just how to squeeze, just how to rub, just how to—

  He tore himself from her, his heart beating wildly.

  “Hamish?” she asked.

  “Stop.”

  “But—”

  “Otherwise this is going to end.” He swallowed hard, conscious he wasn’t quite explaining things.

  She settled back down on the bed, and Hamish placed his knees between hers and lowered himself over her, positioning himself right at her entrance.

  She moved her arms around him, hugging him against her.

  “I don’t want to crush you.”

  “I’m strong.”

  In the next moment she was pulling him even more tightly to her, as if so their heartbeats might send each other some code.

  And then he pushed forward into her. He moved gently, meeting with resistance and he rested against her. She was wet. Warm. Everything that he craved.

  She tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him.

  He obliged.

  They kissed for hours, or perhaps just minutes. He’d always prided himself on his sense of time, but his understanding of even the most basic principles seemed to disappear. She rocked against him, unconsciousy, and he pushed further.

  He was inside her.

  Nothing rivaled this pleasure. Her eyes were wide, as if surprised.

  He stroked her cheek. “Are you in pain?”

  She shook her head, but he moved slowed inside her all the same and continued to feather kisses over her.

  And then at some point she tightene
d about him. His speed quickened, and his rhythm grew more erratic, his mind consumed with one word: Georgiana.

  She clung onto his back, and then she let out a delightful sigh and he eased her back onto the pillow. She smiled softly, and her eyes appeared dreamy.

  Life could not entail any greater joy, and happiness shot through him. He pulled himself from her quickly, spilling seed over her taut stomach.

  “That was—” Georgiana closed her eyes, as if she’d abandoned the use of words after all. Her bosom still heaved, and he stared, transfixed.

  He squeezed her hand and wiped her stomach clean gently with a cloth before pulling her tightly toward him.

  He’d never spent the night with a woman with whom he’d been intimate before, but now he didn’t want to leave a single inch between Georgiana and him. He held her tightly, stroking her lovely, luscious locks until her head seemed to grow heavy and her breath grew regular.

  Still he forced himself to stay awake longer, wanting to remember the exact curves of her body and angles of her face and the manner in which the candlelight flickered over it.

  Only when the glow of the candlelight ran out did he allow himself to sleep, soothed by her sweet scent still clinging onto her.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Happiness.

  The emotion thrummed through her, undeterred by the fact that Georgiana was not supposed to feel the emotion after several days traveling with the Scotsman.

  She stretched, sinking blissfully in the bed, recollecting the delicious manner that Hamish’s tongue and lips had claimed her.

  Over and over and over again.

  The bedspread remained over her, and sunbeams directed lovely warm light into the room, undaunted by the window panes. Happiness was an emotion Georgiana had felt before, but this sense of joy surpassed any emotion she might feel upon gazing at a well-composed landscape. She rolled over the bed. Lying still seemed to be a ridiculous notion, when her whole body emanated with life.

  At some point Hamish had left the bed. Perhaps he was bringing her breakfast. Georgiana had heard that men in the full throes of romance might do that. No doubt he was debating the virtues of blood sausage with the innkeeper. Georgiana had always considered blood sausage to be entirely without virtue, but since they were practically at the Scottish border, the innkeeper might agree with Hamish on its supposed benefits. Perhaps Georgiana might even try some today.

  But no footsteps padded up the corridor to their room, and no hand pressed against the door.

  She decided to dress, wrangling her shift and dress on. The action was time consuming, but when she’d made herself presentable, he still hadn’t arrived.

  How odd.

  The happiness that had moved through her halted, replaced by an ever stronger worry. She paced the room.

  He’s left me.

  She pushed away the unbidden thought. It seemed too melodramatic, too similar to what other women might mourn about other men. Hamish was of course different.

  Except…

  She strode to the window. Though the window was not far away, she moved slowly. Some trepidation filled her. Still, she opened the window and leaned her torso outside, angling her body to see—

  The space where the coach should have been. A cart was in its place now, and she swallowed hard.

  He’d left.

  He’d really left.

  Had he used her for his own masculine purposes? All women were warned of men’s urges…had she simply been another casualty, ascribing emotions to him that were nonexistent?

  She’d given herself freely. She’d felt womanly, desired. But now she felt foolish, a word that did not encompass either of those earlier feelings.

  She combed her hair with her fingers, conscious her hands were shaking.

  Maybe there was an explanation to his absence.

  Memories floated through her mind. Good memories. Memories that made her think that the man in them couldn’t possibly have abandoned her.

  Had she imagined them?

  But even her imagination couldn’t have willed the glorious sensations that had rippled over her body the night before.

  People were moving about downstairs, but he wasn’t there.

  The man who was always eager to leave early, determined to reach Gretna Green, had gone.

  Was he heading off to Gretna Green by himself? Taking a horse to best catch up with his brother? Was he going to tell the duke to not marry into a family where one daughter had given up her maidenhood so easily?

  He must be outside.

  Yes.

  She put on her clothes, dashed down the stairs and exited the inn. A pleasant meadow lay before her, and she was conscious now of the sounds of a babbling brook and birds chirping. Some sheep roamed the meadow, casting occasional glances at a group of lambs who seemed to delight in leaping about.

  As idyllic as the scene was, Hamish was entirely absent from it.

  She strolled farther outside and inhaled the aroma of flowers. Perhaps Hamish had decided to pick her flowers in a fit of romantic vigor.

  But no dashing Scotsman appeared.

  “Hamish?” she called out. “Hamish?”

  The only sound she heard was the birdsong, who’d paused momentarily after she spoke, as if unsure whether she intended to lend her high-pitched voice to their song.

  Uncertainty grew in her chest.

  It was nonsense, she reminded herself.

  Hamish wouldn’t have abandoned her in some coaching inn, no matter the idyllic attractions of its locations.

  But he remained absent. More carriages entered and departed the inn, and the grooms shot her curious looks. She attempted to act as if it were perfectly natural for her to be outside an inn in an evening gown. Nobody came to assist her. Her dress was tattered and stained with dirt. Perhaps they assumed her to be a lady of the night. She swallowed hard, and new questions floated through her mind. Questions that related not just to why Hamish had abandoned her, but what she should possibly do now, so far from home.

  I’m alone.

  *

  Hamish murmured to the horses, urging them to quicken their gait. He’d been away from the inn longer than he’d desired. Georgiana might be awake by now.

  Still, it had been worth it. He patted his purse.

  He inhaled the crisp air. The sky might not be blue, but rabbits still hopped through the fields, and birds still fluttered their feathery wings. A floral scent Spring might have come late this year, but even if it arrived with less flowers than in past years, it most certainly had arrived.

  When he rounded the final corner before the inn, he saw Georgiana at once. Wonderful. Her red locks flowed down, and she was gazing at the landscape. She looked every bit as lovely as sh always did.

  He pulled the horses over. “Climb up.”

  She turned toward him and widened her eyes.

  He smiled. She needn’t appear so shocked that they would depart now. Or perhaps… “Would you prefer to stay longer?”

  She blinked, still silent, but then she shook her head furiously.

  “I didn’t think you would. Gretna Green is nearby.”

  If he’d realized it was so close last night, he may have had them continue on. Still, this inn was certainly more peaceful than its neighbor.

  Georgiana strode toward the carriage, almost uncertainly. She seemed different from last night, and his heart sank. Was she regretting it?

  She climbed onto the perch, and he smiled, conscious of her soft curves

  “Is everything fine?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, but her voice sounded strained.

  He hurried the horses on and soon they were on the road. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t intend you to be worried.”

  “I’m fine,” she said abruptly.

  He assessed her, wondering if she was just acting brave.

  He shook his head. Of course not. Why should she need to feign bra
veness? This was a pleasant day, and he’d left her in a beautiful spot.

  “What were you doing?” she asked.

  He hesitated, fighting the urge to share everything with her, but then shook his head. “Nothing important.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The coach wheels rumbled over the dirt lane. The sky had turned a deeper gray, and the wind swept over them with more force.

  Georgiana resisted the urge to lean against Hamish. The warmth of his limbs may have brought comfort before, but now she focused on keeping some distance between them.

  Soon they would separate…forever. She didn’t need to show Hamish that that fact would cause her pain.

  The man hadn’t offered an explanation for his absence. Had he simply wanted to take advantage of the slivers of sunlight? Had he felt too constrained in the bed with her? Had he thought about her at all?

  Hamish guided the coach into a village. Though the village did not seem unique from the others they had visited, not exceeding them in beauty or charm, many more carriages were present. Half-timbered buildings with thatched roofs lined the road. They may have lacked the majesty of their counterparts in Mayfair or Kensington, but they seemed in possession of ample charm.

  This was Gretna Green.

  This was Scotland.

  This was the end of the journey.

  “What do you think?” Hamish asked.

  “It’s beautiful,” Georgiana said, not needing to be polite.

  Hamish grinned. "I’m glad you like it."

  "I do."

  “But I assure you," Hamish said. "The Highlands far exceed this in beauty."

  Georgiana’s smile wobbled. She didn’t want to think about other things. She didn’t want to be reminded that Hamish’s home was far away, and he was likely to want to join it. After all, last night had been just that...one night. A single experience to remember forever.

  She smoothed her tattered dress, though movement felt unnatural. Her limbs were stiff, as if already preparing for a quiet life.

  There were things she could say, if she were the type of woman prone to romantic outbursts. She wanted everything for Hamish. She wanted the young boy he’d once been to be fine. The young boy who’d lost both his parents and still wanted to impress his guardians. She didn’t expect the man he was now to make place for her in his life.