Chapter 29

CHAPTER29

Agnes sat cross-legged upon the rug, knowing what she desired but uncertain of how to proceed. Her heart pounded so fast that she feared it might explode, her body trembling though it was not remotely cold in the library, her breath coming in short, nervous pants as George observed her with his intense, gleaming eyes. She could feel that he wanted the same thing they had shared in the forest, so why had he not moved? Why was he just staring at her?

“Might I ask you something?” he said at last, reaching up to toy with the tendril of her hair that he seemed determined to tame.

Agnes drew in a nervous breath. “Of course, but I might not answer.”

“I do not know if you remember, but you once said that you “see me.” I wondered if you could tell me what you meant by that.” His brow furrowed, his own breath unsteady for a moment.

She canted her head, somewhat amused. “Has it plagued you?”

“A little.”

“I thought I had already explained it?” Speaking calmed Agnes, allowing her a reprieve from the enormity of her feelings.

He shook his head.

“It is simple, really.” Agnes touched her hand to his as his palm cupped her cheek, like she was pressing his hand there. “It is the mask I spoke of—the duality of you. I kept glimpsing the man underneath the bravado and the scandals and the schemes you tried to shock me with. I hoped you were a greater person than the character you were playing and as time has gone by, I have discovered—or, at least, I trust that I have—that I was right. You are more than you appear to be, and what you rarely show is the best part of you.”

He seemed to exhale a sigh of relief as he leaned forward and rested his brow against hers. “I am glad.”

“Of what?”

“That you have seen through me,” he replied, sliding his hand into her hair. “I kept trying to pretend that I was someone I do not truly wish to be, but you seemed to hate that façade. Strangely enough, that hatred you displayed made me want to be better, made me want to be someone I never thought I could be.”

Agnes’ cheeks flushed with warmth. “Monogamous, you mean?”

“Among other things.” He chuckled, and his sweet breath tickled her skin. He smelled faintly of the apple brandy that glinted in a glass on the nearby side-table, but his eyes showed no shine of intoxication. It was likely another tool to try and help him sleep, much like her forgotten glass of warm milk.

“Might I ask you something?” She held her nerve, knowing that her next question might undo everything, halting whatever was blossoming between them before it could truly bloom.

He squinted at her. “Of course, but I might not answer.”

“I pray that you do.” Agnes cradled his face in her hands, ensuring that he looked at her as she said, “What are your intentions, George? The carriage, the forest, this moment here… what does it mean to you? I am not asking for a proposal, I am not asking to be your Duchess, but I must know that I am not merely another… conquest to be forgotten as soon as you have claimed victory.”

For a moment, his face twisted into a pained grimace as though she had physically struck him. His gaze dropped, and his frown deepened while he hissed a breath through his teeth. Agnes searched his expression, seeking any hint of deception or performance, but he was either a truly gifted thespian, or he was not acting at all.

“I cannot blame you for being doubtful about me,” he said quietly. “I would doubt me too if I were in your position, and it hurts that I can only blame myself for that. I have behaved terribly. I did not realize how awful I have been, not really, until I saw disappointment and judgment upon your face. Not just now but earlier in our encounters. When you said that you “saw me,” I felt exposed. I felt as if you were stripping back every wicked layer of me, like a divine punishment—the only woman I have ever truly wanted being the one woman I could not have because of everything I have done in my past.”

Agnes’ heart ached, seeing the agony on his face. Yet, her heart jumped too, upon hearing that she was the only woman he had every truly wanted. Even if it was just a ruse, it warmed her to hear it.

“I gave up my—I do not know what to call them—shallow pleasures, I suppose, after I met you,” he went on in a gruff, pained voice. “They held no joy for me because if it could not be you, I did not and do not want it. My intentions with you are honest, and though you will undoubtedly think that everything I say is a trick or a game, I mean it. You have upended my life, Agnes. You have changed what matters most. You matter most. And though I cannot promise much, at present, I can promise to be faithful to you and only you.”

Agnes nodded slowly. “Then, I can promise the same, but I should warn you of one thing…”

George scrunched his face. “Go on.”

“If you betray me, if you break my heart once you have possession of it, I will not flee quietly,” she replied, half-teasing.

But George shook his head, his expression serious. “If I were gifted such a rare reward, I would treasure it for the rest of my days, treating it like what it is—the most precious thing in all the world.” He mustered a shy smile. “Nor would I dare to cross you, Agnes.”

“Then kiss me,” she said softly, all her fear evaporating into the stifling heat of the library, her nerves absorbed into the pages of the books that lined the walls, her hesitation transformed into a desire that had to be satisfied.

His lips were on hers in a heartbeat, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her into the comfort of his lap. Not caring that her skirts rode up, she wrapped her legs around his waist in return, relishing in the sensation of them being entangled in the firelight as she kissed him back with equal fervor.

Her body swayed in his embrace, turning their kiss into a dance of lips and hands and tongues and skin upon skin. Her fingertips smoothed through his silky hair, her touch caressing the slight roughness of his stubbled jaw, her hips rolling back and forth as if they already knew what came next, conjuring a delicious friction that struck a spark deep in her abdomen. And that spark quickly became glowing, pulsing embers that tingled down her thighs and up into her chest and down her trembling arms until every breath was ragged and shameless.

But what is that? she wondered, not for the first time, as she moved against a hardness that strained beneath his trousers. Whatever it was, it did not frighten her; it intrigued her, filling her with a longing to discover its origin and learn more. Learn everything.

Curious, she slipped her hand down his thin shirt, feeling the ridges of his abdomen, and dared herself to explore further. But as her hand settled upon the front of his trousers, eager to reveal that strange and thrilling protrusion, George’s hand grasped her wrist and pulled her back.

“If you do that,” he gasped, “I will not be able to restrain myself.”

She swallowed thickly. “Restrain yourself from doing what?”

“Something that ought not be done here in this manor where I will not be able to worship you as I wish to,” he replied, flashing a wolfish grin. “But I am a reckless man, Agnes. I cannot send you from this room until I have tasted heaven.”

She frowned. “What do you m—”

A yelp caught in her throat as he suddenly rocked forward, pressing her down into the rug as he kissed her with fresh abandon. His tongue caressed hers, his mouth hot and fierce against hers, his hips urging that mysterious hardness against the pulsing bud that had brought her such bliss in the forest. A bliss that had been rudely cut short by dogs and hunters.

She held him close, overwhelmed by the sensation of his body held flush against hers: the weight of him, the strength of him, the warm, woodsmoke scent of him, the safety of him. How had she ever thought she could endure life without something like this? It seemed absurd to her now that she had tasted possibility. Indeed, loneliness and solitude had become the most frightening fate imaginable, all because of him.

Slowly, he drew his kiss away from her mouth, grazing his lips along the line of her jaw and down her throat. Her body answered the silent whisper of his kisses, responding in a language she was just beginning to understand—an ancient language that could reveal worlds she never knew existed.

Her neck arched as if he had pulled a string within her, and as his kiss moved lower, traversing the hills and valley of her bosom, her back curved as if every part of her wanted to kiss his mouth in return.

“You should not wander the manor in only your nightdress,” he purred, stealing a taste of her skin as his fingertips moved to undo the buttons that ran down the front of her nightly attire.

She grazed her teeth against her lower lip as he peeled the flimsy fabric away from her, and a rush of heat from the fireplace swept over her bared breasts. But that was nothing compared to the heat of his mouth as it closed over her pert nipple, nor the inferno that blazed through her stomach like a lightning bolt as he sucked upon it.

In her own library at home, there were no books that spoke of this, nor was she in possession of any friends—married or otherwise—who could have informed her with their licentious gossip. As such, she was entirely unprepared for the powerful current of pleasure that charged through her, bringing her to life in a way that made her realize she must have been asleep for all the years of her womanhood.

“Oh, George!” she panted, clinging to his muscular arms, digging her fingernails into his flesh.

Just as soon as she had grown accustomed to the peculiar and potent sensation, he continued his journey south, tracing his tongue between her breasts, his lips picking up the path at the indents of her ribs. All the while, his fingertips unfastened the rest of her buttons until she wore only a mirage of clothing that seemed determined to slide away from her skin.

“You taste like honey,” he growled against her stomach, flicking his tongue before chasing it with a kiss.

All of a sudden, he sat back on his haunches and gazed down at her with eyes so bright and ravenous that they made her want to pull him down on top of her once more. But there was something else in his gaze that held her still—a look of such reverence that she worried she might ruin the moment if she moved.

“You are the most exquisite creature I have ever beheld,” he said softly, running his hands down her thighs which flanked him on either side, her knees bent. “If I could not feel you, I would think I was dreaming.”

She smiled up at him. “Perhaps, we both are.”

“Do not say that” he urged, his voice almost dangerous. “If this is a dream, I would never want to awaken.”

As his hands reached her hips, he smoothed his palms up the curves of her waist and over her stomach, caressing up to her pert breasts and back down again, like the graceful, expressive gestures of the ballerino she had always dreamed of dancing with. So, it only seemed fair that she began her part in the dance, tracing delicate fingertips up the firm contours of his muscled thighs until they teased the hem of his shirt.

“Let me see you,” she said, lifting his shirt up.

He bent forward, arms raised, and allowed her to pull his shirt away. And as he sat back once more, her eyes widened at the utter perfection of him. He had surely been carved by the heavens themselves: his chest broad and sculpted, his shoulders wide and protective, and his stomach as ridged as a mountain range, the muscle rippling even as he sat.

But before she could touch him as she longed to, he dipped down to kiss her stomach, just below her navel. And as he pressed his kiss harder against her skin, it triggered the strangest vibrations, akin to the ache of limbs awakening after they had gone numb. The feeling pulsed lower, thrumming between her thighs, and George seemed to be following their guidance.

“Oh! Oh, George!” she cried out as his tongue tasted the secret pearl he had only touched in the woodland.

At first, he teased her, drawing his tongue in slow strokes upon that sweet spot, making her writhe upon the rug and grip handfuls of her own nightdress just to bear the delicious frustration of it. She had never heard of such a kiss though she could well imagine the collective faint that would occur if it was mentioned in polite society.

But that was only the beginning of her education as his fingertips slipped between her petals, unfurling her like a rose. He paused at her entrance as if waiting for permission. And she had to admit, the pressure of his fingertips against that hidden place made her hesitate, for though she could guess what he intended to do, she was not certain.

“If I hurt you, tell me,” he said, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

All Agnes could do was nod, her speech and breath stolen away as he rolled his tongue against her bud once more, giving her what she desired.

A moment later, he pressed a fingertip inside her, pushing slowly. She bucked as an intense burst of pleasure rushed through her, but there was no pain. He seemed to hear that in the gasping cry of her voice as he gently edged another finger inside her, propelling her to a different realm of bliss altogether.

In all her three-and-twenty years, despite all of the thrilling novels she had read, she had never contemplated an ecstasy like this. Or, rather, she had never imagined it would happen to her. She had set aside the hope of ever making love to a man, she had vowed to herself that she would be content as long as her sister was happy, but all of that had been blown out of the proverbial water as George’s tongue caressed her, and his fingers moved within her in long, slow strokes.

The whole world fell away as he lavished her with his talents until she blazed hotter than the heat of the fireplace that flickered beside them. All the while, something gathered inside her—a strange feeling, not unlike the first minutes after pins-and-needles had faded. It was like an ache but stronger, and where pain should have been, there was only the pulsing thrum of bliss, each throb growing more powerful with each passing second.

Just when Agnes thought she would not be able to bear the sensation anymore without biting into something, the rising pulse peaked, and those gathering throbs and thrums became a torrent of pure ecstasy, surging through her entire being like the most exquisite flood. It seized her limbs, her muscles, her very soul, holding her in a moment of straining stillness before the dam shattered and bliss rushed through her veins, making her shake from head to toe.

“Oh, my goodness!” she called out, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Oh, George! Yes, George!”

She bit into the fleshy pad of her thumb to stifle the glorious scream that threatened to spill from her throat, still vaguely aware of where she was and what might happen if anyone heard her crying out George’s name like that. Perhaps, it was already too late, but she found she did not care at all, for if she was to be scandalized, it would be worth it just to know what pleasure truly felt like.

Presently, the delicious storm receded, turning the flood of ecstasy into a few small streams that still sparked with remembered pleasure. Her body relaxed, her breath slowing, her heart returning to a less wild beat as her head swam with wonder.

George gently withdrew his fingers, kissing his way back up her stomach, pausing briefly to brush his tongue against her nipples. He smiled against her skin as another startled gasp escaped her lips then continued on, trailing kisses up her throat until he reached her mouth once more. There, he sealed her bliss with a slow, lazy kiss.

“Do you feel like you could sleep now?” he asked, gazing down at her.

She nodded, her body so light she thought she might float away. “Far more preferable to a glass of warm milk.”

“I am pleased to hear it.” He chuckled, his skin glistening in the hazy glow of the fireplace. “I confess, it truly would have wounded my pride if I learned that I was less exciting than a glass of warm milk.”

Agnes inhaled deeply. “I might sleep right here.”

“I would not stop you. Indeed, if I was not worried about us being discovered, I would certainly join you.” He dipped his head to kiss her again before he rolled onto his side and pulled her to him.

“Were you waiting for me?” Agnes asked a few moments later, her body so relaxed she thought she might melt into the rug.

George arched an eyebrow. “Whatever do you mean?”

“When I came into the library, and you were lying like that in a state of undress, were you waiting for me? At the very least, were you hoping I might investigate the light coming from this room?”

George’s lips spread into a grin. “Am I so transparent?”

“You devil.” She gave him a playful smack on the arm. “I thought I was going to walk in to find Lady Finch reading in the armchair.”

He laughed softly, the vibrations rumbling in his chest. “In truth, I really could not sleep, but… I had a feeling you might be restless too.”

“Do you think anyone heard us?” The first twinge of concern pinched Agnes’ heart as she peered up at George.

He shook his head. “I doubt it very much, but that is why I did not dare to show you more tonight. The risk to you is too great.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “But, if you are willing, I wondered if you might join me here tomorrow night. At this same hour.”

“Are you planning to send the entire manor away?” She chuckled. “If that is your scheme, you might need to send away the guests residing at Finch Hall, too. I cannot predict how far my voice might carry.”

He smiled. “Just meet me here tomorrow at this same hour, and I will reveal all to you.”

“All?”

He bent his head, bringing his lips close to her ear. “Everything, my dearest Agnes. Everything you have never dared to imagine.”