Chapter 31

CHAPTER31

“Where are you taking me?” Agnes whispered, running through the darkness with George just ahead, pulling her along. “If I had known we would be venturing elsewhere, I would have dressed for the occasion!”

She had gone to the library as agreed, wearing much the same as she had the night before though she had remembered to wear slippers this time—sheepskin slippers that would be ruined by the dew-soaked grass.

“An oversight on my part,” George said, chuckling. “But you have my cloak, and I can carry you if you begin to falter.”

Agnes sniffed. “You certainly will not carry me.”

“Is that so?” Taking the challenge that she had not meant to lay before him, George halted sharply and swept Agnes up into his arms, ignoring her hushed protests and flailing arms as he ran into the woods with her.

Once surrounded by the safety of the trees and the eerie rustlings and chirps of nocturnal creatures, George slowed his pace, and Agnes found she did not mind being carried in his strong arms. The very thought of trying to trudge through the undergrowth in her slippers and nightdress made her shudder, imagining all the insects that might try to run up her legs.

“So, you do not intend to tell me where we are going?” she asked, peering into the gloom ahead, wondering how he could possibly know his way in the dark. Moonlight filtered through the canopy, offering some lanterns of silver light to see by, but they were few and far between.

He laughed softly. “You do not favor surprises?”

“I cannot say I have ever been surprised by a gentleman before, so thus far, I have not decided if I favor it or not,” she replied, stifling a scream as an owl swooped across the shadowed path, glinting white for a moment before it vanished into the darkness once more.

“Trust me,” he said, adjusting her position in his arms.

She pulled a face that he could not see. “I am doing my best.”

“And I am grateful for that.” He pressed a kiss to her brow. “Has your sister stolen your chambers again?”

Agnes nodded. “I tried to convince her otherwise, but she insisted. Fortunately for us both, once she has fallen asleep, an entire army marching on the Dowager House could not wake her.” She mustered a soft sigh. “She believes she has been hearing things in the night. Phantom horses and suchlike. I think she feels safer in my bedchamber. Indeed, I believe I am the only person she feels safe with at present.”

“Lady Finch and your mother will not be moved on the matter of Lord Morton?”

Agnes shrugged. “I gave them my report, and I suspect it was used to light the fire in the drawing room.”

“I could persuade Lady Finch, perhaps, but as your mother does not hold me in any esteem, I can do nothing to encourage her.” George swallowed loudly. “In truth, I worry that our unfortunate encounter before we departed for London might affect any… pursuit that I might wish to make.”

Agnes peered up at him, squinting to bring clarity to the details of his handsome face. “I would not worry.”

“No?”

“You have one thing that Lord Morton does not.” Agnes’ own heart jolted, for she had not considered the ongoing animosity that her mother felt toward George.

“And what is that?”

Agnes took a breath, hoping with all of her might. “You are a Duke. You could set Snowley House ablaze and make her wash your linens, and she would still accept any… pursuit you wished to make toward me.”

“How fickle she is.” George laughed, but it echoed hollow.

“That is society, I suppose.”

They continued on in a contemplative silence until a real path appeared in the undergrowth, illuminated by the shards of moonlight that sliced through the trees. Up ahead, flanked by two flickering torches, Agnes spotted a wooden door that belonged to the hulking shadow of a large structure.

“The former Lord Finch’s old hunting lodge,” George said, by way of explanation. “No one uses it anymore, except me. It was my sanctuary as a child and my sanctuary as a grown man when I desired peace and quiet away from that fickle society you disapprove of.”

Agnes raised an eyebrow. “It is not somewhere you used to indulge?”

“Only in good brandy and books,” he told her solemnly, carrying her the rest of the way to the building.

Still holding her, George eased open the door and wielded her inside before kicking the door shut behind him. Only then did he set her down, standing shyly by the entrance as she cast her gaze around the lodge.

It was a beautiful and ancient place, brimming with a history she knew nothing about. It bore the same Tudor legacy as the Dowager House and Finch Hall with white walls and mahogany panels, low ceilings and thick rafters, but where Finch Hall had an oppressive quality, the lodge had an inviting, pleasant air. The furnishings were made for comfort, and the fire burning in the large hearth poured out warmth, prompting Agnes to imagine herself curling up and falling asleep on the sheepskin rugs that covered the bare floorboards.

“It is not much, but—” George began to say, but Agnes cut him off, whirling into his arms.

“It is lovely,” she told him, pressing her palms to his chest.

He shook his head. “No, dear Agnes, you are lovely.”

He kissed her then, slipping his arms around her waist as his mouth crushed against hers, like he had been storing up his passion for this very moment. She kissed him back in kind, matching the rhythm of his lips as she pressed herself against him, gripping the edges of his collar, so she could kiss him harder.

“I have longed for this,” he growled, making her gasp as he settled his hands beneath the swell of her backside and hoisted her up.

Through ragged breaths, she nodded. “As have I though I never quite know what it is I am longing for.”

“Tonight, I hope we shall begin a lifelong education,” he purred, catching her mouth with his as he carried her through the parlor region of the hunting lodge and through a door at the back.

There, another fire blazed, shining hazy orange light upon a large bed. Agnes waited for the sight of it to shock her or spark fresh nerves, but that concern did not come. All she could concentrate upon was George and his lips and his tongue and that mysterious protrusion he had warned her not to touch in the library.

Halfway between the door and the bed, George set her down, bending his neck to kiss her throat, his fingertips settling on the front of her nightdress. With every kiss and every taste of his tongue against her skin, he unfastened one of her buttons, sinking down to his knees to reach the lowest ones.

“Exquisite,” he purred, running his hands up her thighs, sweeping aside the fabric of her nightdress as he leaned in and brushed his tongue across the eager bud that craved to be caressed by him.

Agnes’ legs began to tremble as he tasted her, rolling his tongue in slow, tantalizing strokes as his fingers slipped lower. Fearful that she might lose her balance, she braced her hands against his shoulders, and not a moment too soon, for as he eased his fingers inside her, her knees almost buckled.

“Yes, George,” she panted, sinking her fingernails into his skin as he began to conjure that storm of absolute bliss within her once more, weaving his tortuous, delicious spell upon her.

Lavished with his particular talents, free to gasp and moan and whimper as she pleased, it was not long before she was crying out his name with delirious abandon, urging her pleasure on toward that glorious peak.

“George! Oh… oh, George!” she all but screamed as that surge of ecstasy seized her, shooting through her veins like lightning until her entire body quivered with the rush of pure delight. Indeed, there was a power to pleasure that she had never known, and though she did not believe in childish things like magic, this was the closest thing to it she had ever experienced. It was otherworldly, how a body could feel so much, all at once.

Trembling, she collapsed against George, who rose to his feet and wrapped her up in his arms, bending his head to kiss her once more. And in the touch of his lips, a fresh fire ignited, like an ember carefully carried from one hearth to another.

She clung to him, kissing him as if this was their last and only night together, liberating herself of any lingering fears she might have had, for no matter what he had planned, if it felt that wonderful, it could not be a frightening thing.

His lips never left hers as he walked her backward to the bed, lifting her up as they reached the edge of it. As she perched there, her fingertips sought the hem of his shirt, lifting it up over his head though it meant breaking their kiss for a fleeting moment. But as their mouths joined again, it gave her the courage to reach for the fastening of his trousers, undoing the buttons with shaky hands.

As his trousers fell, he stepped out of them and stood naked before her for the first time. She paused to admire him, leaning back on her elbows as she took in every detail: his sculpted muscles, his powerful thighs, his golden skin, while the mystery of that hardened length finally revealed itself.

Goodness… She gulped as a tiny shiver of fear slipped back into her mind.

“I want you, Agnes,” George said, encircling her waist with one arm and lifting her further back onto the bed. “But if this is too much, tell me, and we can return to what we were doing.”

Agnes gazed up into his eyes. “I want you, too.”

“This is not a trick,” he continued, lowering himself until their bodies were flush together, that hardness brushing against the entrance to her hidden depths. She gasped at the friction, her breath catching in her throat. “If we do this, there will never be anyone but you. Even if we do not, there will never be anyone but you.”

She smoothed her palms up the curve of his back, hooking her hands over his shoulders as she lifted her head and kissed him fiercely. It was all the permission she could give, for she did not know the words to say to tell him that she needed to know what came next.

“If you feel any pain, push me away,” he told her, crushing his lips to hers as his hand came to rest at the back of her neck, cradling it. Meanwhile, his other hand braced against the rise of her hip, his manhood settling at the gateway to unknown territory.

She nodded slowly. “I will, my dar—”

Her words evaporated into a cry as he eased himself inside her, slow and cautious and overwhelming in the most remarkable way. She gripped his shoulders, her neck arching, her lungs on fire as she struggled to remember to breathe.

“Are you in pain?” George asked, a note of worry in his voice.

She clung tighter to him, shaking her head. There had been an uncomfortable sting for a moment or two, but it was fading into a deep, pleasurable ache that joined the delicious throb that pulsed in her veins, carrying bliss through every part of her until she was pleasure itself.

Taking his time, George stilled inside of her, allowing her to grow accustomed to the new and exquisite sensation of being joined with him. Indeed, she was the one who moved first, tilting her hips back. He moaned in the back of his throat as she felt him withdraw, their gasps filling the air as he slowly sank inside her once more.

Like a dance, she was quick to learn the steps, and it was not long before they were moving together as one, every roll of her hips meeting the measured thrust of his. But she was learning that there was more to pleasure than the actual, physical act, her bliss somehow heightened by the sound of his, her skin tingling wherever he trailed his kisses, her heart singing with every ragged breath and whisper of how desperately he had longed for her.

Just then, he slipped his hand between them, propping himself up on his free hand as he lightly touched her secret pearl. Agnes bucked at the sudden pulse of pleasure that ricocheted through her stomach and up into her chest, stealing away her breath.

And that was only the beginning, as she writhed and thrashed and moaned upon the bed, tangling up the linens beneath her in her wondrous delirium. His fingertips strummed and circled, spurring her on toward a conclusion unlike anything she had yet experienced.

When it hit, it was as if the world itself was falling apart to reveal paradise, her entire being burning with a ferocious wildfire that seared through her. Her back arched, her head thrown back, her hands gripping fistfuls of the bedlinens while her legs wrapped around George and squeezed tightly.

“Oh, George!” she screamed, not caring if she spooked any animals or if the residents of the distant manor heard. Indeed, if her mind had not been swimming with delirious bliss, she would have been furious that society kept this beautiful experience hidden from ladies. How many were missing out on pleasure like this?

As the potency of her bliss ebbed, she collapsed into the bed, panting and gasping as if she had just broken the surface of a lake in the summertime.

Yet, she could not forget the man who had opened her mind to such delights. Meeting his every measured stroke, she held him tight as his pace began to quicken, the power of him turning her breaths into fresh gasps, her moans encouraging him as they ignited new sparks in the core of her.

“Agnes,” he growled, a few minutes later. “Oh, my love.”

He stilled inside her, his expression rippling with ecstasy, and as he lowered his head to catch her mouth with his kiss, he thrust twice more within her before he collapsed into her embrace.

“This is it. This is… all I shall ever want or need,” he whispered close to her ear, grazing a lazy kiss upon the curve of her neck. “You are… the end for me.”

She wrapped her arms around him, relishing his weight and heat. “No, my love, this is only the beginning.”