Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

" I think your coat is ruined," Hazel observed, breaking the silence.

August and his overly tall spinster were lying side by side, limbs still twisted about each other in a heap. The breeze ruffled his hair, bringing with it the essence of the ocean and just a hint of the floral scent Hazel favored.

"Likely." He should have cared more and didn't. August didn't have an assortment of decent coats at his disposal. He needed an heiress for new coats. And to pay what few loyal retainers remained. Buy seed and animals for his tenants. The dam on the east side of his property needed repair. The list was quite endless.

It would have been so easy to spill inside Hazel and get her with child.

An unpleasant sensation pitched in his stomach, hating that the thought had even crossed his mind.

Pressing his lips to a freckle on her cheek, August forced the thought away in favor of more interesting things. He had never given much consideration to freckles until now. Kissing another at the bridge of her nose, he licked at her skin. "Pickled in brine, as any good spinster should be."

"And with my limbs," she held up an arm ruefully. "I could possibly be an eel."

"I like eels." His mouth dipped lower and licked at the slope of her neck. "And your quim." The length of his cock pressed against her.

Hazel laughed, snuggling closer.

August's heart squeezed impossibly tight. He had come to this damned house party specifically to coax a supposedly unattractive, overly tall textile heiress to wed him. And instead—his chest twisted once more—he'd found something else. Something he wanted far more than money. He'd known it when he fished her from the water, in that split second when August thought she might be injured, or worse.

"Why have you never entertained the idea of marriage, Stork? Outside of your difficult personality."

Hazel nudged him with her palm. "I once considered such a state. Before my father became wealthy." She gave him a sideways glance. "After moving us to Bristol."

"Which I had nothing to do with," he reminded her.

"I attended a dance when I was sixteen. I was terribly excited because I'd picked out the silk for my dress myself from my father's warehouse." A wistful expression crossed her features. "Such a lovely color. Soft pink."

"You danced all night." He nuzzled along her cheek, thinking how she must have looked like a long-stemmed rose.

She made a snort. "I didn't dance at all, August. Not that night or any other." There was just a flash of hurt in her dark eyes. "My height put off every lad in Bristol. My freckles and tendency to speak my opinion didn't help matters. In all those years, I had not one suitor. Then…" She waggled her brows. "My father became wealthy. Suddenly I was sought after. Odes were written to my freckles. I was not too tall but statuesque. Regal in bearing." Hazel cocked her head. "Do you see? I hadn't changed. I was the same."

August did see, and it pained him greatly.

"None of those gentlemen wanted Hazel Dartmont, only the fortune attached to my skirts." She trailed a hand over his hip. "And my betters "—the words were laced with sarcasm—"dangle their titles above me, inferring it would be a great honor for me to prop up the estates they've impoverished while holding their nose to wed me."

His fingers stopped at the curve of her hip. The same words used by the writer of the Rake Review. He'd nearly forgotten that damned newssheet.

"One horribly impoverished lord tossed a grape into my bosom at a garden party in Bath."

"A grape?" August bent down and licked the small valley between her breasts. That spot belonged to him now.

"Amusing, to be sure, until his lordship attempted to retrieve it. A scandal would have ensued at his groping, one he'd hoped would force me to wed him." She gave a rueful laugh.

The knot in his stomach tightened. Hadn't he considered the same thing? "And how did you dissuade him?"

"The end of my parasol," she gave him a smug look. "Though I did consider a well-aimed punch to the stomach."

"Who is this lord?" August's words were deceptively casual. He had every intention of paying the grape-throwing idiot a visit to ensure Stork was never bothered again.

"No one of import, Your Grace. Certainly not worthy of retribution on my behalf. Though I appreciate the thought." Hazel pressed a kiss to his lips. "He is not the first impoverished lord to try to trap me into marriage, nor will he be the last. England abounds with them."

The knot unfurled, spreading across his mid-section, oily and slick.

I am one of those men.

August wasn't any better than this nameless nobleman, in fact, he was far worse. Because his attachment to Hazel was real. True. And he would use it to gain her fortune.

The deceit filled him with self-loathing. But what choice did he have?

"Do you mean, Stork, that despite my best efforts, I have failed to change your opinion of titled gentlemen?"

"I may have acquired a fondness for dukes." She gave him a saucy wink. "But only one. I've made an exception, Your Grace."

"Have you? Lucky for me."

Hazel shot him a severe look. "I don't believe I implied that the duke of which I am speaking is you."

August laughed and moved his hand between her thighs, stroking her until she whimpered. "I think I am your preference at present. Admit it."

He needed an heiress, he reminded himself again. There wasn't any going around it. And it must be Hazel Dartmont. Stork. Whom he wanted more fiercely now than ever before. She was not only the logical choice but the one his heart dictated. It was no crime to want both her and her fortune.

Then why did it feel as if a rock sat in his stomach?

"I think your attention has waned, Your Grace." Hazel rolled atop him, playfully pinning his arms above his head. Her lips moved along his neck, pressing a soft kiss to the start of the scar beneath his ear before sliding down his chest, palms spreading along his hips.

August sensed her intent moments before those lovely fingers wrapped around his cock.

"Hazel," he groaned as her thumb moved over the tip.

The warmth of her mouth enveloped him a moment later and all the air left August's lungs. Hazel's hands pressed along his thighs, a soft sound coming from her. Her tongue lashed around his cock as she nearly swallowed him whole.

No easy feat.

Christ.

He might spill himself like some lad barely out of school. Another sound came from him. This time it was not pleasure but jealousy, thinking of the man who had taught her this.

"Should I continue, Your Grace?" She paused, looking up at him with a rather mischievous grin on that luscious mouth. "You sound pained." Her tongue flicked out. "Am I hurting you?"

His cock throbbed. "Open," he hissed, gripping her hair tighter as those perfect lips closed over him once more. His hips moved, thrusting into her mouth, unable to help himself.

Hazel made not one sound of complaint, accepting his savagery without a qualm.

Could she be any more perfect for him?

"Stork," he choked out as a tingle started at the base of his spine a second before he spilled himself into her willing mouth.