CHAPTER FIVE

"Lovely day for a picnic. Don't you agree, Miss Preston?" Drake slowed to fall slightly behind his little bird, permitting him the chance to run a knuckle down her spine undetected. A shiver followed the secret touch, and he hid a grin at Wren's immediate response.

He would enjoy teaching his curvy little spinster about pleasure. It was more than a set of mechanics— cock in cunny —but a series of foreplay meant to heighten desire until there was only one outcome: an explosive release.

After their kiss in Mrs. Farrow's parlor that morning, Drake was primed for another glimpse of Wren's shy passion. He craved it. Far more than expected when he'd concocted the plan of making her his paramour for the next fortnight.

"Yes, it's quite invigorating," she said, licking those plump lips that Drake swore still looked swollen from earlier. He definitely noticed the tiny blue dot at the bottom left corner of her mouth.

The evidence of his bite.

His mark.

The sight had his cock thickening along his thigh, threatening the seam of his trousers.

Maids shook out several blankets before letting them flutter to the grass, and a few servants stepped forward with baskets full of meats, cheeses, fruits, and breads for the afternoon's repast. Blue skies welcomed guests to the pretty tableau as birds chirped from the trees in the nearby forest. Country living at its finest.

"Stone, join us!" Farrow waved him to the spot he, Miss Sharpe, and another young couple occupied atop the small hill overlooking a stream cutting through the property.

"Time to uphold your part of the bargain, little bird," he whispered before guiding Wren toward the group, almost expecting an argument over the way he dictated her steps. She must have friends among the party that would enjoy her presence, but Drake needed her.

"Don't worry, my lord," a winning smile pasted itself on her face, "Preserving your friendship with Farrow and Miss Sharpe's virtue is of utmost priority to me."

"Cheeky minx." As if he'd accost the innocent debutante in the middle of a damn picnic. It was his wandering eye and natural flirtatious manner that concerned him the most.

Farrow wouldn't miss the signs of Drake's attraction to his betrothed. He'd witnessed them enough on their nights about town.

"Miss Preston, how good of you to accompany Lord Stone," Miss Sharpe said, her silvery blonde hair blowing casually under the soft breeze. "Now, we have even numbers."

She meant three couples as Lord and Lady Halston were introduced.

"I didn't realize the two of you were acquainted." Farrow squinted at Wren then Drake, searching for commonality between the spinster wallflower and a man who never retreated to a ballroom's wall except to pin a woman to it for ravishing purposes.

"We met last night. I'm afraid Lord Stone caught me reading instead of dancing."

More like Wren caught him ogling Miss Sharpe instead of being a good friend and ignoring her.

"Reading?" The delicate brows above Miss Sharpe's blue eyes rose in confusion, her pert nose wrinkling in distaste. "Whyever would you do that? Did you not ask her to dance, my lord?"

Drake shifted uncomfortably. The hard ground put him in mind of rocky Chesil Beach in Dorset, a prickling unease traveling up his spine. He hadn't asked Wren to dance. He'd been too distracted by her brazen teasing about his fixation on Miss Sharpe.

"We were hardly together long enough to warrant an invitation," Wren interjected, sliding a mischievous glance his way. "Chaucer waits for no man."

"Who is Chaucer?" Miss Sharpe asked, and Farrow jumped into an explanation while the Halstons added their views of the author.

"I realize not everyone is a fan of the classics, but perhaps a lack of knowledge about the father of English literature ," Wren quietly stressed as she leaned closer for privacy, "should factor into your future attractions. If she doesn't recognize Chaucer, then she's too young for your..." Her hazel eyes narrowed upon him.

"Witty repartee?" He supplied with a smirk, then, after casting a look toward the four people still discussing Chaucer, bent nearer to murmur in Wren's delicate ear. "Huge cock?"

She spluttered, coughing out the bite of an apple she'd just taken.

"Oh, my!"

"Miss Preston!"

"Are you alright?" Lady Halston offered a handkerchief, which Wren gratefully accepted while glaring at him.

Drake shrugged nonchalantly, covering an amused chuckle. It wasn't his fault she had trouble swallowing. He'd add it to their itinerary—a lesson which naturally required his huge cock and that sassy little mouth of hers.