‘Stupid bitch wouldn’t let me put her in the workhouse, so I told her the girl was going to a nice family who would raise her properly.’ Linfield gave a dark chuckle. ‘And, as long as the chit was with Atkins, it was easy enough to keep an eye on her.
‘Until thelecherous bastardcouldn’t keep his nutmegs in his bloody breeches.’
‘And that’s when she ran?’
Linfield nodded, then stared at the Earl's opium addicted doctor challengingly. ‘So, are you in?’
‘You’ve told me enough to see you crop. What’s to stop me crying rope? Likely the Earl would pay me handsomely to tell him about the viper in his nest.’
Simon Linfield gave a short laugh. ‘Pay handsomely? Have you listened to nothing I’ve just said? The Earl of Ruteledge would swat you like a fly. Oh he’d thank you cordially enough, but you wouldn’t last the night. Your body would be found in some filthy alleyway – if it was even found at all.
‘Believe me, If you ever want to get out from under Edward Linfield’s blackmailing arse, doctor, you’ll help me speed the bastard on his way to hell.’
∞∞∞
‘George?’ The shadow turned into Anthony Shackleford as he dropped the pitchfork and stepped through the stable door. ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’ he hissed, staring down at her.
‘Coming to find you,’ she spat. ‘Who did you think it was? The bloody Queen of England? Are you goin’ to ‘elp me up or wot?’
Frowning, Anthony held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘I nearly skewered you with a deuced pitchfork,’ he growled, hauling her under cover. ‘Damn it, you’re soaking wet.’
‘Sharp eyes,’ she muttered, allowing him to drag her into the relative warmth of the stable. Cursing, he fumbled around for his flint and tender, then facing the meagre light shining through the doorway, managed to light a small lantern which he hung high in the rafters well away from where it could be knocked over.
Shaking his head at her dripping form, he grabbed an old horse blanket he’d been lying on and held it out to her. ‘Wrap this around yourself and get out of those wet clothes. You’ll catch your bloody death.’
‘Don’t swear,’ she mumbled, taking the blanket. ‘Bleedin’ hell, this stinks.’ Anthony raised his eyebrows.
‘I’m beginning to think we should start using a swear bucket.’
George looked over to him and grinned. Then turning round, with the blanket around her shoulders, she began to strip off. ‘At least yer in one piece,’ she murmured, dropping the shirt on the floor. ‘You wos that tap ‘ackled, I worried you’d fell over and brained yoursen.’
‘You were worried about me?’ George glanced behind her as she stepped out of her britches.
‘Well, if you kick the bucket, what’ll ‘appen to me then?’
‘And there was me thinking you cared.’
George drew in her breath. Somehow he’d stepped closer without her realising. Gripping the blanket tightly around her shoulders, she turned round. He was so close she had only to lift her hand to touch him. Swallowing, she lifted her wet britches between them and shoved the sodden fabric at his chest. If she’d thought the cold wetness would be enough to make him step back, she’d misjudged entirely. Without taking his eyes from hers, he grabbed the britches and flung them away. With a small gasp, her eyes followed to where they landed in the hay. ‘Wot did you do that for?’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be itchin’ for bloody weeks now.’
Anthony didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. ‘What have you done to me?’ he murmured, almost under his breath.
Heart hammering, George simply stared back at him. The feeble light hid his expression, so she was unable to read what he was thinking. But she could feel it. She stifled a small gasp as he closed the remaining distance between them, his hard thigh stepping between hers.
Achingly slowly, he lowered his head until his lips hovered above hers. ‘Tell me to stop,’ he murmured hoarsely. In answer, she lifted her own hand and slid it around his neck, her fingers tangling in the damp hair at his nape. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered, her dark gaze clinging to his. With a low groan, his mouth settled on hers. For the merest second, she had no idea what to do. Then instinct took over. With a soft sound, almost a whimper, she raised herself on tiptoe and let go of the blanket, curling both arms around his neck and pressing herself against the hard planes of his chest.
Anthony didn’t need further prompting. His mouth opened on hers, lips sliding, tongue invading, stroking, playing. Feverishly, almost unconsciously, she rubbed her peaked nipples against the rough linen of his shirt, each pass sending an exquisite bolt of lightning directly between her legs. His hands slid round to cup her bare bottom, pulling her against that part of him that showed her just how much he wanted her. The feel of the hardness at the juncture of her thighs had George moaning at the blissful unsatisfied pleasure. She pressed, rubbed and squirmed against him until finally he groaned against her mouth and held her still.
‘Hold, love,’ he murmured, his voice almost growling. When she would have protested, his lips began tracing a fiery path down her jawline to her throat sending shivers down to her toes. She was panting now, almost delirious with the need for some kind of release. Then, suddenly, he slipped one hand in between them and used his thumb to stroke the hard little pebble of her nipple. She cried out, throwing her head back at the exquisite shock of sensation, grinding herself against the hardness in his breeches.
‘Anthony...’she began. Then the breath left her body in a woosh as he bent his head and closed his lips over her nipple.
George shuddered from the exquisite pleasure of it and heard herself gasping,‘Please…’but she couldn’t complete the sentence. She was lost in a world of sensation and a pleasure she’d never even dreamed could exist. But it wasn’t enough. She gripped his shoulders, crying out as he transferred his attention to her other nipple.
At the same time, he moved his hand downward until he reached the mound between her legs, then, shockingly slipped one finger right into where she was wet and aching, his thumb tracing a circle just above it.‘Anthony… yes,’she keened as the sensation spilled over, her body jerking violently with the force of her release. At length, as her tremors subsided, he pulled her back into him, cradling her head against his chest.
For a while, George didn’t speak, simply revelled in the feel of his hard warmth. But eventually, Anthony stepped back and stared at her, his chest rising and falling as though he’d just run a race, but his face unreadable. Inexorably, her eyes were drawn to the large bulge still evident in his breeches.
‘I reckon I can do the same fer you if yer want,’ she murmured.
