She did and the erotic sight threatened his control. He kneaded and squeezed, and her hands tightened on his. He moved beneath her, and the familiar rush started deep. Not ready. He pulled his hands from her breasts, and used his thumb to press against the apex of her sex. The reaction was if he’d fired his musket—she jerked, but with his free hand, he quickly held her hip in place. Her eyes shut and her pants grew frantic.
“That’s it, love. Higher. Reach for it. I’m here to catch you.” He kept up the low commentary until her cries careened in a high-pitched wail, and he felt her pulsing against his cock. She fell across his chest.
His climax hit hard. His mind blanked, his vision darkened and shot with shards of brilliant white as he pumped every last of his seed up into Gabriella’s supple body.
Sweat slicked both of them. He cupped the back of her head. Heavy breathing echoing, and scratching. Scratching? Next came the pathetic whine.
He took her hand and pressed his lips on her palm. “Your chocolate is cold, madam. Might I suggest we rise to break our fast?
An unexpected giggle erupted against his chest. “I think we are long past that, my lord.” Shockingly, her soft husky tone stirred his cock. Again. Impossible. It seemed his body was making up for lost years of self-imposed celibacy.
His laughter and groan intermingled. “I fear I’ve created a monster.” He took her mouth again, but the whine beyond the sitting room door, had him pushing Gabriella to his side. “Your dog,” he said sitting up, “is short on proper etiquette.”
Gales of her laughter filled the chamber.
This was the woman he’d envisioned himself married to all those months ago. Bemused, and certain a silly grin matching a flowering warmth, filled him with an emotion he couldn’t quite convince himself to label. He left the bed, to let in a sulky Lady Macbeth, endowed with a feeling of great hope for their future.
If he could keep her safe.
~~~
James used his sternest glare on Lars Herold, his man of affairs. The two of them had served on the peninsula together. “Don’t let her out of your sight. Your position is at stake.”
“I can hardly follow her into the modiste’s shop,” Lars pointed out.
The statement, a reasonable one, frustrated James. “You should consider taking on a female business partner.”
The appalled expression on Lars’s face was almost humorous.
A sudden grin hit James. “You don’t care for the idea? Think of it, man. You could double your income.” He hated the notions Liverpool had planted in his head. He waved out a hand. “Just note where she is at all times. And for god’s sake, keep out of sight.” It would be much too suspicious for James to accompany her. Husbands did not parade Soho Square and Bond Street with their wives.
“And if I should observe something out of the ordinary?”
“Send word immediately. Frankly, I don’t anticipate anything out of the ordinary, but you know Liverpool, arse that he is.”
Lars nodded. Such was the testament to their long-term friendship.
Eighteen
Gabby sat at her escritoire, brushing the quill’s feather back and forth across her nose, a blank sheet of vellum glaring at her. Determination to make Bentick pay for what he’d done to Mabel flayed her skin. She hadn’t quite worked out the logistics on delivery, but something would present itself. It always did. After a long contemplating moment, and staring at the wordless page, she put quill to paper.
Dearest Lord Bentick,
Congratulations on your growing family. It appears to be increasing by leaps and bounds. Unfortunately, there is much desired regarding your care for these new additions. Especially egregious, is your aggression in procuring said family. I expect you will attend the Faulks musicale two nights hence. Therefore, you will place two-hundred pounds in the shroud of bushes just to the north of the fountain in the Berkley Square Garden by nine of the clock, sir. If you fail in this duty, rest assured an announcement congratulating you on your good fortune will flood the ballroom.
Yrs,
An Avenging Angel.
Satisfied, Gabby dusted the note then folded it. The Avenging Angel was a nice touch, she decided. Thank you, Mabel. She took the wax stick from the tinderbox and lit the wick from the nearby candle. She dripped a thick mass on the missive’s fold, then used her thumb to seal it, bypassing Huntley’s identifying stamp. There was no need for Bentick in knowing who she was.
Rose’s husband, Stanford, flitted through her mind and her thoughts turned grim. The baron’s attentiveness to Rose at the theater the few nights before disconcerted her beyond reason. He’d seemed so sincere. More disconcerting was her staunch sister’s acclamation to his abhorrent treatment of her. Growing up, Gabby recalled distinctly, Rose never letting anyone run roughshod over her. Not their father, nor their brother, and certainly not the sisters.
Gabby’s lips compressed. There wasn’t much she could do for Rose. Still, uneasiness swirled through her, wondering if Huntley would feel the same of her after a time. A shudder rippled her body from her neck to her toes.
Disgusted with her thoughts, she dropped the stick of wax, snatched up the Bentick missive, and slid it in her reticule.
Nineteen
