Chapter Thirteen
Despite the warnings in her heart that she was falling far too deep with Rhys Tremayne, the very next day, Georgiana returned to the seaside with Nicolas, Calliope, and Barnaby in tow. A happy Nicolas had run barefoot in the sand until he had exhausted himself. He’d been a bit hesitant with Rhys initially, but it had melted away alarmingly fast after Rhys had shrugged from his coat and rolled in the sand with the large wolfhounds. At times, they played in the shallow part of the sea, the water barely passing their shins. Georgiana had stayed by the shore and watched them, simply enjoying the shrieks of pleasure that were emitted by her son and the echoing barks from their dogs as they chased birds, and Nicolas.
Barnaby barked and sprinted in the sand toward a large rock in the sea. He growled and released a series of barks.
“Mamma, look!” Nicolas pointed toward the left at a large stone with a mess of reeds floating on the surface of the sea and butting against the stone.
Without hesitation, Rhys waded toward the tangled mess, and God in heavens, her son waded out with him. She expected Rhys to shoo him back, but instead, he held Nicolas’s arm as they pushed toward the tangled mess a few feet from them. When the water got too deep, her son climbed atop Rhys’s shoulders, and she could hear his excited chatter from where she stood. They worked together, head bent over whatever it was, until they dragged it onto the sand.
Georgiana walked toward the duo, who were too engrossed in what they were doing to pay her any attention. It was some sort of bird, and its beak and feathers were tangled in fisherman’s netting.
“Is it alive?” her son whispered.
“It seems that way. Though I believe the wing may be broken. It is bent at an unnatural angle.”
“Oh.” Her son sounded forlorn at the realization. “So, should we put it back?”
Rhys stilled for a moment. “In the sea?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Nicolas’s face scrunched into a frown. “But the wing is broken. It won’t live long with a broken piece.”
“We should still untangle it and assess its chances.”
“Because we must help things weaker than us?”
Rhys’s lips twitched. “Yes.”
“That is what my mamma says. To be a good duke, I must be kind and help others. I think she means birds, too.”
Rhys glanced at her, before turning his regard back to her son. “I believe she meant them, as well.”
Her son nodded solemnly, and they worked to untangle the bird, which lay still, barely moving. They worked diligently together until several minutes passed and the bird was free. It squawked fiercely, and Nicolas jerked then giggled.
“I think she is happy we are freeing her.”
Georgiana missed Rhys’s reply, being too enraptured by the glowing admiration on her son’s face as he peered up at Rhys. Not even with Simon had she ever seen her son wear that expression. Her throat closed as they finally freed the bird from the last tangle. The bird stood and shook itself, and her son exclaimed his happiness at seeing that the bird’s wings were intact. After a few halting movements, the bird launched away into the sky, flapping its wings as fast as it could.
Her eyes collided with Rhys’s, he grinned, then winked, and Georgiana laughed. She felt wonderful, and at this moment there was nowhere else she would prefer to be. The realization was exhilarating and frightening. This affection and friendship was much harder to bear than passion and would only make their parting harder.
…
A few days after returning to Kent, Georgiana had traveled to town. Simon had taken Nicolas with him to Lincolnshire for a couple weeks, and her son had been more than happy to go, thrilled with his break from the schoolroom. She uncurled from the sofa and lowered The Castle of Wolfenbach, a wonderful gothic book she had been reading.
A letter had been delivered a few minutes past, and she had been reluctant to open it, sensing it was from Rhys. The last time she had seen him was a week ago, and every day she thought of him and their time at the beach. She was not at all comfortable with how he dominated her thoughts. He was stealing her common sense. Determined to ignore the letter, she once again picked up her novel.
After staring at the same page for several minutes, with a sigh of defeat, she closed the leather-bound volume. Georgiana leaned forward and plucked the letter from the walnut table and tore it open.
My carriage will arrive for you by seven. Be in disguise. R
She was at a loss at the pure pleasure blasting through her heart. She would not attend, of course. The very idea was outrageous. It wasn’t even an invitation, but an order. Who was he to order her? Why was she so effortlessly intrigued by the man? And what did he mean by being in disguise? It was a terrible idea for her to find Rhys and his unorthodox command in the guise of an invitation to be so alluring, but she found herself throwing the note into the fireplace and rushing up the stairs to prepare.
Almost two hours later, the carriage he had sent for her pulled up outside of a large brick building. Georgiana inhaled to steady her nerves and peered through the carriage curtains. Rhys was leaning against the side of the building, a few paces from the main entrance. Though he managed to keep himself cloaked in shadows, she knew it was he. His intense regard settled on the carriage.
Drunken laughter tugged her gaze away to another carriage just arriving. A few men spilled forth and tumbled into the club after showing something to the man who stood at the entrance. Rhys pushed away from the wall and prowled over to the carriage. Taking a deep breath, she waited for him. The door opened, and his large frame blotted the meager light from the gas lamp in the corner.
“You came,” he said, his voice rich with approval.
He held out his hand, and she slipped hers into his. He all but lifted her from the carriage. She braced her hands against his chest for balance as he settled her on the ground. Rhys’s eyes blazed with fierce satisfaction and something far more disturbing that she was unable to name.
Without taking his gaze from her, he spoke. “Go.”
“Yes, sir,” the coachman said, and the equipage rumbled into motion.
“Where are we?”
She had recognized when the coach had rumbled past Brooks into an area she was unfamiliar with.
“A gaming hell.”
Shock stabbed through her. Georgiana had known the man was scandalous, but he still managed to surprise her. “And you thought to bring me here?”
“I thought you would relish being improper.”
“To a place of sin where gentlemen make pacts with the devil and lose their souls…and fortunes?” Blast her irrepressible heart, she was intrigued. Never in her wildest imagination had she envisioned herself in a place such as this.
He chuckled, the sound rich and so very appealing.
“I’m a bit nervous,” she admitted with a laugh that trembled.
“There are no rules in this part of the world, and your disguise is impenetrable.” Rhys’s gray eyes appeared dark and stormy when he met her regard. “This is a piece of my world. This club belongs to my closest friend, Riordan O’Malley. You are safe here.”
“Does he—?”
“I’ve told no one about you.”
Her shoulders relaxed.
The dratted man was just staring at her. “You look lovely, Georgiana.”
She warmed at the gruff compliment. “Thank you.”
“Why did you come? I never really thought you would accept.”
“Why did you invite me?” she countered, unable to speak of the loneliness that chilled her soul and fled when she was with him.
Rhys lowered his head so his lips brushed against her ear. “I missed you. The memory of your laughter, your taste, your passion haunted me beyond reason for the past several days. My dreams are plagued with memories of our night together. I’ve concluded, duchess, you have been indelibly seared into my thoughts.”
Oh. She tried and failed to suppress the burst of pleasure that flowered inside her. “I…I missed you, too, quite dreadfully if we are being honest.”
She felt his smile.
“When we go inside, I have a private room on the upper floor. The first thing I want to do is to take you there and fuck you. I need you too much to be gentle.”
She jerked at his arousing statement. Good heavens. An unsteady sigh escaped her. No one had ever spoken to her in such a frank manner, and she suddenly wanted to burst forth with all the things she had wondered about but had been told were too shocking for ladies to know. “Tell me…what is fucking?” The words felt so odd spilling from her lips, but from the lascivious gleam in his eyes, he appreciated the repeated vulgarity.
“That is me taking you without any worry about your delicate, ladylike sensibilities. I won’t be gentle, but I promise you’ll enjoy every second of our coming together.”
The very idea of being intimate within that building in the manner he described was positively indecent and distressingly titillating. She lowered her voice to a whisper though they were alone. “You’ve gone mad.” And so had she, for she was not fleeing from this burgeoning wildness stirring inside.
I’m the Duchess of Hardcastle, she tried to remind herself, hoping to draw upon the austere lectures her husband had given on duty and propriety. She failed abysmally.
A challenge glowed in his eyes. “Is that a no…or a yes, duchess?”
Her mouth went dry, and she let out a long, uneven breath. She was a slave to the promise of the pleasure he would give her. “Yes.”
It was his turn to jerk. The dratted man had not anticipated her answer. But how could she say no? Her days and nights had been haunted by him, and regret had coated her tongue that she hadn’t made love with him in Hastings.
Without speaking, he gripped her gloved hand so that it rested atop his. They strolled toward the large door as if they were a lord and lady attending a fashionable ball. The door swung open without his knocking, and then Georgiana stepped into sin.
The outside of the gaming hell was quite unremarkable, but once inside, Georgiana could only stare. It was lavish, sinful, and a place she should be running from, not walking slowly into as if in a daze. The dim, firelit interior of the club made it difficult to try and ascertain anyone’s identity. Though she doubted anyone from her society was present, the revelry and raucousness were startling and astonishing. Georgiana wasn’t sure what she had expected when she’d acted on the reckless impulse to proceed into a notorious club with Rhys. Even though she was incognito in a dark-brown wig, artfully styled and affixed firmly atop her head, she felt a queer sense of vulnerability. She had never stepped so far from the comfort of polite society before. She gently fixed the half mask covering her eyes, nose, and upper cheeks.
She stifled her gasp as she recognized the prime minister, the foreign secretary, and the Earl of Mansfield. They all nodded and tipped their glasses to Rhys upon his entrance as if he were a lord and as if in this place they were equals. It was power paying tribute to power, and she began to feel a sense of how much influence he wielded.
Without speaking with anyone, he tugged her through the throng, toward a hallway. Tension and anticipated knotted in her stomach. They traversed the hallway, and then came upon a silent and dark staircase. They clambered upstairs until they reached the landing. His pace was unhurried, and she wanted to swat him, for she felt uncertain yet shockingly aroused.
He paused at the fourth door on the left, fished keys from his pocket, and opened the door. She was ushered inside, and she halted in the center of the room. She had assumed his room was a bedchamber, but this was an office of sorts, a large oak desk dominating the room, with a sofa flush along one wall, a large iron safe, and a fire burning low in the grate.
The door closed with a decisive snick, and she spun to face him. He cupped her cheeks between his large hands, bent his head, and crushed her mouth beneath his own. The subtle hint of brandy flavored her tongue, and she moaned in delight at his fierceness as he kissed with an eroticism that was spellbinding.
“Why is it,” he said against her mouth, “that I cannot seem to get enough of you?” He walked her backward until her back bumped gently into the wall.
Her fingers spread over the thick swell of his arousal, and he groaned. He gripped her gown and lifted it up her thighs. She wanted him to touch her, stroke her with those demanding hands. He nudged her legs wider, and she grabbed onto his shoulders. He stooped to his haunches, grabbed her buttocks in his strong arms, and pulled her lower body forward. Then he brought the burning heat of his mouth against her wet core. “Rhys!”
“You’re so damn sweet…I cannot get enough of you,” he murmured with a hot swipe of his tongue through her soaked slit. He didn’t lick or lightly flick his tongue but kissed her slowly intimately, drawing her nub between his teeth and lashing it with his tongue. His fiendishly clever tongue pleasured her until she was hoarse from crying his name. A storm gathered inside of her, so intense her thighs started to tremble, the shuddering working its way through her body. It didn’t take long for her to break apart with a muffled scream.
He stood and spun her around so she faced the wall. Her breath panted as she waited for his next touch. There were several rustles, then he was pressed against her back. He pushed her skirts higher up to her waist, baring her bottom to the air. He kissed the side of her neck, and she canted her head, granting him more access to the sensitive spot. She shivered when he sank his teeth gently into her skin. Rhys spread her legs wider, she felt him dip a little behind her, and then something hard was notched at her entrance.
He eased inside her gently despite his promise of roughness, and a soft cry escaped her because, despite her wetness, her muscles quivered to accept the thick length stretching her channel.
“Brace your hands against the wall.”
She complied. He snaked a hand below her stomach and pinched her clitoris between his fingers.
“Oh!” Her entire body shook.
He withdrew slowly, so only the head of his cock nudged her entrance, and then plunged inside her again with such piercing depth and strength, she was jerked to the tip of her toes. “Rhys!” she screamed at the shockingly erotic impact of his entrance.
He pressed down on her clitoris, his fingers dragging over her sensitive nub, over and over, in tandem to the quick, deep plunges inside her slick core. Sensation gradually became a raw, sweet agony. She needed…she craved, and a wildness rose inside the depths of her being. “More!” the words exploded, shocking her with their unexpectedness though they came from her.
A low laugh, heated and sensual, pulsed from him. Rhys’s hands tightened on her hips, and his hips snapped into her deep and hard. She sobbed at the sharp bite of pleasure-pain, her voice fractured with need. He set up a raw, sensual rhythm. In and out he stroked, alternating hard and gently, his fingers never easing up on the tormenting pleasure of flicking, sometimes running teasingly, other times pressing against her clitoris.
His breath fanned her ear. “Do you remember what I said I wanted tonight?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
“Tell me.” His voice was a dark rumble, filled with a carnal promise she couldn’t begin to interpret.
“You would fu…” She wetted her lips, blushing. “You would fuck me tonight.”
A groan of approval hummed from him at her crudity. One of his hands snaked around her waist to anchor her tightly to him.
“That fucking starts now,” he murmured roughly. His voice was almost a physical caress as it stroked over her senses.
Then his hips took up a pounding rhythm as he stroked into her over and over with increasing depth and force. Georgiana was unprepared for the wild way he started to love her. She jerked onto the tips of her toes, caught between wanting to escape his rough, piercing thrusts and needing him to never stop.
“That’s it,” he growled in carnal approval. “Take all of me, just like that.” He drove inside her even harder, while rubbing her clitoris, the friction almost unbearable.
Somewhere in the unknown recesses of her being, a wanton heat ignited, flared upward, and burned her with ecstasy. Their untamed loving stripped her of any modesty she’d once possessed. “More, Rhys!”
He complied. Pleasure and erotic pain combined and melded until she did not know where one ended and the other began. Yet she whimpered and pushed against him, her hips rolling, moans spilling from her. Sensations peaked in her belly, and Georgiana trembled at the heat building inside. She lost her breath, lost her sanity. Her climax swelled and grew inside until it expanded and burst forth in white-hot bliss, cascading delight through her body.
With a harsh groan, he tightened his hands and emptied his release inside her still-shivering body. They stayed together, their breathing heavy as they regained their equilibrium. The embers in the fireplace burned low, and a slight chill danced across her body. He eased from her gently. She stood bereft of words, embarrassed at the carnal creature she’d just been. Oh God, she’d begged him to be rougher.
Her entire body flushed as he tenderly cleaned her with a handkerchief. She dreaded facing him and remained still with her hands braced against the wall. He slowly pulled the length of her gown down her quivering thighs.
She took a bracing breath, then turned around. “I…I must go.”
His eyes searched her face. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
He stared down at her for long, silent moments. “Were you pleased?”
“Absurdly so,” she said flatly, wanting to hide from the need building inside her for this man.
His expression filled with lust and tender emotion. “Don’t go cold. I know how unsettling this all seems. I feel it, too,” he said softly.
Georgiana pulled back as though she’d been physically struck, then she froze. She had been retreating, embarrassed with her wantonness. Ladies did not wail their lover’s name and beg for more. And she had done just that, the second time, and once again she was preparing to flee from the jumble of emotions twisting through her.
“You are blushing,” he said gently, brushing a tendril damp with sweat behind her ear.
She placed a finger against his mouth. “I don’t feel cold with you,” she admitted, hating the very idea of him believing it to be so. “It’s the opposite. You make me crave…so much more than a sexual liaison.”
He smiled and pulled her to him, pressing a kiss to her brow. “Don’t run. Stay with me, for a few more hours.”
She allowed him to simply hold her for several moments until her racing heart quieted and she no longer felt the chaotic cravings stirring in her soul.
“Stay with me?” he murmured when she stirred.
“Yes.”
His lips curved into a smile loaded with sensual challenge. “The night is young,” he drawled. “There are many more pleasures to indulge in.”
She smiled. “I’m the new person here…what delights are there to pander to?”
“I find that I want to take you out onto the dance floor, duchess, and dance the night away.”
“Dance?” she parroted.
“Tonight, we dance, tomorrow…come what may tomorrow.”
“Show me.”
Warmth glowed in the depths of his eyes. He tugged her out of the private room, down the stairs into the crush of rowdy dancers. They entered the life of the party and wound through the crowd. Champagne flowed, laughter pulsed and rode the air. Couples danced, some made love or what approximated it, and others just laughed with their heads thrown back, enjoying the thrill of the night before seeking somewhere secluded to indulge in pleasures. A shriek came from a woman to their left, and the hum of conversation seemed to rise, the music seemed to pulse louder, bodies gyrating faster.
A buxom and beautiful lady squealed Rhys’s name and flung herself at him. He released Georgiana’s hand to catch her, and instead of pushing her aside, they launched into a dance, one charged with tension but that seemed like glorious fun. After several shouts of raucous cheer, several more couples joined them.
A swift tug of envy caught her off guard. She wanted to be the one in his arms, dancing…dancing to whatever reel had them spinning so madly around each other and with such glorious abandon. Who was this man that laughed and danced with such passion?
The same one that made me lose a part of my soul just moments ago…
She watched him, a wide smile playing on her lips, her feet tapping to the melodious tune piping in the air.
“Who are you?” a rough voice, tinged with the lyrical accent of the Irish, asked.
She turned her head left, amazed at the broad shoulders of the man beside her. Riordan O’Malley. Dark-green eyes ensnared her, and instinctively she recognized she faced a man used to being obeyed. Power and danger fairly oozed from him, but she only smiled.
“That is not your business,” she drawled with all her inbred aristocratic haughtiness.
Dark eyebrows winged upward. “You’re a nob,” he sneered. “What the fuck is Rhys doing with a fancy bit of quality like you?”
“Is your vulgarity supposed to mortify me, Mr. O’Malley?” she said, taking pleasure in the knowledge of his identity. “You could only rattle me if you acted in a gentlemanlike manner, I expected uncouthness.”
A cool warning glowed in his gaze, though his lips twitched. “Be careful, you are in my world.”
She drew herself up. “In my world, a simple word from me can see your establishment closed and ordinances levied against you. You are an insect, and one I will squash if you dare to threaten me again when you have no cause but your boorish attitude and prejudices.”
Amusement glinted in his eyes, and it was evident her counterthreat had no impact on him. Although if she were being honest, she was unconcerned because she knew Rhys would allow no one to harm her. The awareness felt right…and frightening.
“Rhys has been restless for days on end, tonight even more so, then he went outside and reentered with you, and all that dangerous tension disappeared. I am curious as to why the only woman in disguise in my establishment is the one to produce this miracle in a man who is for all intents and purposes my brother.”
Delight rushed through her, and she did not mask her reaction by the man’s intense frown.
“It’s mutually assured madness, I see,” Mr. O’Malley drawled and then melted away into the crowd.
A hand gripped her waist and spun her about. Rhys.
“Dance with me, my lady.”
“I…don’t know the steps,” she said with a light laugh. “What is it?”
“It’s an Irish reel. I’ll lead, and you follow my command.”
The flowing strains of the music drifting made her want to move to its rhythm. She sank into a deep curtsy, feeling positively wicked. She stepped into his arms. He spun around her, left, then right, their movements evocative and thrilling. She was a quick learner, and in short time, she was mimicking his steps and swaying her hips with vigor to the music. The crowd started clapping, and then men broke from their partners…and started to dance. Their feet flew over the floor in quick, powerful, yet so-graceful staccato beats. She laughed, delighted with their display. They broke formation to claim back their partners, and a few seconds later, Georgiana was tapping ungracefully beside Rhys and laughing so much her side hurt.
With a shout of laughter, their reel ended. She even felt a bout of dizziness and held out her hand to steady herself. He caught her, a powerful but warm masculine wall of support. Tipping her head to meet his eyes, she encountered a gaze warm with something more than passion. Admiration, perhaps.
She’d never had an evening quite like this. “Thank you, Rhys…that…that was marvelous. It has been ages since I’ve enjoyed myself so thoroughly.”
His laughing breath touched her brow. “We’re not done yet.”
The pulse of the music beat in her blood, and she found herself once again swaying to the rhythm of the fiddle. Suddenly he was there, holding her scandalously close in a bastardized version of the elegant waltz. She gasped when his hips rolled suggestively onto hers, and the crowd hooted and cheered. Breathing hard, she turned her head and a moan spilled from her when his teeth nipped along her throat over her fluttering pulse.
They twirled and dipped, swayed and swirled in a dance that was the waltz, yet far more sensual. Georgiana felt wild with abandon, wanton, cherished as Rhys moved with her. He was all male yet so incredibly beautiful.
“I wish this night would not end.”
He laughed low and deep, the sound rippling through her. “We will have dozens more.”
Only dozens? She was helpless against the sweeping sensations working through her body. Georgiana swallowed, hating the lump in her throat. Pressing even closer to Rhys, she freed her mind and swayed with him. The night flew away at a very unusual rate as she danced with her lover, swept into a world of pure feeling.