Lock, Stock, and Barrel

 

CARRICK EYED THE DOOR through which Juliet had vanished. Something clearly bothered the lass.

“Carrick?” His mother knocked louder.

He huffed an impatient breath and reached the door in three long strides, then flung it open.

His mother’s lips were pressed into a thin line of disapproval. “Carrick, you must bid you guests farewell. It’s the least you can do under the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” he repeated.

The dowager’s lips parted as if to reply but then, apparently thinking better of it, she turned and swept back down the hall.

Carrick followed in a pensive mood. Juliet was downright skittish. Why? Och, the matter of the contract didn’t help matters, but surely, something more bothered her.

They reached the drawing room and he began the long series of farewells, absently participating in the ‘oh, let’s do this again, soon’ conversations to the round of ‘thank you’s’ and a good hearty ‘farewell’ when he finally herded them to the door. With his thoughts revolving around Juliet, he found the torturous ritual even more tedious than usual.

Finally, the last carriage departed, and his mother headed toward her suite. Carrick turned to the stairs that led to Juliet’s room.

“What happened to Juliet?” Catherine said.

He glanced over his shoulder and slowed to allow his sister to catch up with him.

“If I may say so, brother dear, your prospective brides were rather catty tonight, especially Audrey. Did you see the way she shoved Juliet into your arms? Oh, you couldn’t have. You were wearing the blindfold. Well, let me assure you, Audrey was trying to be the last…”

Prospective brides. He winced. What mistress would enjoy the company of her lover’s prospective brides? He’d been so eager to see her, he hadn’t given her perspective thought. What a fool he’d been.

“And Mother said…” Catherine prattled in the background.

Mother. Her determination to see him wed was the root of his problem. It was time to get his mother and her interference out of his life.

An idea flashed across his mind. He reached the stairs and paused. His sister swung around the newel post at the base of the stairs. “What would you say about a trip to London and an allowance to spend?” he interrupted her stream of complaints.

From the sudden shine in her eyes, he knew her answer.

“London?” she breathed.

“And let’s add a sea holiday at Brighton as well, shall we?” he suggested. That southern-most tip of England was as far away from Lennoxlove House as he could get without dropping his mother into the sea.

“Mother loves the sea,” Catherine gasped. “Oh, it will be wonderful, Carrick. I am so weary of the country. Mother was complaining of it herself, just yesterday.”

She hurried up the stairs ahead of him, clearly headed for their mother’s suite to share the news.

Carrick chuckled. Whatever money they spent would be well worth their absence. He jogged up the remaining stairs and continued up another floor to Juliet’s room. Finally, they could be alone. He could hardly wait. He took the hall in long strides, his cock hardening with each step.

He reached her room and hesitated. No light shone under the door. Surely, she wasn’t asleep already. He rapped softly on the door. No answer. He grasped the knob and turned. The door was unlocked. Slowly, he opened the door a crack and peeked inside.

In the dim moonlight streaming through the window, he discerned Juliet beneath the blankets on the bed. She didn’t stir. Disappointment threaded through him. His cock was so hard it hurt. He stepped inside and padded to the foot of the bed, but when he caught sight of the frown etched on her face, his primal thoughts fled.

Aye, this issue of a wife had and would only worsen matters between them. He’d have to think of an arrangement that would satisfy them both. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—lose Juliet. Not over something as trifling as a wife.

With a rueful sigh, Carrick unbuttoned his shirt. He should go to his own bed… He pushed his breeches down over his hips, then stepped out of them and slipped under the covers beside Juliet. It felt so right to have her by his side. He couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

He didn’t expect to find sleep so easily, but her rhythmic breathing soothed like a lullaby, and his eyes drifted shut.

* * *

Carrick awoke when Juliet stirred, and opened his eyes to the sun cresting the tree line beyond the bedroom window. Juliet’s hair fanned across the pillow and the slight frown from the night before still marred her brow. He propped onto an elbow and brushed his lips against that worry crease.

Her eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning, sweeting,” he murmured.

Her face relaxed.

Carrick brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “Shall we spend the day in bed, love?”

She laughed and the warmth in her tone made the blood surge straight to his cock. She abruptly tensed and the frown lines returned.

“There’s too much sewing to be done.” She sat up. The movement caused her shift to slip over her shoulder and expose her white skin.

“Forget the sewing.” He settled back amongst the pillows. “Take off your shift and sit on me, lass.” She glanced at the sheet, tented by his cock, and his shaft further thickened.

She sent him a sidelong glance and for a long moment he thought she meant to refuse. Then she got to her knees and ever so slowly pulled the hem of her shift up and over her shoulders.

Eyes locked with his, she tossed the garment on the floor. “I’m already late. Why not a few minutes more?”

“Minutes?” Carrick snorted, recalling her taunt that he’d last only minutes in her bed. Ah, he still had so much to teach her. He tracked his gaze over her breasts. Her nipples protruded in a way that begged to be suckled.

She shook her hair. The mass of silky strands tumbled over her shoulders as she twisted her fingers in the sheets and slowly tugged it off his body. He drew a long, ragged breath as the soft material slid over his flesh.

She didn’t immediately mount him, like he wanted. Instead, she traced a finger up his thigh and chest, then back down again. Her feather-light touch along with the wait threatened to drive him mad.

“Sit on me,” he demanded again.

A tiny smile played at the corner of her mouth as she swung a slim leg over his hips and straddled him. He cupped her breasts and gently squeezed. She closed her eyes and moaned. Gently, Carrick tweaked her nipples. Still, she didn’t slide down onto him. Instead, she leaned into him. The curls between her legs tickled his shaft, then her mons bumped him. Pleasure streaked through him.

“I need you, lass, please,” he begged.

She wiggled her hips. “How much?”

“Desperately.” He fought the temptation to grab her hips and slam her down onto him.

“I see,” she murmured, lowering her body with excruciating slowness until the tip of his shaft nudged her wet entrance. “Perhaps I should take pity on you and —”

Carrick seized her hips and shoved her down as he thrust.

She drew a sharp breath. He began to buck beneath her. He drove deeper. She braced her hands on his chest and ground down on his hard length.

Her breath quickened. Worry followed satisfaction. The way her channel closed around his cock, he wouldn’t last long. He clenched his jaw and willed his desire to orgasm into submission. He slid his thumb between her wet folds and swirled it over her swollen nub. She rocked against him and he exerted herculean effort to delay his pleasure.

Her muscles abruptly went rigid and her channel tightened around him. Carrick lost control. A moan ripped from his lungs. Blinding pleasure spasmed his body and he emptied his seed deep inside her.

When the last ripple of pleasure faded, she collapsed against his chest and he cradled her close as he ran his fingers through her hair. She was so beautiful. He wanted the moment to last forever.

A sudden knock on the door caused them both to start.

“Miss Thatcher?” a maid called. “Are you awake?”

Carrick smothered a grin as Juliet slid off his body and hopped from the bed.

“Just a moment, please,” she called.

He lay back on the pillows, folded his arms behind his head and watched her scramble into her shift.

Juliet hurried to the door and opened it a crack. “It’s the dowager,” the maid informed. “She wishes to see you in the breakfast parlor, at once.”

Carrick tensed.

“She says to hurry.”

Juliet promised to come immediately and closed the door. She faced Carrick, her face white. “The dowager,” she whispered, and darted to the armoire to select a light green muslin day dress.

Carrick rose and scooped his breeches from the floor, then pulled them on over his hips, one eye on Juliet. She looked terrified. He scowled. Could his mother be tormenting the lass? He retrieved his shirt from the floor and tossed it on the bed before crossing  to where Juliet wriggled into her gown.

“Allow me.” He tied the ribbons on the back as he studied her face in the armoire’s mirror. The frown lines had returned. “Don’t fret so, lass. What’s between us is not my mother’s concern.”

She lifted her eyes to his in the mirror. “I know the rules, Carrick—and I know better than to break them.”

She pulled free and grabbed the brush from the vanity to give her hair a few quick strokes before turning in the mirror for a final inspection. Satisfied, she hurried back to him, rose on tiptoes, and gave him a quick peck on the check before she dashed out the door.

Carrick drew a thoughtful breath.

She knew better than to break the rules, eh?

He had to do something about that.