The Leopard Prince

She squirmed under the sensations he was arousing and stifled a giggle. “Wouldn’t that be bestiality?”



“No.” Harry took her wrists in one hand and used the other to whip off her covers. “I’m afraid you are mistaken in that, my lady.” He flung up her shift, exposing her nude legs. She spread them invitingly, and he settled his hips there, making her gasp at the contact. “Bestiality,” Harry murmured in her ear, “is congress between a human and a common animal, such as a horse or bull or rooster. Sexual activity with a leopard, on the other hand, is merely exotic.” He nudged his hips, burrowing the length of his penis between her folds and touching her just there.



George’s eyes closed. “A rooster?” “In theory.” He licked along her neck. “But how could a rooster—?”



He used his free hand to pinch her nipple.



She moaned and arched beneath him, spreading her knees wider.



“You seem very interested in roosters,” he purred. Harry rubbed his thumb over her nipple.



He hadn’t moved his hips since that first time. George tried to bump hers up to encourage him, but his full weight lay heavily on her, and she realized he wasn’t going to move until he wanted to. “Actually, you could say I’m more interested in one cock in particular.”



“My lady.” He raised his head, and she could see the censorious frown on his lips. “I’m afraid I do not approve of such language.”



She felt a gush of erotic desire. “I’m sorry.” She lowered her eyelashes demurely. “Whatever can I do to win your approval?”



There was silence.



George began to wonder if she had overstepped some boundary. But then she glanced up and saw Harry trying to repress a smile.



He bent his head until they were nose-to-nose. “It won’t be easy to get in my good graces again.” He flicked her nipple with a fingernail.



“No?” “No.” Almost casually he tugged the ribbon on her chemise and pulled it down. He cupped her breast in his hand. His palm felt incredibly hot. “You will have to work very hard.” He flexed his hips, sliding between her folds.



“Mmm.”



Harry stopped moving. “My lady?” “What?” George muttered irritably. She nudged up, but he wouldn’t move.



“Pay attention.” He pinched her nipple again. “I am.” She opened her eyes wide to prove it.



He moved again. Agonizingly slow. She could feel the head of his erection slipping down, almost to her entrance and then back up to kiss her clitoris.



“You want to win my approval,” he reminded her. “Yes.” She would have agreed to just about anything he said.



“And how are you going to do that?”



She had an inspiration. “By pleasing you, sir?”



He appeared to give that serious thought. All the while, his cock rubbed against her and his hand fondled her breast. “Well, yes, that might be one way to do it. Are you sure that’s the way you want to choose?”



“Oh, yes.” George nodded fervently. “And how will you please me?” His voice had lowered to that deep tone that meant he was very aroused.



“By tupping you, sir?”



Harry froze. She was afraid for a moment that she might have shocked him.



Then he lifted his hips. “That’ll do.” And he thrust himself into her, hard and fast.



She felt a scream building in her throat as he pounded her into the mattress, all trace of playfulness wiped from his face. She wrapped her legs high over his hips, digging her heels into his buttocks. He’d let go of her wrists, and she dragged his head down by his hair to kiss him. Deeply. Ravenously. Desperately.



Please, please, dear Lord, don’t let this be the last time.



He was relentless, and she could feel the explosion building within her, but she held it off, forcing open her eyes. It was important that she see him, that they be together at the end. His face was shining with sweat, his nostrils flared. As she watched, his rhythm broke. She let go of his hair to clutch at his shoulders, her entire being focused on keeping him within her.



And she felt it, at the end.



He reared back, his hips still locked with hers. She could feel his cock jump within her. Feel the spurt and warmth of his seed filling her. She arched her head and gave herself over to the waves of her own release, creaming and flooding with his. It was magnificent, like no other thing she had ever felt, having Harry spend in her body. Tears ran down her temples into her tangled hair. How could she ever let him go after this?



Harry suddenly shifted and tried to withdraw. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”



“Shhh.” George placed her fingers against his mouth, silencing his apology. “I’m increasing.”



Chapter Eighteen



The word increasing seemed to echo around Lady Georgina’s room, bouncing off the china-blue walls and dainty lace bed curtains. For a moment, Harry thought she meant that he’d made her pregnant just now when he’d filled her with his seed. When he’d been seduced by the force of his orgasm and the accompanying surge of his feelings for her.



Love for his Lady Georgina.



Even knowing he had to withdraw, he’d simply been unable to resist the moment. Unable to resist the woman.



Then sense returned. He rolled off Lady Georgina and stared at her. She was pregnant. He felt a spurt of ridiculous anger, hurt, that all his self-debate and worry didn’t in the end even matter.



She was pregnant.



He’d have to marry her. Whether or not he wanted to marry her. Whether he could bring himself to let go and trust in their love. Whether he was able to fit himself into her life, so far out of his experience. All of that was beside the point now. Put simply, it was no longer of any importance. He’d been trapped by his own seed and a woman’s body. He almost felt like laughing. That least-smart part of himself had made the decision for him.



Harry realized that he’d been staring at his lady far too long. Her hopeful expression had closed into one more guarded. He opened his mouth to reassure her when he caught a flicker from the corner of his eye. He raised his head. Yellow and orange lights danced at the window.



He stood up and strode to the window. “What is it?” Lady Georgina called from behind him. In the distance, a pyramid of light lit the night, glowing like something out of hell itself.



“Harry.” He felt Lady Georgina’s fingers on his bare shoulder. “What—?”



“Granville House is burning.” Bennet. Panic, pure and instinctual, flooded his veins.



Lady Georgina gasped. “Oh, my dear Lord.”



Harry whirled and caught his shirt, flinging it on. “I need to go. See if I can help in any way.” Was Bennet asleep in his father’s house tonight?



“Of course.” She bent to pick up his breeches. “I’ll come with you.”



“No.” He snatched the breeches from her hand and tried to control his voice. “No. You must stay here.”



Lady Georgina frowned in that stubborn way of hers. He didn’t have time for this. Bennet needed him now. “But I—” she began. “Listen to me.” Harry finished tucking in his shirt and grabbed his lady’s upper arms. “I want you to do as I tell you. Granville is dangerous. He doesn’t like you. I saw the look he gave you when you took me from his tender care.”



“But surely you’ll need me.”



She wasn’t listening to his words. She thought herself invincible, his beautiful lady, and she was simply going to do as she pleased. Regardless of what he thought. Regardless of Granville. Regardless of the danger to herself and the babe.



Harry felt fear build to an unbearable level inside him. “I don’t need you there.” He shook her. “You’ll only get in the way. You might get yourself killed. Do you understand?”



“I understand you are worried, Harry, but—”



Would she never give up? “Goddamn it!” He frantically looked around for his boots. “I can’t fight the fire and you at the same time. Stay here!”



There they were, half under the bedskirts. He pulled his boots out and stamped them on, then snatched up his coat and waistcoat. He ran to the door. No use going out the window again—all of England would know soon enough that he’d been in his lady’s bed.



He twisted at the door to repeat, “Stay here!”



On his last glimpse of her, Lady Georgina seemed to be pouting.



He thundered down the stairs, pulling on his coat. He would have to do a lot of apologizing when he returned, but he didn’t have time to think of that now. His brother needed him. He dashed to the front door, waking a sleeping footman as he passed, and then he was out in the night. Gravel crunched beneath his boots. He ran around the corner of Woldsly. He’d tied the mare not far from his lady’s window.



Come on. Come on.



The mare was standing in the shadows, dozing. He vaulted into the saddle, startling the horse. He kicked her into a gallop, rounding the manor. By the time they hit the drive, the mare was going flat out. Here in the open, the fire seemed to loom larger in the sky. Even from this distance, he could see the flames leaping into heaven. He thought he smelled the smoke. It looked huge. Was the whole of Granville House engulfed? The mare reached the road and he slowed just enough to make sure there were no obstacles ahead. If Bennet and Will had been inside asleep…



Harry shook the thought away. He would not think until he reached Granville House and saw the damage.



Past the stream, lights glowed in the cottages dotting the hills. The farmers who lived and worked on Granville land were awake and must know of the blaze. But strangely he met no one else hurrying to the fire. Had they gone on ahead or were they huddled inside their cottages, pretending they didn’t see? He topped the rise before the Granville gates, and the wind blew smoke and dancing ashes in his face. The mare was flecked with foam, but he urged her on down the drive.



And then he saw. The blaze had enveloped the stables, but Granville House was yet untouched.



The mare reared at the sight of the fire. Harry fought her down and forced her closer. As they neared, he could hear the shouting of men and the dreadful roar of the flames consuming the stables. Granville prided himself on his horseflesh, and he probably had twenty or more horses stabled here.



Only two horses were outside the stables.



Harry clattered into the yard, unnoticed by the lord or his servants. Men milled, half-dressed, seemingly in a daze. Their blackened faces were weirdly lit by the flames, the whites of eyes and teeth reflecting the glow. A few had formed a line and threw puny buckets of water on the inferno, merely making the monster more angry. In the middle of it all, Silas Granville was a figure out of hell. In his nightshirt, his bare legs sticking out of buckle shoes, his gray hair standing wildly on end, he surged around the courtyard, shaking his fists.



“Get him! Get him!” Granville cuffed a man, sending him sprawling to the cobblestones. “Goddamn all of you! I’ll see you run out of my lands! I’ll see you hung, you filthy curs! Someone get my son!”



Only on the last word did Harry realize a man was trapped in the inferno. He stared at the burning stables. The flames licked hungrily at the walls. Was it Thomas or Bennet?



“Nooo!”



Somehow, over the roaring and shouting, he heard the thin wail. He swung in its direction and saw Will, held physically off the ground by a burly footman. The boy struggled and fought, his gaze fixed on the flames all the while. “Nooo!”



It was Bennet in there.



Harry jumped from his horse and ran to the line of men hauling water. He grabbed a full bucket and up ended it over his own head, gasping as the cold water slapped him.



“Oy!” someone yelled.



Harry ignored the shout and plunged into the stable.



It was like diving into the sun. The heat embraced and overwhelmed him, pulling him greedily down. The water in his hair and clothes hissed as it turned to steam. A black wall of smoke blocked his way. Around him, horses screamed their fear. He smelled ashes and, horribly, burning flesh. And everywhere, over all the rest, the awful flames eating the stable and everything within.