Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (33 page)

Geoffrey winked down at Abigail. “Well, I do say she handled that remarkably well.”

She tried to muster a smile, and he must have seen something somber in her expression for he cursed. “I am sorry, Abigail. You don’t deserve such a cold welcome. I’ve not prepared the staff. I hadn’t really considered anything beyond making you my wife.”

They stopped beside a closed door. She reached up and caressed his cheek. Gone was the well-ordered gentleman with too many lists. “And I haven’t considered anything beyond how much I love being your wife.”

He shoved the door open, and Abigail entered. Her eyes went to the wide four-poster bed at the center of the room. The Staff not having expected guests had left the hearth cold. She turned about the pale green and golden gilded room.

Geoffrey bowed. “I will send someone to assist you, my lady.”

Before she could protest, Geoffrey took his leave.

The door closed on a soft click.

“Hmph,” she muttered. She circled the room, trailing her fingers along the rose-inlaid table that rested alongside the bed, and moved over to the shepherdess figurine atop the fireplace mantle. Abigail picked it up and turned it over distractedly.

The day had moved in such a speedy blur, she’d not considered her fears of that night—until now.

The figurine trembled in her fingers and she set it down quickly lest it tumble to the floor. Abigail sucked in a deep breath. She came to Geoffrey without her virginity. She’d given that gift to another, and yet, she remained largely untried in matters of lovemaking. The night she’d been discovered in Alexander’s arms, had been quick, and painful.

To give her hands something to do, Abigail again picked up the expensive porcelain trinket. She caught sight of her reflection in the full-length bevel mirror across the room. Bright red color splotched her cheeks. Her toes curled in the soles of her slipper as she cringed at the idea of doing…
that
, with Geoffrey.

The door opened, and she turned to greet the maid Geoffrey had sent. “Thank you for…” Her words faded. “Oh.” The shepherdess tumbled to the hard wood floor and fell with a loud thump.

The head popped off one of the sheep at the shepherdess’ feet. Abigail blinked down at it, and then forced herself to look at her husband.

Geoffrey stood at the closed door with his arms folded across his broad chest. He leaned his hip against the wall. He appeared so blasted comfortable and unaffected and sophisticated while Abigail stood like a bumbling fool with a shattered porcelain shepherdess at her feet. A
broken
shepherdess.

He grinned, displaying two perfect rows of pearl white teeth. “Oh.”

“You aren’t a maid.” She clasped her hands in front of her

“Good of you to note,” he said dryly.

The color in her cheeks heightened. She stooped down to pick up the broken figurine. A gasp slipped from her lips when she stood up, and the poor figurine tumbled to the floor. This cost the shepherdess with golden ringlets her head. Geoffrey stood a hairsbreadth away. Abigail slapped a hand to her chest. “Goodness, you mustn’t sneak up on a person like that.”

He frowned. “Viscounts do not sneak.”

“You do.” She glanced at the shattered glass. “The figurine…”

“I don’t give a jot about the figurine.”

Oh dear, she fanned herself. “It is warm in here? Isn’t it? Yes, a bit warm,” she said, not allowing him an opportunity to respond. “Which is odd because when I first entered the room, I was chilled, but no longer. Now I seem…”

“Warm?” he supplied with wry amusement in that one word response.

She nodded her head emphatically. “Yes, very. Warm that is.” Abigail clamped her lips closed.
You are rambling, Abigail.

Geoffrey reached for her, but Abigail danced out of his reach. She craved Geoffrey’s kiss, desired his touch, but loathed the idea of ruining the beauty of this moment with the harsh, pained swiftness of their coupling.

“I-ah…I should turn the bedcovers down.” She turned hopefully to Geoffrey. “Perhaps it is best if we call for someone to turn down the…” Geoffrey crossed over to the bed, and folded the coverlet down.

“There.”

Abigail chewed the inside of her cheek. “Perhaps dinner?”

He arched a chestnut brown eyebrow. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” she answered without thinking. “Er…” She fanned her cheeks again. “I thought you might care for supper,” she finished weakly.

Geoffrey touched a hand to her shoulder and she jumped. The backs of her knees bumped against the mattress, and she sank into the hastily turned down bedding.

“Abigail, are you nervous?”

“No,” she squeaked. Abigail grasped the Jacquard patterned coverlet and fisted it in her hands. The truth of it was in spite of her scandalous past, she remained largely inexperienced in the matters of lovemaking.

Geoffrey stared at her with a warm, gentle patience.

She sighed. “Very well,
yes
, I am nervous.” Her gaze fixed on the fabric of his white cambric shirt and she lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “You must consider me er, proficient because, because…” Her voice cracked and she stood quickly, and slipped past him. “
Because
.” She wet her lips. “I’m not, however. Experienced that is.” Abigail furrowed her brow. “Well, in the strictest meaning of the word I suppose one could argue I am in fact. Experienced, that is.” She studied the tuft of brown hair that peeked from the opening in his shirt and then forced herself to look at him. “But I find I don’t like
it
, Geoffrey. I’m afraid you are to be disappointed.”

***

Geoffrey bit back a grin at the dejected slump of his wife’s shoulders.

Abigail may have lain with another, but she remained innocent in nearly every sense of the word. She belonged to him, and nothing that had happened before this moment mattered. None of it. This marked the beginning of their forever.

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you laughing at me?”

Geoffrey coughed into his hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Abigail’s glower deepened, indicating his paltry efforts were futile.

“Well, not at you, sweet, Abby. I could never laugh at you. Come to me.”

“I’m already right next to…Oh!” Her eyes rounded, giving her the look of an owl as he pulled her close.

Geoffrey released the magnificent combs that held her midnight black tresses in place, and tossed them to the floor. Her hair tumbled like a silken smooth waterfall about them. “Oh,” he whispered against her cheek.

Geoffrey turned her around, and began to unfasten the buttons that lined the back of her pale yellow gown, one at a time. He placed his lips along each piece of magnificently smooth, flesh, until only her thin shift shielded the graceful curve of her back from his eyes. The gown fell in a fluttery heap at their feet.

Then, in short order, he proceeded to divest her of her shift and stays, placing his mouth to each sacred part of her body. “I must. Admit.” He spoke between kisses.

Her legs wavered beneath her, and Geoffrey caught her in his arms, and carried her the remaining way to the bed. He lowered her down upon the turned down sheets.

“Admit?” she moaned, arching her neck.

“As to the meaning. Of. That. Oh.” He cupped the generous swell of her pale white breasts. The pink peaks that crested her stunning flesh pebbled under his scrutiny. Geoffrey’s gaze moved over her. In her stunningly lithe, curved naked glory, Abigail rivaled the goddess Athena in beauty. He closed his mouth around the tip of her right breast. He drew the bud deep, and gently sucked the tender flesh.

Abigail’s hips arched. “Oh! You…mustn’t,” she gasped, even as her hands came up to clasp his head close to her. “It isn’t at all. Proper, that is.” Her words ended on a keening cry.

Geoffrey pulled away, and she reached for him. He tugged his shirt overhead and tossed it to the floor, where it landed atop her discarded gown and stays. He bent down to remove his breeches just as Abigail jerked her legs up. His eyes widened as she caught him in the groin. Geoffrey hissed.

He collapsed atop the bed, his breath coming fast.

“Oh, dear!” Abigail cried. She scrambled to her knees alongside him and began to run her hands down his person. “I told you, I’m rather awful at all this. I’m sorry.” She reached out and her fingers brushed his manhood. “Geoffrey! Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he said between clenched teeth. If she touched him again in that seductively innocent way, he’d lose control.

“Are you certain? Because you groaned rather loudly…oh.”

Geoffrey removed his breeches and threw them over the side of the bed.

Abigail peeked down at his manhood, and her cheeks flamed the red of a ripe summer berry. She fanned herself again. “Oh, dear.”

He grinned, and reached between them. His fingers found the hot, moist nub of her center.

Her moan blended with his shallow breathing in an erotic symphony. Beads of moisture dotted his brow, and trickled down into his eyes. He ignored the sting and continued to work her. His fingers explored. Teased. Tempted. Until Abigail writhed with a wild abandon under his ministrations.

“Geoffrey,” she cried. “Please!”

Geoffrey nudged her thighs apart and settled himself between her legs. He paused with his hard, aching shaft at the threshold of her womanhood, and then on a swift plunge entered her.

Abigail cried out. “Oh, my. Oh, dear.” She panted heavily. “That didn’t.” He began to move inside her in slow, rhythmic strokes, easing her to the feel of him sheathed within her center.

Abigail reached up and brushed the sweat back from his brow. “Hurt.”

His body stiffened, and he went immobile as he hovered on the cusp of shattering in her arms. “I’ve hurt you.” He made to pull out but Abigail frantically shook her hand and wrapped her legs about him, firmly anchoring him close.

“No! It didn’t hurt. It felt…feels, rather delicious,” she gasped as he began to move inside her again. And again.

Geoffrey increased his rhythm, driving into the hot, molten warmth of her, and Abigail met his wild thrusts.

“Geoffrey!” she cried. “I believe…that is…I think...something…oh my….!” A soft scream burst from her lips as she came undone in his arms, bucking wildly, and then Geoffrey joined her, falling over the precipice of desire. He turned his body over to that which he had craved since the moment he’d stepped upon her hem. He spilled his seed deep inside. His harsh, guttural groans blended with her high, breathy moans.

Geoffrey collapsed. He rolled off Abigail, and pulled her close to his side, unable to open his eyes, unable to think, or move, or….

“Geoffrey?” Abigail whispered. She turned on her side to face him, and tapped him on the chin. “Are you sleeping?”

“I’m not,” he said. His body stirred again, filled with desire for her.

“Was I, that is,” she cleared her throat. “Was it acceptable?”

A languid smile formed on his lips. He reached for her.

“Again?” she squeaked.

He caressed the generous curve of her buttocks.

Her eyes widened as he stirred against her.

“Again,” he whispered. “What do you have to say to that, wife?”

She smiled, and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. He parted her thighs and reentered her. Her mouth fell open. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.”

Then, he proceeded to show her the true meaning of that single utterance.

***

Abigail woke a short while later. Geoffrey stroked his hand up and down the curve of her hip, and she leaned into his touch. “Have I told you I loved you?” His lips caressed the sensitive flesh where her neck met her ear, and she giggled as his breath tickled her skin.

“You have,” she assured him. In fact… “Eight times.”

Geoffrey rolled onto his back and pulled her against him. “You’ve counted?”

She nodded against his chest, a delicious shiver ran down her languid frame as he turned his attention to the swell of her breasts.

“Is that all?”

Abigail fought through the thick fog of desire that clouded her senses, confused his words. “I-I’m c-certain of it,” she managed on a gasping breath as he moved his tender ministrations higher, to the nape of her neck.

He pulled back and flicked his finger along the tip of her nose. “Well, that will never do. I love you.” He kissed her lips. “I love you.” He kissed her again. “I love you.”

She leaned up, and rested her arms upon his muscled chest, liberally sprinkled with springy brown hair. “Can one die of happiness?”

He snorted, and rubbed smooth circles over her back. “I certainly hope not.”

A smile played about her lips.

“You do know you’ve still not opened your gift,” he said casually.

She blinked. Her gaze flitted over to the now thoroughly rumpled looking package. The top of the box had been crushed on top. Abigail scrambled up onto her knees.

Geoffrey reached for her, but she swatted him away. “Behave.” She opened the box, and the air left her on a whoosh.

Geoffrey cleared his throat. “Do you like it? If you do not I’m certain I can have something different commissioned.”

Wordlessly, Abigail withdrew the golden crown, encrusted with seven, large oval-shaped diamonds. Her eyes flew to his. The piece must have cost a small fortune.

“You once told me of the story of the Corona Borealis. The fool, Theseus abandoned the beautiful Ariadne, deserting her. Then there was her…

“Dionysus,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Who loved her the way she deserved to be loved.” Geoffrey reached for the crown and gently took it from between her fingers. “I do not want to be your Theseus, Abigail.” He carefully placed the jeweled piece atop her head. “I want to be your Dionysus.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Geoffrey,” she whispered. “You foolish man. I do not need a mythical god. I have something so much more than that.”

Geoffrey cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. “What is that, sweet?”

She leaned into his touch, a smile upon her lips. “Why, I have a very proper lord.”

A gentleman recognizes the importance of being truthful and forthright in all matters.

Geoffrey Winters, 5
^th
Viscount Redbrooke