He dipped his head to her breasts, sucking one into his mouth, teasing her with his teeth and tongue as he pressed against her, the tip of him sliding slowly in. He moved, forcing her body to open to his, pressing her legs a little farther apart.

She dragged her fingers through his hair and looked him in the eyes. George paused, his heart swimming in those eyes now. She gazed at him so beguilingly, so bewitchingly, he thought he might very well do anything for this woman. Anything. Climb mountains, slay dragons, dance.... Whatever her heart desired. He’d never felt the desire to please a woman so intently, and he’d never yearned for one quite as deeply as he was yearning for her now. He ached for her and wanted nothing more than to pleasure her so thoroughly and fulfill her so completely that no other man would ever compare to him.

Honor’s gaze drifted to his mouth, and she tucked a finger in between his lips.

George could endure it no more. He kissed her fingers, her palm, as he began to ease into her, squeezing into the wet recess, his cock expanding to fill it. He moved carefully and steadily, relishing the feel of her body tightening provocatively around his, coaxing him into her depths. Torrents of raw affection flowed through George, and as he slipped his arm beneath her, pulling her into his chest, he pushed against the barrier inside her.

She seemed to sense his hesitation, his fear at taking that from her. “George,” she whispered, and reached between them, cupping him.

A purely primal sound escaped him as he pushed past the barrier.

She made a small cry, pressed her forehead to his shoulder.

The sound of her muffled cry alarmed him. God, what had he done? He was a libertine, a man who could not control the urges of his flesh. He had just ruined a woman whom he greatly esteemed and even—

Honor shifted against him, her foot running up his back and down again, her body pressing back against his. She wrapped her leg around his waist, turned her mouth to his shoulder and bit it lightly.

Even loved. Loved! God, he loved her, helplessly, completely. She shifted again, pressing harder against him, urging him to continue this extraordinary journey, to press inside her again. George cupped her face, wanting to look into her eyes as he pressed deeper. He could feel her body opening to him, could feel the seductive rhythm of an ancient, primal call. His breath ragged and torn, he began to move in her, sliding out to the tip, then sliding in again, and again, only more urgently.

She began to move with him, clinging to him, her fingers scraping down his back, digging into the flesh of his hip. He reached between their bodies and began to stroke the nub of her pleasure.

She was gasping for breath, pushing against his hand and his cock, her mouth on his chest. But she paused, and her fingers dug deeper into the flesh of his buttock; she gasped as her legs tightened around him.

George’s desire took on a new urgency; he pumped into her, wanting her to feel the violent shattering that was building in him. She cried out, her head dropping back, a swirl of dark hair covering her face as her body convulsed around his and she pressed against him.

With a low growl, he threw his head back on one last powerful thrust, burying himself deep inside of her, the moan of sheer ecstasy clawing its way from his throat, spilling hot seed inside of her.

The moment left him spent; he collapsed to the side of her, his arm draped over her middle, his face in her hair, fighting his way back from the fog of euphoria. It wasn’t until she traced a light line down his back and up again, that he lifted his head and looked down at her.

Honor’s cheeks were flushed, and she was, in that moment, as beautiful as any work of art George had ever seen. She turned her head slightly and opened her eyes with a gorgeously bright smile. She stroked his chin, brushed back his hair then peeled herself up to kiss him, her tongue teasing his, her lips wet on his.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Her smile deepened, and she nodded. “I’m complete,” she said simply.

He wrapped his arms around her and marveled at the depth of his feeling. It was love, he feared. Real and true, raw love.

God, anything but that.

Anything.



CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

HONOR FELT COMPLETE and invincible, as if she’d vaulted over a chasm. Her body was full of vigor. She was a bit sore, but she scarcely cared—it was an exhilarating soreness, and her heart... Dear Lord, her heart was heavy with adoration.

She lay on her side, her head propped in her palm, her finger tracing a path down George’s chest as he slept. She loved this man, loved him thoroughly. She loved the way he looked as he slept, his face free of tension. She loved the way his hand kept reaching for her, finding her, even while he slept. She loved the way he smiled, the way he’d looked at her as he’d entered her body....

A small clock on the mantel chimed, and through the dim light of a single candle, she squinted at it. It was four in the morning. In another hour, Hannah would come to wake Honor to begin preparations to leave Longmeadow. She had to leave this place of wonder, had to leave the bed where she’d found her heart’s true direction.

She leaned down, touched her lips to George’s nipple. As he stirred, Honor stood up and went in search of her clothes.

“Where are you?” he asked hoarsely.

“Here,” she said softly, and let her chemise slide over her head.

He came up on his elbows, blinking sleepily. He silently watched her dress until Honor donned her corset and presented her back to him to be laced.

George sat up and very deftly began to pull the strings of her corset. Honor couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’d done this very thing, had sent a woman along after making love to her. The thought sobered her; she finished dressing and turned to face him as she absently braided her hair.

George sat on the edge of the bed, completely nude, his gaze fixed on her face. “George? I—”

“No,” he said brusquely, lifting a hand. “Don’t speak, Honor. Don’t say aloud words or promises that neither of us can ever reach, or worse, ever forget.”

Honor blinked. “But I—”

He stood up, gathered her in his arms and kissed her. “Don’t speak, my love. There is nothing either of us can say that will change anything, is there? Let this night live in your heart, but God help me, please, don’t speak.”

She understood him.... At least she thought she did. To say words of love when one could not live in that love was too painful to endure, wasn’t it? But there was yet so much to say to him, so much she wanted him to know! She wanted to tell him he was the best man she’d ever known. She wanted to tell him she didn’t care about his humble beginnings.

But George turned her around and fastened the last few buttons of her gown before she could say them. He bent his head and kissed her neck. “I will never forget this evening, not as long as I draw breath, and I will cherish it always,” he murmured. “Go now, before you are discovered.”

Honor stumbled forward. She didn’t know how to argue with him, or even if she should. She only knew that her heart was filled with him, utterly and completely.

She had to figure things out. Yes, that was what she would do—she would return to London, settle her mother and consider all her options. There had to be a way to him.

Honor didn’t look back as she slipped out of his room, afraid to see the expression on his face, afraid of wanting him again, of saying those things he did not want to hear.

As it turned out, it was just as well she went when she did. There was much to be done, and only a few hours later, Honor and Grace found themselves struggling to put their mother into the coach. Lady Beckington was not of a mind to leave Longmeadow, which she had newly dubbed Halston Hall in her wrecked brain—a place where she’d summered as a girl but had not seen in twenty years. She was combative with her eldest daughters while her youngest two stared in horror.

The ordeal left them all exhausted and dreading the long and bumpy drive to London.

In the course of that drive, Honor’s thoughts about George grew confused. Her sunny happiness at being in love and discovering the landscape of pleasures between a man and woman had disappeared under the cloud of her mother. She and Grace were fighting an increasingly hard battle; she could see that.

Her heart’s heaviness was becoming painful.

There was so much she’d wanted to say to George last night, so many words of admiration and esteem. But now, away from him, she was glad she hadn’t said them. She mulled over what he’d said, the way he’d said it. Don’t speak. Go now. Is that what he said to the women he’d bedded? Or was there something deeper that he couldn’t face?

And what did it matter? George was right—she couldn’t be with him, no matter how she loved him. Honor had thought herself above caring what society thought, but she was discovering she wasn’t above it at all. The glow of lovemaking had dissipated, and she was growing frightened of what she felt for George, of what it meant. She understood all that she would sacrifice to be with him, and yet what she felt was perhaps the most tangible thing she’d ever felt in her life. It was real, it was powerful. It was entirely irresistible.

Honor adored George Easton. Truly, madly, adored him. But could she give up all for him? Did he even want her in the same way? And didn’t she have far greater problems at present than pining for a gentleman?

* * *

THE FIRST TWO days in London were unexpectedly and blessedly peaceful. Honor’s mother had calmed considerably and seemed mostly lucid once she’d returned to what was, at least for now, a familiar setting. Her only worry was when Augustine would return with the earl to London. There was only one incident, and Honor had not witnessed it. Jericho confided to her that Lady Beckington had mistaken him for a Scotsman and had threatened to see him hanged for stealing the earl’s things.