Rendezvous by Amanda Quick
Harry was sprawled on his stomach between Augusta’s raised thighs. The hot scent of her was filling his head and the indescribable taste of her was still on his tongue.
“Yes, darling. That is how I want you.” He eased his finger inside her again and slowly withdrew it. He felt the tiny muscles at the entrance of her tight passage clench gently. He slid his finger back into the clinging heat while he teased the small, exquisitely sensitive little nubbin above with his thumb.
“Harry.”
“So beautiful,” he breathed. “So sweet and hot. Let it happen, darling. Give yourself up to it.” Slowly, deliberately he withdrew his finger and felt everything inside her clench desperately. “Yes, darling. Squeeze a little harder once more. You’re almost there. Tighten yourself, my love.”
He flicked his thumb over the small nub one more time as he entered her again with his finger. And then bent his head and kissed the swollen female flesh.
“Good Lord, Harry. Harry.”
Augusta’s hands became fists in his hair and her hips lifted up off the bed, straining fiercely against his invading finger and his teasing tongue. Her thighs shivered, her feet flexed.
Harry lifted his head. In the soft glow of the candlelight he could see that Augusta’s parted lips and the slick petals that guarded her feminine secrets were both rosy pink and glistening with moisture.
Augusta shuddered and gave a high, keening cry that could surely be heard out in the hall. She convulsed in Harry’s arms as ripple after ripple of reaction raced through her.
Harry felt, heard, and inhaled it all; every nuance of her response communicated itself to him. As he watched Augusta surrender to her first climax, he realized he had never seen anything so magnificently feminine, so passionate and sensual in his entire life.
Her reaction was fuel on the fires that were already burning within him. Harry knew he could not wait another second. He surged up along the length of her shuddering body and plunged himself into her tight channel before the last of the ripples had even faded.
“I do not think I shall ever tire of our midnight rendezvous, sweet wife,” Harry whispered hoarsely.
His own release was upon him in an instant, a shattering explosion of sensation that whirled him away into nothingness. His hoarse, triumphant shout still echoed in the bedchamber as he collapsed against Augusta’s soft, damp body.
• • •
A long time later Harry stirred amid the rumpled sheets and reached out for Augusta. When his groping hand encountered nothing but more bedding, he reluctantly opened his eyes.
“Augusta? Where the devil have you got to now?”
“I am over here.”
He turned his head and saw her standing near the open window. She had put her nightdress back on, he noticed. The gauzy white muslin floated around her slender form, the ribbons rippling in the soft night air. Once more she looked ethereal and ghostlike. Almost untouchable. Harry had a sudden, terrible premonition that she would suddenly drift out through the window and away from him forever.
He levered himself upright to a sitting position and tossed aside the covers as an inexplicable sense of urgency overwhelmed him. He had to catch her and hold her safe. He was already starting to reach out for Augusta when he realized he was being foolish.
Augusta was no ghost. He had just touched her most intimately. He forced himself to sit calmly back against the pillows instead of lunging across the room. She was very real and very much his. She had given herself to him completely.
She was his. It had been much more than a physical thing, that moment when she had trembled and convulsed in his arms. She had bestowed the gift of herself, given him some part of her to keep safe.
He would hold her fast, Harry vowed. He would protect her, even though she did not always desire that protection. And he would make love to her as frequently as possible, strengthening and cementing the physical bond between them.
He did not need to be told that, for Augusta, the sexual act was a commitment as deep and binding as any ancient oath of fealty.
“Come back to bed, Augusta.”
“In a moment. I have been thinking about our marriage, my lord.” She gazed out into the darkness, her arms wrapped tightly beneath her breasts.
“What is there to think about?” Harry eyed her warily. “It all seems quite clear to me.”
“Yes, I imagine it would seem plain enough to you. You are a man.”
“Ah. This is to be one of those discussions, is it?” His mouth quirked.
“I am glad you find it so amusing,” she whispered.
“Not amusing so much as a waste of time. I have seen you attempt to grapple with this sort of thing before, if you will recall. Your reasoning gets muddled quickly, my dear.”
She turned her head to glower at him. “Really, Harry, you can be extremely pompous and arrogant at times. Do you know that?”
He chuckled. “I shall rely on you to tell me when I become too unbearable.”
“You are being unbearable now.” She swung completely around to face him. The white ribbons on her nightdress fluttered. “I have something to say to you and I would appreciate it if you would give me your full attention.”
“Very well, madam. You may proceed with your lecture.” He folded his arms behind his head and schooled his expression into one of serious contemplation. It was not easy. Damn, but she looked alluring standing there in her nightdress. He was getting aroused all over again.
The moonlight behind her revealed the outline of her hips through the thin muslin. Harry wagered that in a mere minute he could have her back on the bed, her thighs spread wide once more. In two minutes, he was quite certain he could have the warm honey flowing between her legs. She was so amazingly responsive.
“Harry, are you paying attention?”
“Absolutely, my sweet.”
“Very well, then, I am going to tell you my thoughts on the status of our relationship. We come from two different worlds, you and I. You are an old-fashioned sort of man, a man of letters, a serious scholar who has little use for frivolous things. I, on the other hand, as I have often told you, am inclined toward more modern ideas and have a rather different nature. We must face the fact that I rather enjoy the occasional frivolous amusement.”
“I do not see that as a problem so long as such amusements are merely occasional.” Yes, two minutes to make her damp, Harry mused, trying to be totally objective. Then another five, at the most, to bring the soft, enchanting little moans of excitement to her lips.
“There is no doubt but that in many ways we are opposites, my lord.”
“Male and female. Natural opposites.” After about seven to ten minutes, when she was starting to twist deliciously in his arms and arch herself for his touch, Harry decided, he would introduce her to a few variations on the basic theme.
“But we now find ourselves bound together for life. We have made a legal and moral commitment to each other.”
Harry grunted an absent response to that while he considered the possibilities open to him. Perhaps he would turn Augusta over onto her stomach and draw her up on her knees. Then he would ease himself between her thighs and explore her tight, clinging feminine passage from that direction. Twenty to thirty minutes, at least, before he attempted that, he told himself. He did not want to startle her unduly. She was still very new to the erotic arts.
“I am well aware, sir, that you rushed our wedding date because you felt duty-bound to marry me after what transpired in Lady Arbuthnott’s carriage. However, I would have you know …”
Then again, he could lie on his back and have her straddle his thighs, Harry thought. In that position, he would have an excellent view of her expressive face when she reached her climax.
Augusta took a deep breath and continued. “I would have you know that, in spite of our reputation for recklessness and daring, the Northumberland Ballingers have a sense of duty that is the equal of any noble family in the country. I daresay ’tis as great as
Harry scowled as her last words penetrated his erotic fantasy. “I beg your pardon, Augusta?”
“I was just about to say, my lord, that I know my duty as a wife and I will honor it, just as you intend to honor your duty as a husband. I am a Northumberland Ballinger and I will not shirk my obligations. Ours may not be a love match, but you may, nevertheless, depend upon me to fulfill my responsibilities as your wife. My sense of honor and duty is as strong as your own and I would have you know that you can rely on it.”
“Are you saying you intend to be a good wife to me merely because you feel duty-bound to do so?” he asked, a wave of anger roaring through him.
“That is precisely what I am saying, my lord.” She smiled tentatively. “I would like to assure you that a Northumberland Ballinger is steadfast when it comes to honoring a vow.”
“Good God. How in hell did you get off on a lecture on duty and responsibility at a time like this? Come back to bed, Augusta. I have something much more interesting to discuss.”
“Do you, Harry?” She did not move. Her expression was unusually grave, her eyes searching his face in the shadows.
“Most definitely.” Harry threw back the covers. His bare feet hit the carpet an instant later. He took three long strides across the bedchamber and picked her up in his arms.
Augusta opened her mouth to utter some comment—a protest, perhaps. Harry covered her lips firmly with his own until she was lying flat on her back once more.
He had grossly overestimated the time it would take to maker her ready to receive him, he soon realized. Less than fifteen minutes had passed before he turned a startled Augusta over onto her stomach and drew her up into a kneeling position.
Harry stopped keeping track of the time after that, but when Augusta sang her sweet song of sensual release into the pillow, he was fairly certain she had something besides duty and responsibility on her mind.
The following morning, Augusta, dressed in a canary-colored walking dress and carrying a matching French bonnet with an enormous, gracefully curving brim, went in search of her new stepdaughter.
She found her in the schoolroom on the second floor of the big house. Meredith, primly garbed in another well-made but extremely plain white gown, sat at an old, ink-stained wooden desk. She had a book open in front of her and she glanced up in surprise as Augusta entered the room.
Clarissa Fleming, enthroned behind a large desk at the front of the room, looked up questioningly and then frowned as she saw who was interrupting the routine.
“Good morning,” Augusta said cheerfully. She glanced around the schoolroom, taking in the selection of globes, maps, quills, and books that adorned it. Schoolrooms somehow always looked the same, she thought, regardless of the location or the financial means of the family.
“Good morning, madam.” Clarissa nodded toward her charge. “Make your curtsy to your new mother, Meredith.”
Meredith obediently got to her feet to greet Augusta. Her somber gaze held a hint of wariness and not a little uncertainty.
“Good morning, madam.”
“Meredith,” Clarissa said sharply. “You know his lordship specifically instructed you to call her ladyship Mama.”
“Yes, Aunt Clarissa. But I cannot do that. She is not my mama.”
Augusta winced and waved Clarissa Fleming to silence. “I thought we agreed you could call me whatever you like, Meredith. You may call me Augusta, if you wish. You do not need to call me Mama.”
“Papa says I must.”
“Yes, well, your father can be a bit autocratic at times.”
Clarissa’s eyes sparkled in disapproval. “Really, madam.”
“What does autocratic mean?” Meredith asked, genuinely curious.
“It means your father is rather overfond of giving orders,” Augusta explained.
Clarissa’s expression turned from disapproval to one of outrage in the blink of an eye. “Madam, I cannot allow you to criticize his lordship in front of his daughter.”
“I would not dream of doing so. I was simply noting an undeniable aspect of his lordship’s character. I doubt he would deny it himself, were he present.” Augusta twirled her beribboned bonnet and started ambling around the room.
“Describe your curriculum to me, if you will, please, Meredith.”
“Mathematics, classical studies, natural philosophy, and the use of globes in the morning,” Meredith said politely. “French, Italian, and history in the afternoons.”
Augusta nodded. “Certainly a well-rounded selection of studies for a nine-year-old girl. Did your father design it for you?”
“Yes, madam.”
“His lordship takes a great personal interest in his daughter’s curriculum,” Clarissa said darkly. “He would most likely not welcome any criticism of it.”
“Most likely not.” Augusta paused in front of a familiar-looking volume. “Ah-hah. What have we here?”
“Lady Prudence Ballinger’s Instructions on Behavior and Deportment for Young Ladies,” Clarissa said in forbidding tones. “Your esteemed aunt’s highly instructional work is one of Meredith’s favorite books, is it not, Meredith?”
“Yes, Aunt Clarissa.” Meredith, however, did not look overly enthusiastic about the book.
“Personally, I found it a deadly bore,” Augusta said.
“Madam,” Clarissa said in a strangled voice. “I must ask that you refrain from giving my charge the wrong impression.”
“Nonsense. I am sure any girl with spirit would find my aunt’s books exceedingly dull. All those depressing rules on how to drink one’s tea and eat one’s cake. And all that nonsense about appropriate conversational topics to be memorized. You must have something more interesting around here to study. What are these?” Augusta examined another set of heavy, leather-bound tomes.
“Books of ancient Greek and Roman history,” Clarissa said, looking as though she were prepared to defend their presence in the schoolroom with her last breath.
“Of course. I should have expected a sizable collection of such materials, given Graystone’s personal interests, hmm? And this little book?” She held up another dull-looking volume.
“Mangnall’s Historical and Miscellaneous Questions for the Use of Young People, of course,” Clarissa responded tartly. “I am certain even you will agree it is most appropriate to the schoolroom, madam. You were doubtless instructed with it yourself. Meredith can recite the answers to a great many of the questions in that book already.”
“I am sure she can.” Augusta smiled at Meredith. “I, on the other hand, can barely remember any of the answers, except possibly the one about where nutmeg grows. But then, I have been told I have a rather frivolous turn of mind.”
“Surely not, madam,” Clarissa said tightly. “His lordship would never have—” she broke off, flushing a dull red.
“His lordship would never have married a frivolous sort of female?” Augusta gave the older woman a bright, inquiring glance. “Is that what you were about to say, Miss Fleming?”
“I was not going to say any such thing. I would never dream of commenting on his lordship’s personal affairs.”
“Do not concern yourself with such niceties. I comment on his personal affairs all the time. And I can assure you, I am decidedly frivolous and irresponsible on occasion. As it happens, this morning is one of those occasions. I have come to collect Meredith and take her out with me on a picnic.”
Meredith stared at her in astonishment. “A picnic?”
“Would you like that?” Augusta smiled at her.
Clarissa clutched a quill so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I fear that is quite impossible, madam. His lordship is most strict about Meredith’s studies. They are not to be interrupted for any frivolous reasons.”
Augusta arched her brows with gentle rebuke. “I beg your pardon, Miss Fleming. As it happens, I am in n
Clarissa looked dubious and resentful, but she was obviously well aware there was not much she could do without the earl to back her up. And the earl, Augusta had been quick to point out, was unavailable.
“Very well, madam.” Clarissa drew herself up stiffly. “Meredith may go with you to act as your guide this morning. But in future, I shall expect the routine of the schoolroom to be respected.” Her eyes glittered with warning. “And I am certain his lordship will support me on this matter.”
“No doubt,” Augusta murmured. She looked at Meredith, whose expression was as unreadable as her father’s could be on occasion. “Shall we go, Meredith?”
“Yes, madam. I mean, Augusta.”
• • •
“Your home is very lovely, Meredith.”
“Yes, I know.” Meredith walked sedately down the lane beside Augusta. She was wearing a very plain, close bonnet that matched her equally plain dress.
It was difficult to tell what thoughts were going through her mind. Meredith had obviously inherited Harry’s ability to keep his expression unreadable.
Thus far the child had been polite, but far from chatty. Augusta was counting on the pleasantly crisp day and the exercise to encourage conversation. If all else failed, she supposed she could always ask Meredith to recite the answers to Mangnall’s Historical and Miscellaneous Questions for the Use of Young People.
“I used to live in a nice house in Northumberland,” Augusta said, swinging the picnic basket she was carrying.
“What happened to it?”
“It was sold after my parents died.”
Meredith slanted Augusta a startled, sidelong glance. “Your mama and papa are both dead?”
“Yes. I lost them when I was eighteen. I miss them very much sometimes.”
“I miss Papa very much when he goes away for weeks and weeks at a time like he did during the war. I am glad he is home now.”