It took several minutes for Ivo to bring his raging body back under control. He certainly couldn’t go anywhere in the condition he was in. He sat in the arbour, breathing deeply, mentally tallying the cost of dredging the pond at Ashcombe Park, until he’d calmed down enough to lose his erection.
He stood and buttoned his breeches, smiling into the darkness. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something so outrageous. So indulgent. So delightfully selfish. And she’d enjoyed it. Amazing.
After smoothing the skirts of his coat, he hurried after George, slipping through the hall, skipping the ballroom entirely. He wasn’t about to force his way through the throng inside, or risk bumping into one of their friends. He had a promise to keep, and he meant to spend the rest of the night keeping it. Repeatedly.
When he’d collected his coat and hat, he hurried down the steps to find George already waiting for him, her secret smile glinting in her eyes.
‘I’ve told Lady Morpeth that you’re escorting me home.’ She slid her arm through his and tugged him down the pavement towards her coach. ‘The boys are used to taking a hack home, or out to one of their clubs. They may have already left for all I know.’
Ivo climbed into the carriage behind her. The footman shut the door and Ivo pulled George into his lap. Before they had even rolled away from the curb he had her tumbled back across his legs and the seat. He removed one glove with his teeth and sent his now naked hand questing up under her skirts.
‘Will your house be full as usual?’
‘Possibly…’
She gasped as he slid a finger into her, ran his thumb over her still engorged clitoris.
‘The boys sometimes regroup there after a ball before setting off for their clubs or their mistresses’ beds.’
He slid a second finger in and she began to pant and to rock, her body reaching for the release so recently denied her.
‘It’s not unusual for us all to end the evening with a drink.’
She gasped and her legs began their tell-tale quiver.
‘But if I choose to have that drink in my boudoir rather than the drawing room, who’s to gainsay me?’
‘No one,’ Ivo ground out. ‘Not if he values his life.’
The carriage came to a sudden halt and George leaned in to nip his already abused lower lip before she slid hurriedly out of his grasp and flung her skirts down in a semblance of propriety. The door opened and the footman lowered the steps. Ivo leapt down and helped George down the steps.
In the golden glow of the lamps she was enchanting. Tousled and wanton. Her pupils were huge, her nostrils flared, like a filly ready to bolt.
Ivo followed her into the house and up the stairs, breathing slowly and regularly as he held himself back from jollying with her on the stairs. It would be so easy to stop her, bend her over, and fling up her skirts…Instead he contented himself by watching the sway of her hips as she moved ahead of him.
As they rounded the corner on the first floor and made to go up to George’s private floor, the drawing-room door opened and Brimstone silently looked them up and down.
‘George,’ he said, ‘we were hoping you’d come home early tonight.’ He held the door open, clearly waiting for them to enter. He met Ivo’s gaze over George’s shoulder, his expression curiously bland.
Ivo gritted his teeth and followed George into the nearly full room. There was absolutely no graceful way out of it. One couldn’t say, for example, Pray excuse us, but we were just on our way to the lady’s bedroom for a late night fuck.
Well, one could, but only if he were ready to be pounded to a pulp and thrown down the stairs.
Inside he saw most of George’s regular admirers. They were lounging about the room as if it were their own, cravats missing, brandy glasses in hand, wigs set aside.
George moved to her regular seat like a sleepwalker, as though she were unable to stop herself. The other half of the settee was currently occupied by Colonel Staunton, looking cool and all too handsome for Ivo’s peace of mind.
‘I had a letter today from Simone,’ the colonel was saying. ‘It was very full of Aunt George and the plans you’ve both been making for Christmas. I’m going down to see her in a few days, and we’d both be very pleased if you’d consent to join us.’
George desperately tried to follow the colonel’s conversation while damping down her disappointment. Dauntry’s trick in the garden had left her in a state of acute distress. She wanted—needed—him to fulfil his promise. The ache of unfulfilled desire was actually painful. No matter how she sat, swollen flesh seemed to rub and throb, demanding attention.
Normally this was exactly what she did after leaving a ball: come home and play hostess, receive callers until the wee hours, and then drop into bed as the sun came up. Tonight she just felt trapped. Charles was asking her questions that she felt too scattered to answer properly, and Dauntry was sitting rigidly across from her, his jaw clenched so tight she kept expecting to hear teeth shatter. The colonel continued to map out his plan for going to see his daughter and George vaguely heard herself agreeing to accompany him. All the while her mind was simply swirling as she tried to come up with some way of getting the boys out of her house as quickly as possible.
She yawned and Charles patted her hand and told her she should go to bed. Her heart leapt, but none of them rose to leave. In fact Brimstone was busy topping off glasses.
A loud party of bucks could be heard coming up the stairs. It would be fruitless to try and leave. It was a risk she was willing to take, but slipping away now would simply
