Deceiving the Viscount

Chapter 11A

Garrett hummed as he descended from the stairs hurriedly, his footing sure despite the weak light cast by the torches that were outside. The moon was full and bright, casting its soft glow on the walls of his family home. The smell of roses perfumed the air as a gentle breeze lifted the fragrance from his mother's gardens, sending it gently his way. He savoured the scent, feeling himself harden as it reminded him of his lover.

Rounding the corner, he saw her standing against the wall, half drenched in light and other in shadow. But he knew it was her for her hair was incandescent in the moonlight. Her white dress seemed to shimmer like glittering diamonds touched by lamplight. Her come-hither smile completed the image of her as an otherworldly sprite, like Pygmalion's ivory statue come to life.

His breath caught and his heart thumped. Like a dying man drawn to water in the desert, he rushed forward to capture the lips of his love.

Their hands were sure, for it was not the first time they'd made love. But an impatience tugged at him and he swallowed the gasp she made when he pressed his heel into her mound as his other hand pulled her dress upwards so he could caress the soft skin of her upper thigh above the garter she wore.

Lifting her bodily so he could settle her soft opening against his hard staff, he nuzzled the spot at her neck he knew was her weakness. "Why the rush tonight, my love?" She said as she gripped his shoulders to steady herself.

"I simply cannot wait any second longer." He felt her tinkling laugh reverberate through his chest. "Besides, all those guests in the house will miss us if we're gone for too long."

"They'll miss you. Not me." She moaned the last word when he dug beneath her neckline to rub her hardened nipple. He longed to drag down the cloth and taste that pert little berry but it wouldn't do to muse her toilette up too much. They needed to go back in still looking presentable.

"Nonsense. You are my wife and hostess." He grinned at her as he thrust a finger into her wetness. "They will miss you terribly. We cannot keep you away too long."

Her green eyes glittered as she licked her lips and pushed her hips into his hand. "Decide if you are going to unhand me or kiss me."

He growled playfully at the line she'd thrown at him that led him to kiss her for the very first time. He re-enacted that fiery kiss, devouring her lips. He thrust his tongue in her at the same time he pushed another finger into her, thrusting the two in time to his tongue.

Soon, she was writhing. "Put your member in me, my lord." She panted. "I want to feel all of you."

"As you command, my lady." Withdrawing his hand, he unbuttoned him trousers quickly. She reached in and drew his stiff prick free, her fingers closing around him and tugging him towards her. He hissed out a breath at the delicious pressure, belatedly remembering to cover her mouth with his hand as he pierced her drenched opening, muffling her wanton moans as he eased himself into her tight passage.

When he was fully seated within her, the pleasure in her eyes was a reflection of his own. She cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing the side of his nose and she lowered her head to brush the tip of her nose to his before pressing her kiss-swollen lips to his gently. The rush of affection he felt threatened to overwhelm him. "I love you, Garrett." She whispered as she bore down on him. "So much."

"And I love you too, Frederica." His arms tightened around her, pressing her so fully against him it was as if they were one body. "I've always loved you." And they tumbled over the edge together.

*˜*˜*˜

Garrett stared at the note he'd received from Mrs Brookfield as Tilbury dressed him and tried to temper the eagerness at seeing her script. This was the first time she'd written to him without his initiation of any prior correspondence. No, he mentally berated himself, she was married and had a son. This was nothing like when he was writing to her as an unwed woman. This was a respectable correspondence.

However, the moment his hands were free, he picked up the letter and broke the simple wax seal. His eyes scanned the words eagerly. And then again, more slowly so that he might have the right of things.

He scratched the side of his head. What was she about now? Inviting him for a walk with her and Miss Marlowe and today at that? Glancing up at his reflection in the mirror, the ugly purple and dark red had changed to a sickly yellow.

It'd been a week since he last saw Miss Marlowe as he hadn't wanted to call on her while sporting the ugly bruise. He'd sent some flowers yesterday so she wouldn't think that his interest had waned. Though if he were to be completely truthful with himself, it'd been to mollify the guilt he'd felt after his call with Mrs Brookfield. Nothing untoward had happened. It had all been very respectable. But the unnatural eagerness and heightened awareness he'd felt at being in such close proximity to another woman felt like a betrayal of Miss Marlowe. Certainly the dream the other night where he'd thoroughly fucked Mrs Brookfield against the wall of his ancestral seat was an indication that was as good an evidence as any.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he leaned against his cupboard, the paper dangling from his fingertips. The vividness of the dream still had him in its grips despite it being more than forty-eight hours since he'd awoken from it, his hand thrown across the bed, searching for a person that had never been there.

The only good thing about it was that he hadn't spilt his seed all over his bed in the middle of the night. And that he was thankful for. He wasn't a green boy in his growing breeches any longer and shouldn't behave like one.

But the heaviness in his balls that he'd awoken to, along with a tumescent glow, had been a reminder of the pleasure he'd found in his dream. And in the early morning rays filtering in through the slit of the drapes, after he'd discovered that his dream had been just that, he'd closed his eyes while he encircled his engorged member and fucked his hand furiously, half of him trying to recapture the bliss of the dream that was fading fast, and the half in anger at himself for conjuring a vision that couldn't be realised.

His legs gave way and he slid down to the floor. Hanging his head between arms resting on upturned knees, he fought to control his raging emotions.

His Miss Frederica Blackmore was no more. She was married. Happily so. She was keeping to her word to help him ensure a match with his future bride.

Miss Marlowe was that future. He enjoyed her company. And she seemed to enjoy his too. They would suit well together. Though he wasn't in love with her, he cared for her already. However, would she be accepting of his lack of romantic love for her? She didn't seem the type to marry only for love. If her need for predictability was anything to go by, it would likely trump even romantic love.

And predictability and stability was something he would certainly be able to offer her.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was nothing more to be said. He would go on this walk. He would be attentive and courteous and charming. Everything a suitor should be.

And he resolved to not speak to Mrs Brookfield unless spoken to.