Fox and other Irish sympathizers have hired premises in Dublin where war materials can be made closer to the site of planned rebellion. They are getting close.
Signed,
A Loyal British Subject
Chapter 15
Adam brushed a sweat-dampened tendril off his wife’s brow.
His lips turned up at the corners.
His wife.
Mayhap he should have been bloody terrified by the hold Georgina seemed to have over him, but he couldn’t think of a place he would have rather been than here in his chambers with her wrapped in his arms. When she was at his side, all the anger and pain he’d carried for so long slipped away.
She shifted her hips, burrowing close to him. The rounded flesh of her bottom nestled against his shaft, which roared to life in response.
He groaned, flexing his hips. This uncontrollable desire had more to do with Georgina being the first woman he’d taken in more than two years. First, he’d remained celibate out of respect for Grace, and then he’d battled his baser urges while in captivity.
When The Brethren had allowed him to return to London, and he’d discovered the truth about Grace, learned she’d married some other man, he’d gone off to Madam Touseou’s—one of the most popular gentleman’s clubs, which had a reputation for the most unique, inventive beauties. Bitter anger had driven him like a man gone mad. All he’d wanted was to lay down some nameless beauty and fuck her until he forgot Grace, Georgina, Bristol, and all the hell he’d endured.
He’d sat down with a bottle of whiskey and eyed a narrow-waisted blonde who had possessed the kind of beauty men went to war over. Except the moment she’d stepped in front of him, all Adam had been able to see was another woman with a slightly fuller figure and brown, untamable curls. Adam’s determination to losing himself in the courtesan’s arms was killed by images of Georgina Wilcox.
He’d dropped his tumbler and beat a hasty retreat, ignoring the curious stares shot his way.
Now, holding Georgina, Adam was grateful he hadn’t turned himself over to empty desire. Not when he could have…this, whatever it was, with his wife.
Adam stroked the corner of her breast, rubbing the tip of her breast between his fingers. In response, the bud puckered and peaked. Even in her sleep, she moaned her need.
She undulated her hips against him.
A hiss slipped from between his clenched teeth. What had he initiated? Georgina had been a virgin. She was surely sore from his earlier possession of her body. But, as much as he told himself to let her sleep, his manhood throbbed with need.
He climbed astride her. Her lids fluttered open and her pouty red lips turned up in a hungry smile. “Again?” she whispered.
He paused, his shaft pressed against the thatch of brown curls that shielded her womanhood. “Do you need to wait?” he asked hoarsely. “If it is too soon, I can wait.” His body shook in protest of his gallant offer.
Georgina’s response was to wrap her thighs tight around his waist. “I want you, Adam. Make love to me.”
He claimed her with a single thrust.
She screamed his name and Adam moved inside her.
At last, he’d come home.
*
A quiet knocked shattered Adam’s slumber.
His eyes shot open. A ray of sunlight burst through the curtains and he draped an arm over his eyes to blot out the glare. With his other arm, he pulled Georgina closer to his side, snuggling her body against him.
Even in sleep, a little moan of approval escaped her.
He closed his eyes again, shoving aside the noise that had intruded on his sleep.
A servant’s voice penetrated the oaken door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir.”
Adam’s brow wrinkled.
Christ, what in hell does he want?
The only thing that should have merited Adam being roused the morning after his wedding night was a house fire, and Adam didn’t smell smoke.
You simply do not interrupt a man the morning after his wedding night.
Wedding night. His mind conjured up an image of Georgina straddling him and riding him as if he were a prized mare. He stroked her lush thighs. She was going to be well-sated today. Sore, but well-sated. His shaft hardened in anticipation of the rest of the day’s pleasures.
Another knock. “Your mother is here.”
Adam’s shaft wilted beneath the coverlet.
“What is my mother doing here at this ungodly hour?” he muttered under his breath.
Georgina snored. Flipping over onto her stomach, she proceeded to sleep.
God, his wife slept like the dead. Then, considering how little sleep she’d had the night before, was it really any wonder?
He threw his legs over the side of the bed, taking care not to jostle Georgina. As he fished his clothing from around the room, tugging on his wrinkled shirt and breeches, she slept on.
Adam pulled the door open to find the servant with his hand up to knock.
“Do not,” he commanded, leaving the red-faced, young man standing there.
Adam’s valet stood at the top of the stairway with a jacket outstretched. Adam stuffed his arms into the sapphire fabric.
His butler sidled up beside them, rasping for breath.
Adam started down the stairs.
“Sir, I took the liberty of showing her to your office.”
Adam continued his descent. He shot a glare over his shoulder. “You are never to pound on my bloody door again. In the future, I don’t care if the king himself is at my damned door. Is that clear?”
“Tsk, tsk, Adam. I’m disappointed. You’d deny entry to both the King of England and me? Where have your manners gone?”
His mother stood in the foyer, arms folded across her chest.
Adam bit back a curse. Dead. He was going to kill his butler. “Hello, Mother. It is so very good to see you.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.
She swatted him on the arm. “You are a poor liar.”
If she only knew about his involvement with The Brethren. He smiled crookedly.
She wrinkled her nose. “And you are in need of a bath.”
Adam bowed low at the waist. “Forgive me,” he said dryly. “I was led to believe there was some kind of crisis that merited my immediate attention.”
The countess slapped his fingers. “You are incorrigible.”
He raised a brow. “You are correct, but I am sure that is not the reason for your visit.”
His mother patted her elegant coiffure, casting a glance around the foyer. “I’d rather not discuss this for your servants to hear.” She didn’t wait for Adam, merely sailed off toward his office.
With a shake of his head, he trailed in her wake. Where his mother was concerned, it mattered not that he was nearly nine and twenty years. He might as well have been a boy of just nine. Then again, considering how she’d suffered him and his scoundrel brothers over the years, he supposed she was entitled to her maternal concerns.