The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [83]
Geordie gave a final mighty yell from outside.
“That was his last stroke,” Helen managed to say, then bit his shoulder. She was panting so hard she could barely draw a breath. He didn’t leave her, just waited, and it wasn’t at all long before he was moving inside her again. “Your breasts,” he said. “This time I have some control. I want to taste your breasts.”
He was pulling at her gown, but he didn’t have the time. She lifted her hips, and it was all over for him. His fingers found her and she bit his neck this time and it both stung and made him wild. Her hot breath was fast and slick on his flesh. This time he took her lovely moans into his mouth. As for himself, he pressed his mouth against her neck and yelled against her soft flesh.
“There,” he said, every shred of male arrogance sounding loud and clear in his voice. He straightened between her legs, still inside her, and he laid his hands on her white thighs. “Open your eyes, Helen. Look, I am still inside you. I am part of you. Now, there will be no more of your wrongheadedness. You will consent to marry me. I am the only man for you. You and I belong together. Together we will find this damned magic lamp. Together we will create a life that will make us stronger as two than what we are now singly. Perhaps, in five years or so, I will have enough control so I will be able to kiss your breasts, and that’s just the start of it.” Slowly, he pulled out of her, never looking away from her face.
Helen managed through pure force of will to sit up on the table. She was so very wet with him, and with herself, she supposed. She looked past him into the fireplace. There were just two or three small embers that were glowing with any light at all now.
She nearly fell when she tried to stand up. She batted down her skirts. At least she was not wearing her riding hat. That would have been simply too much.
“You are mine, Helen.”
That stiffened her backbone. “I will see you in the morning, Lord Beecham,” she said and walked to the door. It took her several moments to get the damned key to turn in the lock.
“And will you be thinking about us, together? Forever?”
She didn’t say anything, just walked out of her inn, saw that Geordie was standing there in the moonlight, six or so women around him, and several men as well, and he was holding the lamp between his bound hands. He was stark naked.
She nodded to him. She heard him whimper. He didn’t sound very distressed to her.
One of her lads saddled Eleanor for her. She was home in twenty minutes. Her father and Flock, thankfully, were out for their nightly walk. She heard her father yelling at the two peacocks. She heard Flock sigh over Teeny. It was later than usual for their walk. It must have been Spenser’s visit that threw off their schedule.
Teeny, unusually quiet this evening, helped her undress and pulled the covers over her once she was in bed. Teeny blew out all the candles. She stopped at the door and said, “Miss Helen, Flock told me all about Lord Beecham’s talk with your father. He is in a very bad way, Flock said. His eyes were nearly rolling in his head. He would have even drunk champagne if your father had demanded it of him. You should marry him, to save him, to give him back his charming boldness. He isn’t short, Miss Helen.”
And Teeny left her alone.
That night Helen thought of poor Reverend Mathers and who could have killed him. She fell asleep seeing a man whose back was to her lean over Reverend Mathers and plunge the stiletto into his back. If only she could see his face.
The next day Helen didn’t go to the inn. She remained at the hall, alone, brooding. Her father remained silent, which she appreciated. Flock did a good deal of sighing whenever she appeared,