The Regency Season Collection: Part One. Кэрол Мортимер

at the base of her throat, the creamy softness of the tops of her breasts through the silver lace. ‘And none of those thoughts matched up to this reality,’ he acknowledged gruffly, his body throbbing and achingly engorged. ‘God, how I want you, Georgianna!’

      She gasped. ‘Zachary, we cannot. We must not.’

      ‘I must,’ he rasped fiercely as he lifted her up in his arms and carried her over to the chaise. He lay her down on its softness and sat down beside her, his gaze holding hers as he untied her bonnet before removing it completely.

      ‘You have the most beautiful hair, Georgianna, so soft and silky.’ He removed the pins as he spoke, before gazing down at her appreciatively as he loosened those curls about her shoulders.

      ‘Zachary,’

      ‘And your skin is like the finest ivory.’ His gaze followed the path of his hand as it trailed down the column of her throat to the swell of her breasts. ‘So pale and so soft to the touch.’ He pushed the lace aside to reveal the scar between her breasts. A scar Zachary did not find any more repellent than she appeared to find the one upon his own throat. No, he considered this scar to be Georgianna’s own, very private, war wound.

      A sign, a remembrance, of the battle she had fought, and won, and which now only he and she had knowledge of.

      ‘You can have no idea how much I have thought of making love to you again, Georgianna,’ he groaned achingly.

      Georgianna thought, from the intensity of his kisses and the fire now gleaming, burning, in the silver depths of his eyes as he slowly lowered his head, that she might hazard a guess.

      And the thought that this man, that Zachary, wanted her so deeply he had thought of her even whilst he was away in the turmoil of France, filled her with an elation, a happiness Georgianna had not even known she secretly longed for.

      She gasped as she felt the warmth of his lips against the scar on her chest. ‘Zachary, don’t.’

      ‘Let me, Georgianna.’ He breathed hotly against her even as his lips continued to kiss every inch of that scarred flesh.

      ‘It is unsightly.’ It took every effort of will Georgianna possessed to stop herself from pulling that lace back over the disfiguring scar on her chest, her jaw tight, her hands clenched at her sides.

      ‘No more so than my own scar. Does that repulse you?’

      ‘How could it, when it is evidence of your bravery?’ she assured unhesitatingly.

      He looked up at her darkly. ‘As your own scar is a part of the brave and beautiful woman that you are. One who has suffered and yet survived.’

      ‘I barely survived, Zachary,’ she reminded weakly.

      ‘And you are all the braver and stronger for it.’

      Was she braver and stronger? Stronger, certainly, but she did not think herself braver. She still suffered nightmares in her bed at night. Dreamt constantly of that night in the woods. The pain, both emotional and physical, that she had suffered. The terror of waking up blind and in so much pain. The months afterwards when she had continued to fear for her life.

      Of still suffering from that same fear.

      Georgianna’s limbs turned to water, all other thoughts fleeing her mind, her hands moving up to entwine her fingers in the darkness of Zachary’s hair as he unfastened the buttons at the front of her gown and she felt the warmth of his lips against the bare swell of her breast.

      She cried out achingly as his lips parted and he took the aroused and aching tip of that breast into the heat of his mouth, before suckling, gently at first, and then more deeply, hungrily. She arched up into him, instinctively seeking, wanting more, receiving more as Zachary’s hand cupped beneath her other breast and he began to roll and squeeze the second nipple to the same arousing rhythm.

      The sensations were overwhelming. An all-consuming heat and a glorious pleasure that radiated out from her breasts and coursed through the rest of her body, her nipples both hard and aching, the folds between her thighs swelling and moistening, the muscles deep inside her contracting and squeezing hungrily.

      And it was a selfish need.

      ‘Zachary?’ She breathed weakly as she felt his hand trailing along her calf, pushing up her gown to above her knees and then higher still, until she felt the warm brush of air against those heated and swollen folds between her thighs.

      ‘Allow me to pleasure you again, Georgianna,’ he groaned, his breath a hot caress against the dampness of her nipple. ‘Grant me that, at least.’

      ‘But what of your own pleasure?’ She knew very little about men, but she knew enough to know that Zachary’s erection was both hard and demanding as it pressed, pulsed, against her hip.

      ‘I am happy in the knowledge that I please you, Georgianna.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I am not pleasing you?’ Zachary pulled back slightly, his expression one of concern. ‘Did I hurt you? Was I too rough with you just now?’

      Delicate colour warmed her cheeks. ‘I did not say that.’

      ‘Then what?’

      ‘Zachary...’ Her gaze could no longer meet his, aware as she was of the fact that the top of her gown still gaped open, revealing the fullness of her breasts. The bare fullness of her breasts. ‘Pleasure is surely to be given as well as received?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Georgianna moistened stiff lips. ‘Then of course I should like to give you pleasure, too. If you will teach me, show me, what pleases you,’ she added uncomfortably, knowing that she was far less experienced, make that lacking in experience at all, than all those other women Zachary was reputed to have made love with.

      Zachary looked down at her searchingly. It had been his experience in the past that there was no of course about it, when it came to a man’s pleasure during lovemaking. Whores were one thing and would do what they were asked for with the giving of coin. Wives, he had heard, preferred the act to be without embellishment and over with as quickly as was possible for the begetting of an heir. Other women in society, those married women who took a lover once the heir and spare had been provided, usually considered it enough that they were giving carte blanche with their body and, as such, had no interest in what she might do to please the man in her bed.

      Obviously Georgianna was different from all those other women, being neither whore, nor wife, nor a married woman in society looking for a lover. As he could only assume she also meant she wanted him to show her, to teach her, what best pleased him in particular, rather than...

      No, he refused to think of Georgianna’s relationship with Rousseau now. He would not allow anything or anyone else to intrude upon their stolen time together. ‘Are you sure you wish to pleasure me, Georgianna?’ he prompted huskily.

      She flickered a glance up at him before looking down again.

      ‘It seems only fair I should do so, after—after you gave to me so unselfishly when—when we were last together.’ The colour flooded her cheeks once again.

      ‘That did not answer my question.’

      Because Georgianna had no idea how to answer his question! She knew nothing of lovemaking, be it man or woman. She only knew, from these times with Zachary, that she could not be a selfish lover, that she wished to please Zachary as he had pleased her. As her own achingly aroused body said she now must.

      ‘What would you be willing to do to give me pleasure, Georgianna?’ he prompted huskily at her silence.

      ‘Whatever you wished me to do.’

      ‘Anything?’

      She swallowed at the intensity of his silver gaze fixed unblinkingly on her blushing face. ‘I believe so, yes.’

      He smiled ruefully. ‘Words are easily spoken, Georgianna.’