“Oh, yes, you like that, my sweet. I know.” She could feel his smile against her lips in the darkness. She took his face in her hands and scratched her fingers through his stubble, and brought his lips back to hers. He groaned against her mouth, but she was the one who wanted to groan, for the pleasure of this intimacy, and for knowing the feel of his stubble and skin, and the fresh, spicy scent of him. How many times had she wished to kiss his lips just this way?
His groan roughened, and he pressed a finger inside her slick, sensitive place, where he had fondled her before, and then shifted so he was over her with their hips aligned. It felt lovely to lie this way, with his weight against her but not against her, since he braced himself on his arms. She stared up in the darkness as he leaned to kiss her. Oh, to see him in the light, to see all the beauty and strength of him overlying her. She placed her hands against his chest and then, before she quite knew what he was about, he surged forward. Her cozy, contented feelings exploded into pain.
She cried out. She didn’t know. She hadn’t expected this. He had forced his big, thick shaft
inside her body
and it felt like she’d been split in two.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know. I’m hung like a bloody Scotsman.” His voice sounded strained. “Blast, you’re so small. Give it a moment, it will go easier. And I won’t come inside you, so don’t worry about that.”
What on earth did he mean about not coming inside her? He was already there, stretching her wide and hurting her terribly. Minette felt a sort of chagrin, an indignant shock that he was doing this to her. It had been so comfortably blissful as he caressed and kissed her, and then... Her stolen moments playing the kitchen maid seemed to have taken an unexpected turn. A turn which really
hurt
.
Now what was she to do? She couldn’t reveal her true identity, not now with August pushing his thing inside her in this bizarre and ardent way. She lay beneath him, flabbergasted. She’d never imagined this was what he had meant to do to the poor kitchen maid.
“Don’t you like it?” he asked. “Move with me, and take your own pleasure. It’s more fun for me if you enjoy it too.” He changed the rhythm of his thrusting, and slid his pelvis against hers in a way that brought a jolt of arousal amidst her terror and shock. Oh, but she couldn’t enjoy this. She was fairly certain she was ruined, that this was not something that happened to a proper lady outside of her marriage bed.
And it was all her fault, for she was not a kitchen maid, but had let August believe she was. Her brother would kill her. At best, he would whip her. At worst, he would toss her out onto the streets. The idea of his wrath brought a sob to her lips.
“Here now,” said August. “What’s this? I know I’m a big fellow, but I’m trying to make it good for you. Do you have regrets now? Do you want me to stop?”
Did she have regrets? Oh, she had a thousand regrets, but she clutched at him when he would have drawn back. “Please, milord. I’m only a bit...frightened of you.”
“You mustn’t be frightened. No harm can come of pleasure.” He cupped her face and kissed her, a long, lingering kiss that felt completely different from the others, because he was pressed so deep inside her. She clenched a bit around him, and was surprised that it felt rather...good.
No harm can come of pleasure.
He wrapped his arms around her and cradled her, moving inside her slowly, sensually, until she began to experience a mounting sense of need. Now that she had fallen this far, perhaps she ought to fall the entire way, and enjoy these moments—however long they lasted. How long would this last? The more he kissed and grasped her, and moved inside her, the less she cared. She felt tender where they joined, but also hot and excited in some way.
I don’t understand
, she wanted to say.
Please help me understand this.
But he thought she was Mary, a kitchen maid who crept into gentlemen’s beds for this sort of congress all the time.
“Yes, that’s better,” he said as she moved with him. “I told you you’d grow accustomed to my size.” Once she was in the rhythm he wanted, he leaned back and lifted her into his lap, holding her tight as he moved her up and down on his thick length. She clung to his shoulders, burying her face against his neck and breathing in his smell. It was a very hot, sweaty, energetic business, but she felt so close to him now that they were connected in this way. When she gasped or sighed in pleasure, he answered with gruff, masculine noises of his own.
She tried to reach that same apex of squeezing, aching release that she’d achieved earlier, but she found it all so odd, and so distracting when he groped her or pinched her or—my goodness—spanked her bottom.
“You’re too delectable, my dear,” he said at last. “I can’t hold off any longer.”
“Hold off what?” Her question was lost in his ragged groan. He lifted her off his staff, his groan transforming to a drawn-out growl as hot liquid dripped upon her belly. Before she could come to terms with this stunning development, he’d swiped it away with his palm and collapsed atop her. He let out a long, contented breath.
How strange and mysterious he seemed to her now. She had known August as long as she could remember, but she’d never known this side of him, this sweating, kissing, licking, thrusting part of his nature. How comfortable he was in such activities. Why, she believed he was falling asleep on top of her.
“Milord,” she whispered, stirring. “Please, I must go.”
“Not yet.” He moved a little off her, so she could breathe again, but he kept her trapped beneath one arm and one muscular thigh. “I don’t want you to go yet. Just a little while and I’ll let you up, and send you back to bed with a bit of sweetness for your trouble.”
Sweetness.
What did he mean by that? Money? Tears pooled in her eyes. Oh, she’d done an unforgivable thing. She’d gone from a kitchen maid to something more like a whore. She knew that men weren’t perfect, especially men like August who were reputed to be fast with women, but she’d never expected to be confronted with this side of him so…intimately.
She had to get away.
“Please, milord.” She tried again to squirm from beneath him.
He caressed her arm. “No, not yet. You smell so sweet, and you’re soft and warm. And it’s my birthday, did I tell you? Just a few minutes more.”
All right. A few minutes more. The last few minutes, because then she’d have to leave this bed and never, ever tell a soul about what had taken place. She’d have to see Lady Priscilla on August’s arm, and exchange words with the two of them, for August was one of her brother’s closest friends. Meanwhile, in her mind she’d be remembering August’s scent and the feel of his naked skin. She’d helplessly recall the scratchiness of his stubble beneath her fingertips, and the firm hardness of his...
Oh. No.
A tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away before it could alert him to her distress. What a colossal mistake she’d made. Warren had always fretted that her sleepwalking would be the death of her. He would probably prefer her death to a situation like this.
But for these last few minutes, she would soak in everything sensual and compelling about August, because she would never be this close to him again. She would remember the feel of his body against hers, his tender kisses and grasping hands, and his heavy satisfaction. She would tuck it away in her memory for the future, which, in her case, had come to look terribly bleak.
August stretched and tightened his hold on the delectable female beneath him. The subtle musk of lovemaking still lingered in the air, along with the scent of her soft, alluring hair. They must have fallen asleep after their sensual exertions. He needed to rise and fetch her a
douceur
for her willing company, and send her on her way.
In a moment. First he groaned and pressed his cock against her. He was rigid as a rail. A small voice responded, “Oh, no.” It wasn’t Mary’s voice, but a voice he recognized.
He just didn’t understand why he was hearing it in his bed.
His eyes wrenched open. The serving lass squirmed beneath him, only she wasn’t a serving lass. August blinked, then blinked again. His cock wilted with tremendous speed as he stared down at Minette’s terrified blue eyes and mussed blonde hair.
“I’ll just— Oh, bother. I fell asleep,” she said. “If I could just get my shift—” She wiggled back from him and tumbled right over the side the bed.
“Jesus. Minette.” He sat up to help her, and then he saw the blood. It was all over the sheets, all over her shift.
All over him.
No. This wasn’t happening. He’d taken a servant girl to bed, a melting, shy, pleasing servant girl, who at some point had inexplicably transformed into his best friend’s sister. He reached down and caught her arm, and saw more blood between her thighs. He knew some virgins bled, but it looked like he’d slaughtered a goddamned animal.
He hauled her to her feet and helped her pull her night shift over her head. Her fingers scrabbled at the laces, drawing it closed about her neck. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and he...he couldn’t get the sight of her bloodied thighs out of his brain. Her gaze dropped to his waist, and lower, to his half-erect cock. Didn’t his body understand this crisis? He pulled the sheets up over his randy organ and wished himself to the devil.
What the hell was he to do?
He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t make this different. He had done this thing—bedded his friend’s sister on a cursed Hallowe’en night. He would have to marry her now, to preserve her honor, and his. Not that he had much honor to cling to in this whole mess. Good God,
Minette
. He’d taken her virginity, and he hadn’t been respectful or tender about it. He’d bedded her exactly like what he thought she was, a saucy servant girl. August lay back on the bed and covered his face with his hands.
“This can’t be happening,” he muttered. “I was supposed to marry Priscilla. I was to offer for her this week.”
“You still can,” Minette said. “I’ll go. We’ll just...forget this ever happened.”
He caught her wrist before she could skitter away. “You can’t go. I’ve been inside you. I’ve had your virginity.” His gaze returned, along with hers, to the stain between them on the bed. “I thought you were the goddamned kitchen maid. Why didn’t you stop me?”
Minette stared at him, wringing her hands. “I don’t know. I was asleep in the beginning, and then it began to feel rather pleasant and...” She clutched her night shift closer across her chest. “I had no idea what you intended to do at the end.”
“No idea?” He threw out his arms in disbelief. “I did exactly what happens when ladies slip into gentlemen’s beds in the middle of the night, you blighted innocent.”
“I didn’t mean to slip into your bed. I was asleep! I always sleepwalk when I’m troubled.”
“Did you have to sleepwalk to
my
room? I thought you were someone else.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. She blinked and they careened down her pale cheeks, sparkling trails of grief he’d caused her. He’d utterly debauched the girl, his best friend’s sister, the woman he’d long looked on as a sister of his own. He took her hand, because he couldn’t bear to touch any other part of her.
“God, don’t cry. We have to think about what to do.”
She wiped her tears away, but more overflowed. “Let me go to my room, August. I’ll wash up. We can hide the sheets somewhere, or burn them. You don’t have to marry me. Let me sneak back to my bed before the entire house is up.”
“I’m not talking about the marriage part, dear girl. I’m talking about Warren. Your brother will call me out for this, if he doesn’t murder me where I stand.”
“He’ll never know,” she insisted. “I won’t tell him. I swear, I never will! I ought to have stopped you. I wish I had stopped you!”
August yanked back the curtain on his side and searched for his breeches. Very well for her to wish that now, when it was far too late for either of them. He’d have to marry her, or spend the rest of his life knowing himself for a detestable villain. How was he to manage this debacle? His mother wouldn’t understand. Lord Colton would be livid, and Warren would think he’d lost leave of his senses when he offered for Minette.
Minette. God save him.
He needed to clothe himself. He felt dirty. Dastardly. At the exact moment he located his breeches, a knock sounded at the door. He and Minette locked eyes. Another knock followed, and men’s muted voices, and then the door swung wide as Warren, Townsend, and Arlington strode into the room.
“Wake up, Augustine. You’ve got to help us look. Minette’s gone walking in her sleep again and we haven’t been able to find—” His voice cut off mid-sentence. August saw the scene, for one sickening moment, as Warren must have seen it. August drawing on his breeches, the blood on the ivory bedsheets, his sister’s stricken, tearful look.
“Oh God,” Warren breathed. “I don’t... I can’t understand what I’m looking at.”
“Get out, will you?” August pulled the curtain closed to hide Minette. Warren whipped it open again, staring between the two of them. A scarlet flush crept into his face.
“Get out,” August said again. “For God’s sake, Warren, leave.” He pulled up his breeches as fast as he could, and stuffed his cock into the front with shaking hands. “Get out and let us make ourselves presentable. Send the others away.”
Warren emerged from his stupor then. Fury replaced shock. He lunged for August’s throat and gripped his windpipe, and shoved him against the bedpost. “My sister. August. You filthy whoreson. I’ll kill you for this.”
“Listen to me,” August rasped with what little breath he could draw into his lungs. “Let me explain.”
“You were my friend. A brother to me. I’ve trusted you all these years.” He let loose a string of blistering oaths as Townsend pulled his hand away from August’s throat.
“Look to Minette,” Townsend barked to Arlington over his shoulder. “She’s going to faint.”
While August sucked in air, Arlington wrapped a blanket around Minette and sat her on the bed, and flicked up the sheets to cover the bloodied spots. Townsend forced Warren to meet his gaze. “Be quiet, would you? Shall we make the whole house aware? It’s just the four of us here. No one else needs to know.”