“And if she, you know…if she is uncomfortable or frightened—”
“Do you know her at all? Frightened?” Phillip snorted. Right. Abigail being afraid was completely laughable. “Impossible! The minx tried to take advantage of me in the carriage, Sebastian, and I had half a mind to oblige her.”
The duke cursed as he began coughing and choking on his drink. Phillip slapped him on the back a few times before Sebastian was able to find his voice. “Good talk, Phillip. I’ll just be, uh…over there, looking at, um, food.” He left, quite red in the face.
Phillip cursed again as Lady Fenton made a motion to gain his attention. If the woman began discuss anything to do with the impending night, he could not and would not be held responsible for his actions. At this point he would be more than happy to have Abby right on the table scattered with food.
And for the love of all that is holy why weren’t people sitting down and eating already? His gaze scanned the room, looking for an escape route, when it landed on the red strawberries. Which, unfortunately, reminded his aching body of Abigail’s lips, and that is how he came to focus solely on a single strawberry for longer than two minutes, all the while looking extremely pleased with himself.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder with a fan.
“Ah, Lady Fenton!” His voice gave way to his excitement for it was husky. Perfect. Just what he needed, for Lady Fenton to think she made him blasted aroused.
“I do love strawberries.” She picked one up and dangled it in front of her mouth.
Deliver me, God. I cannot handle this.
“And the way they taste so sweet on one’s lips. Do you know the strangest thing? I’ve heard that Abigail is positively enraptured by strawberries.”
Phillip lifted his hand to his lips and cleared his throat. “Is she now?”
“Oh yes.” She tapped him again.
God, if you exist, cease this woman from hitting me with her fan.
“How is the girl faring? I hope she isn’t too uncomfortable with the rest of the proceedings.”
Why was it that proceedings suddenly gave Phillip the impression that she was talking about something entirely inappropriate?
“Yes, well.” He struggled for words. “I’m sure things will go swimmingly.”
Lady Fenton’s eyes bulged. “Oh, yes, um.” Her fan picked up speed as her cheeks became flushed with color. “That is to say, um. Good for you. Pardon me.”
It was after her hasty exit that he realized her idea of proceedings happened to be what he imagined. Her idea of the wedding night. Was everyone concerned that he would maul the girl? Just what did they take him as? A monster in the bedroom? Out to force himself on his wife? His gaze rested on the strawberries again.
“Blast.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. Anymore champagne and he would get foxed, which surely wouldn’t do. But the temptation to bathe Abigail in strawberries was too strong. Stepping away from the food before he made an absolute fool of himself, he ran into Sebastian, who then side stepped him and began talking of flowers.
Just as Phillip was ready to snap, the meal was to commence, and he escorted Abigail to her seat. Cheeks flushed, looking lovelier than ever, it took every ounce of self -restraint he possessed, which wasn’t much, to sit idly next to her without covering her body with his own.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he whispered as the guests began eating and chatting.
“If one more person approaches me about the wedding night…” Abigail began through clenched teeth.
“I believe our guests are worried I will break you.”
Abigail’s gaze rested on his lips. Licking her own, she leaned forward. “Funny, for I was afraid I would tire you, my lord. After all, you have on several occasions reminded me of your age. I worry you aren’t quite…agile enough for the likes of me.”
Phillip cursed and closed his eyes, willing the images of Abigail’s taunts to leave his sexually frustrated brain.
“Cough,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“Do it, start choking.”
Abigail, ever the actress, did more than that. She began wailing and choking and gasping for air. Truly, the girl was a professional. He should have known. He made his apologies as he frantically pulled her into the adjoining room, slamming the door behind him.
Abigail’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Well great, now we are trapped in this room and they think I’m dying.”
“No,” he said. “They’ll think I’ve come to your aid, and now we will make our apologies and leave, for you aren’t feeling up to the task after your near death experience.”
Abigail laughed. “Nobody will believe us.”
“You. They just have to believe you. Now appear ill.”
Abigail stared at him as if he’d lost his mind then burst out laughing. “Are you certain?”
Phillip pulled her roughly against him. “My dear, I have never been so certain about anything in my life.” His lips captured hers as he groaned and pushed her against the locked door. Pulling back he said, “It’s either here or we make excuses and leave. I find that I have no restraint when it comes to you.”
Abigail’s cheeks reddened. “Allow me.” She pulled a few pieces of hair from her face, and pinched her cheeks, giving her a flushed appearance. Though she most likely thought she was helping, it took every ounce of willpower to allow her to leave the room ahead of him as they made apologies to Sebastian and ran out the door.
Sebastian, with a sheepish smile and flushed face looked too embarrassed to say no, waved as they left and said he would explain to the guests.
It was scandalous, but hadn’t their entire courtship been as such?
Chapter Twenty-one
Announcing the wedding of Phillip Crawford, Eighth Earl of Rawlings, to Miss Abigail Gates, daughter of Viscount Gates. The ceremony was rumored to be quite the thing. It started at one o’clock in the afternoon, making their wedding breakfast more of a midday meal. Quite late in the afternoon for such a marriage, if you ask me. Nonetheless this author can only assume that the infamous Lord Rawlings could not wait a second longer to marry his love. The wedding breakfast was lovely, save for the fact that the bride nearly choked to death on some sort of object, though the first course had just been served. And this author finds it odd that a lady could choke on soup. All polite members of society were invited, save Lady Rawlings and the Marquess of Whitmore. Funny thing, that. I find myself chuckling over this sudden turn of events.
—Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers, Special Edition.
Phillip threw open the door to his home. Winifred stared at him as if he’d just taken leave of his senses. Which, in hindsight, was more than true. He grunted at his butler and pulled Abigail behind him. The girl was giggling, and he, ever the frustrated one, could not help the smile on his lips as they finally made it to his chambers and slammed the door behind them.
“Finally,” he ground out.
Abigail pulled off her shawl and dropped it to the floor. And it was in that moment that Phillip Crawford, Eighth Earl of Rawlings, all around rake and debaucher, became nervous.
He told himself to pull it together, that he had done this hundreds of times. Yet his mind wasn’t able to accept the information, because his heart knew it was false. Hundreds of times? No. He was in love and he wanted more than anything for this to be perfect, flawless.
And it seemed that he was all thumbs.
Shaking, he went to the fireplace and stripped himself of his jacket. Wine, he just needed more wine. “Would you like a refreshment before we begin?” The second the words were out of his mouth he wanted to curse himself whilst simultaneously break the wine bottle of his head, rendering him unconscious therefore unable to embarrass himself further.
Laughing, Abigail approached the wine and poured two glasses, handing him one, and drinking hers in one gulp.
“Now that’s done.” She lifted her eyebrow.
Phillip began trembling Fool! Get ahold of yourself!
 
; “You wouldn’t be…nervous, would you?” Abigail asked.
Phillip muttered an oath and let out a pitying laugh. “Course not, no, not at all. No. Never.” He needed to stop talking and begin acting lest she realize he was completely out of sorts and much more likely to stutter than seduce.
Abigail moved and stood behind him. Her hands rested on his shoulders. “You, my love, are tense. Pity that even now you lie to me with your mouth when your body tells me truth. Why don’t you sit?”
He obliged, but only because he knew if he spoke it would come out making him look the fool.
“That feels good,” he said, as her hands rubbed his shoulders and then slowly moved lower until his shirt was pulled out of his breeches. And then those same, delicate, wicked hands went to work on the buttons of his shirt until it was free.
****
This was not what Abigail expected. Not at all, yet, it made her love him all the more. She made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, feeling nervous but wanting nothing more than to see the glorious man sans clothes.
As she felt warm skin, she nearly swooned. The effect of the sunlight working its way through the drapes in the window made Phillip look like a god among men. Tight corded muscles stretched across his stomach. And not having ever seen a man without a shirt before, her knees immediately went weak.
Beautiful. He was beautiful.
She walked around to face him. As his shirt fell open, his eyes crinkled at the sides with his smile and he brought her fingers to his warm, wine infused lips. With a seductive grin she knelt in front of him, putting both palms flat against his chest. His breath hitched, eyes closed, he let out a moan as she slowly moved them downward. Just as she reached his breeches, he pulled at her wrists.
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked.
His eyes snapped open. He laughed, “No, quite the opposite. I do believe if you keep touching me in that way, this will be over before it begins.”
What did he mean?
With a tug, he had her in his lap. His lips blazing hot trails down her neck, his hands moved to her chest massaging as he pulled at her dress.
“How fond are you of this dress, my dear?” he asked between kisses.
Almost too dizzy to respond, she merely said, “I hate it.”
“Excellent.” With a rip, Phillip tugged at her sleeves and continued to pull until the dress was torn completely off her body. He gently placed her on her feet. With a drugged sway, she stood in front of him, slightly embarrassed, for she was only in her silk chemise. She began to cover herself when he very slowly shook his head and whispered.
“Don’t.”
Breathing became difficult. As his gaze feasted on her body, starting at her toes and moving ever so slowly, painfully upwards, until he stopped at her face.
“Perfect,” he breathed. “Perfect.”
With panther-like grace, he moved from the chair and claimed her mouth. It was hot, oh so hot. Almost too much for her to bear as his hands began their torturous exploration of her body. It seemed he was everywhere at once. She would surely die if he didn’t do something about the desire he was arousing within her. A fiery want washed over her—needing him to possess her, she let out a whimper as his tongue took the place of his hands.
“Now.” Her voice came out husky. “Now, I need you now.”
His laughter vibrated against her chest, driving her mad. “Not yet, no, you’re not yet ready, love.”
Phillip’s hands came around her and suddenly she was on her back on the bed. He laid, not on top of her as she wanted and expected, but next to her, his leg between hers. With little pressure, he pushed his leg up until she was pinned between man and bed in a most delicious manner.
“Look at me, love. I want you to watch me as I watch you.”
She opened eyes she didn’t realize were closed. Too many foreign sensations were happening at once, as his hands bunched her chemise and slowly—painstakingly, lifted the silk. As the air met her stockings, she was yet again embarrassed that she was nearly naked, and he was still draped in most of his wedding attire.
As the silk made its final lift from her body, she shuddered. Phillip’s eyes went black with desire. His chest rose and fell in cadence with her breathing, ragged, wanting and needing more air but unable to catch it.
His warm hands caressed her hips, she lifted them in response, not knowing what needed to happen but fully crying for more than he was giving at the moment. Within seconds her legs were bare, every article of clothing gone.
And he stared, like a man starved, a man in dire need of her. Smiling, as he wrapped his hands around her hair, loosening it around the pillow. His eyes glazed as if he was tearing up.
He backed away slightly and then lifted his body above hers. “Exactly how I picture it,” he murmured. “Your glorious body against the silk of the bed. It’s enough to drive a man insane, Abby.” In one swift moment, his breeches were gone. Quite a feat, but apparently not for a rake.
His magnificent body, so different from hers, rested on top of her. Skin on skin, the feeling so natural, still so hot.
“I love you,” he said, gathering her in his arms, his tongue plunging into her mouth as he pinned her against the bed.
And possessed her.
****
Not wanting to hurt or scare her, Phillip managed, with herculean effort, to go slow as promised. Loving and teaching, wanting to selflessly give more than take. But the minute Abby sighed and then moaned his name, his control and ability to think straight snapped.
In its place a passion and fervor unlike anything he’d ever known took hold. And if possible, a slightly egotistical feeling as she let out a reverent sigh, that he, the unredeemable Lord Rawlings, was completely undone by an innocent.
Sleep claimed them both, even though it was still quite early in the afternoon. He awoke to the fire crackling and his bed empty.
Panicking, he jolted awake, only to find Abby next to the fire, wrapped in his robe and drinking tea.
“How are you?” he asked tentatively, because quite honestly, and it shamed him to admit it, it wasn’t at all normal for him to spend a night with a woman and have her there in the aftermath.
“Wonderful.” She winked. “And you? How is my old man of a husband faring? I hope you aren’t too tired to attend the ball tomorrow night. What with you being so much older than I.”
He threw a pillow. She ducked, laughing.
“You’ll never forgive me for those hateful words?”
Shrugging him off, she turned back to the fireplace. “I will forgive you many things if you continue to love me and never let go.”
He walked to her, joining her on the floor. “That, my dear, is an easy promise for me to make. And I only said those things to push you away, though it seemed it had the opposite of effects. You couldn’t seem to keep your hands off of me—”
“Beast!” Abigail gave an offending look before kissing him on the mouth. Oh how he wanted her to do it again. Tasting her, it seemed, would never satisfy him, he had to be next to her, to overwhelm her. She was his addiction, and he had no plans to ever quit.
Darkness began to envelop them as the sun went down, and Phillip was anything but tired. So he spent the night in his lover’s arms completely happy to shed his earlier persona and watching in utter fascination and ecstasy as Abigail embraced him fully for the man he always wanted to be.
Chapter Twenty-two
Everyone within this author’s social circle is set to be invited, even those of lesser families—to my great disapproval. However, it seems that a surprise is in store for us. For not only is Lord Renwick scheduled to make an appearance with his new bride, but his mother as well. Let us watch the entertainment as the woman in question makes a public display of stupidity, shall we? Tonight will be an unforgettable night. Remember good people, it was I who said this first, for don’t I always know what’s to happen before it does? Take my word on it, my friends, this author promises drama to be the
main course.
—Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers
Phillip managed, just slightly, to calm his breathing as he escorted Abby through the doors of the large Mansion in Mayfair. The De Creaux, it seemed, were trying to out-do themselves. The décor must have cost dearly.
Candles were littered with reckless abandon everywhere. Large billowy pieces of white material hung like clouds from the ceiling. And by the looks of it, everyone was waiting for their arrival, for when their names were announced, the room went deadly quiet. That is, until the Dowager of Barlowe began clapping. As usual everyone followed in her wake and soon cheers were heard for the newlyweds.
Abby blushed and held so tight to Phillip’s arm he thought a vice would be more pleasurable.
“Nervous?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not so much nervous as I have this dreadful feeling that your mother is going to come storming through the doors and yell hateful things.”
Phillip shrugged. “My stepmother is many things–vain, selfish, a liar—but surprisingly enough, insanity is not one of her attributes. Though I’m willing to believe she’s dangerously close now. It’s far too important for her to hold up appearances. Believe me, if she does attend, she will stay far away from us. By now, she should have received my missive ordering her immediate removal from London to our estate in Scotland.”
“I can’t imagine her taking that well,” Abby muttered under her breath as they passed a few smiling couples.
“It was reported back that my stepmother has quite the ability with words. And was sent to bed soon after the missive. Naturally a doctor was called for. He prescribed Laudanum and a good vacation. Which is when her maid stepped in and suggested she leave the city for a while, not knowing that was exactly what had her so upset.”
“Oh dear.” Abby stifled a laugh as they made their way toward Sebastian and Emma.