Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.
Standard disclaimer.
At a suitably late hour, when some of the guests had retired and others were lingering downstairs in the card room and the billiards room, Gwen crept from her chamber, with the intention of meeting Arthur.
She tiptoed along the hallway, and stopped short, as she saw a man standing against a wall, at the juncture of two wide corridors.
The man stepped forward, and she immediately recognized him as Arthur's valet.
"Miss," he said calmly, "Milord bid me to show you the way."
"I know the way. And he knows that I know the way. What the devil are you doing here?"
"Milord did not wish for you to wander through the house unaccompanied."
"Naturally," she said. "I could be accosted by someone. Seduced, even."
Seemingly inured to sarcasm, when it was perfectly obvious, that she was not going to the Earl's room for a chaste visit, the valet turned to lead the way.
Fascinated by his reserve, Gwen couldn't help asking,
"So...is it often, that you are required to escort unmarried ladies, to the Earl of Westcliff's private rooms?"
"No, miss," came his unflappable reply.
"Would you tell me if it were otherwise?"
"No, miss," he said, in exactly the same tone, and she grinned.
"Is the Earl a good master?"
"He is an excellent master, miss."
"I suppose you would say that, even if he was an ogre."
"No, miss. In that case I would merely say, that he was an acceptable master. When I say that he is an excellent master, however, I mean precisely that."
"Hmm." Gwen was encouraged by the valet's words. "Does he talk to his servants? Thank them for doing a good job, that sort of thing?"
"No more than is appropriate, miss."
"Which is to say never?"
"More accurate, would be to say not usually, miss."
Since the valet seemed disinclined to talk after that, Gwen followed him in silence to Arthur's room.
He accompanied her to the threshold, scratched at the door with the tips of his fingers, and waited for a response from within.
"Why do you do that?" Gwen whispered. "That scratching business. Why don't you knock?"
"The countess prefers a scratch to a knock, as it is more soothing to her nerves."
"Does the Earl prefer you to scratch at his door?"
"I doubt very much he cares, one way or the other, miss."
Gwen frowned thoughtfully.
In the past, she had heard other servants scratching their employers' doors, and it had always struck her ears, as being a bit odd...rather like a dog scuffling to be let in from outside.
The door opened, and Gwen felt a rush of pure gladness, at the sight of Arthur's handsome face.
His expression was impassive, but his eyes were glowing with warmth.
"That will be all," he said to the valet, staring at Gwen's face, as he reached out to draw her passed the threshold.
"Yes, milord."
The valet disappeared with tactful speed.
Closing the door, Arthur stared at Gwen, the spark in his eyes burning brighter, and a smile now lurking at the corners of his lips.
He looked so handsome, with his serious features, lit by the mingled glow of the lamp and the hearth, that a sweet shiver went through her.
Rather than his usual tied-and-buttoned attire, he had gone without a coat, and his white shirt was open at the throat, revealing a glimpse of smooth gold skin.
She had kissed that triangular hollow at the base of it...had let her tongue play across it...
Ripping her thoughts from the scalding memory, she glanced away from him and immediately, she felt his lean fingers come up to her hot cheek, guiding her face back to his.
The tip of his thumb slid over her chin, ever so softly.
"I wanted you today," he said softly.
Her heart escalated into a rapid thump, and the cheek beneath his caressing fingertips tautened with a smile.
"You didn't so much as glance in my direction, not even once during supper."
"I was afraid to."
"Why?"
"Because, I knew that if I did, I wouldn't be able to keep myself from making you into my next course."
Gwen's lashes lowered, as she let him ease her closer, his hand sliding over the length of her spine.
Her breasts and waist felt swollen, within the insulating grip of her corset, and she suddenly longed to be rid of it.
Taking as deep a breath as the stays would allow, she became aware of a sweetly spicy scent in the air.
"What is that?" she murmured, drawing in the fragrance. "Cinnamon, wine..."
Turning in the circle of his arms, Gwen looked around the spacious bedroom, passed the poster bed, to the small table, that had been set near the window.
There was a covered silver dish on the table, from which, a few traces of sweet-scented steam were still visible.
Perplexed, she twisted back to look at Arthur.
"Go and find out," he said.
Curiously Gwen went to investigate.
Taking hold of the cover's handle, which had been wrapped with a linen napkin, she lifted the lid, letting a soft burst of intoxicating fragrance into the air.
Momentarily puzzled, she stared at the dish, and then burst out laughing.
The white porcelain dish was filled with five perfect pears, all standing on end, their skin gleaming and ruby-red, from having been poached in wine.
They sat in a pool of clear amber sauce, that was redolent of cinnamon and honey.
"Since I couldn't obtain a pear from a bottle for you," came Arthur's voice from behind her, "This was the next best alternative."
Gwen picked up a spoon and dug into one of the melting-soft pears, lifting it to her lips with relish.
The bite of warm, wine-soaked fruit, seemed to dissolve in her mouth, the spiced honey sauce, causing a tingle in the back of her throat.
"Mmmm..." She closed her eyes in ecstasy.
Looking amused, Arthur turned her to face him and his gaze fell to the corner of her lips, where a stray drop of honey sauce glittered.
Ducking his head, he kissed and licked away the sticky drop, the caress of his mouth, causing a new pleasurable ache deep inside her.
"Delicious," he whispered, his lips settling more firmly, until she felt as if her blood, was flowing in streams of white-hot sparks.
She dared to share the taste of wine and cinnamon with him, tentatively exploring his mouth with her tongue, and his response was so encouraging, that she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself closer.
He was delicious, the taste of his mouth was clean and sweet, and the feel of his lean, solid body, immeasurably exciting.
Her lungs expanded with shaky-hot breaths, restrained by the clench of her corset stays, and she broke the kiss with a gasp.
"I can't breathe."
Wordlessly Arthur turned her around and unfastened the gown.
Reaching her corset, he untied the laces and loosened them with a series of expert tugs, until the stays expanded and Gwen gulped in relief.
"Why did you lace it so tightly?" she heard him ask.
"Because, the dress wouldn't fasten otherwise. And because, according to my mother, Englishmen prefer their women to be narrow-waisted."
Arthur snorted, as he eased her back to face him.
"Englishmen prefer women to have larger waists, in lieu of fainting from lack of oxygen. We're rather practical that way."
Noticing that the sleeve of her unfastened gown had slipped over her brown shoulder, he lowered his mouth to the smooth curve.
The silken brush of his lips against her skin, caused her to tremble, and she nestled close to him, while sensations wavered inside her, like images in sun-warmed water.
Blindly she reached up to his hair, her fingers thrilling at the feel of the coarse silken locks.
The rhythm of her heart drove free and hard inside her chest, and she moved restlessly in his arms, as he kissed his way up to her throat.
"Guinevere..." His voice was husky and rueful. "This is too soon. I promised you..." Pausing, he stole a kiss from the tender hollow beneath her ear. "Promised..." he continued doggedly, "That we would negotiate your terms."
"Terms?" she asked vaguely, clasping his head in her hands and urging his mouth back to hers.
"Yes, I..."
He broke off to kiss her lips, slanting his mouth over hers with twisting pressure.
She explored his neck and face, her fingertips passing over the strong lines of his cheekbones and jaw, and the taut sinew of his neck.
The smell of his skin intoxicated her with every breath and she wanted to press herself against him, until there was not an inch of space left between them.
Suddenly, Gwen couldn't seem to kiss Arthur hard enough, or long enough.
And as he felt her escalating wildness, he forcibly eased her back, ignoring her whimper of protest.
His own breath knocked sharply in his throat, and it seemed to require great effort, to sort through his disordered thoughts.
"Little one..." His hands rubbed gentle circles on her back and shoulders to soothe her. "Slow down. You can have everything you want. You don't have to fight for it."
Gwen nodded jerkily.
She had never been so aware, of the difference in their respective experience, realizing, that he was able to restrain his intense passion, whereas, she was utterly overwhelmed.
His mouth touched her burning forehead and followed the wing of her brow.
"It's better for you...for both of us...to make it last longer," he murmured. "I don't want to take you in haste."
She found herself nudging strongly against his face and his hands, like a cat demanding to be stroked.
One of his palms slipped into the open back of her gown, seeking the skin above the edge of her corset, and a sigh escaped him, as he felt her downy softness.
"Not yet," he said in a rough whisper, though whether he was talking to himself or to her, was unclear.
He clasped the vulnerable curve of her neck in one strong hand, and bent to feast on her parted lips, her chin, and the front of her throat.
"You're so sweet," he said raggedly.
Gwen couldn't help but grin, even in the flush of desire.
"Am I?"
Arthur sought her mouth, with another hungry kiss.
"Very sweet," he confirmed huskily. "Though, if I were a lesser man, you'd have torn my head off by now."
The words drew a low laugh from her.
"Now, I understand the attraction between us. We're a danger to everyone, but each other. Like a pair of ill-tempered hedgehogs."
She paused, as a thought occurred to her, and she pulled away from him.
"Speaking of attraction..." Her legs were a bit unsteady, and she wandered to the bed, to support herself.
Standing against one of the heavy carved posts, she murmured,
"I have something to confess."
Arthur followed her, the light limning the sleek, superbly toned lines of his body.
And the fashionable looseness of his trousers, which lightly followed the shape of his lean form, did little to conceal the powerful muscles beneath.
"That doesn't surprise me." He rested one hand on the post, just above her head, his posture relaxed. "Am I going to like this confession or not?"
"I don't know." She reached into the hidden pocket of her gown, concealed in the deep folds of her skirts, and found the vial of perfume. "Here."
"What is it?" Receiving the vial, Arthur opened it and inhaled the scent. "Perfume," he said, his gaze questioning, as it returned to her face.
"Not just any perfume," Gwen replied apprehensively. "It's the reason you were first attracted to me."
He sniffed it again.
"Oh?"
"I purchased it from an old perfumer in London. It's an aphrodisiac."
Sudden laughter flickered in his eyes.
"Where did you learn that word?"
"From Isabelle. And it's true," she told him earnestly, "It really is one. It has a special ingredient, that the perfumer told me would attract a suitor."
"What special ingredient?"
"He wouldn't tell me what it was. But it worked. Don't laugh. It did! I noticed its effect on you, the day we played rounders...when you kissed me behind the hedgerow. Don't you remember?"
Arthur seemed entertained by the notion, but it was clear, he did not believe, he had been seduced by a perfume.
He passed it beneath his nose again, and murmured,
"I remember having noticed the scent. But I was attracted to you, for many other reasons, long before that day."
"Liar," she accused. "You hated me."
He shook his head.
"I never hated you. I was bothered, plagued, and tormented by you, but that's not at all the same thing."
"The perfume works," she insisted. "Not only did you respond to it, but Isabelle tried it on her husband...and she swears that he kept her up all night as a result."
"Sweetheart," Arthur said wryly, "Hunt has behaved like a boar in rut around Isabelle, since the first day they met. It's typical behavior for him, where she is concerned."
"But it wasn't typical behavior for you! You had absolutely no interest in me, until I wore this scent, and the first time you got a whiff of it..."
"Are you claiming," he interrupted, his eyes like dark blue velvet, "That I would have a similar reaction to any woman who wears it?"
Gwen opened her mouth to reply, then closed it abruptly, as she recalled, that he hadn't displayed any interest, when the other wallflowers had tried it.
"No," she admitted. "But it does seem to make quite a bit of difference with me."
A slow smile curved his lips.
"Guinevere, I've wanted you every moment, since I first held you in my arms. And it has nothing to do with your damned perfume. However..."
He inhaled the scent one last time, before replacing the tiny stopper.
"...I do know what the secret ingredient is."
She stared at him with wide eyes.
"You do not!"
"I do," he said smugly.
"What a know-it-all!" she exclaimed, with laughing annoyance. "Perhaps, you're guessing at it, but I assure you, that if I can't figure out what it is, you certainly couldn't..."
"I know conclusively what it is," Arthur informed her.
"Tell me, then."
"No. I think I'll let you discover it on your own."
"Tell me!" She pounced on him eagerly, thumping him hard on the chest with her fists.
Most men would have been driven back by the solid blows, but he only laughed and held his ground.
"Arthur Pendragon, if you don't tell me this instant, I'll..."
"Torture me? Sorry, that won't work. I'm too accustomed to it by now."
Lifting her with shocking ease, he tossed her onto the bed like a sack of potatoes. And before she could move an inch, he was on top of her, purring and laughing, as she wrestled him with all her might.
"I'll make you give in!" She hooked a leg around his and shoved hard at his left shoulder.
The childhood years of fighting with her boisterous brothers, had taught her a few tricks. However, Arthur countered her every move easily, his body a mass of steely, flexing muscles.
He was very agile, and surprisingly heavy.
"You're no challenge at all," he teased, allowing her to roll atop him briefly. As she sought to pin him, he twisted and levered himself over her once more. "Don't say that's your best effort?"
"Cocky bastard," Gwen muttered, renewing her efforts. "I could win...if I didn't have a gown on..."
"Your wish may yet be granted," he replied, smiling down at her.
After another few moments, he held her down on the mattress, taking care not to hurt her in their love play.
"That's enough," he said. "You're tiring. We'll call it an even match."
"Not yet," she panted, still determined to best him.
"For God's sake, you little savage," he said in amusement, "It's time to give up."
"Never!" She strained wildly against him, her weary arms trembling.
"Relax," came his caressing murmur, and her eyes widened, as she felt the hardness of his body between her thighs.
She gasped, her struggles fading.
"Softly, now..." He pulled the front of her gown down, momentarily trapping her arms. "Easy," he whispered.
Gwen went still, her blood pumping violently, as she stared up at him.
The light was uncertain in this part of the room, the bed swathed in shadow.
Arthur's muscular form moved over hers, his hands turning her this way and that, as he eased the gown from her body, and unhooked her corset.
And then, suddenly, she was breathing...breathing, too loudly, too fast, and the soothing stroke of his palm down the front of her body, only agitated her further.
Her skin had become so sensitive, that the feel of the open air seemed to chafe her, her entire body tingling and prickling.
She began to shiver, as he peeled away her chemise, her stockings and drawers, the occasional soft graze of his knuckles or fingertips, causing her to start.
Arthur stood by the bed, staring at Gwen intently, as he removed his own clothes, with leisurely slowness.
His elegantly sculpted body, was becoming familiar to her now, as was the aching excitement that penetrated every inch of her tender flesh.
She moaned a little, as he joined her on the mattress, gathering her against the warmth of his chest.
Feeling the continuous tremors that ran through her, he drew his hand over the brown skin of her back and cupped the taut shape of her bottom.
Everywhere he touched her, she felt waves of intense relief, followed by a deeper, more pleasurable ache.
He started off kissing her slowly, deeply, savoring the silky recesses of her mouth, until she groaned with pleasure.
Moving down to her breasts, he covered them with light, kisses, touching her nipples with fleeting strokes of his tongue.
He coaxed and teased her, as if she wasn't already flushed and trembling with desire. As if she wasn't breathing, in pleading sobs, for him to ease the pangs of need.
When her breasts were swollen and her nipples had contracted to hard tips, he took one peak into his mouth and began to tug firmly, while his hand settled on her stomach.
And just like that, Gwen felt a tightening inside her...a gathering urgency, that drove her mad.
Her own hand shook violently, as she grasped Arthur's, and brought it to the damp tangle of curls between her thighs.
He smiled against her breast, and moved to the other nipple, pulling it into the moist velvet of his mouth.
Time seemed to stop, as she felt his fingers searching delicately, parting the springy locks, then grazing over the wet, intricately couched peak of her sex.
His caresses were gossamer-light, as he stroked her with delicate insistence...first teasing, then assuaging, then teasing again, until she cried out in helpless release, her hips jerking hard against his hand.
Cuddling her protectively, Arthur caressed her quivering limbs, whispering endearments...words of adoration and lust, against her half-open mouth, while his hands moved over her body in reverent forays.
Gwen wasn't a ware of the exact moment, when Arthur's touch became more arousing than soothing, but gradually, she felt him layering sensation upon sensation.
And her heartbeat launched into a new urgent pattern, as she shifted uneasily beneath him.
He parted her legs and pushed her knees up a little, then entered her slowly.
She flinched at the intimate soreness of the invasion.
He was so hard above her, and inside her, that her flesh tightened instinctively, but nothing could stop the thick, heavy slide.
He kept his thrusts easy and deep, nudging into the tight clasp of her sex, with utter tenderness.
Every movement seemed to draw a thrill of pleasure from the depths of her body, and soon she relaxed, until the pain had tapered to a barely discernible twinge.
Minutes into their intimate activities, Gwen felt hot all over...feverish and desperate, as she sensed the approach of another climax.
Suddenly, he astonished her by withdrawing completely.
"Arthur," she whimpered, "Oh God...don't stop, please..."
Hushing her with his mouth, he kissed her deeply, then lifted and turned her carefully, until she was lying on her stomach.
Dazed and shaking, she felt him push a pillow beneath her hips, and then another, until she was propped up high and opened to him.
He knelt between her thighs, his fingers stroking and spreading the folds of her femininity. Then, he was pushing inside her again, and her moans became uncontrollable.
Helplessly Gwen turned her head to the side, her cheek pressed against the mattress, while her twisting hips, were steadied in the firm grasp of Arthur's hands.
His thrusts were even deeper than before, probing and stroking and pleasuring her, with a measured rhythm...deliberately pushing her over the edge of sanity.
She begged, sobbed, groaned, even cursed, and she heard him laugh softly, as he drove into her relentlessly.
He kept this up, until he drove her into a shattering burst of euphoria, making her body clench around his length, in throbbing contractions, milking him of everything, until she drew a climax from him, and a deep growl was torn from his throat.
Panting, Arthur lowered his body over hers, his mouth at the nape of her neck, his member still buried inside her.
Resting passively beneath him, licking her swollen lips, Gwen mumbled,
"And you called me a savage."
She caught her breath, as he chuckled, the hair on his chest rubbing like rough-napped velvet against her back.
Although she was pleasantly tired from their love-making, the last thing she wanted to do was sleep.
She was filled with wonder, at the discoveries she was making, about the man she had once thought of, as stodgy and boring...who had turned out to be neither.
She was beginning to recognize, that Arthur possessed a softer side, that few people were ever allowed to see.
And she sensed that he cared about her, though she was afraid to speculate on that, as the feelings that seemed to be pouring from her own heart, had become alarmingly intense.
After Arthur had wiped Gwen's perspiring body with a cool, damp cloth, he dressed her in his discarded shirt, which held the scent of his skin.
He brought her a plate containing a poached pear, and a glass of sweet wine, and even allowed her to feed him a few bites, of the silky-soft fruit.
When her appetite was sated, she set aside the empty plate and spoon, and turned to snuggle against him.
He rose on one elbow and looked down at her, his fingers playing idly in her hair.
"Are you sorry that I wouldn't let Lord Gwaine have you?" he asked.
She gave him a puzzled smile.
"Why would you ask such a thing? Surely you're not having pangs of conscience."
Arthur shook his head.
"I am merely wondering if you had any regrets."
Surprised and touched by his need for reassurance, Gwen toyed with the light curls on his chest.
"No," she said frankly. "He is attractive, and I do like him...but I didn't want him."
"You did consider marrying him, however."
"Well," she admitted, "It did cross my mind, that I would like to be a duchess...but it was only to spite you."
A smile flashed across his face and he retaliated, with a punishing nip at her breast, causing her to yelp.
"I couldn't have borne it," he admitted, "Seeing you married to anyone but me."
"I don't think Lord Gwaine will have any difficulty, finding another heiress to suit his purposes."
"Perhaps. But there aren't many women with fortunes comparable to yours...and none with your beauty," Arthur said.
Smiling at the compliment, Gwen crawled halfway over him and hitched one leg over his.
"Tell me more. I want to hear you wax lyrical about my charms."
Levering himself to a sitting position, Arthur lifted her with an ease, that made her gasp, and settled her, until she straddled his hips.
Stroking a fingertip, along the soft skin, that was exposed at the open vee of the shirt, Arthur said,
"I never wax lyrical," he said. "Pendragons are not a poetic sort. However..."
He paused to admire the sight of the lithe young woman, who sat astride him, while her hair trailed to her waist in tangled curls.
"I could at least tell you, that you look like an ethnic princess...like a Disney princess, with your tangled black hair and your bright, dark eyes."
"And...?"
Gwen encouraged, linking her arms loosely around his neck.
He set his hands at her slender waist and moved them down to grasp her strong, sleek thighs.
"And...that every erotic dream I've ever had about your magnificent legs, pales in comparison to the reality."
"You've dreamed about my legs?" She wriggled, as she felt his palms slide up her inner thighs in a lazy, teasing path.
"Oh yes." His hands disappeared beneath the drooping hem of the shirt. "Wrapped around me," he said, his tone deepening. "Gripping tightly, as you rode me..."
Gwen's eyes widened, as she felt his thumbs stroking the fragile outer folds of her womanhood.
"What?" she asked faintly, and drew a ragged breath, as she felt him open her, with gentle massaging strokes.
His fingers were doing something wicked, their artful movements concealed by the shirt, and she shivered, watching his intent face, as he used both hands to toy with her.
Some of his fingers filled her, while others flirted skillfully with the sensitive little crest, that seemed to burn at his touch.
"But women don't..." she said in breathless confusion. "...Not that way. At least...oh...ah...I've never heard..."
"Some do," Arthur murmured, teasing her in a way that caused her to moan. "My reckless angel...I think I'll have to show you."
In her innocence, Gwen didn't comprehend, until Arthur lifted her again, positioning her, and helped her to slide along the rigid, engorged length of his arousal, until she was fully impaled on him.
Shocked beyond words, she made a few tentative movements, obeying the low murmur of his voice and the patient guidance of his hands on her hips.
After a while, she found a rhythm.
"That's it," Arthur said, now sounding breathless. "That's the way..."
Reaching beneath the shirt once more, he found her aching nub, beneath the hood of her sex and circled it with his thumb, in an electrifying counterpoint to her downward thrusts, with a soft pressure, that sent new heat dancing across her nerves.
His steady gaze held hers, drinking in the sight of her pleasure, and the realization, of how utterly focused he was on her, caused the ecstasy to ripen, until she shuddered, in hard, deep-seated spasms, her body and heart and mind filled with him.
Gripping her waist, Arthur held her firmly, as he thrust upward, over and over, letting his own pleasure pump and surge through her, as he emptied himself into her.
Feeling witless and utterly drained, Gwen let herself collapse over him, her head coming to rest on the center of his chest.
His heart pounded and thundered beneath her ear for long minutes, before it eased into something approaching a normal rhythm.
"My God," Arthur muttered, his arms sliding around Gwen, then falling away, as if, even that required too much effort. "Guinevere..."
"Mmm?" She blinked drowsily, experiencing an overwhelming need to sleep.
"I've changed my mind about negotiating. You can have whatever you want. Any conditions...anything that's in my power to accomplish. Just put my mind at ease and say you'll be my wife."
Gwen managed to lift her head and stare into his heavy-lidded blue eyes.
"If this is an example of your bargaining ability," she said, "I'm rather worried about your corporate affairs. You don't surrender this easily to your business partners' demands, I hope?"
"No. Nor do I sleep with them."
A slow grin spread across her face.
If Arthur Pendragon, the Earl of Westcliff, was willing to take a leap of faith, then she would do no less.
"Then to put your mind at ease, Arthur...yes, I'll be your wife. Though I warn you...you may be sorry you didn't negotiate, when you learn of my conditions later. I may want a board position on the soap company, for example..."
"God help me," he muttered, and with a deep sigh of contentment, he drew her down into his arms and promptly fell asleep.
Stay safe!