A Little More Discreet Madness: A Risqué Regency Romance Page 8

  She slid her fingers beneath his jacket, feeling his heat, sensing his heart thundering within his chest even as hers echoed the self-same rhythm.

  Breaking apart, Piers made a sound that took Jessie’s breath away, then fumbled with her gown, finally loosening it as pins scattered and pinged to the floor.

  His hands found her breasts and she whimpered with pleasure. “Piers, how…”

  “I want you,” he groaned. “We can talk later. I want you now.”

  Chapter Four

  “Then take me,” she answered. “Take me, Piers, for I want you too.”

  “Not here, not in your front hall…” She huffed a surprised laugh. “It’s your front hall—Piers, for Heaven’s sake…”

  He swept her off her feet and into his arms as she spoke, taking her breath away at the same time. “I won’t drop you, trust me.”

  “I do,” she murmured, pulling the ties of her chemise loose and completely baring her breasts. “How could I not trust you?”

  He groaned. “You’re teasing me.”

  She smiled and licked her lips. “Yes.”

  “A dangerous game, my sweet…” He swiftly bent his head and set his teeth to one rosy nipple, tugging it as he carried her from the top of the short staircase to a door off the landing. “Here we are. And I don’t care if the bed’s made up or not.”

  “Neither do I.”

  He dropped her onto the soft mattress, covered by a thick feather quilt. Sparing only a moment to shrug free of his coat, he fell upon her, greedy for the taste of her, sucking as much of a firm breast as he could, while his hands fought her skirts and finally found her bare legs.

  “Piers,” she whispered. “Let me breathe. Let me touch you. Take off your clothes. Now…”

  He caught his breath, as eager as she to feel their naked skin meet and slide and…

  He groaned. “All right, but I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

  “You must.” She slithered off the bed and hurried to drop the gown and her chemise. Her shoes and stockings followed with a little thud and before he’d finished unfastening his breeches, she was nude, lying lasciviously open to him. Her mound glowed with rich dark curls and the morning light revealed tiny diamonds of moisture her body offered to him as a sign of welcome.

  “Not fair,” he panted, fighting with his boots. “You had less to take off.”

  She stretched, a sly smile on her face. “Now I have more time to watch you undress.” Her eyes roamed over him as she spoke and he wasn’t sure he could get any harder without exploding.

  Moments later he was as naked as she and stood by the bed, his cock fully erect, his heart thundering as he surveyed what he would claim as his.

  She reached for him, her soft hand cradling his length. “So beautiful. So incredibly beautiful.” Her gaze met his. “I want this. Inside me. Make me scream and sob and soar, Piers.”

  “I will.” He grasped her hand and moved it away from his cock. “But only when you’re ready…”

  She moaned as he flicked her nipples, then clasped her breasts and mounded them. “God, I’m ready now…”

  He pinched the hard peaks, smiling at her muted cry. “Not quite…”

  She shifted, her hips moving in mute invitation, her legs parting, knees bending. Yes, she was ready, but she could be even more ready and he determined to tease her higher and higher, knowing that the ultimate moment would be all the sweeter for it.

  Keeping his hands where they were, he moved over her, settling between her thighs, breathing in the sweet tangy scent of her body. It was a fragrance he’d never forget, a perfume that filled his head and his mind with images of her like this, eager, awaiting him with delicious abandon.

  “It’s the first time again,” he whispered, watching her tremble as he breathed the words over the soft roundness of her belly.

  “Yes…” she murmured back, keeping her hands high above her head, her body taut and inviting, white skin, rosy breasts and shadowy dark curls covering the sweet pink petals of her sex.

  Opening his mouth, he licked his way around her navel, then gently nipped, knowing she liked the feel of his teeth against such a sensitive spot.

  Her twitch and moan told him she still enjoyed it, but hidden pleasures lured, so he released his hold on her breasts and slithered down, tucking his hands beneath her bottom as he raised her to his mouth.

  With an anticipatory sigh, she let her thighs fall wide apart, opening herself for his pleasure. And Piers was ready to take full advantage.

  He growled low, hungering for that slick sweetness on his lips and the warmth of her body against his skin. He pushed against her, his tongue probing, tickling, drawing her hot honey, relishing the taste and the tiny tremors and sounds she made as he feasted on her plump and swollen folds.

  She tensed and whimpered, her hands now clutching at his hair, holding him tightly in place.

  He teased, stilling his tongue, alert to her mewling cries. Then he pushed harder, forcing his way within, dancing and tapping over a growing hard bud.

  She sobbed, her body tighter than a bowstring—and then she shattered, an explosion of spasms around his face, her thighs pressing fiercely against his ears.

  “Oh, oh…”

  He held on as Jessie rode the whirlwind, then pulled away, struggling to his knees, pushing her roughly into position and grabbing her buttocks to lift her onto his cock, the taste of her in his mouth, the sound of her in his ears.

  She slid forward, still shuddering, legs wide apart, ready for his penetration.

  He thrust, losing himself in the pleasure of feeling her inner sheath brush a slick kiss of welcome all over his arousal. She was so tight, an embrace of wet and hot flesh. He plunged deeply, again and again, faster and faster, hammering into her body, his balls slapping her buttocks.

  “Piers,” she screamed.

  “Jessie…” he groaned.

  And he surrendered control, coming inside her, erupting into an endless fountain, his seed pulsing from his body to fill hers.

  It could have been aeons—was probably only moments—but for Piers that moment of release inside Jessie was beyond description. He’d come many times in his life. But this, with her…this was unique.

  He finally withdrew, dragging a mixture of their fluids with him to dapple her thighs.

  She moved and allowed him to collapse beside her, both sticky, sated and weak as kittens after their exertions.

  He slowly lifted a hand and ran it over her nose and lips. “Do you love me?”

  She turned her head and gazed at him, cheeks flushed, eyelids heavy with lingering desire. “How could I not?”

  “You will welcome me like this, here, every night if I can manage to visit?”

  “And every morning, afternoon and evening if I could. You know that.” Jessie’s fingers ran down his arm to his hand. She grasped it. “However, I work here now, and I will make sure I do a good job. Forgive me, but I can do no less for your father. But when I am done, I will always be ready for the pleasure you bring.”

  He nodded, raising their intertwined hands to his lips. “I cannot ask for more,” he said softly, “at least for now.”

  He dressed and left her to familiarise herself with her new residence, returning to the Hall alone, his body relaxed and satisfied, his mind still stunned at this astounding turn of events and wondering what improbable twist of Fate had brought Jessie back into his arms.

  *~~*~~*

  Determined to be a good and worthy manager, Jessie did not spend too long lazing on the bed in her cottage. Piers had summoned Thompkins for her, and she unpacked what little there was, while telling Jessie that Sir Gerald had requested a seamstress for the next day. She might have some more clothing very shortly.

  “I’m also to tell you that the office is ready for you, Miss,” said the girl, shaking out the thin cloak and hanging it neatly. “So whenever you wish to go over and start working, you can.” She blinked. “Real odd, Miss, if you don’t mind
my saying so. You being a woman and now an estate manager and all…”

  “’Tis different, Thompkins, I’ll give you that,” agreed Jessie. “But I can assure you I will do my very best to manage Crawford Hall in a manner that will satisfy Sir Gerald.”

  The girl nodded. “I’m sure you will, Miss. We’re all looking forward to seeing you make a go of it. Especially us women. After we got over the shock of hearing about it, we figured it’s past time we had a bit more recognition. A time’s going to come when men understand we’re fit for more than making beds and washing dishes, I say.”

  “And how right you are,” endorsed Jessie. “I will go over to the Hall now and get started on it. You’ve inspired me.”

  “Oh, well, I don’t know about that, Miss,” blushed Thompkins.

  Jessie laughed as she headed for the door. “Thank you, Thompkins.”

  “Miss.” She dropped a curtsey.

  Leaving the cottage, Jessie wondered if Thompkins would be assigned as her permanent maid. Or even if her position warranted one. Sir Gerald had mentioned a footman too. Luxuries she assumed would be assigned to a male estate manager, of course, but a female? Well, she’d not refuse the offers if they were made.

  The surprise of Piers notwithstanding, she had a job to do and it entailed a responsibility to maintain a reputation that reflected positively on Crawford Hall.

  She sighed, then lifted her chin as she entered the building. It would all work itself out. It had to. The passion, the desire she felt for Piers Crawford was nothing compared to the love that swelled within her at the mere sound of his voice.

  He was a gift from Heaven, an angel who had become her saviour. She would make sure that her work and her behaviour honoured him as much as his father and the name of Crawford.

  “Miss Nightingale. This way, please.” James emerged into the corridor and led Jessie into the hall, then down a different passageway which ended in a large set of double doors. He opened one and stepped back. “Here we are. This was Mr Haskings’ office. It is now yours. I think you’ll find everything you need, but if not, just ring.”

  She smiled her thanks and walked in, noting immediately the scent of beeswax and parchment. Not surprising since the woodwork shone, and the walls were lined with shelf after shelf of books.

  She turned to James. “A library?”

  “The Crawford Hall library, Miss. This is where all our records are kept, and other works that Sir Gerald feels important to the estate. If you’re looking for other sorts of literature, there is a smaller personal library at the western end of the house.”

  “Oh no,” she said, her fingers dancing over the spines of books she itched to open. “This is perfect. A good manager needs to know not just the current situation, but also the history of the estate. How it has grown, developed…what went right and what went wrong.”

  “Ah.” James was noncommittal. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it, Miss. There’ll be tea at eleven o’clock and a bit of lunch after if you’re peckish. If you need anything else, like a fire if it gets too chilly, as I said before, just ring.” He nodded to a bell pull by one of the French doors. They led out to a small terrace, but the wind was whipping up fallen leaves, and she doubted she’d be lured outside unless the day turned warmer.

  “Sounds lovely,” she smiled. “Thank you, James. I believe I have all I need for the time being.”

  “Very good, Miss.” He bowed slightly and left, closing the door behind him.

  Walking to the desk, Jessie pulled out the chair, finding it surprisingly comfortable. A pile of correspondence lay to one side, and the drawers held other notes, papers and sharpened quills. To her right was an ornate inkwell and a large ledger dominated the left of the desk. It was this that she opened first.

  Several hours later, she stood and stretched, lifting her arms above her head and walking around the room to ease her cramped muscles.

  Her sojourn amidst the tomes hadn’t been for naught. She now felt as if she had a firm grasp on the estate business of Crawford Hall and was grateful that it had been so well-managed in the past. There were areas where some modernisation might show improvements, and she’d made copious notes as she read through the ledger, trusting that at some point she would be able to discuss them with Sir Gerald.

  The matter of the sheep also needed some clarification.

  A tap on the door, and a maid entered with a tea tray. “’Scuse me, Miss. Mr James said to bring yer afternoon tea. An’ to ask if yer’ll be wantin’ yer dinner ‘ere or over in t’cottage?”

  “Oh, lovely.” She walked to a small table and chair near the window. “Right here, if you would? And yes, I would prefer dinner at the cottage. I wonder…” She paused. “Would it be possible to ask Mr Piers Crawford if he could spare me a moment of his time?”

  “O’course, Miss. ‘E’s just come in from the fields, so I’ll get a message to ‘im.”

  “Thank you,” smiled Jessie. “And in the meantime I shall enjoy the tea.”

  She had barely finished the first cup, when another tap on the door heralded a familiar face peering around it. “You asked to see me?”

  “I did, sir. Thank you for coming so promptly.” She tried to quell the rapid thundering of her heart. His expression was all business and she had to keep hers the same.

  “I came too, I want to see how you’re doing.” Sir Gerald peered in over his son’s shoulder.

  She shook her head and laughed. “Come in, both of you, please,” she beckoned them. “I welcome the company, although I believe I just poured the last of the tea from the pot.”

  “No matter,” grinned Sir Gerald, taking a seat and waving Piers to another one. “Now, Miss Nightingale. Tell us about the estate matters and how Crawford Hall is managing.”

  “Well,” she sipped, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. “It is, overall, in fine fettle. That said, I do have one or two suggestions…”

  Chapter Five

  “Just a minute,” Piers’ brows rose over widened eyes. “What do you mean my sheep need a few changes?”

  “Oh dear. Here it comes,” chuckled Sir Gerald beneath his breath.

  “And what do you mean by changes?” Piers ignored his father’s comment, fighting against the anger rising in his chest. Nobody told him what to do with his sheep, especially a female estate manager. It was beyond anything rational.

  “Mr Crawford,” she began, her voice calm, her face expressionless.

  “What sort of knowledge could you possibly have of this matter? This flock, this breed…it’s mine, do you hear me? I created it. I’ve tended these animals extremely carefully for several years now. I know each of them. They do not need any changes, woman.” He wanted badly to leap from his chair and throttle her, but his father gently touched his wrist.

  “Piers. Let Miss Nightingale speak?”

  “Well,” he huffed, sitting back with a frown. “This had better be good.”

  “Thank you, Sir Gerald,” she said quietly. “Had I been allowed to finish what I was going to say, Mr Crawford, you would have understood that it’s not your flock that needs any changes, but the fields in which they graze. I would not,” she glared at him, “be so presumptuous as to suggest any alterations in your breeding and rearing program. From what I see, the wool from these sheep, especially this year’s youngsters, will be of decidedly superior nature and may well set a trend for other producers.”

  She tucked her feet beneath her skirt, an obvious distraction for a moment to catch her breath.

  Piers’ response was a muffled snort. “What do you mean?” he asked grudgingly.

  “I see from the records that you rotate the fields in which you graze your sheep.” She inclined her head. “An excellent practice, sir.”

  “What of it?” He knew he sounded belligerent, but he had no idea if she realised how important these animals were to him personally.

  “You have a rapidly growing flock. Split them. There are two fallow fields that have yet to be turn
ed over to your sheep. The one they are in now will need a couple of years to recover because the number of lambs this year exceeded past seasons by a factor of two.” She kept her gaze steady on his face. “You know full well that overgrazing can be an issue and if you don’t split the flock in the spring, you’ll be facing it in this year’s pasture and next year’s as well.”

  He blinked as her words sank home.

  “Obviously this late in the year, keeping them where they are until winter is the best course of action. But come the spring, and with it the new crop of lambs I fully expect from your ewes, it will be time to make some important decisions in relation to grazing.”

  She turned to Sir Gerald without giving Piers chance to respond.

  “With this matter in mind, Sir Gerald, I am going to suggest that one of your wheat fields be allowed to lie fallow in preparation for an expanded flock. I understand there are tenants involved here, so discussions will have to be held, but I do believe Mr Crawford’s sheep to be quite astounding in the potential that exists in regard to their wool.”

  “You do?” Sir Gerald’s eyebrows rose.

  “Indeed I do. The quality it has displayed so far exceeds anything I’ve run across in my preliminary reading. The lower lanolin content and softer texture will simplify spinning and weaving, bringing a unique fabric to the market, and a bit of research on the latest reports from that industry—which I was thrill to see you have—” she nodded at a shelf to one side, “all but guarantee an excellent financial return.”

  Sir Gerald turned to his son. “What do you think, Piers? Is she right?”

  He knew he was frowning, but that was a superficial response to a discussion that was churning within his mind.

  Finally he shrugged. “I cannot disagree with Miss Nightingale’s assessment, Father. Yes, overgrazing is an issue, and one I’ve avoided thus far. I’ll admit that I’d not considered the expansion rate of the flock, which is a mistake, since many ewes will be presenting us with new lambs, I hope, early in the spring. I’d have dealt with it then, of course, but Miss Nightingale is probably correct to raise it now, so that we can make preparations.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “As to her comments about the wool? I’m surprised. Astonished, in fact, that she presents such a statement unless she has a background in the wool trade.” He turned his gaze to the woman sitting calmly behind the tea tray.