The MacGalloways: Books #1-3

Chapter 23

23

M artin’s cock was so hard, when she’d asked him to show her how a woman could pleasure a man, a bit of seed dribbled into his smalls. “I would never ask a lady to stoop so low,” he croaked, laying on his side and facing her. Yes, he’d enjoyed many a bed partner, but never a highborn woman. He was charting new waters and though Lady Julia had proved quite eager, he absolutely must respect her station.

Her tongue tapped her upper lip while her gaze meandered down his body, stopping at the obvious swell straining against the front of his falls. “I may be unschooled in the process by which a woman may satisfy a man, but I do believe there must be something I can do to…ah…relieve such…ah…seemingly uncomfortable tension.”

A rumbling chuckle thrummed in his chest. Lady Julia most definitely earned high marks for an adventurous spirit as well as a healthy capacity for compassion, bless her. He slid a hand to the back of the woman’s slender neck and kissed her. “My satisfaction comes from watching you come undone, lass.”

A thrill pulsed through his blood as she swirled her fingers through the hair on his chest until her fingers timidly brushed his nipple. “You said I could kiss you here.”

Merciful God, the mere friction of her touch was enough to make him spill. Before he could stop her, she pushed him to his back and completely spread his shirt wide. With his next heartbeat, her warm tongue teased the taut bud, making him thrust his hips forward. He’d never wanted to be inside a woman as much as he wanted, needed, craved to bury himself inside Julia St. Vincent. And she gave no respite. After the thoroughly ravishing his chest, she trailed kisses downward until she suckled his navel.

“Holy be the saints,” Martin grunted, his balls spun so tightly, he was cocked and more than ready to fire.

She looked up, her grin as sinful as Aphrodite’s, a true likeness of the goddess of love. “May I…um…touch it?”

Knowing he should dissuade her yet utterly unable to do so, Martin gave a single nod.

Julia first traced the outline of his member, then her gaze held his with a sly smile while she released his falls with quick flicks of her fingers. As she ever so slowly pulled the flap downward, a wee gasp slipped through those bow-shaped lips. “Oh, my.”

“Do not let the trouser snake frighten ye, lass.”

She slid her hand under his cock and palmed it as if it were as fragile as a baby chick. “Does it hurt to be engorged like this?”

“Bloody oath it does.” As her smile was replaced with a grimace and she snapped her hand away, Martin grasped her fingers and urged her to wrap them around his shaft. “But it is a heavenly sort of pain.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Well, I suppose it is like craving something so much it drives a man to the brink of madness until…”

“Yes?”

“Until he finds release.”

“Is that similar to the release I felt when you kissed me…um…in such a very private, unspeakable place?”

“Aye,” he managed.

She tightened her grip ever so subtly. “So, may I kiss you here?”

Good God, he was already bare and exposed, there was no use continuing to try to be a gentleman. “Please.”

The first lick produced another bead of moisture. “I’ll not last long,” he said while she took him into her mouth, then ran her tongue up and down the shaft. He wrapped his fingers around her hand and showed her how to stroke him. In no time she was sucking the tip of his cock while keeping a steady rhythm with her hand. “That’s it, love.”

Martin’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. His hips thrashed. Losing control like never before, he sank his fingers into her glorious locks of chestnut. His entire body tensed as he pumped and strained until, with an explosion as violent as the fireworks at Vauxhall, he tumbled into the abyss of pleasure.

Julia wiped her mouth, glancing up with her eyes wide. “That was purely fascinating.”

He pulled her beside him and wrapped her in his arms. What was it about this woman that made him feel so differently? In the past whenever he’d made love to a woman, afterward there was nothing left to do but don his clothes and head for home. But presently, he felt closer to Lady Julia than he had when he’d climbed in her window. Martin didn’t actually want to go. Though, given the fact that he was entwined in her arms in a ladies' boarding house, staying until dawn was out of the question. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips to her temple. “ You are fascinating.”

“The post has arrived, sir,” said Giles, delivering a small stack of letters on a silver tray.

Julia quickly shut her journal where she’d been careful to detail her dealings with Papa’s moneylender. She’d also been careful to lock the book away from any prying eyes. “Good morning,” she said trying to sound as if she hadn’t been awake all night in the arms of her employer and, furthermore, was not being swindled by a scoundrel.

Nonetheless, in the past week, she had grown to fear Giles’ silver tray. Evidently, Mr. Skinner had no concept of the meaning of the word occasional. Since the incident at the bank, the man had sent her out for two more vile deliveries. She tapped the corner of her writing table. “Thank you, just leave it here, please.”

The butler did as asked, then cleared his throat, gripping the tray between his weathered fingers. “I thought you might like to know the servants are casting lots regarding His Grace’s latest dalliance.”

Her stomach squelched so violently, Julia nearly fell out of her chair. “I beg your pardon? What are they saying?”

“Half believe he’ll be married before the family returns to Scotland. The rest of us believe it is another of his passing fancies.”

Dear God, marriage? Martin had repeatedly told her—or Jules—he wasn’t on the marriage mart. And Julia’s dalliance, as Giles had put it, had never been intended to pressure the duke into making a proposal. She ought to chastise the servants for being so brash, but then again, it wasn’t uncommon for them to gossip below stairs, not to mention reprimanding them might make her more suspicious than she already was. “Put me down for passing fancy,” she said, flicking a dismissive hand toward the door.

“At what odds?”

“Truly?” Julia coughed out a guffaw as she rolled her wrist, happy to feel no pain whatsoever. “You are taking odds? Moreover, are all the servants placing wagers?”

“My oath, they are.” Giles rocked back on his heels as if he were very content with himself. “The thing that has us all baffled, however, is His Grace has never trifled with a lady before.”

“I believe the correct term is courted.”

“Is it?”

Julia gave the butler a stern frown. “I give you no odds. The only thing I know, as you are well aware, is that my cousin must return to the country. She only agreed to stay in London for a fortnight, a week of which has already passed. And I do know something of her circumstances. Even if Lady Julia wanted to stay longer, she is duty-bound to her father.”

“So say you.”

“Yes, say I. And which side are you taking? First you said, ‘the rest of us’ which indicates you’re siding with the ‘passing fancy’ lot, are you not?”

“I am, though I might be a wee bit on the fence. I do find His Grace’s zeal in this situation far greater than I’ve ever seen it before…at least where females are concerned.”

Julia gripped the seat of her chair to prevent herself from jumping up and dancing. “Well, I say, you ought to pay more attention to your duties and to those of your underlings than placing wagers on any infatuation the duke may or may not have. It is not for us to judge, notice, or otherwise stick our noses into His Grace’s private affairs.”

“Then you would decidedly be with the passing fancy lot?”

“Yes, most decidedly and again, I’m not offering any odds.” Julia thrust her finger toward the door. “And you’d best readjust the curiosity of the serving staff, lest they all end up sacked.”

“Very well, sir. But might I say your sense of humor is greatly lacking.”

Julia shook her finger. “That is because a sense of humor is not a prerequisite for the post of steward.”

She snatched the mail as the butler took his leave. Good heavens, the staff was taking lots? Of course, all of them knew Martin had escorted Julia to a soiree, a ball, and a recital since the first night when they’d attended the theater. A few servants most likely were also well aware of his late-night jaunts. Giles was one, of course.

She glanced down to the letter on the top and, rather than squelch, a lead ball sank to the pit of her stomach. To her chagrin, she’d now recognize Mr. Skinner’s jagged scrawl from across the room. The dark black ink applied with too much pressure made his writing look as foreboding and as cold as the man.

Her fingers perspired as she broke the seal, the parchment trembling in her hands. He had said he needed her for an occasional delivery. Every sane person in Britain knew occasional meant every so often, not frequent, and definitely not daily.

She fumed as she read the demand:

You must come to Deuce’s forthwith. I have specific and confidential instructions for you. Please do not delay.

“Argh!” she cursed. The man was well aware she was not at liberty to flit about London doing his bidding at the drop of a hat. First and foremost, Julia had a duty to perform for His Grace, the Duke of Dunscaby. If only they had remained in Scotland, none of this would have happened. Mr. Skinner wouldn’t have seen through her ruse, she wouldn’t have been put in a position of bearing his despicable correspondence, and she wouldn’t be summoned to the demon’s gambling hell upon his untimely whim.

“Did I just hear a groan of frustration, Smallwood?” asked the duke as he pushed through the door.

Julia casually tossed an unopened letter atop the moneylender’s, trying to appear as if nothing were amiss. “Not at all, Your Grace. Is all well?”

Martin sauntered inside and sat in the chair opposite her writing table. “I believe it will be.”

“Hmm? It sounds as if you’re plotting, sir.”

“Indeed I am.” His Grace crossed his ankles and clasped his hands over his immaculate waistcoat. “My uncle?—”

“The one in charge of the distillery?”

“Aye, that’s the one. He’s staging a benefit for the foundling home in Wick—a village where many of the workers reside with their families as you’re aware.”

“I say, that’s very enterprising of him. It ought to go a long way to bolster worker morale and whatnot.”

“I agree.” Martin lowered his feet and leaned forward. “Though I’m not in a position to travel so far north at the moment.”

“Of course not.” Julia reached for her quill. “I would imagine we can send a note with a substantial donation.”

“I have a better idea.”

“And that is?”

“You’ll go in my stead.”

Julia felt the color drain from her face as she replaced the quill. “Me, sir?”

“Why not? Havena you been champing at the bit to visit Stack Castle as well as the distillery?”

“Yes,” she coughed as the word caught in the back of her throat. “Ah…w-when do you envisage my departure?”

“The benefit is a month hence and I reckon you should prepare to leave in the next few days or so—as soon as you feel you are able to leave your affairs for a time.” Martin checked his pocket watch. “I ken there hasna been much time for your education of late, but there will be plenty of time upon your return. Once Lady Julia returns to Brixham, we’ll head back to Jackson’s for his sound tutelage, and I promise we’ll have the most diverting time at an exclusive hell I used to frequent.”

“I shall anticipate darkening hell’s doors with bated breath.” Julia’s mind raced. He wanted her to leave London? Now? “Ah…um…er…speaking of my cousin, how are things progressing with Her Ladyship?”

A sated grin spread across the duke’s lips, one she’d seen a great deal of late, especially after an evening spent in his arms. “She is nothing shy of remarkable.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Julia drummed her fingers on an exposed corner of Mr. Skinner’s letter while an idea began to form.

A rather brilliant idea, indeed.

If Jules Smallwood were to be out of town, the steward surely could not attend to the cur’s bidding. “What would you think if I were to leave on the morrow? Doing so would allow me some time to make a stop at Newhailes and mayhap even the lodge.”

“Verra well, I’ll leave the planning in your capable hands. But as soon as the benefit is over, I’ll need you to return. Perhaps you can sail from Wick. This time of year, a voyage ought to be faster for certain.” Martin gave a nod as he pushed to his feet. “I’d best be off. I’m taking Her Ladyship to Vauxhall to see a play.”

“Ah, yes, she ought to enjoy that.” Julia drummed her fingers. He hadn’t mentioned Vauxhall yesterday. “When did you say you are meeting her?”

“I did not, but if you must know, I plan to surprise her as soon as I leave these rooms.”

“But…”

“What is it, man?” the duke asked, his tone growing annoyed. “You dunna usually have trouble forming complete sentences.”

“Forgive me. I’ve been a tad preoccupied with my duties. However, I have it on good authority that Lady Julia is presently not at the boarding house.”

“How do you ken?”

“Ah…er…”

Planting his feet wide, Martin thrust his fists onto his hips. “God’s stones, out with it.”

“Earlier your sister mentioned something about the library. Or was it the haberdashery?” Julia raised her palms and shook her head as if women posed too much of a quandary. “I’m not sure which, but I am quite certain my cousin is not presently at the boarding house.”

“Good God, the woman is busier than a honeybee in a field of lavender.” With a sigh the duke glanced out the window. “Well, then, I suppose my horse needs to stretch his legs.”

As His Grace swept out the door, Julia took a slip of stationery, picked up her quill, and carefully composed a letter:

Dear Mr. Skinner,

Regrettably, I am unable to attend you forthwith as per your request. I am urgently needed in Scotland on the duke’s business and will be away from London for the next three fortnights or more...