Chapter 34
Yes, Hermy would still have Greg. She’d always have him, as a boy, as Baron, and now as Earl. There was no other person in the world as dear to her as Greg.
She glanced at Gambit in his wicker basket, her only friend left in the world besides Greg. Yet, Greg was so much more to Hermy, he was the epicenter of her heart, and she felt the need to tell someone. The dog had fallen asleep and snored lightly, only moving a paw every few minutes.
But they had work to do. This time, she wouldn’t rush back to Willowby Park. She’d return as the Countess and take up renovations before settling back in.
Eve, Rachel, Hannah, and Lizzie helped with the wedding arrangements and Madame Giselle had finally sent over the last pieces for Hermy’s new wardrobe. She’d be ready to return to society, head held high, on the arm of the most dashing newly minted Earl.
Together, they’d stir up more scandals than the Ton had seen in decades because one thing was clear, Hermy wouldn’t stand for double standards. The Crown Jewelers had earned their place in society, and they had earned the Prince Regent’s respect. It was time they had the same protections under the law as other citizens.
Once the Jewish Disability Act was lifted, she’d ensure that no woman could ever be locked away against her will because she’d fallen in love. Women didn’t need guardians; they needed the power to sign their own papers and control their own accounts, with or without their husbands. While only widows and women under special circumstances had these privileges, Hermy believed every woman ought to be free.
Hermy was excited to see the last delivery of her new wardrobe in the late hours of the night. When Hermy opened the door to her chamber, there were boxes everywhere. Round hat boxes with upholstered buttons in the center of the lids, others with satin ribbons as handles. There were large bags of woven fabric hanging from the armoire, dresses most likely. Then there was an elongated parcel. Hermy opened it and pulled out the thin fabrics. Oh, how soft and feminine it looked, no harsh wires and no sensible woolen stockings. These were the finest French muslin and silk undergarments. Hermy shrugged off her dress and pulled on the garters. They fit her perfectly and even the sheer stockings rolled over her legs like a second skin. She tried on the lace gloves, the cream slippers, and oh how delightful, there was a parasol!
By the time Hermy had put on the pieces she liked best, she was in a ridiculous outfit of lace, stockings, garters, heeled slippers with paste pearls, stays, and lace gloves. She posed before the mirror in her old chamber at Greg’s house but looked different. Gone was the prisoner and out came the vixen. Rachel had been right all along, there was a certain power to be drawn from new clothes, and she certainly had a message to send.
Hermy turned her back to the mirror and twisted her torso to see the loose lace draped over her bottom. It looked small but round, accentuating her narrow waist and the flare upward to her breasts. She twirled the parasol with one hand and tucked her breasts deeper into the corset with the other.
Click! The door swung open with unexpected haste. Hermy, caught in a moment of private vanity, barely had time to turn her head before Greg appeared in the doorway, his expression one of utter astonishment. For a heartbeat, she stood frozen, her cheeks hot as she faced him, clad in her new undergarments—a confection of ribbons and lace that felt at once ridiculous and delightfully feminine. She felt like a naughty doll.
Greg’s mouth hung open. He stood wordless as his gaze swept over her. The air in the room hung in suspense, the only sound Hermy’s heart pounding in her ears. She’d been caught in the superficial moment of unwrapping her new wardrobe and was acutely aware of the softness of the lace hugging her curves, the playful bows that dipped just below her waist, and the sheer fabric that whispered secrets against her skin.
Embarrassment clawed at her, urging her to cover herself, to duck away from his penetrating stare. But then, he shifted. Greg’s wide-eyed shock darkened, deepened into something more intense, more primal. His eyes, black pools of desire, locked onto hers, and in that gaze, Hermy found an unexpected wellspring of courage.
She felt transformed in these clothes.
Emboldened.
She straightened her spine, her initial impulse to hide melting away under the heat of his look. The air between them crackled, charged with tension pulsating with each of Greg’s shallow breaths.
For a moment, they remained thus—locked in a tableau vibrant with potential, with the unvoiced questions that hung heavily in the room. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement that seemed to draw the very light towards him, Greg stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that echoed like a gunshot in the silence. He turned the key and left it in the hole.
Hermy watched him, every sense heightened, every nerve alight. She saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes never left hers as he took one measured step after another, closing the distance between them. In those eyes, she read a thousand words, heard the unspoken promises, and felt a thrill of anticipation that sent shivers down her spine.
The ridiculousness of her outfit faded into insignificance, replaced by the palpable, thrumming energy that filled the room, enveloping them both in a cocoon of desire. Hermy stood her ground, her earlier embarrassment now a bold defiance, a challenge laid bare in the tilt of her chin and the steady gaze that met Greg’s.
And in that charged silence, with the world beyond the closed door held at bay, Hermy realized that this moment—this electric, terrifying, exhilarating moment—was not about the frivolity of lace and ribbons. It was about the raw, undeniable connection that pulsed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the storm that was about to break.
Time seemed to stutter.She stood there, an embodiment of allure in nothing but garters, stockings, stays, and twirling a parasol with an innocence that belied the scene before him. She was like a vision from a dream he dared not admit to having—fearlessly feminine, a contrast of strength and delicacy that struck him to his core.
“My new wardrobe has arrived from London,” she said.
Every rational thought, every reason he had meticulously constructed to keep a respectful distance, crumbled to dust under the weight of his immediate and overwhelming desire. Her presence, bathed in the soft light of the room, cast a spell over him, rendering him incapable of anything but raw need.
Greg’s heart hammered against his ribcage, a relentless drumbeat urging him forward. Yet, he approached Hermy with a reverence that belied his burning desire. Each step he took towards her was measured, a testament to the battle raging within him between haste and the need to savor this moment for eternity.
As he reached her, Greg’s hands trembled with anticipation. With a gentleness that surprised even him, he grabbed her hips and fell to his knees.
The air between them thickened with the unspoken promise of what was to come. He placed a kiss on her navel, and she arched her middle toward him.
No words were necessary when her hands combed through his hair, nudging his head closer.
He assisted Hermy out of her stays, his fingers brushing against the warmth of her skin, igniting goosebumps wherever they touched.
When he squatted to roll the stockings down her legs, one by one, uncovering her soft skin with every inch he discovered anew. He’d been a boy in heat when he’d touched her last time, but now he appreciated her as a man does a woman.
“You are a beauty!” he mumbled, as his lips followed the path his fingers uncovered, pressing soft, reverent kisses against her skin. “I want you so badly, Hermy. I want you completely.”
“You’ve always had me.”
“I mean, I want you as my wife. My love.”
“Always been,” she barely managed. “Oh please, Greg, please.”
She quivered and steadied herself on his shoulder.
He rose, trailing his hands along the insides of her thighs, and then he lifted her up. She yelped in surprise, then let her head hang back and laughed out loud, showing off her perfect white teeth. His Hermy … she wasn’t a virgin by far, he’d seen to that. She had known pleasure, but time had let her blossom. And Greg was ready to collect the sweet nectar between the frilly white petals enveloping her sweetness. When she laughed, Greg took her mouth and plunged his tongue into her warmth.
Each kiss was a wordless vow, a pledge of his admiration and desire. Hermy’s sharp intake of breath was the only encouragement he needed to continue, to worship her with his mouth, to communicate with actions what words could never fully express.
With the stays and slippers discarded, Greg guided Hermy to the bed, laying her down with a tenderness that contrasted with the fervor that pulsed through his veins. He eased her onto her back. Hermy’s kiss was sweeter than honey and sugar combined as she sucked his mouth as if she never wanted to let him go. That only spurred him on, their tongues in the familiar dance of their past, but their bodies ablaze with the passion of the moment. This was his Hermy, his fiancée, his queen.
His lips left hers, kissed a trail of kisses along her neck, her collarbone, and then everywhere else, mapping the landscape of her body with a devotion that left no inch of her skin unkissed. As he moved lower, Hermy grabbed his collar and tugged at it.
“Greg!” Her voice a beg.
He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to control the rock-hard erection, stretching his breeches in an uncomfortable harness for his desire. But he wasn’t the boy in heat anymore. He wanted to be her suitor, a worthy fiancé, and an honorable groom. Although he couldn’t take back his past transgressions, he could do the right thing now, and at least not … oh, he couldn’t think it without wanting to tear his clothes off and plunge into her.
“I promised not to … not until we’re married.” His voice cracked, and he was the sixteen-year-old boy hiding in her room again after all this time. It may be a different bed and the same house, but the forbidden fruit called to him just as it did then—all those times when he gave in without considering the big picture—and without strategizing. No, this time, he’d keep at least his clothes on.
But there’d been that one time when … Greg broke his kisses and searched for Hermy’s eyes. She lifted her head and looked at him, sucking her lower lip in.
“Do you remember?—”
But she didn’t need to continue for he ducked down and she fell flat on the mattress. He spread her legs, and she drove her hands through his hair, breathing sharply when he parted her folds.
At first, he gave her a tender kiss, not aiming at anything in particular. Her flat stomach fell into a hollow groove. Then, just as she drew the next breath and her breasts soared from Greg’s vantage point, he covered her with his hand. She pressed his hand tightly with hers and guided his head down with the other.
No further instruction was needed because he did remember. How could he ever forget the unforgettable, beautiful, gorgeous, and sweet Hermy? The one woman who overshadowed all others, who shone brighter in his heart than even the morning sun when he’d crossed the Atlantic Ocean. And his heart was flooded with all the love he’d said for his bride.
With the tip of his tongue, he licked her up and then down and swirled her pearl, but she was already so wet that his finger slid in easily and deeply.
Greg’s heart thrummed, his cock twitched, and every muscle in his body pulsed with desire. But he’d promised her not to. After everything he’d done, he was going to respect their wedding night.
Except that he wasn’t going to wait that long at the expense of her pleasure.
Perhaps it was a tiny bit selfish, but that didn’t matter very much once his second finger slipped in and she arched her hips, pressed into his touch, and let go of his head to search for… what was she searching for?
Her hands went behind her head, patting the covers for something. “Pillow!” She cried out. “Pillow!”
Greg left his hand where it was but shifted his weight over her, grabbed the pillow that was out of her reach and she took it, pressed it over her mouth and screamed.
For a moment, Greg froze.
It was a shrill, loud sound, muffled by the pillow. Then she threw the pillow behind her and shook the cry off.
Eyes wide, he forgot to move.
“There! It’s all out.” A wild gleam flared in her eyes as a brilliant smile brightened her mouth.
She reached for his hand and pressed him on, inviting him to apply more pressure.
Then she wrapped her other arm around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. She was glorious, wild, and oh so hot. If he didn’t know any better, he’d burn his tongue or his fingers, but it was worth it. With her, Greg didn’t need armor, the knight was always trumped by the queen.
“I’m mad for you,” she said into his open mouth, licking his front teeth.
“So I see.” Greg teased her with a third finger.
That earned him a little bite. And everything was easy. It had always been easy with Hermy, not because they were young and reckless, but because they belonged together.
And because he knew what she wanted.
In that room, with the world held at bay, Greg poured every ounce of his longing, his reverence for Hermy, into each kiss, each caress. He worshipped her as though she were the very air he breathed, essential and life-giving. And in those moments, as he laid bare his heart without uttering a single word, Greg knew there was no turning back. He had crossed a threshold within himself, driven by an irresistible force that Hermy embodied. In her, he found not just desire, but a connection that transcended the physical, a bond that promised more than fleeting pleasure—a whisper of forever in the touch of her skin.