Page 13 of A Season for Submission

“I cannot wait to strip your dress off and see whether you're blushing everywhere." He brushed light kisses along her cheek and smoothed her skirts down along her hips, already looking forward to hauling them up again. "Now, shall you send your maid off? We'll play another hand of this game while she's gone.”

Amelia whimpered, her expression somewhere between exhaustion and bliss, her smile small but much brighter. Nicholas moved to her side, offering his arm to escort her. Slowly, testing her weight, she nodded. He made sure she looked respectable before he opened the door.

Nicholas rang for the butler while she sent the chambermaid for her attendant. His carriage would be ready in minutes, with a second easily hired for the maid and his valet, plus an extra groom. If the maid was quick in returning, they could be out of London before sunset. A nighttime ride north would be unpleasant, but they'd have a decent head start before her father figured out which peer his daughter had vanished with. He also sent a quick note to Markham to keep his eyes and ears open for any faster or unforeseen pursuit.

The preparations took a few minutes, the servants jumping to their assignments, and then he was free to return to his new fiancée in the parlor. Her color had returned and heightened when their eyes met. He crossed the room to her side at the fireplace, taking her hand to draw her closer.

"Now, darling. We're stuck until your maid's returned and the grooms are set. I'm afraid the journey's going to be unpleasant this evening.” He stroked her hair at her temples, half expecting her to protest at the familiarity, despite the fact he’d just had his hand between her thighs.

“Why unpleasant?” She looked so worried.

“We'll leave a bit later than the ideal, and if your father discovers us, we'll need to ride through the night. The hardships will be worse than you're used to at this time of year. Unless Baron Sunderland’s fond of dragging you around the country in winter.”

“Given the state he was in last night, my father will be in no condition to find us until well after sunrise tomorrow. I understand the journey will be unpleasant, but I will happily endure it.”

"Good." He traced her lower lip, which startled her into silence. "Because I don't think I'd give you a choice now.”

“R—really?”

“Mm. I'm glad you're not fleeing because I'd have to play the villain and drag you north. It'd be bloody exhausting." He grinned. "I much prefer exploring your beautiful form to chasing you through the soot and snow." As he said it, he wrapped one arm around her and bent for a long, slow kiss. "Would you like a drink? Food? I want my beautiful, stolen bride, fainting of desire, not hunger."

Her eyes met his, still glittering with the edge of tears she was trying not to show. “I—I am glad you find me beautiful, my lord. I feared you might not and—”

"You feared I had failing eyesight?" He chuckled. "I promise you, very few men have ever called you plain, Miss Sunderland. Some, of course, have neither keen sight nor good taste and must be allowed to be idiots." He tucked another loose wisp of hair behind her ear.

She laughed, and he got his first look at her true smile—with her eyes bright and her lips swollen from kisses. The effect spurred his own desires. “My brother used to say that every village needs a fool. And London is quite a bit larger than your typical village. It must have many.”

“A wise man.”

“He was.” She turned her head to kiss his palm before stepping back to examine it. “Does it hurt much? From the other night? I feared you were more injured than you let on.”

"The elation of getting to slam Darby's head into a table offset the discomfort." He flexed his hand for her examination, and his other found its way to her waist. "I—" he grimaced. "I was about to address you as Miss Sunderland again. No. I think you'll have to be ... Amy, isn't it? Or is there some other name you use among your confidantes? My sister had a mania for being called Minerva for a few years."

“I’d have preferred Minerva to Amelia. I loathe the name. My confidantes call me Amy, as did my brothers.”

“Amy," he tested her name again. “It certainly fits you better than Amelia. You’re too sweet for such formality.”

“And do you have any preference, my lord, for how you would like me to address you?”

"Nicholas." He let himself toy with her lower lip. To his amusement, she didn’t protest. "But let's order lunch before you distract me into keeping you otherwise occupied."

She beamed and leaned closer, grabbing his forearms as she got onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. “I assure you, Nicholas ... all distractions on my part are purely accidental. I wonder if you can say the same.”

He took her arm as formally as he had at their first meeting, but now he stroked her sleeve, and his forearm brushed the side of her breast. She inhaled but did not move. "Oh, I intend to keep you unbelievably distracted, darling. I know how miserable the next two days on the road are going to be. I don't want you changing your mind and running home."

Amy’s delicate fingers dug into his sleeve. “From this day hence, my home is with you.”

"Good." He smiled and placed one quick kiss on her cheek before leading her out into the foyer. And signaled for a footman. “See if there's anything for luncheon and send it to the blue room. Miss Sunderland's going to be resting until her maid comes back. And let Juliet know she can either accompany us or come along tomorrow. This is more important than Trembleston.”

Amy would be resting with his hand between her legs, of course. But a few climaxes would keep her sweet. The less time he gave her to reconsider before they got in the carriages, the better. He needed her money, but he didn’t need to be an utter villain. And she was so deliciously sensitive when she came.

****

Amy

(Clarendel coach. Great North Road.)

Amy drew the heavy wool blanket to her chin. Even with the extra quilted petticoats Staunton forced her into before boarding the coach, the winter chill still sank through her skin. She eyed the open space beside Clarendel—No. Nicholas. Her soon-to-be-husband. When they first embarked, she expected he’d sit beside her. After their distractions, waiting for the preparations and Staunton’s return, she didn’t think it was beyond reason to expect the diversions to continue along their journey. After all, why else would he have his sister ride in the carriage behind them if not to give them privacy?