The rhythmic rocking of the carriage was soothing, and soon became a predictable pattern, perhaps due to an out of round wheel, or mayhap a gimp leg on one of the horses, or perhaps an uneven distribution of luggage overhead and beneath.
Rain pricked at the hard exterior, the thick glass window on the door and parallel side of the carriage. This and the clop clop of the horses' hooves offered a hypnotic chant that left Hannah's head nodding against the corner she huddled in beneath her cloak. As she fell into a deeper sleep, however briefly, her head would snap back and crack against the wall, jarring her awake momentarily.
The Duke of Lancashire watched on in amusement the sleepy young woman struggle to maintain her dignity as she succumbed to the onslaught of her exhaustion. She fought valiantly to stay awake, and the Duke found the whole situation surprisingly erotic. He wondered what she would do if he leaned over and brushed a kiss across her pouty lips.
Probably deliver a resounding slap to his cheek, he chuckled to himself.
The lass was American, which was a pity for a number of reasons. Firstly, she was on her way back to the states, which was how he had been coerced into the position of nursemaid. Secondly, she had the typical American woman independent streak, diminishing her elfin beauty. A woman should be protected, cared for. She should not be galavanting alone in strange countries.
The world was full of unsavory characters.
He licked his lips and leaned forward slowly, his blue eyes locked on her mouth. As he continued to edge closer and closer, he could hear the faint puffs of her breath inhaling and exhaling as she slept.
He had to have her. Taste her. Feel her curves beneath his hardness, feel her tremble, arch beneath him. feel her velvet, tight wetness surround his throbbing hard cock.
But now was not the time. He leaned back, denying himself of the gratification so close at hand. Patience, he reminded himself, as he adjusted his hardness beneath his trews, is a virtue.
Shortly thereafter the carriage came to a halt, and Michael peered out the window to see the familiarly lighted windows of the Inn he owned south of Herbshire.
Now when he leaned over it was not to steal a kiss, like an overanxious school boy, no. It was to wake the child woman, help her collect her things in her groggy state, and help her down the carriage steps.
Even through the layered cloak and gown she wore, Michael could feel the heat of her body, and just touching her served as a powerful aphrodisiac. He closed his eyes briefly and leaned ever so slightly forward to breathe in the scent of her hair, her body.
She smelled like honey. And he was quite sure she would taste like honey as well.
Hannah had been introduced to him at an end of summer gala put on by the Fauntroys of Wilshire. When she learned he was the Michael Westford, Duke of Lancashire, owner of the New World shipping line she batted her long black lashes at him, her green eyes doelike with curiosity. She explained how she needed passage back to the states, but her funds had run low.
"Perhaps I can be of some assistance?" He had narrowed his eyes and studied her knowingly, at which time she struggled to maintain eye contact, losing the battle nearly immediately.
"I would do anything to get home," she said breathlessly, studying the knot of a tie at his neck.
"Anything?" He had lifted her face to him with a finger placed gently under her chin. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her cheeks glowed cranberry with her embarrassment, yet she persevered.
"Anything," she whispered.
"Verra well," was his only reply.
So now, it was nearly time for... anything. He steered her through the smokey crowded dining and bar area, directing her to the back stairwell that ran along the back wall. They would be dining alone, in the suite of rooms reserved for his personal use only. As his arm came about her waist he felt her body shudder and he smiled.
"I gave word when I reserved the night that a bath would be required. The tub should be in the lounge, through that door," Michael said, removing his outer clothing. Hannah remained immobile in the center of the room, drinking in the decor, the gold filigree details.
"I..."
He smiled and waited for her to finish her thought, and when she didn't, he spoke softly. "Hannah, there's nothing to fear. I've assured you, there's nothing to fear, and now, you know what to expect. No harm will come to you, little one, only pleasure."
"Your Grace..." She bowed her head and struggled with the ties of her emerald green velvet cloak. One after the other became knotted as she fumbled blindly with her task.
"Would you like me to help you?"
She nodded, never looking up. He noticed a single tear trickle down her left cheek, now pale, even in the flickering shadow of the fire burning brightly across the room.
After laying his coat on a chair he walked over to the young woman and unknotted the ties, slowly, deliberately, keenly aware of her unwavering gaze that never left his fingers.
