Page 3 of Four Promises to Love

Sweeping her into his arms, he ignored her squeak of surprise and carried her to the bed. When he laid her across the mattress, she propped herself up on her elbows.

“Why the rush?” She wetted her lips. “Let me undress for you and give you a show you shan’t forget⁠—”

“Give me the show later.”

He grabbed a fistful of her skirts, shoving them to her waist. His blood sizzled as he admired her shapely legs encased in mended white stockings. Pale pink garters circled her thighs, framing her exquisite pussy. Her thatch was darker than her hair, and the chestnut curls perfectly complemented her rosy slit.

“Why don’t I take care of you—” she began.

“Later.” Reverently, he sank down on one knee. “I want this first.”

“What do you want?” Sarah’s voice held a tremor.

Naïveté was part of her game, no doubt, and it was working. Shaking with hunger, he clamped his hands over her sleek thighs and spread them. Fully exposed, her pussy looked even more delectable—plump and juicy.

“What I want,” he said thickly, “is to make a feast of you.”

When he put his mouth on her tender juncture, her flavor saturated his senses. She tasted sublime: feminine and real, her essence unlike anything else. It was something he could only have here and now—and the fact anchored him. To this room, where he was on his knees, gamahuching this delightful minx. He delved for more, grunting with pleasure when her ambrosia coated his tongue. She was sprawled on her back now, moaning, squirming against his mouth.

“Do you like being licked?” he growled.

“Yes. Blooming hell, I didn’t think…oh, don’t stop.”

Her abandon made him dizzy with lust. Painfully hard, he pleasured her as if his life depended upon it. As if there was nothing else but Sarah and her needy cunny beneath his mouth, her abundant dew slick against his cheeks. When he found her pearl, circling the little bead with his thumb, she gripped his hair.

“There. Right there,” she gasped. “Oh, Owen.”

By God, she’s the sweetest wanton.

Dazed by his good fortune, he flicked her pearl with his tongue while she gasped and swore. He thrust two fingers into her channel, grunting at the tight squeeze. Christ, he couldn’t wait to get inside her. Sensing she was on the edge, he closed his lips around her bead, sucking hard. She came with a wail. Triumph flooded him…along with other sensations.

Raising his head, he realized that he was…woozy?

He looked at Sarah—and blinked when two of her appeared.

“I am sorry,” one of them said.

“Sorry?” His tongue felt leaden, and his head was spinning.

Her glittering topaz eyes came in and out of focus, making him dizzier.

“Especially after that. Hardly tit for tat, is it?”

His vision wavered. “Tit for tat…?”

Darkness enveloped him, and he knew no more.

One

“It seems that all of Chuddums shares our purpose this morning.”

Gigi, the Duchess of Grantley and Owen’s younger sister, peered out from the curving brim of her bonnet. Her oval face was framed by raven ringlets, and her eyes—which matched the deep purple blossoms and satin ribbon tied beneath her chin—widened as she took in the drove of villagers headed in the same direction. Beside her, Xenia and Evie, Owen’s sisters-in-law, shared her look of mild concern.

“The village hasn’t been this bustling since the hustings,” Evie said. “When James trounced that blackguard.”

A petite and curvy blonde, Evie was a shy botanist who was married to Owen’s eldest brother James, the Earl of Manderly. Not long ago, the pair had survived a marital crisis, and their love seemed stronger for it. Evie had proudly supported James during his recent political campaign, which had secured him a seat in the Commons.

“This is my fault,” Xenia said ruefully. “I delayed us.”