Taffeta & Hotspur

“Oh I can, and I will, but this time only to deliver your pup there.”

She put up her chin and went ahead of him to the stairs and then down the long hallway to her bedroom. She opened the door wide and stood aside to allow him passage with the basket and the sleeping pup. He placed i

t gently at the foot of her bed and turned to leave, but even as he started out the doorway, he turned and took one long stride and had her wrapped in his embrace.

His kiss was wilder this time, hungry, demanding, and she got lost in the passion it generated in her. His mouth on hers was in control not only of her lips, but of her body, and she pressed into him.

He elicited physical and explicit sensations from her that she couldn’t deny—and knew she would not feel for anyone else.

Friends talked about the magic of finding ‘the one’.

Was the Hotspur … her one?

His hand was on her breast, sensually cupping and fondling and generating a reaction she was embarrassed to own. He taught her in that moment she was a woman in waiting—waiting for his touch.

His tongue showed her how to give and bend to him, and then somehow he had managed to undo her gown enough to release her from the bodice, and he was bending his head to suckle at her hard yearning nipple.

She gasped with pleasure and made no attempt to stop him. She knew the rules. Maids did not give themselves before marriage. She knew this, but oh, she wanted him, had never wanted anyone like this before, and she whispered, “What am I doing?”

Suddenly and without warning, he straightened and backed away from her as though he had suddenly been stung. “I… I… Forgive me…” With which he turned on his heel and vanished.

What the deuce? She asked herself as she heard him hurry down the stairs and out the front door. Faith and la … just what the deuce!

~*~

The rakehell Hotspur leaned back against the plush squabs of his leather carriage seat and tried to call himself to order. What the devil is wrong with me? He had planned a convivial evening at Vauxhall and then a tryst with the Connors woman just to get some physical relief from his constant hard-on. He couldn’t remember when last he had been with a woman … and this one was driving him mad with desire.

The next thing he knew, he had heard Taffy’s voice berating someone, and it was all he could do to control himself from killing the devil for even looking at her, let alone threatening her.

Then, he looked at the pup, poor little survivor, and realized it had been starved as well as tortured, and his heart went out to the little Valiant, as she named him. The pup couldn’t be more than six weeks old, newly weaned, and every emotion was pinpricked into action.

However, she then announced giving up her night at Vauxhall, giving up her concert to take the puppy home with her and nurse it. He found himself not only amazed, but touched—deeply touched.

She seemed to constantly astound him with her actions, but what was worse, he was drawn to her in a way that just would not do. He wanted to do things with her he had never done with an untried maid. He did not tamper with virgins, and if that was what she was, he had no intention of calling in his marker or seducing her…

He felt something for her … something so strong he found himself constantly looking for her, and when he couldn’t find her, all he did was think about her. Absurd.

I am done with love. It served no purpose and led to pain. He was much happier as he was, enjoying his life and doing what he wanted when he wanted. Now look at him … playing nursemaid to a green girl who played nursemaid to a mongrel. This should have made him frown, but instead he realized he was smiling!

He would keep up the pretense of the so called ‘marker’ because if she was not a virgin, then by all means, he would satisfy his need for her. That was fair and just, was it not? A bit of sport. That was all it was, wasn’t it? He was merely entertained by the Lady Taffeta—nothing more.

He was fairly certain he would never get the opportunity to get her into his bed as he believed she was an innocent. He would not break his rule and play with an innocent in that fashion.

Tonight when he took her in his arms and kissed her, and then began removing her gown … when he was on fire and couldn’t stop himself from touching her breast, suckling her nipple… Damn, he had been nothing more than a cad with a hard-on. He knew it the moment she whispered, “What am I doing?”

He had swept her away with seduction and had been no better than the scoundrel she had called him. Why had the fates played their nasty little game with him and sent Taffeta, the highwaywoman, to haunt his thoughts? Why?

A sweet tongue slowly licked cherry lips … laughing eyes looked into his… Damn… But the touch of her skin…? He had to get her out of his system. Only one way to do that—avoid her as much as possible! Forget her, ignore her. He would do it. He would…

That was the only way to break from the driving, raging need when she came into view—and then even afterward, when she was no longer in his sight.

A heavy sigh escaped him. Tomorrow he had promised to take her for a ride in his phaeton, yes, but after that—he would avoid the chit.

What made it all worse was he suspected Taffeta was beginning to fall for him. He couldn’t have that—she wasn’t up to snuff. There was only one decent way to handle this situation, and that was to forget all about her.

~*~

Lady Taffeta threw off her gown and stomped around as she donned her nightdress and brushed her long golden locks. She looked in the mirror and asked her reflection, “What is wrong with you? What is wrong with him? What does it all mean, for goodness sake?”