Mad Jack (Sherbrooke Brides 4)

“Oh, goodness, this is just too much. It’s—”

“Just wait, Jack.” Without another word, he came over her. His mouth replaced his fingers, and Jack, embarrassed for perhaps a blink of an eye, forgot everything, even her own name, when she went over the edge into a blinding sort of pleasure that tossed her about like a leaf in a strong wind. She gasped for breath, arched her back, and tugged

on his hair until he came into her. She simply couldn’t grasp the joy of it, the utter belonging, the instant of being one with another person and that other person a man she’d met only a month before.

“I’m not going to live beyond the next minute,” she whispered against his sweaty neck, enjoying his gulping breaths interspersed with kisses on her jaw. “Gray, if there is any enemy you wish me to rid you of, just tell me. I never imagined such a thing as this.”

And Gray St. Cyre, Viscount Cliffe, closed his eyes, breathed in his wife’s sweet scent, and the smell of sex and sweat, and settled himself atop her. His last cogent thought was that he was still inside her and it was more than a man deserved.

She must have dozed after Gray had showed her how she could sit astride him, and how she could treat him as her personal stallion and drive him as hard as she wished.

She smiled herself awake and welcomed his urgency as she felt his fingers probing each of her ribs three times. He was actually counting out loud. When he reached her lower ribs, he sighed deeply, kissed her slack mouth, and said, his nose nearly touching hers, “I’m adding rib counting to my repertoire. It seems to wake you quickly. What are you thinking about?”

“You kissing the back of my neck when you were inside me, your hands around me, pulling me back against you.”

“Well, I did ask, didn’t I? Ah, our third endeavor, you on your side with me curved around you. Was it just twenty minutes ago?” Already his heart was pounding, lust swirling through him. Since he was a man, he was eager. He supposed the combination was unavoidable. He also supposed that this was one area in his life where it was comforting to be predictable.

“And this, Gray? What does this do?”

She played no prelude, didn’t digress to, say, his shoulder or just lightly touch his hip or skip to tickle his leg. No, she went to him immediately and touched him and held him.

He reeled with shock; he nearly yelled with the pleasure of it. “Jack, where this is going to lead—well, I know it will be to new heights, but that’s not the point.” He moaned. “Jack, it’s going to happen very quickly if you continue touching and holding me like that.”

There was a sharp knock on the bedchamber door. “My lord?”

“Go away, Quincy.” Was that his voice, sounding all blank and raw?

“It’s nearly eight o’clock at night, my lord. Surely there must be some mention from one of you of sustenance by this time?”

He stared down at his wife, gritted his teeth, and sighed. “Quincy’s right, blast him. I’m starving. I can wait for those new heights. What do you think?”

She leaned up and licked his neck. “Feed me,” she said.

Georgie joined them for their late dinner, eating porridge sweetened with Mrs. Post’s honey from her brother’s farm in Sussex.

“How do you like the nursery?”

Georgie looked over her spoon at the man who was, like her sister, wearing a dressing gown and was feeding her sister bites of his bread pudding. “I-I-It’s good, sir.”

“I’m not a sir, Georgie,” he said, looking at that one blue eye and one gold eye of hers. Unique, utterly unique. “I’m now your brother. Can you call me Gray?”

“You’re old, like Freddie. But y-y-you’re not as old as my p-p-papa.”

“A name problem,” Jack said. “What to do?”

“What do you think, Georgie? Do you think you could bring yourself to call her Jack instead of Freddie?”

Georgie gently laid her spoon beside her bowl of porridge and climbed up beside her sister on the arm of the wing chair. A thumb went into her mouth and she leaned against her sister. The thumb stilled for a moment. “Jack’s not b-b-bad.”

“I like Jack, too, sweetie. Why don’t you think about it. You can call me whatever you wish. Ah, I’m so glad you’re with me, pumpkin.” She hugged Georgie against her, kissing her small ear. Gray saw tears swimming in her eyes. Jack pulled her onto her lap and began rocking her. “You and I are going to have such fun. I hear there’s this place called Astley’s. They have a horse ring with riders who do all sorts of tricks. Gray, have you ever been to Astley’s?”

“Once when I was about ten years old Lord Burleigh took me. I’ll take you and Georgie there next week.”

Georgie took her fingers out of her mouth and said, “I like h-h-horses.”

The next morning, Gray awoke early, feeling rested and remarkably energetic, feeling better, in fact, than he’d felt in a very long time. He stretched, hit a warm body with his hand and froze. For those few moment, he’d forgotten. His wife was sleeping next to him.

His wife. Jack.