The Lamplighter's Love (9 page)

She wasn’t sure how to proceed, then, but
Nicholas coaxed her up on her knees enough to give him room before
he angled his stiff, ready length to press against her
entrance.

“Take me inside this way,” he encouraged,
using his free hand to press gently down on her thigh. She pressed
until his tip was lodged inside her, tensed for a moment, and then
let her body surround him in one heated slide. They groaned in
tandem, resting their heads on one another’s shoulders as her body
learned this new way to accommodate him.

After a moment, Mary felt Nicholas’ fingers
at her hip, his thumb seeking and finding the nub of her clitoris.
His other hand cupped her ass, guiding her into a slow pulse
against him.

“Perfect,” he whispered. “Just like that.
Ride me just like that, Mary.”

She caught his rhythm and made it her own,
stroking herself against his hand until her need overtook her and
her pace grew more frantic. Before she meant to, before she was
ready, her climax struck her hard, rolling in wave after wave of
bone-deep bliss.

Nicholas, buried deep inside her quivering
body, was clearly helpless to resist the rapture that took him as
it left her. Calling her name, he clamped his hands tighter still
around her hips, jerking her closer with a groan.

Mary could feel him come, hot spasms of
pleasure releasing inside her. She squeezed herself around him and
relished the moan of sheer joy that escaped his lips as a final
shudder swept over both of them.

“I promise it won’t always be over so
quickly,” he said with chagrin once they started to stir again.

Mary laughed. “As long as it’s in a bed. Any
longer like this and I’m not sure I could stand again.”

“Your knees! I’m sorry. Here, let’s get you
up.” He lifted her off his lap, and Mary felt a keen sense of loss
as he slipped from her body. Then she felt another unpleasant
sensation as his seed began to creep down her thigh.

“Definitely in a bed. With nowhere to go
afterward,” she muttered, attempting to tidy herself. Her uniform
skirt was resistant to creasing, fortunately, and her jacket
covered the rest of the general disarray. “I suppose I’ll do. My
hair must look a fright.”

“It looks delicious,” he corrected her. “All
the colors of good things to eat. I adore it.”

“It’s brown,” she said, shaking her
head.

“No, look.” Stepping close again, he tugged
an errant strand completely free from its pin, holding it between
their faces and sampling the texture with his fingers. “See here?
The darker bits are just a little red, like cinnamon. This bit is
nutmeg. You have a hint of sherry running through it. And honey all
around your face, and where those little curls form against your
neck.”

She felt herself smile with more than her
lips and eyes. Her whole body seemed to turn to him and open, like
a flower under the sun. Her soul, she might even dare say.

“I love you, Nicholas.”

He beamed at her. “There now. That wasn’t so
hard, was it? I love you too. And I think you’re going to make a
splendid countess.”

“Will we really have this whole house to
ourselves?” Mary swirled into the vastness of the vestibule, trying
to imagine how it would feel to do so in an elegant gown.

“Ourselves and a fair number of servants.
And perhaps,” he crept up behind her, encircling her waist with his
arms and pressing his hands flat against her abdomen, “more
residents will arrive after we’ve settled in.”

Mary pressed her hands over his, wondering
how long she might have to settle in before those arrivals. “Will
you be terribly disappointed if they don’t arrive quite so soon as
all that?”

“Not at all. The longer they take to make an
appearance, the more time I have to spend ravishing their mother in
every room of the house. It is a rather large house, as you can
see.”

“We have more important things to do first,”
Mary chided him.

“What could possibly be more important than
that?”

“Deciding where we’re going to put the
Christmas tree. We only have a year to get it right.”

Nicholas nibbled on her earlobe before
replying, “I think we can probably combine the two chores.”

Giggling, she turned in his arms, tipping
her head back and basking in the affection of his gaze. She saw
love there, and humor. She saw the future, and was suddenly quite
eager for it to begin.

I hope you enjoyed
The Lamplighter’s
Love
.

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“My airship, the
Gossamer Wing
.”
Charlotte gestured with shy pride to the pile of closed trunks
standing just inside the open door of the stable. Across the
central corridor, a long dappled gray nose peered out at them with
placid curiosity. The scents of well-tended horses and leather
mingled with the earthier aroma of any stable, and sunlight danced
through motes of dust around the unassuming trunks.

At last, feeling compelled to say something,
Dexter nodded at the nearest of the three cases. “Impressive.”

With a snort no lady should consider
issuing, his companion hauled the case onto its side and flipped
the latches open. “Here, help me with this, it’ll go more quickly
with two.”

He helped Charlotte spread a lightweight
tarpaulin on the dusty ground of the stable yard, then arrange a
silk-covered blue pad and a confusing array of white leather
straps. Beside this, from another case, came a rig he thought he
recognized as a miniature version of a typical dirigible motor—but
a version that looked more suited for a sugar egg than for any
practical use. It was all frosted glass, enamel and silver, and so
beautiful it took him a moment to see the sheer genius of the
thing.

Camouflage
. Of course. Once the
propeller was in motion, and with the rigging obscured by the pale
sky-blue silk below it—kept carefully clean by the tarpaulin until
it was safely in the air—the whole thing would be nearly invisible.
Even the pedestrian little gas canister had a tidy silk and leather
wrapper to disguise it from eyes below. The slightly pearly sheen
to it all would bounce back enough light to minimize the appearance
of a shadow on the underside of the rigging.

The pièce de résistance was the blimp
itself, and Dexter couldn’t help a gasp of delight as he helped
Lady Moncrieffe free it from the last of the trunks.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. I knew
there was a dirigible involved, of course, but I simply never
imagined something like this. Is this . . . wood? Leather?” He felt
at the seams and joints, the fragile-seeming skeleton he could feel
within the opal-blue silk casing. Even his knowledgeable fingers
had trouble identifying the light, sturdy sub- stance that gave the
thing structure and some shape before it was filled with gas.

“You’re no ladies’ man, are you, Mr.
Hardison?”

She was staring him down, as cool as ever,
but he somehow got the impression she was trying very hard not to
laugh.

“A gentleman would never tell, madam.”

“A gentleman wouldn’t have to if he could
identify corset boning when he runs his hands all over it.”

“Ah!”


“Ah, indeed.”

“That’s brilliant!”
The whole thing was
brilliant.
It was also clearly made for her, and her alone. He
could see enough to know the little engine would be temperamental
if overloaded, too noisy for its task, not nearly efficient enough
on gas, and liable to run too hot for safety. Hence the necessity
for strict weight limits on her helmet, as there must be on every
garment she wore while piloting the tiny jewel of a craft.

“It’s overcast today, and I’m not wearing
proper clothing. But since I’m in breeches, at least, I can still
demonstrate for you if you’d like?”