The Leopard Prince
There came a scraping from the other side; then the door cracked open. One tear-stained eye peeped out.
“Oh, my dear.” George pushed the door the rest of the way open and walked in, closing it behind her. “Time to cut line. Whatever possessed you to write to Tony?”
Violet’s lower lip began to tremble. “That man has you in his clutches. He’s beguiled you with his caresses and his carnal wiles.”
Caresses and carnal wiles? George knit her brows. “What do you know about carnal wiles?”
Violet’s eyes widened. “Nothing,” she said much too fast. “Well, only what everybody hears.”
George stared as her younger sister blushed. It always was a problem, trying to lie with fair skin. “Violet,” she said slowly, “is there something you want to tell me?”
Violet let out a squeaking wail and flung herself into George’s arms. Oh, dear.
“There, there, sweet.” She stumbled back—Violet was an inch or two taller—and sat in the cushioned window seat. “It can’t be as bad as all that.”
Violet tried to speak, choked, and cried some more. George rocked her, murmuring the inanities one whispers to a distressed child, and brushed the hair back from her sister’s damp brow.
Violet inhaled, shuddering. “Y-you don’t understand. I’ve done something really awful.” She scrubbed her eyes with a hand. “I… I’ve sinned, George!”
George couldn’t help the twitch of her lips—Violet was always so dramatic—but she firmed her mouth at once. “Tell me.”
“I… I’ve lain with a man.” The words were indistinct because Violet had buried her head, but George couldn’t mistake them.
She immediately sobered, dread clutching at her throat. “What?” She pried Violet away from her breast. “Look at me. What do you mean?” Perhaps her sister had mistaken the matter somehow; confused an embrace for something more.
Violet raised a ravaged face. “I gave my virginity away to a man. There was blood.”
“Oh, my Lord.” No, not Violet, not her baby sister. George felt tears prick at her own eyes, but she willed them away and framed her sister’s face with her hands. “Did he force you? Did he hurt you?”
“N-no.” Violet choked on a sob. “It’s almost worse. I did it of my own free will. I’m a wanton. A… a harlot.” She broke down again and hid her face in George’s skirts.
George stroked her sister’s back and waited and thought. She had to handle this well the first time. When Violet had calmed again, George said, “I don’t think we can go as far as saying that you’re a harlot. I mean, you didn’t take any money, did you?”
Violet shook her head. “Of course—”
George held up her hand. “And as for being a wanton, well… it was only the one man. Am I correct?”
“Y-yes.” Violet’s lower lip trembled.
Violet looked a bit mutinous at having been demoted from wanton. “Five and twenty.”
Five and twenty! The seducing, lecherous… George inhaled. “And do I know him?” she asked calmly.
Violet pushed away from her sister. “I won’t tell you! I’ll not be made to marry him.”
George stared, her heart stopping in her chest. “Are you increasing?”
“No!” Violet’s horror was unfeigned, thank goodness.
George blew out a relieved breath. “Then why do you think I would make you marry him?”
“Well, maybe not you, but Tony…” Violet got up and paced around the room. “He’s been writing me letters.”
“Tony has?”
“No!” Violet turned to glare at her. “Him.”
“Oh, him.” George frowned. “What about?”
“He wants me to marry him. He says he loves me. But, George”—Violet picked up a candlestick from the bedside table and gestured with it—“I don’t love him anymore. I did. I mean, I thought I did. That’s why I, well, you know.”
“Quite.” George felt herself blushing.
“But then afterward I started noticing how far apart his eyes were and that he says ain’t in such an affected way.” Violet shrugged and set the candlestick down on the dresser. “And then it was gone, the love or whatever. I don’t hate him; I just don’t love him.”
“I see.”
“Is that how you feel about Mr. Pye?” Violet asked. “Are you over him now?”
George had a vision of Harry Pye, his head arched back, the tendons in his neck straining as he convulsed over her. A slow heat invaded her loins. She caught herself dropping her eyelids.
She snapped them open, sitting up straight at the same time. “Uh, not exactly.”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. Maybe it’s that you’re only fifteen. Or,” she added hastily when Violet stuck out her lip, “maybe it’s that he’s just not the right man for you.”
“Yes, that would be torturous,” George murmured, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to put my foot down and forbid you to marry him. So you’re saved.”
“You’re a peach.” Violet smiled tremulously from the bed. “But he’s said he will have to reveal all if I don’t become his bride.”
“Ah.” If she ever got her hands on the blackmailing bastard… “Then I think you will really have to tell me his name, sweetheart. I know”—she held up her hand as Violet started to protest—“but it’s the only way.”
“What will you do?” her sister asked in a small voice.
George met her eyes. “We’ll have to tell Tony who he is so Tony can convince him that you aren’t interested in marriage.”
“But Tony, George?” Violet flung her arms wide across the bed, unconsciously taking the position of a martyr. “You know the way he inspects one so coldly down his nose. It makes me feel like a worm. A squashed worm.”
“Yes, dear, I am aware of his look,” George said. “I was the recipient of it just this morning, thanks to you.”
“I’m sorry about that.” Violet looked contrite before reverting to her own dilemma. “Tony will make me marry him!”
“No, you’re maligning Tony, now,” George said. “He may have lost all sense of humor since he assumed the title, but that doesn’t mean he’ll force a marriage on a sister, especially his fifteen-year-old sister.”
“Even though I’ve—”
“Even though.” George smiled. “Think how useful Tony will be when he convinces this gentleman. Really, it is the only advantage I can think of to having an earl for a brother.”
THAT NIGHT GEORGE SHIVERED and pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her face. It was late, almost midnight, and Harry’s cottage was dark. Perhaps he had already retired for the evening? At any other time, for any other reason, she would’ve turned around. But this compulsion drove her on. She had to see him again. Except it wasn’t to see him that she’d come here so late in the evening, was it? She felt a blush start high on her cheekbones. She wanted to do more, much more, than see Harry Pye. And she didn’t want to examine too closely the reasons behind that urge.
She knocked at his door.
It swung open almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting for her. “My lady.” His green eyes were heavy.
Harry’s chest was bare, and her gaze was drawn to it. “I hope you don’t mind,” she began vapidly, addressing his left nipple.
He reached out a long arm and drew her in. Slammed the door and pushed her up against it. Shoved back her hood and seized her lips. He tilted her head back and slanted his mouth over hers, thrusting his tongue between her lips. Oh, heavens, she needed this. Had she become so wanton after only one taste? His hands gripped the back of her head, and she felt the pins falling out. Her hair came undone down her back. Her hands roamed, kneading, stroking his back. She could taste ale on his tongue and smell his musk. Her nipples were already peaked and aching as if they recognized him and what he was.
He drew his lips down her neck, open-mouthed. “I don’t mind,” he rasped.
And while she was trying to remember to what he replied, he hooked his hand in her bodice. He pulled down savagely, tearing the fine fabric and exposing her naked breasts. George gasped and felt moisture between her legs. Then he had his mouth on her breast, nipping at it. She actually worried that he would bite her. He seemed animal, fundamental, male to her female. He reached her nipple and did bite, a sharp pinching.
She couldn’t help but arch her head back and moan.
He lifted his head from her breast and chuckled. “You’re wet for me.” His voice was dark. Sexual.
He brought both hands under her legs and lifted her, bracing her back against the door; all her weight was on him. She was helplessly spread as he moved between her thighs. She felt the brush of his trousers. And then the brush of him. Her eyes opened wide and met his, gleaming and green like a predator’s.
Oh, my.
He rocked his hips, just a little. She felt the intrusion. She imagined that wide head, splitting her lips down there, and she panted, eyes half closed. He rocked again, and his cock pushed in a little farther.
“My lady.” His breath puffed over her lips.
With an effort, she opened her eyes. “What?” she gasped. She felt drunken, dazed, as if she floated in a marvelous daydream.
“I hope you do not mind”—he rocked—“my boldness.”
What? “No. I, uh, don’t mind.” She could hardly get the words out.
“You’re sure?” He licked her nipple, the devil, and she jumped.
She was so sensitive, the feeling was almost painful. I’m going to get him for this.
He rocked.
Some other time. “Very sure,” she whimpered.
He grinned, but a bead of sweat ran down his temple. “Then with your permission.”
He didn’t wait for her nod but slammed his entire length into her, shoving her up the door and hitting with exquisite accuracy that place. George wrapped her legs, her arms, and her heart around Harry. He withdrew with agonizing slowness and repeated the process, this time swiveling a bit when he crashed into her. The impact sent shards of ecstasy skittering through her.
She was going to die from pleasure.
He withdrew again, and she could feel every inch dragging against her sensitive flesh. She waited, suspended in time and air, for him to mate her once more. And he did, his cock thrusting into her and his pelvis rubbing her exposed center. Then he seemed to lose control. He began a rapid pistoning, his movements short and jerky. But just as effective, damn him. And it began for her, spreading in waves that seemed to have no end. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t see or hear, could only moan in primitive abandon and open her mouth and fill it with his shoulder, salty and warm.
She bit Harry.
He came, withdrawing from her suddenly but keeping his arms around her as he shook and spasmed his release between them. He leaned into her, his weight keeping her pinned to the wall as they both drew deep, shuddering breaths. George felt heavy. Listless. Like she’d never be able to move her limbs again. She stroked his shoulder, rubbing at the bite mark she’d made.