Before the Fire Page 11

  The king was amused. “Very noble of you, countess.” He turned to the Earl of Blackmore and nodded. “A very lucky man you are, George. I insist that you bring your lady wife to court before you retire from the London season.”

  The earl bowed respectfully. “It would be our humble pleasure, sire.”

  The king inclined his head, placing Kane’s hand on the earl’s sleeve. “Good day, Lord Blackmore, Lady Blackmore, Lord Asherby.”

  “Good day, sire,” they offered in unison.

  The king strolled away with his party, leaving the earl to face his nemesis alone once more. “This isn’t over,” Montieth announced in grim, hushed tones.

  “On that we can agree,” George countered through set teeth.

  The baron stalked away, causing the crowd to disperse since they realized there was to be no further scene to gossip about.

  Alex couldn’t stifle the chuckle that had been gnawing at him for a moment longer. “Oh Kane, dearest, you handled that ass so well.”

  George grinned, finding his humor for the first time in fifteen minutes. “Very well, madam. I am quite proud to call you mine.”

  Kane blushed, suddenly feeling very awkward at the men’s praise. “It was only the truth I spoke.”

  “True enough,” Alex winked. “So tell me, where were you two sneaking off to before that fop tried to ruin your evening?”

  George chuckled. “We were attempting to call our carriage and go back to the townhouse. But now that the king is here, it would be on the outside of rude to leave before he does.”

  “True enough. And what of your mother?”

  “Blake is seeing her home.”

  “Ah.”

  George patted Alex on the back, grateful to him for standing by his side as he’d always done. “Thank-you, Asherby. I appreciate you coming to our defense.”

  “Think nothing of it. I shall—good heavens! Look at what the king is about.”

  The Earl and Countess of Blackmore turned around to see what the Marquess of Asherby was so disgusted by. They blanched in unison. Kane gulped, looking up at her husband. “I think I need more air,” she whispered.

  Chapter 15

  The carriage ride back to the London townhouse was a reflective one for the earl and countess. Pensively, they sat across from each other on the posh interior seats, both of them overcome with disbelief.

  Kane shook her head, dazed. “I simply can’t believe it. The man is a king for Saturn’s sake.”

  “A daft one, to be sure.” George harrumphed, stretching out his long legs. “I am grateful for his intercession on your behalf, my love, yet I cannot be grateful for being subjected to that scene.”

  “Do you suppose anyone else saw?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Tis unlikely. He was off in the corner, at an angle from the throng.” George frowned, scratching his chin in thought. “He and Lady Irma Giddings would make a hell of a deuce.”

  Kane shuddered. “And to think that he touched my hand with his errant finger.”

  “Be thankful you were wearing your gloves, my dear. I just hope His Majesty doesn’t make his sordid habit fashionable. ‘Tis unseemly.”

  “You don’t think that could happen, do you?”

  The earl winced at the mere suggestion. “The court always tends to set the rage. But do not fret, I shall see to it that it doesn’t, darling. I’ve been working on a new piece of legislation to put forth to the House of Lords. We shall stamp out this deviant behavior immediately,” he vowed.

  “Please do.”

  “Never fear, dearest. As I live and breath, I pledge to you that the public picking of the nose shall soon be a nightmare long forgotten.”

  Chapter 16

  George laid in his bed, hard with lust and restless with anticipation. He sat up, punched the pillows behind his head to fluff them, then threw himself back down onto the bed. He looked at his pocket watch, sighing intently. The waiting was going to be the death of him.

  It was customary in Georgian England for the bride and groom to have separate bedchambers. On their wedding night, the husband was to be the one that came to his newly acquired spouse to consummate their union. But his wife, George sighed, was having none of that. She let him know in no uncertain terms that in twenty-fifth century Houston, the world was a vastly different place.

  She would come to him.

  And he was expected to wait patiently. George realized with much chagrin that he preferred to do things the eighteenth century Georgian way.

  “What is taking her so long?” the earl muttered to himself as he fluffed his pillows and checked his pocket watch for the eighth time in the past twenty minutes. He parted his black silk bed robe for the briefest of moments, glancing down at his swollen member. “’Tis likely I will die of this condition,” he mumbled to the bedchamber walls. He began to flip onto his stomach, remembered his rigid condition, then flipped back over onto his derriere. He fluffed a little more, checking the time again.

  Just when George was about to abandon all hope of ever having a sex life again, the connecting door slowly creaked open. “It’s about time, madam. What were you about? Do you realize how long—” He gulped, wide eyed.

  Kane strolled through the doorway wearing a red, see through outfit that left very little to the imagination. It covered her body like a second skin, showcasing all of her body’s attributes. Her large rouge nipples poked out at the bodice, as if trying to break free for his touch. Her golden mons showed through the red fabric in shadow, driving him wild.

  She smiled provocatively at her husband as she strode to his side of the bed and gazed down at him. “Wh…wh-what is that you are wearing?” the earl finally gritted out, his cock as hard as a marble statue.

  “It is the traditional garment of consummation in my world.”

  He nodded. He was amazed he could manage even that small feat. “Wh-what is it made of?”

  She smiled slowly, letting George know she was very aware of his reaction to her. “It’s made of a finely woven hosiery that is easily ripped apart. We call it shepra, a word on planet Kilgore that means ‘first blood’.”

  He gulped, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “First blood?”

  Kane placed her hand in her husband’s, drawing him up slowly into a full sitting position. “Yes. First blood.” She parted the jacket of his bed robe, exposing his chest to her touch. Excitement coiled in her belly at the mere sight of it. She had waited so long for this moment.

  Kane glided her hands across George’s belly and chest, twining her fingers in the curls of black hair. He sucked in his breath as her fingernails raked his flat male nipples. His eyes narrowed with desire.

  “The color red,” she continued in a sexy whisper, “is symbolic of a virgin’s blood. The encasing of the shepra is symbolic of the tearing of the hymen.”

  George closed his eyes briefly, the feel of his wife’s touch sending shocks of passion through his body. “How is it like a hymen?” he ground out.

  Kane discarded the jacket of George’s bed robe to the ground, then worked on removing his pants. He helped her in her task, uncertain as to how long he could continue their game without exploding.

  Kane eyed her husband’s form appreciatively. His legs were thick with muscle. His stomach, taut and rippled. His chest, hard and powerful. His cock, long and thick. She licked her lips, moistening at the merest perusal of him.

  “The shepra is like a hymen,” she continued hoarsely, grabbing her husband’s shaft and gently gliding her fingers up and down his length, “because you must tear it apart and rip it off of my body to mate with me.” She stroked him harder, inducing the earl to take in a raspy breath of air. “The same way you will rip through my hymen to claim me as your wife.”

  George’s eyes narrowed into hazy slits. He couldn’t believe what his wife had just said. And yet, he hoped. “Kane,” he whispered thickly, “are you telling me you are a virgin?”

  She rele
ased his penis and brought herself down to sit on him, straddling his lap. “Yes,” she breathed out.

  The most primitive, savage sense of possessiveness raged through George’s blood. Dear god in heaven, his lady had never known another. He grabbed his wife by the hips, threw her onto the bed next to him, and settled dominantly atop her, between her thighs. “Good.”

  George claimed Kane’s mouth harshly. He darted his tongue inside, sweeping and stroking in a haze of passion. She moaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck. He groaned in return, heedless of anything but his need to lay claim.

  George released his bride from his kiss and sat up on his knees to look down upon her. She lay on the bed, legs spread wide and submissive to his every desire, waiting for him to conquer her thoroughly. He gazed upon her breasts, covered only by the sheer shepra, and ran his hands impatiently over them, feeling everywhere save the nipples.

  Kane groaned, her eyelids fluttering shut.

  Encouraged by her response, George circled her aureoles with his fingers, watching as her nipples grew stiff and taut. After what felt an eternity to Kane, he finally ran his large hands across the nipples themselves, swelling them to even tighter peaks. She moaned, closing her eyes in pleasure.

  George could stand no more.

  He secured his hands at the neckline of the shepra and with one greedy tug, ripped the garment from her breasts, exposing her to the waist. He ran his hands over the breasts that now offered no impediment to his fondling. Her nipples stood erect with excitement, inducing him to grab them between thumbs and forefingers and clamp down. He stroked them from base to crest, pulling them gently but firmly in an up and down motion.

  Kane moaned, writhing below her husband, seeking immediate release from the torment. Her belly coiled in longing as sounds of passion continued to erupt from her throat.

  George lowered his head and claimed a plumped nipple. His cock swelled further, so excited he was from sucking at his bride’s chest. She was hot and sweet, her nipples hard and inviting.

  And she was his. No man had claimed her. And none save him ever would.

  He swirled his tongue around the taut berry-colored nipple, then sucked it long and hard. She sighed deliciously, shoving his face closer against her chest. She ran her hands through his thick, black hair, pulling him closer, needing to be a part of him, needing to be one with him.

  George raised his head and gazed down into his wife’s eyes as he watched her writhe below him in a fit of desire. He brought his hands back to her chest, massaging her elongated nipples as he crushed his mouth against hers. The kiss was heated, savage, and very much a match of his own temperament. “Tell me now,” he demanded thickly against her lips, “tell me there will be no other. Tell me I am the only man who will ever touch you.”

  He came to his knees, took the remaining part of the shepra between his hands, and tore it completely from Kane’s aroused body. He splayed her legs wide before him, looking his fill at the slippery folds of flesh between them. He reached out and ran his callused fingers through the splay of curls, then traveled downward, rimming her folds with his fingers. “Tell me,” he commanded with a barely controlled savage need.

  Kane could hardly think coherently, let alone speak. But she knew she must. She knew her husband needed to hear the words. She realized he had to be sure that she would never betray him. “There will never be another, George. Never. Only you, my love.”

  With a growl of satisfaction, the earl lowered his head possessively downward, claiming her womanhood with his mouth. Kane arched her back, moaning in ecstasy as his tongue delved in and out of her wet flesh. Reason escaped her. Thought eluded her. There was only longing. There was only George.

  And then he suckled from her clitoris and she all but came off the bed. She growled as savagely as a beast in heat, clawing and scratching at his shoulders and back.

  The smell and taste of his wife intoxicated George’s senses. He would have been content to lie between her legs for hours, licking and sucking, lapping at her juices like a hungry dog.

  But then she came.

  “Oh god.” Kane’s body shattered into a million points of pulsating sensation as her orgasm crashed through her body. Blood rushed to her face, her breathing contracted, her nipples stood up long and stiff, aching from the tight swell.

  It was all George could stand. He raised his head from between his bride’s legs and settled himself between her thighs to make her his wife in truth. He grabbed her by the buttocks to position her before his jutting penis, then tore through her hymen with one powerful thrust.

  Kane groaned with pleasure-pain.

  George growled with the arrogant satisfaction of a conquering warlord.

  He released her buttocks and cupped Kane’s face tenderly, staring into the warm icy blue pools of her eyes. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to assure her of his feelings. But he couldn’t, so ensnared with lust he was.

  George began to move within her tight opening, slowly at first, allowing her body the time to prepare for his invasion. When her muscles relaxed and her slick folds began to pulse around his shaft, he picked up the pace, his gaze never breaking from his wife’s.

  Their breathing was choppy, the animalistic sounds they emitted raspy. George picked her up by the hips and drove into her deeply, faster and faster, over and over. He pounded and grinded as he thrust into her tight, wet opening. She threw her head back and groaned, her face thrashing against the bed pillows as her body prepared to unleash the most powerful orgasm of her twenty-six years.

  She exploded.

  “Oh yes.” Kane groaned loud and long as her climax tore through her, ripping her apart into tendrils of sensation. Her vagina contracted and pulsated, taking her husband over the edge and causing him to give in to a powerful feeling he’d never before harbored the likes of. It was love and desire, passion and caring, greed and possessiveness all merged as one into the form of an orgasm. He growled her name as he branded her insides with his hot ejaculate, spurting into her over and over until he was drained and exhausted.

  He fell onto his wife, limp.

  She clung to him, breathless.

  They fell asleep, sated.

  Together.

  Chapter 17

  “I daresay you appear to be almost chipper this afternoon, Blackmore.” Viscount Blake shook his head to clear it as if his observation was too bizarre a notion to credit.

  “I find myself in agreement, uncle,” Alex teased. He looked across the dining table at the Countesses of Blackmore and jabbed his fork playfully into the air. “Why, the old fellow isn’t at all his typically surly self this day. Whatever do you suppose brought about the change, my ladies?”

  Lady Kane and Lady Julia giggled becomingly. They both understood that Chester and Alex had somehow or another figured out that the Blackmore marriage had been consummated last evening. Neither of the women was embarrassed by the realization in the slightest. The Earl of Blackmore, however, was blushing profusely.

  “George,” Kane laughed, “you look like you’re choking on something your face is so red.” She grinned.

  The earl retaliated with a fulminating glare.

  “Truly, my lord son,” Lady Julia quipped, “your person is as scarlet as the gown that courtesan wore at last night’s affair.”

  The room burst into fits of laughter. Even George had to give in to a stifled grin.

  “If you can call that a gown,” Kane muttered. She shook her head, vexed with the memory of how that humanoid called Charlotte had fawned all over her husband, pawing her claws into him at the Giddings’ ball. Of course, George hadn’t paid the woman a scant bit of attention. He had had eyes only for his wife.

  “’Tis true,” Alex laughed. “There was scarcely enough material to hold up her dress.”

  “There rarely is where Charlotte is concerned,” Chester announced, stabbing his fork into a piece of veal on his plate. “The woman is shameless.”

  The meal c
ontinued on in companionable conversation for another hour, each of them regaling the table with differing stories. The atmosphere served to cheer Kane up quite a bit, having felt a sharp pang of disappointment after the tour of the viscount’s greenhouse proved fruitless. The kabitross plant was turning out to be as elusive as the legendary pot of pooshani at the end of every galactic wormhole.

  Kane had to admit that she loved her newfound friends dearly. They were a terrific twosome, Chester and Alex. Both of them were quick to smile and quick to laugh. And although both men were humanoids, and therefore susceptible to humanoid shortcomings, they were still as loyal to the Blackmores as programmed droids would be.

  Chester harbored an obvious affection for Lady Julia that went beyond the confines of the boudoir. And Alex held George in such high esteem that Kane couldn’t help but to be instantly won over by him.

  Alex, now that she’d seen him sans the powdered wig, had turned out to be an extremely handsome man. He was tall and fair-haired, classically chiseled, with voluminous green eyes and a languid grace. He wasn’t as handsome as George, of course, but then no one was. In Kane’s eyes, her husband embodied and personified formidable masculine perfection.

  Viscount Blake picked up his glass of wine and took a small sip, regarding Kane as he set the glass back down upon the tabletop. “I wish that my greenhouse could have been of more use to you,” he offered in the way of an apology.

  Kane returned her thoughts to the conversation at hand and smiled at her host graciously. “Think nothing of it,” she assured him with a wave of her hand. “It was truly amazing, my lord. I’ve never seen so many different forms of beautiful plant-life collected together like that.”

  “True enough,” Lady Julia seconded. “You really have outdone yourself, Chester.”

  Viscount Blake sat up straighter in his chair, puffed up with a swell of pride from the Blackmore women’s approval.

  George finished chewing on a piece of venison, then regarded his wife. “What will you do now, my dear? Search the libraries of the botanical societies for drawings?” He raised his fork to his mouth, enveloping another helping of the succulent meat into his mouth.