At His Lady’s Command Read online

  Randall hated the thought of her flame being extinguished, and yet she could be occasionally too reckless. “I would humbly suggest less excitement than a Cheapside brawl.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Men should not beat women.”

  “No, they shouldn’t. But confronting drunks in the kind of area where it is guaranteed they will have some sort of weapon is dangerous. You have more sense than that.”

  “I suppose you will refuse to escort me to the East End now.”

  “If that is where you wish to go, I will accompany you. But I won’t allow you to place yourself in harm’s way. You are too…”

  Lady Portia raised one delicate eyebrow. “Too?”

  Too important. Too precious. Too essential to my world.

  “Too impulsive,” he said eventually. “Just remember you are mortal. Courage is a fine thing, but it doesn’t stop a musket ball or blade.”

  “Duly noted, Captain,” she replied, her irritability at being partially thwarted surprisingly low. In fact, her gaze almost looked…soft. “Now, let us hurry down the hill to the market. I know I should leave negotiations to Cook, but I have a yearning for fresh fish. And if I speak to the fishmonger, he won’t try to sell me days-old catch like he does to others. A rascal, that one.”

  For the next few hours Randall kept one eye on the sky as gloomy gray turned darker, and the other on Lady Portia as she bustled around the market. He’d had to break a few noses and fingers when they’d first moved to Guildford; some men had seen her as a plump pigeon to be plucked, others had protested at a woman involving herself in men’s affairs like keeping the clock clean, and being patron of an orphanage. But she had worn down the naysayers through sheer force of will, and town leaders now often stopped by for tea.

  Lady Portia also had a remarkable memory for detail, somehow recalling the names and occupations of everyone she met. They in turn treated her like the reigning queen of Guildford, showing off their finest wares or freshest foods, offering her free marzipan squares, hot pasties or small mugs of mulled wine to warm her toes. But only after Lady Portia had emptied her reticule of shillings and arranged for delivery of the goods, did she agree that yes, the heavens were going to open very soon and they should return home at once.

  Walking back up the High Street always took greater effort thanks to the steepness, but at the ominous thunder roll behind them, they increased their pace. Unfortunately they didn’t quite make it home, as fat, heavy raindrops began to soak through their clothing and create large puddles on the footpath. If his hat and greatcoat looked anything like Lady Portia’s bonnet and fur-lined pelisse, they were a comical sight as they staggered and splashed their way onto the townhouse’s front steps and huddled under the shelter.

  The front door opened and her butler peered out. “My lady! Captain! Gracious me.”

  Lady Portia laughed. “Indeed it is us and not creatures from the River Wey. Do fetch some towels, so we don’t make a mess on this spotless floor.”

  The butler soon returned with a pile of towels so they could pat themselves dry. After removing their boots and hanging up their coats, they hurried to the parlor and stood in front of the well-stoked fire.

  “Ooooh,” she said, and his cock jerked at the sensual whimper.

  “What you really require is a hot bath. So you don’t catch a chill,” Randall murmured.

  “Are you offering to scrub my back?” Lady Portia replied, with a sultry wink. “Or even better, join me?”

  “Whatever you desire, my lady. As I said, I am at your service.”

  Her green eyes glowed. “Careful what you wish for, Denham. I have a vivid and very wicked imagination. And a penchant for brawny and obedient bodyguards.”

  This woman. How could she be so damned perfect for him? So unashamedly passionate, and that tone of hers, part lady of the manor, part field marshal, would forever make him harder than stone. But before he could respond, a footman knocked on the door and entered the room.

  “Beg pardon, my lady, but you have a message.”

  Lady Portia sighed. “I’ll see to it shortly. I’m drying off, as you can plainly see.”

  “Again, your pardon,” said the lad nervously, holding out a letter sealed with wax. “It’s from Lord Halstead. And his servant is waiting for a reply.”

  They both went still, and the snapping and crackling from the hearth became unbearably loud. What could the marquess possibly have to add from last night?

  “Thank you,” Lady Portia said curtly, taking the note and opening it. “Tell the messenger I will speak with him in a moment.”

  “Aye, ma’am,” said the footman, dashing away.

  Randall rubbed his jaw. “What does it say?”

  She hurled the note onto the floor. “By Prince Halstead’s royal decree, my lessons in ladylike conduct must begin at once. Instead of waiting until the end of the month, you are to escort me to join the family in London by tomorrow evening at the latest. No excuses.”

  Fury and despair crushed him like a boulder. Then they were over before they had even begun.

  Heaven and hell, once again.

  Chapter 3

  The things one did to spend an illicit night with a man.

  Trying not to sneeze, or whimper at the cobwebs and eight-legged creatures possibly settling on her hair and shoulders, Portia held her lit candle high and continued to inch down the narrow hidden passage that offered discreet access to each of the bedchambers on the floor. She had discovered it soon after moving into the townhouse, noticing an off-center panel when unable to sleep one evening. With the help of a little oil the panel had opened, and she’d found a small key hanging from a hook. That key unlocked a similar panel to each room. It made her wonder what naughty secrets these walls held, but never before had she used the passageway, as evidenced by the musty scent and thick layer of dust. Good heavens, if she sneezed and blew the candle out, her bones wouldn’t be found for a hundred years.

  Perhaps she should have told Denham this plan in advance.

  Portia took a deep breath as she reached the panel door to his chamber. Halstead might have turned her world upside down again by ordering her to London immediately instead of month’s end, but he couldn’t prevent her enjoying a second interlude with her bodyguard. Or halt the mayhem she would unleash once settled in the capital. They thought she would meekly accept lessons in propriety from young Kitty? How deluded.

  Praying her plan worked, she slipped the key into the lock, turned it, and shoved the panel until it opened with a shower of dust, eerie creak, and faint scratching. The resultant puff of air extinguished her candle, and she barely muffled a scream when she was pinned to the wall by an exceedingly strong but thankfully familiar arm.

  “Denham,” she croaked. “It’s me.”

  “Bloody hell, woman,” he said angrily, freeing her instantly and stepping away. “I could have killed you! What on earth were you thinking?”

  “I…er…that it might be a nice surprise?” Portia replied awkwardly, blinking to get her eyes used to the low light.

  Her nightshirt-clad bodyguard rubbed his jaw, before swiftly lighting several more candles in the bedchamber. “Soldiers are not so enamored of surprises at midnight. Especially unknown noises coming from places they shouldn’t…Good God. You are covered in dust and cobwebs. I hope we aren’t about to be attacked by an army of spiders, furious at having their home destroyed.”

  Wonderful. Foolish and a fright.

  As the ground refused to swallow her up, Portia’s shoulders slumped. Much like at Cheapside, if she’d been injured it would have been entirely her fault. She definitely should have told him about the passage—and her plan—in advance. “Could I have a cloth?”

  “Come over to the washstand,” he said, taking her elbow and guiding her across the room.

  “This went quite differently in my mind,” Portia blurted, as Denham sponged her face and unbound hair like she was a child in the nursery. “More pleasure. Much less henwit.”
/>
  “Oh?” he replied, dusting off her nightgown.

  “I thought perhaps we could spend the night together. You know, before we have to go to London and Kitty waves her propriety wand and attempts to turn me ladylike.”

  “I’m not sure that is possible. My nerves are too overset…unless of course you can think of a way to atone for your actions and soothe them.”

  Relief surged through her at the light humor. After such a thoughtless misstep, she wanted to demonstrate exactly how contrite she felt.

  “I can think of one thing,” said Portia, sinking to her knees. “If you would lift up your nightshirt.”

  Denham sucked in a breath. Then he touched her shoulder. “No surprises?”

  “No surprises. I swear.”

  Slowly she eased her palms up his calves and thighs, enjoying the sensation of rough hair and firm muscle beneath her fingers, wanting to cheer when his thick cock twitched and began to harden. It was more than a little fascinating watching the process this close, and although her mouth watered to taste him, Portia only touched his cock with her hands. Caressing. Teasing him by alternating the firm touch he enjoyed, with feather light strokes of her fingertips along his shaft, across the swelling head now growing damp, underneath where his heavy balls dangled.

  He shuddered. “Please.”

  “Please what, Denham?” she murmured, exhaling lightly right on the tip of his cock. “I cannot read your mind.”

  “Suck me,” he gritted out, placing one hand on the washstand shelf for balance, and resting his other hand on her hair. “And at the same time maybe…touch yourself?”

  Her quim clenched. “Why, Captain,” she purred. “How positively wicked. I suppose I must remove my nightgown first so you can watch?”

  “I think so, yes, my lady. Perhaps we should adjourn to my bed, though.”

  “My knees would appreciate that,” Portia replied, unable to halt a grin. “Blasted wooden floors. You’ll recall I’m no spring chicken.”

  Denham laughed raggedly as he helped her to her feet. “Neither am I. Can’t have one of us getting cramp and yelping. Would be such a shame to get caught after you battled the perilous jungle of cobwebs and centuries-old dust to break into my room.”

  “Oh, get into bed, you insolent devil.”

  After stoking the fire for warmth and light, Denham removed his nightshirt and settled on the bed, propped up on his pillows. He was a Greek statue come to life; massive shoulders, broad, hair-dusted chest, flat stomach, and those long, muscled legs. Not to mention that truly splendid cock.

  A little self-consciously, Portia removed her nightgown and chemise. Fortunately her breasts were small, for they definitely weren’t as pert as they’d once been. And in stark contrast to her slender torso, her hips and backside were decidedly too fleshy. “Well,” she said over-loudly, to overcome the unwanted feeling of inadequacy. Her body was what it was, and had done her great service thus far. “Shall we?”

  “In a moment. My recollection of those raspberry nipples and that divinely bare cunt did not do them justice. Additionally, that backside of yours is so lush. Walking behind you is always a pleasure, but seeing it naked…beyond compare.”

  A blush scorched across her cheekbones. “Fustian. You are clearly in need of spectacles. Now. I hope your nerves have recovered, for I’m going to suck your cock.”

  “And touch yourself?” Denham asked, his dark eyes glittering.

  “And touch myself,” Portia agreed, squirming on the comfortable bed, her nipples tingling and her quim throbbing at this deliciously naughty banter. How delightful to have a lover who could be both serious and lighthearted, who didn’t seek to change or restrain or correct her desires, but indulge them.

  Bracing herself on her knees, her thighs spread wide for extra balance, she slid one hand between her legs to cup her mound, and wrapped her other hand around his engorged cock. Rubbing both in unison, she then leaned down to dart her tongue across the damp head.

  Denham’s fists clenched in the crisp linen sheets as she licked him, dragging her tongue across the tip and all the way down his length until the coarse hair at his groin tickled her nose. But as before, he made no move to direct her, and the heady feeling of power made her quim slick. Greedily, she pushed a finger inside herself as she took his cock into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks for extra suction, fluttering her tongue on the underside. He swelled even larger, making them both moan. Yet it wasn’t nearly enough. Not when her quim ached to be filled by him, and she craved his arms around her.

  Easing back, Portia met his gaze. “I need more. You deep inside me and fucking me hard. Is that a specific enough order, Captain?”

  He nodded, his gaze both scorching hot and sweetly yielding. “As you command.”

  * * *

  There remained a high probability that Lady Portia would be the death of him with her antics. And yet, she was the only woman who made him feel truly alive. Competent. Worthy.

  Like now, for instance. When she stared at him with those hypnotic green eyes, her lips a little puffy from sucking his cock, the spicy scent of her wet cunt perfuming the air, and had just ordered him to fuck her hard.

  But they needed to settle one matter first.

  “My lady…” Randall began.

  “Yes?” she replied with an imperious eyebrow lift.

  “Like you, I am more than content with my childless state. Do you have a preference on how to prevent pregnancy?”

  She rewarded him with a grin that lit up her face. “A most excellent and timely question. I don’t have much faith in sponges soaked in brandy or vinegar, they are too easily moved. Nor do I particularly like French letters. Too scratchy. Of course there is always the option of climaxing in the backside—”

  Randall choked on a cough. “You’ve…er…had a cock in your ass?”

  “Well, no. Not yet. But a well-oiled dildo feels ever so good there, so I am not at all opposed to trying it. However, for the purposes of more traditional bedding…I have been careful in the past. Have you?”

  “I have,” he replied, reeling a little at her frank speech and yet appreciating it greatly. Perhaps because Mama had been a mistress, someone who disdained false modesty and coyness, he’d always struggled with reticent women. One who didn’t force him to guess or blunder about, who spoke her mind freely, was most welcome.

  “Then I shall trust you to withdraw and come on my belly.”

  Randall exhaled unsteadily at the glorious thought of being balls deep inside her at last. “Very well. May I say I am extraordinarily relieved that the recipe you tried was for hair removal, rather than Dare’s Ancient Egyptian concoction to prevent conception?”

  Lady Portia’s eyes gleamed. “Crocodile excrement is damned difficult to source. Now, stop talking and start bedding me. Our time is sadly limited.”

  A wave of pure arousal surged through him. That field marshal tone, used to give him orders in the bedchamber…he could quite happily listen to her all day. And night. However he wanted a boon before he started—the taste of her honey in his mouth as he fucked her.

  “I would bed you, my lady,” Randall murmured respectfully. “But…”

  “But?”

  “How can I be sure your tight little cunt is wet enough to take me?”

  Lady Portia’s eyes widened, then went heavy-lidded. “Hmmm. Tis true, you do have a very thick cock, Denham. I’ll need to be very wet. Very relaxed. I think it best if you make me come with your mouth first. In fact, I insist.”

  He nodded, and she prowled up his body like a panther, pausing to scrape her nipples against his chest, nudging them against his lips until he gave each rigid tip a hard suck. Then she moved to settle one knee either side of his head on the pillows, bracing her hands on the sturdy wooden headboard, before lowering that luscious smooth flesh to his lips.

  Wanting to savor his first taste, Randall slowly pushed his tongue between those succulent folds, and dragged it from her back entrance all the way up t
o her clitoris. Fuck. Pure spicy-sweet heaven. She moaned, and reached for her discarded chemise to act as a gag. When she gestured for him to continue he did, needing more of her juices in his mouth. As his tongue plundered her cunt Lady Portia trembled, her whimpers thankfully muffled by the chemise, but when he fastened his lips around the swollen nub of her clitoris and sucked hard, she bucked in a wild climax, grinding herself against his lips and chin. Seconds later she tossed the chemise aside and slid back down his body, making him attend to her nipples again before kissing him so fiercely that his lips throbbed.

  “Ride me, my lady,” Randall gritted out. “Take what you want. What you need.”

  Straddling his thighs, Lady Portia grasped his engorged cock in one hand and rubbed it against her soaked cunt, teasing them both. Just when he was ready to beg, she fitted him to her entrance and began to sink down onto his length. “Mmmmm.”

  A guttural sound escaped his throat. Tight and hot, like a scalding velvet glove.

  She braced her hands on his chest and rocked against him, rising and falling, taking a little more of his cock each time until he was embedded to the hilt. Surely nothing could improve the sheer paradise of her honey on his tongue, and his cock in her cunt. Then she started to move, circling her hips with expert precision, and the exquisite sensation only intensified. “Christ.”

  “I do believe my captain likes this,” she purred, as she gripped and released him with her inner walls.

  My captain. As though he belonged to her…

  Randall could hardly form a coherent thought let alone speak. Instead, he reached up to tease her clitoris with his thumb, and she cried out. Her movements became jerkier, and she suddenly leaned hard to one side, tugging him so they rolled and their positions were reversed.

  “Fuck me,” she ordered, as she twined her legs around his waist and held him close. “Hard.”