Her need built to fever-pitch. She was so close to release, but it was just out of reach. In a sudden movement, Harry pulled back, and taking one of her breasts into his mouth, sucked hard. It was all it took to push her over the edge.
“Harry, oh!”
Alice’s world exploded.
The orgasm he had given her at the club was nothing compared to this mind-altering climax. Pleasure tore through her like lightening. On and on it rolled.
“Wrap your legs around me. Take me deeper,” he commanded.
She lifted her stockinged legs and did as he asked. Harry buried his face in the crook of her neck as he pounded his cock deeper, harder and faster with every stroke. His fingers gripped to the side of her hips, his breath coming shorter every second.
And then he let out a guttural groan and slammed into her one last time. They collapsed into each other’s arms, panting for air. Hot, sweat-slicked bodies held tight to each other.
When Harry finally rolled off Alice, he pulled her to him. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too.”
In the late evening, Harry eventually took Alice home. They had shared a long afternoon of making love and exploring one another’s bodies. He had lost count of the times he had brought her to climax, but the memory of hearing her cry his name when she was on the verge of release would forever remain in his heart.
The carriage slowed to a stop in the mews at the rear of the North family home, and Harry helped Alice down. They walked toward the house, hand in hand.
As they passed the main entrance to the stables, Alice paused mid-stride, before stumbling to a halt. She pointed to a large travel coach which had not been in the yard when Harry had arrived earlier in the day.
“Oh, thank heavens,” she exclaimed.
“What?”
She turned to him, and cupping his face in her hands, gifted him with a hundred kisses. She then drew back, smiling. “That’s the North family travel coach. My parents have come home early from their trip.”
Chapter 22
The following afternoon, Harry walked the short distance from his house in Grosvenor Street to Redditch House. It was only a matter of a hundred yards or so to his family home in Upper Grosvenor Street, but at times over the past year, it had felt like an ocean separated them.
He got a welcoming smile from the head butler as he stepped in the front door of the early Georgian mansion. The house took up a great deal of the block with its imposing Portland columns; the dukes of Redditch were never ones to hold back on showing their wealth.
Upstairs, Harry waited outside his father’s study. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t nervous about seeing Lord Steele. The man had already cut him off and thrown him out of the house. There was nothing left for his father to hold over his head.
“Your grace, your son is here to see you.”
The sound of a throat being cleared, and gruff mumbling drifted out to where Harry stood.
“Which one? I have four of the beggars,” replied Lord Steele.
“My apologies. Lord Harry Steele.”
Silence followed, and Harry could just imagine what foul curses would be running through his father’s mind at the mere mention of his name.
Nice to see you too, Papa.
“Alright, show him in.”
He quickly checked his jacket and cravat in the hall mirror, making sure they were all in order. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his back and strode into the Duke of Redditch’s study.
His gaze took in the all too familiar room. Books, piles of papers, and the ever-present cigar hanging out of his father’s mouth greeted him.
Harry caught the scent of burning tobacco and smiled. “Port-tipped. I thought you had given up on those.”
Lord Steele raised his eyes from where they had been staring at a ledger and fixed his gaze on Harry. “A year, and that is all you have to say to me?”
“I thought I would go with something innocuous to begin with, recalling that the last time we spoke you were raining down hellfire and brimstone on me,” replied Harry.
His father rose from his desk, setting his cigar on an ashtray where it continued to send out a small, thin plume of smoke. “And as I recall, you were telling me to ‘go to the blasted devil,’ so I think we might call that even.”
Harry grinned at the memory. At the time, there had been nothing amusing about it, but over the past eleven and a bit months, he had made his peace with it—mostly.
He took a moment to study his father; little had changed about his features during the period of their estrangement. The man had barely aged a day. There was comfort in seeing that the old bastard was still fighting fit. They might not currently see eye to eye, but he could confess to having a soft spot somewhere in his heart for his father.
Lord Steele came around to the front of his desk and gave Harry a slow looking over.
I dressed in my best courting clothes today. He can’t possibly have any cause to find fault with my attire.
“Are you well, boy?” he asked.
Harry chuckled. He was twenty-six years old, and had long ago stopped being a lad, yet his father still referred to him as if he was a child.
“Yes, Father, I am in excellent health,” he replied.
A half sniff and a nod were his father’s reply. He pointed toward the nearby whisky-laden sideboard. “Fancy a drink?”
There was meaning behind those words. Lord Steele’s offer wasn’t so much one of being a convivial host, but rather subtly enquiring as to whether he would need a stiff drink, or two once Harry revealed the purpose for his visit.
“Thank you, no. I have had a morning of champagne, and that was plenty enough.”
“Champagne? You are a strange one, Harry Steele. If I wasn’t sure that your mother has always been true to me, I would think you might be someone else’s by-blow,” replied the duke.
At times, Harry suspected it might have been easier for his father to deal with him if had thought he might not be his son. The nobility was not known for keeping to the marital bed, but in his parents’ case, they had. A rare love which had blossomed from an arranged marriage had seen the duke and duchess happily wed for almost forty years.
“I was celebrating with my future bride and her family; that was the reason for the champagne. I am getting married, Father,” said Harry.
Genuine surprise registered on his father’s face. Both eyebrows raised toward the ceiling. “Well I’ll be. You are one for keeping the ton guessing. I take it you have come for money,” replied the duke.
Harry shook his head. “No. I have come to give you my news and to ask for your blessing. Nothing more.”
Lord Steele nodded toward the door. “Let us go sit in the formal drawing room. This calls for a more friendly place in which to chat.”
They crossed the hallway, headed for the door opposite. The head butler was waiting a little distance away.
The duke waved him over. “Could you please bring us up a pot of strong black tea and some thin toast with anchovy paste?”
Anchovy paste. His father might well have thrown him out of the house, but he still remembered his youngest son’s favorite food.
“My son will be staying for refreshments.”
My son. How long has it been since you used those words kindly toward me?