Free My Fair Groom (The Sons of the Aristocracy) by Linda Rae Sande Page B

couldn’t be imagining Lady Julia in such clothes. But if he didn’t, he realized, he’d be imagining her wearing no clothes.
    He gulped. The thought of Lady Julia wearing nothing was  ...
    “Are you well, Mr. Comber?” he heard suddenly. Gads! How many times had she asked him that question?
    “I am, my lady,” he responded quickly, giving a nod as he did so.
    “I know it’s a good deal to consider,” Julia continued, as if he hadn’t spoken a word, “But I do believe with just a bit of effort on your part, you could make the perfect gentleman.”
    Alistair straightened, her words somehow offending him and heartening him all at the same time. Couldn’t she tell just from looking at him that he was a gentleman? Wasn’t it apparent that he stood just a bit straighter than his peers in Harrington House? That he spoke a bit better? That he was to the manor born?
    And then he remembered the very dictate he’d told himself earlier.
    The ton only saw what they expected to see.
    He was expected to look like a groom, so that’s what Julia saw. That’s all she saw. Other than the possibility that he could be made into a gentleman. Well, there was that, at least.
    Suppressing the urge to sigh, Alistair regarded Lady Julia with an appropriate expression of awe. “I won’t disappoint you, my lady,” he said with conviction “I will do whatever it takes to fulfill your desire,” he assured her with a nod.
    A smile appeared on Julia’s face, one that caused a small dimple to appear in one cheek and her eyes to light up as if she was facing the sun. Which she was, but a slight turn to the left had her small hat providing shade again. She gave the groom a nod.
    Fulfill your desire?
    Had the groom really just said that? Had he really just promised to fulfill her desire? Could the man read her mind?  Hear her thoughts? Hadn’t she just been thinking how exciting it would be to join the man on the terraced flagstones outside Harrington House for a tryst in the garden during her parents’ ball? Perhaps Mr. Comber would be willing to provide the tutelage necessary so she could learn how to kiss.
    She often wondered how a proper young lady was supposed to just know how to kiss when her first opportunity to do so presented itself. How could she know what to do? How could she know how to respond? How to position herself? How to angle her head? How to hold her lips? Where to put her hands? With everything else a young lady of the ton was taught how to do – needlework, elocution, dance, speak French, and draw and paint – why weren’t lessons in kissing included?
    “Are you well, my lady?” she heard suddenly. Good grief! How many times had the groom asked her that question today?
    “I am quite well, thank you,” Julia replied, her free hand waving in the air, mostly to act as a fan to help replace the rather heated air that had somehow developed between her and the impossibly handsome groom. “Quite well, but in need of a gallop, I should think,” she said as she pulled on Buttercup’s reins. The horse, having found a bunch of flowers on which to munch, reluctantly stepped up next to her.
    Alistair nearly groaned at her comment. A gallop? Good God! He could do with a ride of his own! He could imagine her mounting him, her legs straddling his hips, her wet and swollen folds of feminine flesh teasing his hardening cock until he could stand it no longer. He would lift her up and impale her, hold her hips against his own and provide her the ride of her life. He would wait until just before he was overcome with a sudden stab of pleasure to press a carefully placed thumb against her swollen womanhood and see to her pleasure. Watch as her head would be thrown back in ecstasy, exposing her throat to his teasing tongue. As her nipples would ruche into tiny buds his lips could taste and suckle.
    But he knew damn well he would be in his own state of ecstasy at that point. There was no way in hell he would be able to hold on