The Virgin Widow

by Jen YatesNZ

She’d been reasonably certain it was he, for the tightly curled, dark auburn hair cut close against his head was very distinctive. With a swarthy skin and black, fathomless eyes he appeared stern until he smiled, which rare phenomenon softened the man’s forbidding aura.

  Reaching across, he laid his large hand over hers, which were wrapped in a death grip on her reticule.

  ‘Do you wish to proceed, my Lady, or is this where I bid you good night?’

  She managed to get her mouth open. But no words would issue. Closing her eyes, she gulped a couple more breaths before trying again.

  L—Lady Jane Rotherby,’ she whispered.

  Lifting her hands from her lap, he held them firmly between his palms and waited. She’d no idea what he expected now, but the odd thing was, the longer he held her hands the deeper the sense of calm settling over her.

  ‘I’ll now escort you to a private room.’

  Jane nodded, her heart thumping up into her throat again. This was likely her last chance to back out, but words of denial simply wouldn’t form on her lips. Her body at least was totally committed if her head still wavered and vacillated like a stalk of grass in the wind.

  Picking up a silver candlestick, he led her out of the room and along the dimly lit hallway, past a wide curving staircase, to a room at the far end. Completely dominating the space was a huge bed covered with a burgundy satin quilt glowing darkly in the muted light. He placed the candle beside a tantalus and a tray of crystal glasses on the credenza opposite the end of the bed.

  ‘You may have a half hour to prepare before the Master will be with you. Did you follow instructions with regard to dress?’

  Jane nodded. She seemed to have lost the use of her tongue again.

  ‘Then you can manage on your own. You’ll undress and either wait naked in the bed, or don the robe hanging on the door and wait on the chaise,’ he said, indicating the plush, darkly brocaded couch against the wall in the darkest corner of the room. ‘It’s your responsibility to secure your mask and blindfold.’ He indicated the length of dark fabric lying on the bed. ‘You’ll be required to reaffirm your desires and understanding of the rules to the Master when I bring him to you. Any further questions, Lady X?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There is brandy or sherry if your nerves are likely to overcome you,’ he finished, his voice deep and—kind.

  ‘Thank you,’ she managed, and didn’t know whether to be relieved or to outright panic when he left, closing the door softly behind him.

  Standing frozen a few steps inside the room, she eyed the bed in its rich burgundy splendor. The brocaded chaise seemed to be of a similar dark red, though it was difficult to tell in the shadowed corner. Her gaze swung back to the bed, which had a paralyzing effect on her. As breath backed up in her throat, she turned to face the credenza, only to realize the wall behind it was all mirror filled with the dim reflection of that opulent reminder she’d willingly walked into this scene.

  Perhaps she should start by donning the blindfold!

  You can still run.

  And you’d still be a virgin and—

  With a vicious shake of her head she loosed her hooded cloak and hung it on the back of the door next to the dark satin robe. The lacing down the front of the gown presented more difficulty than it should have to her trembling fingers, but at last it fell around her feet and she stood in her chemise, arms folded across her chest.

  Like a naïve young miss, she berated herself. Impatient with her sudden desperate desire to throw her clothes on again and escape while there was yet time, she pulled the chemise down her arms so it dropped onto her dress and stood naked—in a strange room, in a strange house, waiting for a strange man—to—

  The Master of Virgins! Dear God.

  Snatching her clothes from the floor, she exchanged them for the robe, which was a dark midnight blue. Thrusting her arms into the sleeves, she belted it tightly and walked slowly towards the bed.

  Nothing could make her climb onto it however—and wait naked for—

  It’d have to be the chaise longue then. As she tiptoed towards it she laughed softly and nervously at herself. Did she think she’d not be found if she was quiet?

  Brandy! That first one had certainly helped. Would it be better if she were a little drunk! Lord, what would James think of her—this?

  Guilt struck behind her breastbone and she hurried to the credenza to pour brandy into a glass and take it across to the shadowy couch in the corner.

  Half an hour! She’d either be drunk by the time the Master arrived—or she’d have bolted for home! Either thought was unacceptable.

  It seemed her determination was as strong as ever.

  Chapter 13

  Bax slouched in his chair at Knight’s exclusive corner table at the Matrix Club where he’d practically become a fixture over the weeks since the Wolverton wedding. Skulking and sulking. Normally he’d have taken his dark mood out of London, but he’d promised Pountney to watch out for Selena.

  And once Jane returned from Dover he couldn’t tear himself away.

  His mood was not companionable, so his cousin regularly informed him. Knight was in no better case as far as Bax could discern, missing their cousins, as he was himself. Knight’s problem might go deeper than that, but he was in no mood to instigate the discussion the situation probably deserved.

  He should go home. Couldn’t bear the thought of going home. Wherever he went in the house memories of Jane assailed him. His study, the ballroom, the front hall from which she’d flounced twice with his footman scurrying as escort.

  Beneath the oriel window where he’d had her in his arms, almost succumbing, definitely not indifferent—

  Knight slid into the chair from which the butler had called him earlier.

  ‘I need a favor and—I might be offering you a favor.’

  ‘Always at your service—if I can be,’ he thought to qualify.

  ‘Wolverton resigning is the very devil. Don’t think this one’s for him anyway. Definitely not for Amstrad. Don’t know why I thought he might be right as the Master.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Bax demanded. Knight rarely talked in riddles.

  ‘Wolverton resigning as Master of Virgins. There’s a virgin waiting in the red room and I don’t fancy letting Amstrad loose with her. Doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘Wolverton was the Master of Virgins?’

  He’d heard nothing else after that. Like many things at the Matrix Club, one might know what, but rarely who.

  Knight slanted an impatient glance at him.

  ‘After he came back from Spain. No time to discuss that now. There’s a virgin waiting—’

  Bax came to his feet. Time to leave.

  ‘I want you to do it.’

  Bax forced a laugh, but the snarl developing in his chest wouldn’t be denied. He glared into Knight’s black gaze.

  ‘I—don’t—bed—virgins.’

  Shoving his chair back, he turned for the door.

  ‘Stay!’ Knight barked.

  Apart from the shock of that tone from his calmly spoken cousin, he was seriously annoyed.

  Seeing anger about to consume Bax, Knight gruffly apologized.

  ‘Hear me out, Bax. Please. I don’t make this request lightly. I know your principles. But—I believe this one’s for you—only you.’

  Bax slowly folded back down to the edge of the chair. He’d hear his cousin out, owed him that, at least.

  ‘The lady wants rid of her virginity—to pursue an affair with a man whose honor would demand marriage if he discovered it. A widow, no longer in the first flush of youth—nor overly long in the tooth—but a virgin. Disclosing more would compromise my principles in the matter. Probably compromised them anyway.’

  Bax slumped back in the chair. God damn!

  ‘Just meet with her. You’ve the option of declining the honor. She’s blindfolded, won’t know you.’

  Bax dropped his head into his hands.

  ‘Fuck. I
should’ve taken more notice of that bastard, Galsworthy. Too busy restraining myself from beating him to a pulp.’

  ‘Galsworthy?’

  Bax shook his head at his cousin. He was in no mood to talk about that young wastrel.

  ‘That woman’ll be the death of me yet,’ he growled. ‘How does this work?’

  ‘You’ll do it?’

  Bax stared at his cousin, trying to fathom, just once, what lay in the depths of his coal black eyes. A useless endeavor.

  Damn but she tied him in knots!

  ‘I’ve—not decided.’

  ‘She’s agreed, as is standard practice, she can make no claim on the Club or the Master should there be consequences. There shouldn’t be. Condoms and lubrications are provided and the Master is expected to use them. It’s about her pleasure and protection, not his.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No! I never have—and never will—make a practice of fucking a woman I can’t see! Beggars me how you convinced Wolf to do it.’

  ‘Guilty conscience is a wonderful thing.’

  ‘Guilty conscience?’

  Knight surveyed him for a moment, obviously deciding whether to say more.

  ‘Before she married Paxton, your sister, Samantha, asked him to do similar for her so she’d at least know how it could be; how she obviously knew it never would be with Paxton. Wolf refused.’

  His heart contracted in his chest. Sammy, who’d died birthing her first child because, if Celia was to be believed, she hadn’t wanted to continue living as Paxton’s wife. Something broke inside him every time he thought of Sammy. And Sammy with Wolf?

  Bax exploded. ‘I’d have had to call him out if he’d agreed.’

  ‘Wolf sees it differently—but—now—our lady—in the red room—was pretty strung up. If we leave her too long she could bolt.’

  Dragging in a juddering breath, Bax rose.

  ‘Lead the way.’

  Two people inhabited his skin. The one he recognized sincerely hoped for the unlikely possibility this wasn’t Jane, hoped she was not still a virgin—at thirty—therefore denied him. The stranger within him, on the other hand, simmered with the knowledge no other man had known her as he hungered to. Therefore—

  Knight opened the door to the red room where a single candle scarcely showed the outline of the figure on the chaise.

  A mess of ambivalence, Bax followed, mask firmly in place though he doubted it any real disguise.

  The woman was blindfolded. Sitting bolt upright on the chaise, a hooded mask covering her hair and all but her mouth, blindfold tied over that, and enveloped in a dark robe, she was unrecognizable.

  A delicate hint of orange blossom scented the air. Not conclusive evidence.

  Knight crossed to the obviously nervous woman, and drew her upright. The height was right for Jane.

  ‘Lady X, I’ve brought the Master. Please confirm in his presence you come of your own free will for the purpose of being deflowered.’

  The woman gave a jerky little nod.

  ‘I need the words from you, Lady X, please,’ Knight said firmly.

  ‘Oh—uh—I’ve come of my own free will to—as you said!’

  The husky tone of her voice roared over every nerve ending in his body. Fuck, he was going to faint! That’d be a crash, and with that lowering thought, he righted himself, looked directly at Knight and jerked his head in the direction of the door.

  ‘Very well,’ Knight said briskly, placing her hand in Bax’s. ‘I’ll leave you in the hands of the Master.’

  The only sound of his exit was the quiet snibbing of the door.

  This close to her, the scent of orange blossom filled his senses and the warmth of her naked fingers in his had their usual effect of fiery sensations zinging into his bloodstream. There was no doubt in his mind.

  Nor any clue how to proceed.

  Never had the Great Bax found himself uncertain how to proceed with a willing woman in his arms!

  ‘What the devil am I to do with you, Angular Jane?’

  His voice was rough, emotionally affected, but definitely recognized by the woman whose hand lay in his. The nickname might have been a giveaway, he wryly mocked himself.

  He’d swear her heart stopped, the silence in the room so profound it was deafening. He felt the jolt of horror through her body. She struggled to free her hand from his grip while ripping the blindfold loose with the other.

  Fastening his hands about both of hers like a manacle as the cloth fluttered to the floor, he held her until she stilled.

  She was naked under that dark satin, he suspected, the lush, beauty of his non-angular Jane only a flick of the robe away. His hesitation was astonishing enough, but more stunning was what came out of his mouth.

  ‘We don’t have to do this, Jane,’ he murmured, and released her hands.

  Drawing a breath, she stepped back then leapt forward again, beating his chest with closed fists.

  ‘Damn you! Damn you! Damn everything! I knew this was a bad idea—a stupid idea. I’ve never done anything so stupid in my life and—now—you know—Oh damn you! Why did it have to be you?’

  This last ended on a wail and she burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands.

  ‘Damn you!’ she said again, muffled now. ‘Why couldn’t you have stayed away from me? Continued chasing your fast bits of skirt—who know what it’s all about—who—who—’

  Wrapping her in his arms, he pressed his lips to her forehead.

  ‘—don’t appeal to me at all,’ he finished for her. ‘I’ve not wanted anyone but you since you reappeared in my life. I’d no idea—this—was your problem. You’re a beautiful widow who—excited me as no woman has in a long time!’ he murmured against her forehead while loosening the strings of her mask to remove it. ‘I ache for you, constantly. So badly I’d agree to take your virginity—but—’ He sighed deeply and tightened his arms about her body. ‘I’m not the marrying sort. You know that, don’t you?’

  With a violent wrench she broke out of his arms and backed towards the door.

  ‘That’s why I’m here!’ she shouted. ‘I wanted rid of my damned virginity so I could come to you unencumbered—so you’d not be angsting over it—and your damned honor! I’ve wanted everything you’ve been offering for so long, but I couldn’t because—’

  ‘Because you were still a virgin. I get it, Jane. I don’t really get why—but perhaps you’ll tell me later. Come. Let’s—just talk for a bit.’

  She let him take her hand and he led her towards the bed, seating her on the edge of it and himself beside her.

  ‘I can see you better here,’ he gentled, drawing her into his arms. She came so naturally, he began to hope.

  ‘What now then?’ he asked, nuzzling into the scented silk of her hair.

  ‘Want to know what I—really want?’

  Her voice was low and husky, and his already aroused body stirred.

  ‘M-hm.’

  She gulped in air and he waited.

  ‘Rid of my virginity—and there’s no one—I’d rather do it for me.’

  For a long moment she kept her face buried against his chest, then leaned back to look shyly up at him.

  Ripping his mask off, he allowed her to see the hunger in his eyes. God, she was beautiful. Disheveled, flushed, emotional—all for him.

  Then she told him what she really thought of him, in her direct, Angular Jane way.

  ‘I don’t want marriage—and if I did I wouldn’t choose a husband with the morals of an alley cat! If I marry again it’ll be to a man who loves only me—to the ends of both our lives. On that, I’m sure, I’m—old fashioned, but sure! James loved me. He—we—just didn’t—’

  For a moment he thought she wouldn’t continue, then she rallied.

  ‘But if a woman wanted to break out and be truly wicked once in her life—then you would be the perfect accomplice. For I do believe you understand every nuance of wicked—as no other does—yet I’d feel
safe with you—’

  He wasn’t sure the picture Jane painted of him was particularly heroic—but then he’d always known Jason was the heroic one. While he was the Earl, had never had to work for anything in his life, had it all handed to him on a plate—a gilded one at that. Because of an accident of birth. Even his looks and build. He didn’t deserve any of it.

  Nor what Jane was offering, but asshole that he was, he couldn’t turn her down. No other man was getting anywhere near her!

  ‘You wish to be truly wicked?’

  Her eyes wide, she nodded.

  ‘I’d be honored, my beautiful Jane. Knight tells me usually the virgins who come seeking the services of the Master want one perfect experience to sustain them through a lifetime. That’s the experience I intend to give you. I won’t leave you wanting, but—nor will I lead you to the altar.’

  ‘Which I’m not wanting! So—we are in accord?’

  ***

  The smile began in the depths of his eyes and spread to the sinfully curved lips. She was going to get her wildest wish—rid of her virginity at the large, beautiful, masculine hands, of Hades Delacourte.

  She’d fantasized. But in reality? She’d never dared dream.

  Pulling her upright, he tugged the edges of the robe. Breath backed up in her throat. His gaze held hers—smoky grey, smoldering, and the midnight satin slid from her grip. Slowly, his gaze devouring every blushing inch, he exposed her breasts, belly, mons—dear God—legs—finally pushing the robe down her arms to fall about her feet.

  His hands cupped her shoulders, sliding down her arms to grip her wrists and hold them away from her body.

  ‘Angular Jane!’ he breathed.

  Was that awe in his voice? She couldn’t be sure for the blood thundering through her body.

  ‘I wondered how far those freckles went. They fade, about here.’

  Leaning forward, he placed the lightest butterfly kiss on the soft swell of her right breast. Melting from the inside out, Jane doubted she’d stay upright much longer.

  As if he knew, he swept the coverlet down the bed, swung her into his arms and laid her on the linen-covered mattress. When she tried to reach for the coverlet he tossed it to the floor.