“I was concerned about you when you did not arrive. I sent a runner to your house and was informed you were not available.” Her brow had not smoothed out. “I could not determine if you were merely busy or if I had done something to anger you. In either case, a simple note would have at least saved me from sitting here uselessly worrying.”
Overwhelmed and feeling raw, the truth nearly burst free. But it was all too new, and he had more questions than answers at the moment. Sharing his newfound knowledge was like striking an exposed nerve. And though he would have thought even he wasn’t a glutton for that much punishment, it seemed he was. With his emotions swirling around him, he grappled for an explanation. “I had a visitor this afternoon.” Flint’s legs gave out, and he sank to the seat. “They brought unexpected news.”
Ros appeared caught between her anger at his rudeness and her concern for his well-being. “I take it this was not welcome news.”
“More that it was rather shocking news. I’m a bit taken aback by it all.” He fought his desire to reach out for her, though the need nearly crushed him under its demand. Setting it aside for the moment—truly a herculean task—he drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mr. Frank Lucifer stopped by my home this afternoon. He shared with me a bundle of correspondence between his mother and both my grandmother and father. It appears that he is, in fact, my half-brother.”
Ros stood and moved to where he sat on the settee, her ire with him forgotten. “That is shocking news, and it certainly explains his interest in you of late. You appear to be quite shaken by this revelation.”
Flint nodded, the pain of his father’s misdeeds still fresh. “Indeed. I am shaken to my core, if truth be told. I thought I was alone all this time…since Maximus’ death. But I’m not. And had he not come to me, I would never have known. My bastard of a father would never have said a word.”
Ros took his hand and squeezed it. “What can I do? How can I help?”
He looked at her, awareness tingling through his body from where their hands were joined. With the emotional pain throbbing through him and her nearness, his cock had already begun to rise to the occasion. But it occurred to him, once again, how sweet this woman was. “How are you so forgiving? So selfless?”
“Do not be fooled by anyone’s perceived selflessness. It seems people always want something from those of your class.”
Flint’s chest grew tight as he angled toward Ros so he could tip her chin up. Their gazes locked as he tumbled into the endless abyss of her emerald green eyes. “But not you. You are different. Always giving, never taking.”
“Don’t believe that.” Ros finally lowered her lashes a moment before looking up to once more lock eyes with him. “Even I want something. I want you. Not your title, nor your money. But without a doubt, I want you, the man.”
Flint’s cock twitched in his pants as he leaned toward her. “Well, that’s quite perfect, since I want you as well.”
And then he captured her lips with his and delved deep into her mouth. She tasted of alcohol and something faintly sweet.
As her floral scent enveloped him in a heady fog, he allowed himself to forget the past few hours and all that had been raised. The seeming fact that he had another brother, that his father had so easily tossed a son aside, and the powerful realization that he was coming to depend on Ros in ways he had never wanted nor thought possible washed over him.
Needing to taste and touch her, he loosened the bodice of her dress and eased it off her shoulders as she tipped her head back and exposed her neck to his seeking lips. He trailed kisses down the column of skin, over her collarbones, and along the curve of her shoulder as he continued to move the material out of his way.
With her arms trapped by the fabric, he moved his attentions to the swell of her breasts. The plump flesh pressed up in offering was temptation itself and had him working on her laces next. Exposing as much of her skin as was possible, he pulled at the constricting corset and then the chemise beneath it until her breasts spilled into his hands. Eager to feel her shudder with pleasure, he leaned over her and sucked one pebbled tip into his mouth as he eased her on to the arm of the settee at her back.
She moaned, low and needy, in her throat.
He sucked harder, relishing the feel of her hot skin against his lips and tongue. Loving the sizzle of touching her, of a living flame in his arms. He switched to her other breast and repeated the attention. She arched into him, pressing more of her breast into his mouth as she pulled at his shoulders. His cock was hard and ached like the devil, but when he pulled back and took in her disheveled appearance, the wanton way she lay sprawled over the furniture, guilt swept in. He should tell her everything—about the threat and, most importantly, about how he felt. But, he was still sorting everything out in his own head. What could he possibly say? I may very well love you? But I’m not sure what love is, so how would I know that I love you?
And then the decision was taken from him as Ros freed her arms and sat forward to press him back into the settee. It seemed his lady’s interests at the moment were of the more carnal sort. Perhaps he could say what he needed without speaking a word.
Chapter 18
Ros looked up from where she was draped over the settee in her front parlor and saw the doubt flash through Flint’s eyes. Was he not interested because of the lack of pain? He hadn’t had a fight or other physical damage before he came to her…was the emotional turmoil a viable substitution for pain?
Confused but determined, she pushed herself up to a sitting position and freed her arms. Then with not a bit of doubt or hesitation, she pushed him back until his backside hit the cushion and pried open his coat before pushing it off his shoulders. Next came his vest and necktie, leaving only his shirt as the last obstacle. Out of patience with the many layers of clothing, she jerked on the fine lawn shirt, causing it to tear enough to give her the access she desired. A pity she wasn’t strong enough to truly rend the material in two. Pleased with the destruction she’d wrought, she leaned forward and pressed kisses to his neck and chest as he settled back against the settee. His hands sank into her hair, hugging her skull as he dislodged some of the many pins keeping her coiffure in place.
Her breath caught in her chest as he pulled her face up to his. Fear stabbed her through the heart. Fear he would reject her once again. Fear that he would end their interlude. Fear that once more in her life, she would not be enough.
But then she dared to meet his gaze, and all she saw there was desire. Gone was the doubt, the hesitation. And then his lips captured hers once more, and the thrill of victory sang through her body. Or was that just the power of Flint’s kiss? Unable to focus on deciphering the difference, she chose to give in to the pleasurable sensation and continue on about achieving her goal.
As their tongues tangled and slid together, she thought surely she could devour him if given the chance. The need for him, for his touch, pushed her beyond civilized behavior. With a lust-filled groan, she reached between them and opened his trousers. It was not difficult to find the rigid object of her search since it practically sprang into her ready hands.
Beneath her, Flint grunted, and his hips jerked ever so slightly. They broke their kiss once more, and he hauled her closer so he could suck on her nipple. In that moment, she was grateful she hadn’t worn the formal hoop, opting for a more manageable set of crinolines for a private dinner at home. As he once more licked and sucked on her breasts, she worked on shifting her full skirts out of their way. Once she had the material and underskirts pushed aside, she rose up on her knees, tearing his mouth from her chest. “Please, Flint. I need you to fill me.”
“I’ve no letters with me.” He grimaced, clearly dismayed by his lack of protection.
She ground her heated core against him, her pussy aching to be filled still. “I addressed that possibility, I inserted a sponge earlier.”
Heat and gratitude filled his gaze. Then on a murmured curse, he grabbed his cock and pressed it to her entra
nce. With his tip pushing into her, she sank down until he was seated deep inside her.
“Bloody hell, you feel good,” he said and then hauled her back in for a kiss.
Together, they moved. His hips thrusting up as she descended until they found a rhythm that worked. She drew back from their kiss, the need to breathe overriding her pleasure in tasting him as a bead of sweat gathered and slid down her spine. The fire crackled behind them, adding physical heat to their own erotic flames. With her thighs bracketing his hips as her hands gripped his shoulders, her gown a rumpled mess around her waist, and her hair half sliding down her back, she rode him hard. She slid up and down his shaft, and her breasts bounced while he watched her every move. In all her years as a woman, she’d never felt more decadent and beautiful than in this moment with this man. It was as though he was entranced by her, a thrall wrapped in her feminine power. And she reveled in it.
But then, her orgasm rose up as if out of nowhere and slammed into her. The waves of pleasure crashed around her, caused stars to burst through her as though they might split her wide open and let Flint see all of her. Her heart, her soul, the very essence of her being. And despite the vulnerability of it all, she did not care. She felt no need to protect herself, not from him.
Then, his own reckoning came, and as she floated down from her breath-stealing peak, she watched Flint come apart—his eyes closed, and his breathing labored, his chest heaving like a bellows stoking a flame. He cried out her name, a yell of utter satisfaction and pleasure all melded together. He shook, his body rigid with his release, and then he was as boneless as a newborn babe as he slumped beneath her on the settee with his eyes closed.
A love seat some had taken to calling it, and considering what had just occurred on that piece of furniture, she found it hard to argue the point. A muffled laugh escaped her as she flopped against his shoulder, utterly done in.
He opened one eye and looked at her. “Dare I inquire as to what you have found so amusing during this delicate moment?”
She chuckled. “I was just pondering how apropos the term loveseat was for my little settee, considering our most recent usage of it.”
“Mmmmm. Most apropos, I agree. Though not very comfortable for such activity.” He grunted a little and shifted beneath her.
“Oh!” She scrambled off his lap. “I must be crushing you.”
He huffed. “Not even hardly. But there is a distinct lack of cushioning in your furniture of choice.”
Ros started to put her clothes to rights as much as was possible under the circumstances. “Oh, that is quite intentional. Mother and father are only able to stay so long without a comfortable place to sit.”
He laughed at her confession and then grabbed her hand before she could get more than her chemise in place. “Leave that be, I’ll play your ladies maid in a moment.”
“That isn’t required. I just wanted to straighten myself up so one of the servants doesn’t walk in and see us in such a state.” She smiled as he tugged her back into his lap.
He gawked at her a moment. “You choose to consider that risk now, after we spent the better part of an hour making love in this room?”
Her cheeks grew warm. “I was a bit caught up in the moment and didn’t consider that when we came together.”
He kissed her soundly and then released her. “Perhaps we should be more careful in the future.”
Perhaps we should be more careful in the future, though not with regard to my servants. She considered how close they had been to making love without any protection again. Fortunately for them, she had purchased appropriate supplies that day, having learned long before not to rely on anyone but herself. Though normally, Flint was more conscientious about such things as pregnancy than her husband had been. Even tonight, despite his having been distraught when he arrived at her home, he had tried to stop them when he realized he had no French Letters with him. The realization warmed her insides, as she enjoyed the notion that he cared enough about her to have considered her desires in the throes of passion.
Unwilling to examine her reaction too closely, she rose from his lap. “It’s late, we should get some rest.”
Flint glanced at the clock and then stood up as well. He tucked his softened cock away and reached to straighten his ruined shirt. With a wry grin, he merely tugged his waistcoat on.
Ros reached out and placed a staying hand on his. “I meant for you to come to bed with me. Not for you to go home.” She longed to feel him wrapped around her as he had been their first night together at The Market. To feel the intimacy of sleeping beside him.
He hesitated a moment and then nodded. She took his hand as he picked up his coat, and they started up the stairs together. He stopped with one foot on the bottom stair. “What of your neighbors in the morning? I’ll not have your reputation sullied.”
She couldn’t help but feel her heart squeeze at further evidence of such care from the man she had come to know. “If it will make you feel better, you can get up early and sneak out the back door. But frankly, I don’t give one whit for what the biddies next door think of me.”
“I care. I’ll just hold you for a bit while you fall asleep.” His warm deep tone brooked no argument.
She sighed, thwarted by his protective side. “Very well, though I wish you’d stay.”
He brought the hand he held up to his lips and placed a sweet kiss on the appendage. “I wish I could.”
And so they went upstairs together, at least for a while. Yet she wondered why he seemed to be keeping this distance between them. She doubted his reticence was due to social mores, but she couldn’t fathom what might be the source. The man clearly found it a great challenge to trust anyone. She pushed aside her disappointment and pressed on with enjoying what she could of the man she feared had stolen her heart.
~
The next afternoon Ros arrived at the back doors of The Market and slipped inside while wearing a deep-hooded cloak to protect her from prying eyes. Inside, she was quickly shown to a dungeon-like room where a stuffed pillow that was meant to resemble a man was chained to a wall.
Removing her cloak, she hung it up on a peg and then strode across the room to greet Mistress Lash. The freedom of movement that came with wearing riding pants without the voluminous skirts on top was refreshing. “Do you go about like this all the time?” Her teacher wore similar attire.
She nodded. “I do inside The Market and when I have clients to see, whether here or in their homes. Though some of them like it when I wear nothing but my skivvies to whip them.” Mistress Lash flashed a naughty grin that made her eyes dance.
Ros found herself stifling a laugh, though she couldn’t hide her surprise at such a notion. But then, here she was about to take lessons on how to whip the man she loved—and heaven help her, she did love him—, so really nothing should shock her at this point. “Well, shall we get started? I’m eager to begin.”
“Of course. I have a few first whip options for you to try.” She led Ros over to a table. “The first option is a traditional carriage whip, the next is a cat o’ nine tails, and the last is a hunting whip. For your first lessons, I want to keep you to shorter implements. Eventually, if you like, I can show you how to use something longer.”
Ros looked at the options and considered. She’d never driven a carriage, so that one was as foreign to her as any other. The cat o’ nine tails made her shudder. She easily dismissed that choice because of its association with violent criminals and brutal ship captains. Instead, she picked up the hunting whip. More familiar since she had had occasion to carry one, she thought that was a likely first choice. “Let’s try this one.”
Mistress Lash nodded. “A good first choice, though the cat o’ nine tails is quite a bit of fun as well.”
“I’ll stick with the hunting whip,” Ros said firmly.
Her instructor grinned. “Oh, good show! You’ll need to remember that resolve when you have your man chained up and waiting for the bite of your whip.”
>
Ros’ heart pounded in her chest as she pictured Flint naked and chained up at her mercy. There was something deliciously tempting about being able to have her way with him…whatever way she chose. Setting that thought aside, she focused on her first lesson. They started by discussing proper stance. Her knees should remain flexed and not stiff, her buttocks relaxed. Then her mentor demonstrated her technique on the stuffed dummy. Ros watched and then, when directed, followed suit. Initially, she merely flung the thong in the general direction with an overhand motion, as demonstrated. Eventually, when she showed some consistency in motion, she moved toward her target.
The first time she arced the whip at the stuffed man, she squealed and closed her eyes. Mistress Lash sighed and came over to her. “You must remember, he wants this. No, needs this from you. For Lord Flintshire, this will be a deliciously intense experience. I dare say he will be ravenous to have you by the time you are finished with him. Do not be afraid. Fear will only lead to one or both of you being injured.”
Ros’s cheeks were red from embarrassment as well as exertion, but she nodded. “I understand.”
“Good. Now be confident in your motion, and the whip will fall true. If you hesitate or flinch, you will miss your target. Try again.”
Ros kept at it for what felt like hours. By the time her instructor called a halt to the session, her arm felt like slightly warm aspic. It was soft and weak with a distinct gelatinous feel that made clear she had used newfound muscles in her body.
“You did well. I would expect your arm will be sore tomorrow.” Mistress Lash handed her a jar of salve. “Use this to ease the ache. Be liberal with it tonight and tomorrow. If you are able to practice at home, do so. I shall see you again in three days.”
Ros smiled despite her arm’s current state. “Thank you for taking the time to teach me. I shall see you then.” Ros picked up her chosen whip as she made to exit The Market. In only a couple hours’ time she had learned to at least wield the whip well enough to consistently hit her target. Not consistently or with any strength of impact, but she fully intended to continue to practice at home in spite of any pain so she could improve before her next lesson. The quicker she learned how to aim her strikes and control how hard they were the sooner she would be able to give Flint what he needed.
His Not-So-Sweet Marchioness: A Steamy Victorian Romance Page 14
