“Teresa,” he muttered darkly, “Did you never go to church? Lead me not into temptation.”
She laughed, and the flex of her body pushed him over the edge. He poured down his passion, frustration, joy, confusion, all muddled into a fiery kiss that seemed to spark his body into life. Her fingers were no longer fumbling, and his breeches were slipping down his legs, and the freedom it brought him was intensely pleasing.
He pulled her towards him and she willingly came to him, arching her back into the kiss and rubbing against him in a way that made him almost lose focus – but he had heard her. Teresa had spent plenty of time making love to others. It was time that someone made love to her.
Breaking the kiss and hearing a sigh of disappointment from her mouth that made his whole body jerk, he lifted her off her feet and strode towards the bed in the corner of the room.
“No.”
Alexander looked down at her, confused. She looked slightly dazed, punch-drunk with the excitement of the kiss, but she looked at him steadily.
“But I thought – ”
Teresa shook her head. “Not there. There.”
With an elegant hand, she pointed towards the curtain. Alexander swallowed, took four steps forward, and she pulled aside the curtain to reveal –
He could hardly believe it. He had read about such places, of course: places in the Orient, places in France, and very select places in London that one heard discussed, but never directed to. A huge four poster bed sat in the middle of the room, with silks and ribbons cascading from a point above it, covering it with moving coloured shadows. Two candles were alight in the room, throwing golden colour through the silks, making one portion appear blue, and another green. The silk bedsheets were invitingly soft, and there was a bottle of unopened wine on a small side table.
His mouth must have fallen open, because Teresa leaned forwards and captured his tongue with hers in a deep and slow kiss. He closed his eyes, lost in the moment, lost in the warm squirms of her body as he held her.
“Now, put me down,” she whispered as the kiss ended. “And close your eyes.”
Far be it for him to refuse a request from a lady, but Alexander could not help but feel a little exposed: standing as he was, in a borrowed shirt and nothing else. But it was impossible to resist her, and what’s more, he had no wish to.
“And open.”
Alexander opened his eyes, and almost exploded in passion just at the sight of her. There she stood, just a foot from him: completely naked.
Teresa Metcalfe did not need adornment for her body. She stood, cotton white gown pooled at her feet, and stared at him fiercely, as though to defy his disapproval.
But how could he disapprove, when she was so entirely beautiful? Her blonde hair had tumbled down her back and shoulders, brushing past her nipples which budded in the slight cold. The swell of her breasts moved with every short breath, and that part of her that Alexander had wanted to see for a good while: there it was, waiting for him.
He took a step forward, and she put out a hand. “Wait. Are you truly ready for this – and are you ready to give up your own control for my pleasure?”
Teresa watched him swallow, saw the difficulty that he had in concentration as he beheld her naked body, and smiled. It was impossible not to revel in the power she had over this man: a man who by the looks of it, was going to more than satisfy her.
“Alexander,” she said slowly, her fingers playing with the button of his shirt. “Alexander, will you give me this night? A night of pure ecstasy, a night where I am the sole focus of your lovemaking?”
She watched him swallow; saw his Adam’s apple move, saw the tension in his loins grow, and then heard his shaky reply.
“Anything – anything you want, and I will worship you.”
Teresa’s body taunted with anticipation, and she took a step forward. With her mouth by his ear, she whispered, “In that case, Caershire, I give you absolute leave to do whatever you like with me.”
In a swift movement her breath was knocked out of her: his strong hands had picked her up around her waist and thrown her onto the bed. Gasping with shock, her body was soon covered by his own – the shirt had gone, and it was his chest on her breasts, his legs entwined around her legs, his dark member nestled near her own secret place.
His kisses burned a trail down her neck as his hands brought her buttocks higher, and Teresa could not help but cry out his name as his moving lips found one of her nipples.
She jerked with the pleasure, so unusual, so unexpected. She could not remember the last time that a man had made any exploration of her body, and Alexander was simultaneously dominant and kind, never playing with one part of her body too long to let the rest of it cry out for him.
“How is this?” He asked as one hand left her buttocks and squeezed her other breast gently.
“Incredible!” She gasped, almost incomprehensible in her sighs of satisfaction.
Fiery streams of bliss were flowing through her body as Teresa squirmed under his experimental fingers – his innocence, and his obvious desire to bring her to intense pleasure almost enough to take her to the edge.
But not yet. Now his lips were once more on hers, and one hand rested on her waist, while the other – the other was moving slowly downwards, almost nervous if she was any judge, to that special place.
Despite the joy that coursed through her body, Teresa almost broke the kiss to stop him. He would not know, how could he know what would be pain and what would be sensuality in that secret place.
“Caershire,” she said wildly, “Alexander, wait – oh, God!”
It did not matter that he had never known a woman before: Alexander’s natural instincts were soft and gentle, but the rhythmic movement of his fingers as he slipped inside her was enough to drive her closer and closer to that edge of ecstasy, and she writhed, unable to control herself as he dipped his mouth once more to her neck, nibbling near her ear and clenching her buttocks with his other hand.
“Alexander, I am going to …” Teresa breathed. “Oh, Alexander!”
His firm fingers found that special place within her and she cried out as she came, her body thrashing as the wave of decadent joy spread across her body.
She heard the breath of wonder catch in his throat, and hazily wondered if he had expected such a reaction.
“That was remarkable,” she breathed, staring up at his handsome face – a face that was looking at her with such tenderness. “Alexander, I cannot tell you – I cannot explain just how incredible that was.”
He smiled. “It has been almost impossible for me to – to control myself. Seeing you experience that – feeling you, having myself inside of you, even just my fingers…” Alexander’s voice trailed away as Teresa started to move. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” she breathed. “But you are. Lie down here.”
He obeyed, and Teresa glorified in the way that he did. No other man had ever wanted to take orders. No man would even consider it.
But not him. Not her Alexander.
“Now we shall make love in a different way,” she murmured, moving to lie beside him.
His eyes widened at her words. “You can – you can climax again?”
Teresa laughed. “Several times, actually. ‘Tis one of the few benefits of being a woman.”
She leaned forward and rolled onto him, feeling the strong heat of her secret place meet his own – and she groaned aloud, let him see the pleasure she felt from his form.
“Teresa,” he whispered, his eyes dark and beseeching. “Teresa, I cannot wait much longer. Please, I am begging you…”
The power was almost as satisfying as the lovemaking, and she laughed as she straddled him, raising herself up so that she could look down on him.
“My dear lord Caershire,” she teased, rolling her hips slightly from side to side so that he twitched and moaned in painful delight. “Are you asking me to deliver you from evil?”
Alexander could not help bu
t laugh at that, and she felt the laugh vibrate through his body, and the longing started to mount up in her once again. “You could say that, yes.”
“Too bad,” she breathed, and in swift movement she sheathed herself on him.
That was when he cried out, “Teresa!” and she felt the warm wetness of herself tighten around him, and she shivered in pleasure.
“What is wrong?” She whispered as she rolled slightly, watching his body jerk and spasm with joy he had never felt before. “Too much for you?”
Alexander did not answer in words: instead he pulled himself up and clutched her body like an anchor in a storm.
“You may have been drowning when we first met,” he said shakily, his hands tight around her buttocks. “But I am the one drowning now.”
Teresa kissed him then, and this kiss was different. There was warmth in it, just as with all the others, and yet it was more than just lust. It was connection, vulnerability, joy, desire, heat, and all Teresa wanted to do was kiss him for the rest of her life.
And then she pulled his hands from her, and thrust his entire body down, holding his hands behind his head and grinning at him.
“Ready?”
She did not wait for a response: she did not need to, she could feel him tense and become, if possible, even more tense and rigid inside her. She started to rise and fall, rocking with each movement in a curve to slide him slowly in and out of her. She arched to increase the friction and felt an answering ricochet of bliss echo through her body – but she did not release Alexander’s hands, twist as he might as he neared his own climax.
“Not yet,” she whispered.
“Teresa, why!” Alexander cried with a smile on his face but a tension in his jaw. “This is so – I cannot – you are so…”
And then she felt it, that own growing warmth just below her stomach, and Teresa increased her pace, fanning the flames and watching his eyes stare at her breasts moving faster and faster, and it was about to happen and she wanted it to last forever but they were almost at the peak and they cried out in unison as they were both overtaken by their climax.
Teresa fell into his arms, and felt his panting breath upon her shoulder.
It was several minutes before either one of them was able to speak.
“I could do that,” breathed Alexander slowly, “every day of my life, and never get bored.”
Teresa chuckled quietly. “Careful, Caershire, or I will hold you to that.”
6
It was the shout that did it. Without the shout, it was quite conceivable that Alexander would have slept for at least another hour, but the cry of “Fresh fish! Fresh fish for sale!” from the street broke through into his dreaming consciousness like a knife.
For a terrible moment, he had no idea where he was. Red silks glowed in the daylight, the softness of a pillow that he did not recognise, the warm of another body in bed with him –
Alexander started. His eyes drew open wide, and he stared at the naked woman asleep beside him. She was lying on her front and the curve of her back led his eyes to the swell of her bottom, and her blonde hair covered her face.
Teresa. He sagged with relief as the memories started to pour back: the Thames, the rescue, the return, the conversation, the lovemaking . . .
Something in him stirred, and he was almost embarrassed to find that, had she been awake, he would have been desperate to pleasure Teresa again.
He spent a minute watching her sleep, the steady rise and fall of a person in deep slumber, the patterns of light as a breeze shifted the silk hangings dancing over her skin, and then his brain caught up with him.
The light. It was daylight; it was morning, and he had spent all night there, in a courtesan’s bed.
The thought almost felt as though it had emanated from a different person. Teresa was no courtesan in his eyes; why, she was a victim, a woman who had had no choice but to turn to the oldest profession in the world to protect her family.
A rush of love and protection surged into Alexander’s heart, and it was so strong and overwhelming that he almost woke her, so desperate was he to tell her –
Tell her what?
Alexander stared at her. If he was honest with himself, he would have to admit that he had fallen completely in love with her. He could hardly believe it himself: how was it possible? How could he even consider falling in love with a person that quickly?
But his heart knew, even if his mind did not. The moment that he had seen her, that flailing hand desperate for a rescuer, his stomach had lurched and his instincts had taken over.
Teresa Metcalfe was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with: wake up every morning with, spend the long days with, and ravish every night.
It would be his honour to be her Duke, and she – she would be his Duchess.
She moved gently in her sleep, but did not awake.
Alexander smiled, and as slowly as he could, got out of the bed. Now that he saw it in daylight, he could see the sad dilapidation of the room: what appeared to be a magical room, exotic and unknown, was just a room. The silks were torn in a few places, the cushions stained with red wine, and the carpet was not the pure white that it had seemed when he had entered it, eyes full of lust, heart full of love.
And yet she was the same. Teresa slept on, unknowing that she was being examined by a man who loved her.
Alexander thought quickly. If he was to see her again, then it would not do for him to be found with her, this morning.
His reputation may be bad, but it would disappear entirely if he was to be discovered leaving a courtesan’s bedchamber.
Yes, he would have to leave. He could return that evening; he would return that evening, and he would bring with him so much hope and expectation that she would undoubtedly, be a little overwhelmed.
Alexander looked at her with just a hint of nervousness. Did she feel it too? Surely as they had made love last night, each learning from the other, each giving just as much pleasure as they received, she had felt the connection. Had known how she had driven him wild – had experienced that emotional tie just as strongly as the physical one.
He bit his lip. Well, it was too early to ask such questions now; perhaps when they were better acquainted. Perhaps, and his loins tightened at the very thought of it, after he had taken her on another journey to ecstasy, he could ask her.
But now what he had to do was leave, and leave fast. His clothes – or rather, the clothes that Teresa had given him to wear after his own had become drenched in Thames water – had been scattered around the room as their hunger for each other had consumed them. Surely his own clothes would be dry by now?
Pushing aside the curtain as quietly as he could, Alexander discovered his dry clothes before the smouldering fire, and hastily dressed. Inside his waistcoat was his pocket watch, entirely useless now that it had been soaked in water, and his pocketbook, thankfully safeguarded by its leather exterior from the water.
There was fifty pounds in it, an insurance against being caught out. Alexander hesitated.
Teresa’s father and sister – Helena, was it? – needed money. They needed it badly, and without it, Teresa would be forced to go out tomorrow evening, and . . . and find another client.
Bile, hot bile rose in his throat as he considered another man walking into this room, another man being led to the chamber behind the curtain, and Teresa starting to take off his –
Alexander swallowed it down. That did not have to happen; if he left the money for her here, she would not need to find another client for a long time. And by then, he would be back with her.
After pulling on his boots, which felt uncomfortably tight after their time in the Thames, Alexander crept forward to the curtain once more, and poked his head through.
Teresa, like a Grecian goddess who had just spent a night with a mortal man, was still barely covered by the silk sheet, naked, fast asleep.
Alexander’s face broke into a smile; one of love, and care, and desire, and hope
for a future.
He could not put that hope into words: not yet. But he hoped that soon, he would be able to make Teresa incredibly happy.
Darting around the room, his eyes took in possible places to put the money so that Teresa would easily find it. settling on the small table beside the bed, he strode over silently, placed it gently there and then moved her earbobs onto it, to ensure that it did not move, and then made for the curtain once more.
“Alexander?”
Teresa stared at the figure through her golden eyelashes, and tried to resurrect some memories to go along with that handsome face. He looked incredibly familiar, and there was none of that sick feeling that usually accompanied her morning conversations.
“Go back to sleep, Teresa,” it whispered, and the face broke out into a smile.
Alexander. It was Alexander, Duke of Caershire.
“Alexander,” she murmured, and smiled at the warmth that his name flowed through her body.
There was a slight dip in the mattress as he sat beside her. His hand cupped her cheek, and then gently pushed back some of her long blonde hair so that she could see him properly.
“Good morning,” he whispered, gazing at her with such affection that Teresa could not help but broaden her smile.
“Hello,” she replied. She was almost shy now, heartily conscious of her naked body beside his clothed one. “You are awake early.”
Alexander chuckled. “I have no idea what the actual time is, my pocket watch is full of Thames not time, but the sun is certainly up.”
Thames. Thames, not time. Teresa almost gasped as the memory came flooding back: of course, that rascal Harold had tipped her into the Thames when she had refused him service, and then – the water, the sharp coldness in her lungs, that terrible panic that had rose in her as she had desperately –
And then the tug to safety, the rescue by Alexander. “You saved me,” she whispered.
Alexander beamed, and her heart lurched as she saw it. What had she done: handed over her heart as well as her body last night?
“It was my honour,” he whispered, “but I have to go, I cannot remain here now.”
Ravishing Regencies- The Complete Series Page 14
