Miranda noticed he seemed calmer now, almost as if revealing the truth had taken the edge off his nerves. Words seemed to come easier now—though she noticed he once again spoke with that stilted, precise cadence. That must be how he’d mastered stifling his stammer in public—by saying few words and delivering them with a razor’s edge of sharpness.
“When I was a young man I b-became enamored with an opera s-singer … Iris. I was shy, b-but desperate to have my first woman and taken with her. I n-never missed a performance … sent gifts and notes … wooed her with everything I had.”
Miranda couldn’t help a little smile at the thought of a romantic young Roger. “That’s very sweet.”
“Iris thought so, too,” he said with an edge of derision in his voice. “She invited me to attend parties following h-her p-performances, then to her rooms. She was much older than me, but so b-beautiful. I wanted her but had a d-difficult time expressing it. I was careful with my speech but grew to think maybe she w-wouldn’t care if I t-told her the truth.”
Dread snaked through her at the implication in his words. “Oh, Roger …”
“One night when I visited her, she led me to her b-bed. I told her I had never m-made love to a woman before, but she seemed to find it charming. Things went well at first. She was p-patient with me, kind. In my passion I forgot myself and … and when I spoke I t-tripped over every w-word like an idiot. She recoiled from me as if I w-were a snake.”
Tears stung Miranda’s eyes at the pain in his voice, the humiliation threading through every word. It didn’t seem to matter how much time had passed; this particular memory hurt him.
“She t-told me she would never condescend to lie w-with an imbecile.”
Miranda sucked in a sharp breath, outrage welling in her chest. “That callous little strumpet! Why … the nerve of her!”
The corner of his mouth ticked with amusement, but he shrugged one shoulder. “I left and n-never contacted her again. She hurled insults at m-me while I dressed. I haven’t been intimate with a woman since … though the d-desire to has never left me. I h-have avoided situations that might c-cause me to embarrass myself, and it has worked until n-now. I was even too afraid to l-lie with whores, knowing I c-could never be certain they w-weren’t simply accepting me out of p-pity.”
Miranda moved closer, taking hold of his hand. “That woman wasn’t worthy of your regard,” she declared, vehemence bolstering every word. “Your stammer has no bearing on your intelligence or your ability to please the woman you take to bed.”
“I know that,” he replied. “Unfortunately, many others do not. It has been easier to s-simply protect myself from scorn.”
“I understand,” she said, resting her other hand atop his. “Your secret is safe with me, and I understand now what happened last night. You fled to save yourself embarrassment. But I need you to understand that I am nothing like that horrid opera singer. I don’t care about your difficulty with speech or the fact that you are a virgin. I … think I would be honored to be the one you could trust enough to relax and enjoy the experience. If you would let me try?”
He raised both their hands and kissed her knuckles. “I would like that. I’m tired of h-hiding and b-being afraid.”
“Then you’ll come to me tonight?” she urged. “I’ll send a note with directions to my chambers.”
“Yes. I … thank you, Miranda.”
She smiled, thrilled to realize she’d begun gaining his trust. It was clear he did not extend such an honor to many people. “There is no need to thank me. I like to think that our arrangement allows both of us to have what we want in a safe environment.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Then it is settled. We should return to the ballroom before someone notices we are missing. I will look forward to seeing you later this evening.”
She released his hand, but Roger cupped her cheek before she could retreat, leaning in for another kiss. This one was slow and sweet, his lips brushing and pressing lightly. Miranda found herself chasing his lips when he pulled away, hungry for more.
He offered her a half-smile, as if aware of what he’d just done to her. “Until then.”
He lingered in the garden while she returned alone. Miranda was all-too aware of when he entered the ballroom, anticipation making her shiver as his gaze followed her, dark and glittering with promise.
Chapter 7
Roger’s hands shook as he reached Miranda’s door, the faint light of the lamp he carried casting his shadow across the floor. Her swift answer to this knock told her she awaited him as planned. Oddly, he’d told himself she would change her mind—that the conversation and passionate kisses shared in the garden hadn’t happened like he remembered. It didn’t matter that only hours had passed; Roger’s anxious mind convinced him he would arrive to find no light shining from beneath her door, receiving no answer to his knock.
However, as he entered to find Miranda seated in an armchair near the window, his heart leaped into his throat. While he still wore his evening finery, she had been stripped of her ballgown and underpinnings, her hair loosened from its coiffure. Lightly waved strands of sable hair hung heavy and thick down her back. Her voluptuous figure was shown to its advantage by a silver dressing gown—the belt at her waist displaying the curves of hips and breasts. Hands folded in her lap, she stared at him as he hovered near the door, still holding his lamp.
The confidence he’d felt in the garden had begun to fade now that he was faced with Miranda again—gently and quietly beautiful, inherently sensual, and too tempting for words. The erection he’d had to will away earlier in the evening began to rematerialize as she started across the room. Her bare feet fell soundlessly on the thick rug, and the firelight made golden strands in her hair come alive.
“I’m glad you came,” she said, her voice low.
He tried to smile, but his lips wouldn’t cooperate. “You doubted I would?”
She seemed to have no trouble making that charming smile of hers appear, dimples and all. “I did worry you would be embarrassed over what we discussed … that perhaps out of my sight you might get cold feet.”
Roger’s face grew warm as he realized it had been a near thing. She was the first person outside his family or Iris he’d revealed his stammer to. It stood to reason that a part of him feared how that revelation would impact this arrangement. He wanted to believe her acceptance of him was genuine, but experience had made him wary.
Until now.
Miranda had paused halfway across the room, hands hovering over the knotted belt of her robe. “Would you like to set your lamp down?”
Roger followed her gaze to a bedside table and strode to it to rid himself of the lamp. When he turned it was to find Miranda standing with her back to him, the loosened dressing gown slipping off her shoulders. His gaze followed the downward path of the garment, the slopes and planes of her back and shoulders curtained by the drape of her hair. He held his breath until his chest burned as it paused just where her waist gave way to her hips, before inching down to reveal full, plump buttocks, soft, creamy thighs, and shapely legs. His breath came out in a rush, and all the blood in his body seemed to surge straight to his groin.
Miranda kept her back turned to him. However, Roger felt the distinct impression of eyes upon him. When he shifted his gaze from the tempting sight of her lush bottom, he found a cheval mirror against the wall, angled perfectly to display the front of Miranda’s nude form. His pulse thumped like a drum in his throat as he met her stare in the glass, finding her eyes mirrored back at him in the reflection. Then, he allowed himself to take in the rest of her—full breasts tipped with dark pink nipples, the soft curves of her belly and waist, the thatch of dark curls cradled between her thighs.
Roger’s chest heaved with every strained breath, his head spinning as he took inventory of every place he wanted to press his lips, every inch of skin he wished to taste.
She remained where she stood, obviously waiting for something. For
him, he realized.
He walked toward her with slow, measured steps, fingers twitching in anticipation of the first touch. Miranda tensed when he paused just behind her, his clothed body lightly brushing against her naked one. Then, she sank into him with a sigh as he rested his hands at her waist.
Roger’s eyes slid shut at the feel of her bare skin—soft and smooth, undulating with pliant curves of supple flesh. Her head fell against his shoulder as he allowed his hands to explore, smoothing inward over her belly, then downward toward her thighs. Miranda let out a soft sigh and pressed into him, her back against his chest and her buttocks pushing against the rapidly swelling organ in his breeches.
Burying his face in the sweet-smelling tendrils of hair tickling his jaw, Roger inhaled her scent—a slightly woodsy, citrusy orange blossom that made him want to lick her from neck to toes. He felt his way upward, his fingers itching to be filled with the weight of her breasts.
Miranda gasped when he cupped them, arching her back and simultaneously pressing her nipples tighter against his palms and her buttocks more firmly against his aroused cock. The moan that escaped her lips when he squeezed her breasts sent another surge of heat and desire jolting through him. His hips shifted of their own accord, grinding his erection against the swells of her buttocks. The tip of his cock was already wet, his bollocks drawing up tight to his body. He hadn’t felt such potent desire in years—had forgotten how reckless and uninhibited it made him feel. There was no need to worry over his speech or her perception of him, no need for talk. His hands spoke to her body like words could not, and she communicated her pleasure and her wants back to him, a silent vibration thrumming through his veins.
“Yes,” she whispered when he lightly pinched her nipples. “Yes, please …”
She brought both hands up to clutch at his nape, squirming and writhing against him as he toyed with her nipples, awed and pleased with the way they hardened between his fingers. He opened his eyes to study their reflection in the mirror, enraptured by the pink flush kissing her cheeks, her parted lips, and her undulating body which created the most erotic friction between them.
Roger pressed his lips to her shoulder and fought not to spend in his breeches. If she kept this up, he wouldn’t last another minute. He felt ready to explode, overflowing with unfulfilled need and a desperation to finally experience this base, primal act.
“Touch me here,” she panted, drawing his gaze back to the mirror.
Roger’s belly clenched at the sight of her slender fingers stroking over the dark brown curls of her mons—teasing through the coiled hairs, showing him where she wanted his touch. He kept one hand molded to her breast, the thumb and forefinger absently toying with the tip as his other hand drifted down her body. Miranda moved her own hand and braced her feet apart to allow him access. A strained groan wrenched free of his throat when his fingers encountered the velvety flesh between her lower lips—soft and delicate and dewy with her arousal.
He slid his middle finger along her slit to explore the sleek folds and taut opening, unable to help delving one finger into her channel. Wet heat gripped him, the satiny glide of her flesh around him making his knees week. His cock throbbed for want of taking the place of his finger, learning the sensation of being inside her body.
Roger withdrew his finger, but Miranda bucked her hips, urging him to continue. She moaned when he lightly circled the tiny nub of her clitoris, smearing it in the wetness he’d coaxed from within her.
“There!” she exclaimed, fingers tangling in his hair and nails digging into the back of his neck.
He concentrated his efforts on the small knot of nerves, delighting in the way she shivered when he pressed and rubbed. Tremors wracked her body as he learned and explored, discovering what drew those soft moans of delight from deep within her chest.
“Miranda,” he rasped, trailing soft, short kisses up her neck to her ear. “Tell me how to please you.”
He punctuated the plea by nipping at the tip of her ear, which she seemed to like very much. Roger filed it away in his memory, along with every minute detail he’d learned in the past several minutes. He might not have the skill to match the man who had come before him, but he would not be daunted by that. Having always been an astute learner, he was confident that under her tutelage he would become well-versed in the ways of pleasing a woman.
Turning to face him, she braced both hands on his chest, staring up at him with eyes gone dark with lust. “Take me to the bed.”
Hands braced on her hips, he began backing her toward the waiting bed. Their lips met in a heated kiss as they went down onto the counterpane, tongues surging against one another, teeth nipping, breaths tangling together. Roger braced himself over Miranda as she pulled the knot of his cravat loose, peppering kisses along his cheek and jaw, then his exposed neck. They became an awkward tangle of limbs as she began wrestling him out of his coat. Roger shifted and rolled his body to help, but found himself panting for breath by the time the garment had been cast aside. Crouched between her parted legs with the scent of her arousal on the air, he felt as if he were slowly dying—the air being squeezed out of him by the restriction of his clothes. Every accursed layer was keeping him from Miranda.
Her hands slid down his body until she reached his breeches and began deftly unfastening his fall. He issued a harsh sigh of relief when she freed his cock, using one hand to grip him while the other pushed the breeches down his hips. Roger shuddered at the tight grip of her hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip, her thumb smearing his wetness all over the flared head. He thrust into her grip, lips parted on grating, labored breaths at the pleasure of it. He’d spent so many years tending to himself, but had inadequately imagined what the feel of a woman’s hand could do to him. The smoothness of her palms, the knowing expertise of every stroke—it was enough to push him far too close to the edge.
Seeming to sense this, she ceased her ministrations and positioned him at the opening of her sheath. The first kiss of wet, feminine flesh made his cock twitch and strain as if with a life of its own.
“Now, Roger,” she whispered against his ear, cupping his buttocks and urging him closer. “Take me now.”
Roger gritted his teeth around a hoarse groan when the first thrust seated him halfway inside her. Miranda sucked in a sharp breath, her sheath clenching tight around him. Withdrawing and plunging, he found his way in to the hilt—surrounded by a tight, gripping heat. He paused for several seconds and breathed through the urge to spill inside her then and there. His imagination and fantasies hadn’t prepared him for the sensations overwhelming him, and now he was drowning in Miranda. Her scent enveloped him, her warm, plush body cradled him, and the exquisite clench of her cunny stunned him.
Miranda shifted beneath him, rolling her hips and creating a ripple of pleasure along his cock. It shot straight through his groin and into his gut, spurring him to match her rhythm. She clutched at his back, panting and sighing as he took her with increasing urgency, every stroke coming harder and faster. Some innate sense took control of his body, silencing the practical thoughts of his mind until all he could think of was the woman beneath him, wrapping him in her most secret of places, accepting him into her body.
Her fingernails rasped against his waistcoat as she dragged them down his back, raising her hips to take him in deeper. The tension winding through him reached its breaking point, and Roger pushed into her one last time, shaking and groaning as climax swept through him.
With a triumphant shout, he withdrew from her just in time to release his spend onto the counterpane. Then, he rolled from on top of her, falling into a boneless heap on his back. Struggling to catch his breath, he opened his arms when she came to him, draping herself across his chest. As she kissed his cheek and stroked sweat-dampened hair back from his brow, it occurred to him that he hadn’t experienced an ounce of trepidation from the time he’d first touched her until the end. Everything had happened so naturally, so perfectly, putting to rest all hi
s earlier doubts and fears. He’d lain with a woman—a beautiful, vivacious seductress of a woman—and not once had she recoiled from him, even knowing his secret. Granted, he hadn’t spoken much and managed to keep control of his words. But, Roger somehow knew that even if he hadn’t, the outcome would have been the same.
Miranda Hughes was quite a woman, one he found easy to like and respect as well as desire. He couldn’t have found a better woman to experience his first time with had he tried.
Miranda lay on her side, tracing a fingertip through the trail of dark hair running down Roger’s abdomen. Once he’d recovered from their first tumble, he had seemed embarrassed to still be dressed in almost all his clothing. Miranda had laughed it off, having loved the feel of his clothed body against her bared one. There was something thrillingly erotic about the rough, sturdy fabrics of a man’s clothing rubbing against her most sensitive places when he was inside her.
Goosebumps appeared along her arms and her nipples puckered at the memories such thoughts conjured up. It didn’t help that now Roger was naked, he proved even more impressive than when he was fully dressed. Unblemished skin was pulled taut over long, lean stretches of muscle. Even laying flaccid against his thigh, his cock was magnificent, making her all-too aware of how badly she wanted him inside her again.
Only a few minutes had passed since their first time, and she didn’t want to pressure him with unnecessary demands. If what they’d just done was any indication, he would be worth the wait. For a man who claimed to have paltry experience with women, Roger certainly seemed to know his way around her body. He’d needed very little guidance to make her respond to him.
“What was your first time like?” he asked suddenly, breaking through the comfortable silence between them.
Bracing her arms on his chest and settling her chin on one hand, she smiled at him. “Informative. I was fortunate enough to have a patient husband who wanted me to enjoy his attentions. There was pain, but he made it up to me later that night.”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 149
