Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Christine Merrill

  ‘I did not find it easy,’ he repeated. ‘I did not understand how to speak to children my own age. I was left largely to my own devices, and my interests were... My own. Hugh practically trained me to make friends.’

  ‘Hugh did? It seems to me that you are the one most likely to make friends of the two of you.’

  ‘I am a fast learner,’ Briggs said. ‘A good study. A brilliant mimic.’

  ‘Modest as well.’

  ‘No. Never that. I will always be grateful to him. I will always owe him a debt. And this... Is surely a poor way to repay him.’

  ‘Or,’ Beatrice said, ‘it has nothing to do with him. I should like it if what I want could be separated from him and what he wants. Utterly and absolutely.’

  He looked at her, long and hard for a moment, his dark eyes glittering, darting back and forth as though he was doing some sort of mental calculus. ‘I see you as a whole person, unto yourself,’ he said. ‘Please don’t mistake me. But your brother will not. And... As I said before... He knows a bit too much about me for... For him to avoid making assumptions about our relationship should he discover we have one.’

  ‘Of all the things, Briggs, who would’ve thought that the scandal you truly wish to avoid is someone thinking you have shared intimacies with your wife.’

  His lips curved up at the corner. ‘It only shocks you because you know so little about me.’

  ‘You can tell me more.’

  ‘We will speak after dinner.’

  ‘I should hope that we will speak at dinner,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. But that is where people will see. And who we are away from others... That is where true honesty is, is it not?’

  She shivered. He spoke the truth. She knew that he did.

  It was as he’d said before, about polite society. All of these people who enforced proper behaviour... They did not necessarily engage in such behaviour themselves, and what was more, they knew fully that beneath the glittering veneer of the surface, many others did not. It was meant to corral the innocent and the powerless, more than anything else.

  But who they were when they were alone... That was freedom.

  And as long as she got a taste of it... She could endure it being between herself and Briggs only.

  In fact, it felt lovely. Like a secret. No, not a secret, like a precious gem that you might conceal, so that it is not stolen or tarnished by anyone else. Like something too beautiful to give away.

  And then he left her. And she knew that now, she had only to wait until after dinner.

  Where he would make good on his promises, and she would find...

  She did not know what exactly. Only that there was a certainty, bright and burning in the centre of her soul, that told her tonight she would find a piece of herself.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Dinner was a study in torture. But Beatrice had come to accept that torture was a part of all of this. At least, between herself and Briggs.

  That feeling that she was guarding something precious and rare intensified. Yes, she was disappointed that he was going to withhold... Certain things from her. Not even thinking further down the road that he would be withholding a baby from her, but that there was an intimacy that was... That he was not willing to give.

  But she had the sense that it was a common intimacy. Perhaps, the most common. And that what was about to take place between herself and Briggs was not common.

  They ate dinner across the table from each other, and she did feel as if they were strangers, observing customs that simply didn’t matter. That had nothing to do with the two of them. With Briggs and Beatrice and all that they could be. All that they would be.

  For the first time she felt... Special. Not like she might be less, but that she might be more.

  She was careful not to overfill herself, and when dinner was finished, she stood.

  ‘I am ready to retire,’ she said.

  He looked up at her. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ she said, using his title making her stomach tense. It should not. Only that there was a way he seemed to enjoy hearing it. And it was different, different to the way it was spoken in common conversation, where it was just an observation of his title, an expression of what was due to him. There was something else. Something deeper.

  She went to her room, and her maid helped her dress for bed. She looked at herself in the mirror, and she wondered. If she was truly enough of a woman to entice him.

  It had been one thing in the beautiful ball gown, with all those stars in her hair. She had been bewitched by her own reflection, so she imagined that she had a much better chance of bewitching Briggs in that state. But now... She just looked very much like herself.

  The night that he had left the brothel, he had gone to engage in these activities, but had not done so. So no doubt that had played a part in his enticement towards her. That was why the nightgown had been sufficient then. But would it be enough now?

  Would she be enough?

  Or would she fall short?

  No. You will not fall short. He trusts that you will not.

  She looked at herself, and straightened her shoulders. He did not see her as an invalid. And she would not behave as if he should. This was what she had always wanted. For someone to see her as strong. As whole. Even recognising that he must... That he must behave differently with her... He was still not keeping himself from her entirely.

  And that must be a testament to his desire. And to the way that he saw her.

  And then the door opened. And he was here.

  He was dressed fully for dinner, rather than in that state of partial undress that he’d been in when he had come into her room earlier today. For some reason, it gave him a look of unfettered authority, and that excited her all the more.

  This man who seemed to be the embodiment of all she had ever wanted. It made her bold. If he was all she wanted, perhaps she could be all he wanted as well.

  ‘Do you know,’ she said, ‘all of my life, men have stood in authority over me. I suppose that is the fate of all women. Whether it be my father, my brother, or the physicians who attended me when I was ill, men have always dictated my fate. And so I cannot fathom why it is your authority that I find so beautiful.’

  He paused, a muscle in his square jaw jumping. ‘There are two reasons. The first is that you know I will exert my authority in ways that will bring you pleasure. I take no joy in causing pain for the sake of it. Nor do I exert my will simply because I can. I was born with a title. I was born with authority. England is filled with spineless men who have been given power because of the structure of the world. And women must subject to this authority because of how they were born. You... You willingly submit. And that is what gives me the power. That is what makes it mean something. And I will not abuse that. The second thing is related. Choice. You choose this. You choose it because it is something you want. And I granted it because I know it is something you can handle. It is not the de facto power a man has over his wife. Nor the power society gives a man over a woman. Rather this is something we choose. Something we make the rules to. Yes, in this bed, you give the power to me. But when it comes to the rules of the game, the ultimate power lies with us. Not what anyone tells us we might have. And that is intoxicating indeed.’

  She shivered, absolutely and completely held captive by his words. For he was right.

  This was power, the likes of which she had never known. For the fire inside him was stoked high, taken to a place that he was not in utter command of. She had command of his desire. He was here because he wanted her, and she did not doubt it. She did not need stars in her hair or a dress that flattered her bosom. She simply needed to be her.

  The right fit to who and what he was. And that was innate inside her. The same as the illness that had threatened to take all the joy from her life. It made her grateful fo
r herself. For strength, for the innate pieces of who she was. All that she could be.

  Beatrice was enough for this moment. And after being wrong, not enough, not strong enough, according to all of the people that surrounded her, for so many years of her life, it was more than a revelation.

  ‘The first thing I think you are strong enough to handle, is learning to please me.’

  He closed the distance between them, his gaze fierce. ‘Turn around.’

  She obeyed, turning her back to him, and she flinched slightly when he wrapped his fingers around her braid. But he did not tug her hair, as he had done before. Instead, he gently released it from its fastenings and let it fall loose around her shoulders. His touch was gentle, and it made her shiver. Because it wasn’t gentle as if he was afraid she would break. It was gentle like a gift. The calm before a storm that she knew would rage and push them both to a breaking point.

  Then he began to loosen the ties at the back of her nightgown, and it fell, slid down her body in a slither of silk, and pooled at her feet. Leaving her completely naked. His touch was gentle as his fingers skimmed down the line of her spine, down to her backside, where he squeezed her tightly, an echo of what had occurred in the library of her brother’s house, though so much more intentional. And with no barrier between them.

  Tears stung her eyes.

  There was nothing between them. Nothing except for his own clothes.

  And she thought that perhaps she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t.

  Physicians had seen her nude from the time she was a child. It had been a necessity. Part of a life spent practically bedridden.

  But he was not examining her body like a thing. Rather he touched her as if she mattered. As if she meant something. Rather he touched her as if she was both fragile and strong all at once. And beautiful.

  She was not ashamed. Not embarrassed.

  He dipped his fingers between her legs, stroking her in the most intimate of places.

  She was wet, but she found that did not shame her either. He had made commentary about that. About her wetness. And he had made it only sound like a good thing. Something that pleased him. And she did so wish to please him.

  He turned her to face him, and all the breath left her body in an exquisite rush as he examined her. His eyes filled with an intensity that she gloried in.

  This was not the cold examination of a doctor. This was the desirous look of a man.

  He took two steps away from her, never taking his eyes off her as he sat down in a chair positioned by the fireplace in her bedchamber. Without taking his eyes from hers his hands moved to the falls of his breeches, and he opened them. And her throat tightened, went dry, as he drew himself from his clothing. He was... Well, as suspected, the statuary in the garden had nothing to recommend it when compared to Briggs.

  He was large and thick, and... He was beautiful.

  How she longed to see all of his body, completely uncovered for her pleasure. But she had a feeling it was something she would have to earn. And she would do her very best. He said he was going to teach her to pleasure him, and suddenly she wanted that more than she wanted anything else. More than she had ever wanted anything before.

  ‘Come to me,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Your Grace,’ he said.

  She recognised that it was a correction. Firm and gentle. And it made her feel...everything.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  A smile curved his lips, and she took that short trip to stand right in front of him, feeling deliciously exposed beneath the intensity of his gaze.

  ‘Get to your knees,’ he said.

  She obeyed, without thought, going down to her knees in front of him.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’m going to teach you how to pleasure me. I want you to take me in your mouth.’

  She was not shocked. After all, he had done the same to her in the garden and it had been exquisite. Why should he not enjoy the same intimacies? Their bodies were not the same, but surely there must be something in the taking of pleasure that they had in common.

  And she wanted to... She wanted to give him some measure of what he had given to her. She did. She wanted him to feel the glory that she had felt. And if she could do for him what he had done for her, she would feel...

  If she could make him shake, if she could make him cry out. If she could make his body unravel itself at that moment of release, then she would do so. It was all she wanted in that moment. The ultimate test of her strength.

  And so she leaned forward, darting her tongue out over the head of his cock. He was lovely, and he tasted wonderful, something she would not have imagined. But she loved the feel of him beneath her tongue, beneath her hands. His skin soft and hot and hard all at once.

  She had lived a life repressed. She had lived a life shut in. And this was her moment. The door was flung wide. And she was free. Running with no regard in the moonlight, her hair flying behind her as she swung as high as she wanted to on the swings. This was all of that, and it was more.

  It was that thrill she had felt when she had first climbed a tree, when she had fallen. When she had sneaked away to be the person that she could only be when she was by herself. That girl who wanted to be daring. Who wanted to have everything that every other girl had.

  She was that girl now. But she had Briggs. And she wasn’t alone.

  She took him deep into her mouth, and revelled in the groan of pleasure that escaped his lips. She had him. She had him, as he had her.

  And the realisation emboldened her.

  He put his hand on her back, centred at her shoulder blades, then wrapped his fingers tightly around her hair, before twisting it around his hand, and tugging.

  She cried out.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ he commanded. So she did not. She fought against his hold, and pinpricks of pain broke out across her scalp, delighting her, spurring her on.

  And she found that his pleasure seemed to echo inside her. That his need was almost greater than her own, and the counterbalance of pain on an exquisite knife’s edge that kept her present.

  He began to arch his hips up to greet her, the tip of him touching the back of her throat.

  She welcomed that too.

  She was lost in it. In him. The tug of her hair, the thrust of his arousal, the escalating need between her thighs.

  She moved to touch herself, to get some sort of relief from that building pressure there.

  ‘No,’ he said, tugging sharp and hard. ‘You may not pleasure yourself. Not yet. I will take my pleasure first.’

  She shivered, then went back to focusing all her energy on him. And then suddenly, the bucking of his hips became wild, and they both unravelled together. He growled his release, and she swallowed him down, as naturally as if she had trained for it.

  And then, she found herself being propelled back, as he righted his breeches. Disguising himself from her.

  ‘You did well,’ he said. ‘But it is not enough to redeem you. You must receive your punishment.’

  ‘Must I?’

  ‘Yes. You must, because you were strong enough to withstand it.’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  And then she found herself being picked up, turned over his lap. His large hand over the globe of her rear again. He smoothed his hand over her skin, before removing it. And when he brought it back down, it was with a resounding crack.

  She cried out. Pain spread over her body, wildfire. And before she could catch her breath, he did it again, and again. But something about the pain brought her focus between her thighs, and the bright hot ache of pleasure there.

  And she could not tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began. Where the heat turned from a violent fire to an unending need. For it was all the same. Twisting and curling through her body. A torture she never wanted to
end. Except she couldn’t endure it. She was wiggling, shifting against him, trying to escape, and trying to get closer all at once. Trying to grind the centre of her desire for him against his muscular thighs.

  ‘I need...’

  ‘Not yet,’ he said, bringing his hand down on her hard.

  She trembled, shook.

  And she found herself going to that place, that glorious place in her that she had built as a girl.

  Where no one could touch her. No one and nothing. Because she was the queen of the palace inside her. Because she could handle anything. She could withstand.

  Because she was strong.

  Because she was a warrior.

  She was not weak. She was not broken.

  She could take this. She could take him.

  It went on and on, and she began to find everything fuzzy around the edges, both more and less real. She felt wholly and completely connected to her body while also somewhere outside of it. But she was not alone. And that was the most revolutionary aspect of this. He was with her. They were in this together. It was not something being done to her, it was something they were both experiencing. Something holy and completely theirs. That brilliant diamond that she would protect from all else. From all others. It was Beatrice and Briggs, and only them.

  And then, he moved his hand, pushing his fingers between her legs and thrusting them deep inside her. She cried out at the invasion, which was perfectly and wholly what she needed. She was slick and accepted him easily, and he thrust forward and withdrew in a steady rhythm, until the combination of being filled by him, and the lingering staying on her flesh tipped her over the edge into a total and complete release.

  She found herself shaking violently, unable to stop, babbling incoherently. She grabbed for him, and he gathered her up in his arms. And oh, this was what had been missing. Always. Always.

  There had been pain. There had been pleasure. And now he was cradling her as if she was the most precious, singular thing.