by Sahara Kelly
“Where are we going? Isn’t supper through there?” She waved her hand at a large area filled with tables that adjoined the ballroom.
“Yes, supper is in there. But we’re not going there.”
“James,” she tugged his arm. “Where are you taking me?”
“Letitia, for once in your life, don’t argue.”
She gasped, her anger rising in her throat as he marched her along a hallway, turned into another and kept walking. It got darker as they progressed. “Where on earth are we?” She pulled hard. “Tell me, James. This is absurd.”
“I have known the Seton-Mowbrays for many years. I’ve been here many times. Max is a friend, although we do not share a lot of the same tastes and interests.” He slowed his pace. “Thus I am well acquainted with not only this house but the servants.”
He finally stopped at a door close to the end of a corridor. “We may be private in here.”
Opening it he led her through and closed it behind her, locking it with an audible click.
She found herself in a small cosy parlour. A fire lit the room, and on a side table was a collection of dishes, most likely the same as those offered the guests in the formal supper room.
“Well, this is…” she was at a loss for words.
“It is the first chance I’ve had to get you alone for weeks.” James walked up behind her, put his arms around her and kissed her neck.
“James,” she whispered. “Don’t.”
“Hush. We have matters lying between us, Letitia. I want to banish Augusta from your mind completely.” He spun her around and held her by the shoulders. “Listen and listen well. This is the truth. She was my mistress many years ago. Long before I met you. We had not seen each other for at least two years before the day she arrived at my doorstep.” He reinforced his statements with a little shake of her shoulders. “She left later that day and I haven’t seen her since. It’s her way—to always be outrageous—but you weren’t to know that. And you never gave me chance to tell you. So I made sure I would have that chance.” He neared her. “Now that I have done so, only this remains.”
She was in his arms again, her head against his shoulder, her lips parting in welcome as he plunged his tongue past them into her mouth. “The taste of you plagues, me, Letitia.” He kissed her again, deeper, more forcefully, demanding she match his movements.
“James,” she murmured, breaking the kiss and sucking in a breath of air. She’d lost the capacity to argue, to protest, to even think, the minute he touched her.
“Yes, love,” he answered, drawing her to the sofa.
“More…” Her mind blanked and her heart and body spoke instead.
She’d only begun to learn about desire. That first taste had whetted her curiosity and aroused her appetite. Now she had chance to walk further down that alluring path with a man who knew every step of the way.
“I will.” He tumbled them both onto the cushions and whisked her skirts out of the way. “I will.”
Chapter Sixteen
She was on fire, thought James as he found himself with a writhing mass of silk and skin on top of him. Her body seemed to be obeying a whim of its own, struggling to find the right position, to find him…
Being the gentleman of good nature that he was, he did his very best to assist her, sliding out from beneath her body and settling her beside him. Which incidentally afford him free access to a number of things he was interested in exploring. He began with her bodice, a delightfully intriguing low cut affair, the design of which allowed him to slide it off her shoulder without hindrance. And even further.
The gasp she gave as he bent to suckle her was the encouragement he needed. That, and the fact that her fingers were behind his head, holding him right where he was.
She moaned as he played, teasing the little nub to erect hardness, cupping her and feeling her swell beneath his touch.
Her body slithered a little, one leg lifting, moving and resting on his hip.
Truly he was an immortal god of immense power, realized James. He hadn’t come in his dress breeches. Only a god could command such control.
Coincidentally endorsing his epiphany, Letitia sighed his name. “James, oh God, James…”
He kept up his efforts to tug on her nipple with his tongue, but gauged it was time to add a further element of pleasure to the mix. He slipped his hand beneath her leg and found her thigh, tracing it upward to her soft folds and cupping them firmly.
She gasped again, sucking in air, thrusting her hips into his grasp. She was responding as thoroughly and enthusiastically as he could have wished at this moment.
He was now the one yearning for more. But common sense, that nasty little destroyer of pleasure, reminded him she was untried. A virgin. And, much as they both might have wanted to, a sofa in a back parlour during the Seton-Mowbray ball was neither the place nor the time for such a momentous event.
That did not mean, however, that he couldn’t introduce Letitia to the ultimate pleasure. Always assuming she was unaware of the process. His eyes crossed momentarily at the mental vision of her making herself come in the privacy of her own room.
Dear Lord, it was hot in here. Beads of sweat dotted his brow as he let go her breast, giving it a last loving lick.
Then he began to move his hand, placing his thumb on top of her most sensitive spots and easing a finger inside her as he did so.
She stiffened at the intrusion.
“Easy love. Easy.” He gentled her, feeling her juices slick and hot on his hand. “Relax. I won’t hurt you.”
She took a breath. “I know. ’Tis…strange…”
He rubbed his thumb around, tiny motions, exploring her, learning her responses. A quick motion, a whisper, a groan…all music to his ears and directions for his fingers. He sensed the shudder as he found what he sought—her tiny bud, growing and swelling even as he gently brushed the tip of his thumb around it.
“God,” she breathed, her body tensing at his movements.
He began a rhythm, his finger sliding against her inner flesh while his thumb continued to stimulate her. She was liquid fire, burning hot, lifting her thigh and unconsciously offering him even better access.
“That’s it, my sweet, let go…” He whispered endearments, encouragement, telling her she was beautiful, so desirable…nonsensical things that helped keep him back from ripping open his breeches and replacing his hand with his cock.
He wanted her so badly he trembled, but again his control exerted itself. He couldn’t. Not yet.
But by God he would.
And soon.
*~~*~~*
Letitia was floating on a violent wave-tossed sea; her body straining and moving in ways she’d never imagined.
The touch of James’s hand, the intrusion of his fingers—it was all so strange and so different to anything she had ever imagined.
And yet it was right.
She truly felt as if she’d been waiting for the hand of James FitzArden to find her, touch her and drive her beyond all boundaries. He knew, in some uncanny way, where and how to touch her, to caress her and to do what he was doing which was going to make her scream in short order.
Her body was taut, her spine almost arched as she thrust herself into his grip, obeying an urge that she never knew she had.
He kept up his sweet sensual torture; each brushing caress of his thumb followed by an intimate stroking that layered sensation upon sensation. It was heaven and hell and everything in between.
She knew what would happen…her release would not be a new experience, since she had never been shy about private exploration, and her reading material over the past few years had filled in many gaps.
She knew all these things, and yet this was, truly, her first time.
Her first time under the clever direction of a man she cared for—deeply. Her first time being half-naked with said man, revealing her womanly parts to his gaze without shame or inhibition.
She adored the feel of his hand be
tween her legs and his lips and mouth on her breast. She knew she would adore the sensation of his naked skin against hers. If and when that would occur, she did not know. But one thing was becoming abundantly clear.
It would happen. She could no longer deny the idea.
Her mind slowed, lethargic thoughts surrendered to physical responses. Her thigh muscles hardened as a sharp and blissful tingling sensation began to flood down her spine to her loins.
Her breath caught, sped up, and then threatened to desert her all together.
James seemed to sense the imminent eruption because he held her tightly and worked his hand fast now, driving her up—and up—and over.
She opened her mouth to cry out but he was there, sucking her scream into his lungs, squeezing her against him, moving his fingers in time with the rolling spasms and guiding her over the crest into a maelstrom of blind ecstasy.
It felt as if lasted forever. Eons of sensation rocking her from her toes—which curled—to her eyebrows. It was a breath away from pain, a violent explosion from within, made even greater by the sensation of a man holding her, touching her. Her breast rubbed against his jacket as she squirmed, an additional abrasion that brought a sob to her throat.
She choked on words she could not voice, sighed as the peak passed and the world began to restore itself to normalcy, and finally opened her eyes to see James’s face looking at her with a mixture of awe and affection. At least that’s what she hoped it was.
Wait. No she didn’t. What was she thinking?
“God, you are beautiful in your passion, Letitia.”
She sighed. He always said the right thing in the loveliest of ways. And he said it with such sincerity, she could almost believe it.
Did she want to? Did she want a declaration from this man?
She wasn’t sure that was what she wanted. She didn’t want to be seduced by a clever turn of phrase. And she realized, with a horrid shock, that she was afraid he might tell her he loved her. She didn’t want that. It brought nothing but pain. She had spent her youth watching her mother’s misery, and had vowed not to repeat it.
Yes, she was afraid of that level of intimacy. Nothing in her experiences had convinced her that being in love could be anything a mistake. If you were lucky, like Edmund and Simon, it worked. It could be terribly tragic if luck chose to desert you.
Being in lust, however? That was something she viewed as acceptable.
Taking the verbal bull by the horns, Letitia looked at the man holding her. “I want you to fuck me, James.”
He blinked. “Now?”
She rolled her eyes and began to disengage their tangled limbs. “No, of course not.”
“I mean I will if you want…” He seemed rather precise, his words crystal clear.
She noticed the large bulge in his breeches and deduced his discomfort. “No, we can’t. Not here.” Her bodice restored, she urged him to move. “I suppose what I’m saying is that you’ve started something now. We’re on a road to something between us that we cannot ignore.” Her skirts followed as he half-fell, half-rolled off the sofa, and picked himself up.
“I know.” He held out his hand and assisted her, which was a good thing since her legs felt oddly weak.
She wasn’t even going to mention the sticky state of her thighs. “So we are agreed?” She moved away from him and tidied a few strands of hair. “We shall finish this. To its inevitable conclusion.”
He looked at her with an odd expression. “You want me to fuck you.”
She nodded. “I do, yes. I am eager to learn about the ultimate expression of intimacy. And this has demonstrated our compatibility.” She turned to him. “Did you not think so?”
“Oh I agree,” he nodded, watching her carefully. “In fact, I’m very much looking forward to it.”
“Good, then it’s settled.” She looked around and picked up her reticule. “We must return, James. I would not wish our absence to raise gossip or cause trouble for Aunt Venie.”
“Of course.” He straightened his jacket. “Allow me.” He unlocked the door and offered her his arm.
“I’m not sure of our schedule,” she said thoughtfully, placing her hand on his jacket and allowing him to lead her out of the room and back down the hallway. “But we only have a few days left here in London, I believe. It was but a short visit.”
“I’m desolate,” he said.
“Well, if we don’t meet before then, then I shall look forward to learning of your presence at FitzArden Hall. Do send a message when you arrive.”
“So that we can fuck.”
“Ssshh.” She held her fan to her lips. “People might hear. And misunderstand.”
“There isn’t much to misunderstand, Letitia.”
She looked at him as they re-entered the ballroom to see the rest of the guests emerging from the supper room. “James, are you upset with me for some reason?”
“Of course not.”
She could’ve sworn his teeth were clenched. “Well that’s good,” she smiled, deciding to ignore him. It was probably his cock giving him trouble. She’d read about how uncomfortable it could be for a man denied his release. “It will be better for you next time, I’m sure.”
Patting his arm, she dipped him a curtsey and walked away.
Men can be so obtuse at times.
Chapter Seventeen
It was cold but sunny a few days later, down in Ridlington Chase.
Harriet held baby Hugh, cuddling him with delight. He was at that stage where his world was full of curiosities; he babbled and touched and—recently—adored the way her cap tumbled down when he tugged on it.
“You’re spoiling him, you know,” Rosaline looked over her desk at the two of them.
“Of course. How can I help it?” Harriet grinned.
“I had a letter from Letitia.” Rosaline leaned back. “She is returning the day after tomorrow.”
“Oh lovely. It will be a pleasure to have her home.”
“Indeed. Hecate is staying on, it seems, having discovered a fondness for town life and a wish to experience it to the fullest.” Rosaline looked up. “There’s a man behind that statement. Mark my words.”
Harriet smiled. “Miss Hecate can handle herself. Such experience will do her good, I think.”
“Yes, you’re probably right,” agreed Rosaline. “So Letitia returns alone.”
“Does she have any messages or requests for me?”
Rosaline nodded and removed a folded sheet of paper from a pile next to her arm. “Better than that. She added a list of things she’d like you to procure before she arrives home.”
“Oh, that’s good. Now at least I feel like I can do something.” Harriet dropped an absent kiss on top of the future Baron Ridlington’s downy head.
“You are doing more than you realize, Harry,” smiled Rosaline. “Never doubt it. Nurse wouldn’t get her afternoon nap if it wasn’t for you, and I’d miss having someone to talk to while I’m doing these terrible housekeeping chores.”
Harriet nodded her thanks. Yes, she was good with the baby. And yes, her previous life made her a better conversationalist than Maggie from the farm, but even so, she felt underused at times. And that was followed by guilt.
She rested Hugh on his blanket on the floor, between his favourite cushions, and rose to take the paper from Rosaline. The room was warm thanks to a good fire, and the sun streaming in through the tall windows.
“I’m glad I picked this room for my study,” mused Rosaline, almost as if she’d read Harriet’s thoughts. “Even though it was a complete disaster when I moved in.”
“You chose well, my Lady,” agreed Harriet, returning to the sofa and leaning down to give Hugh his favourite toy, a soft piece of sheepskin shaped into a ball.
Opening the note, Harriet couldn’t help laughing at Letitia’s words. “Oh my goodness. She’d like me to see if I can find scented soap. Apparently she’s discovered a fondness for lavender.”
Rosaline tsk’ed. “I k
new London would spoil her.”
“She’s also requested I look for a cerise ribbon to trim a bonnet she’s bought, and…and a couple of other sundries.” Harriet blinked. “I think you may have the right of it. A few days in the metropolis and she’s become a lady of fashion.”
Rosaline’s laugh rang out. “Our Letitia? Never.”
Harriet joined her with her own chuckle. “No, you’re right. Not Letitia.”
But the next morning, when she set out for the village, she wondered whether perhaps Letitia had changed. It was out of character for her to ask about ribbons and the like; and the last items were most unexpected.
Two silk nightgowns to be ordered from the local seamstress.
Silk.
One pink and one lavender.
Now why would a modest young lady who customarily preferred cotton nightgowns suddenly develop the urge to wear silk in bed?
Harriet could only come up with one reason.
It kept her mind busy during the walk, so busy in fact, that she failed to hear her name being called, and nearly jumped out of her skin when Paul DeVoreaux came up behind her and touched her shoulder.
“Aaaargh.” Her scream was piercing.
He winced. “Er…hallo.”
She clutched the front of her spencer. “Mr. DeVoreaux. Good heavens, you scared the life out of me.”
“Not the usual greeting, Miss Harry, I’ll give you that.” He grinned and matched her steps as she resumed her walk. “You were thinking of other things, I take it?”
“I must have been, sir. I might even remember what they were once my heart slows down.”
He chuckled. “I apologize. But usually ladies walking alone have a certain awareness of their surroundings. What was it that had you so involved, if I may ask?”
She nodded. “Indeed, I was engrossed. I have a list of purchases to make for Miss Letitia. She returns soon.”
“You’ll be pleased to have her back?”
“Very much. She has been extraordinarily kind to me.”
He held out his arm to assist her over a rather muddy patch of lane. “I understand you were seeking employment when you both met? I have to guess you were fleeing your relatives?”
