Cavern of Pleasures Boxset: Georgian Regency Romance
Page 45
He cupped the back of her neck with his other hand and tilted her head as he brought her to him in one fluid motion to capture her lips with his. Suddenly all other sensations were eclipsed by him. The smell of damp horseflesh and wet grass was replaced by the scent of him. The steady pattering of the rain outside the stables faded against the sound of her hammering heart, which had hastened from its previous standstill faster than a horse could break into a gallop. Her eyes had closed of their own volition, allowing the feel of the kiss to overwhelm all else. His mouth felt firm against her, but not overpowering – the control of one well versed in the act of kissing. His lips guided hers, and with each taste, she felt an inescapable heat pooling in her loins. While she relished his finesse, she would not have minded if he were to crush his mouth atop hers. She indicated her eagerness by her attempts to explore and taste all parts of his mouth. He responded by pulling her closer to him until she could feel the wetness of his garments. It did nothing to cool her ardor. Indeed, being pressed against his hard body only intensified the longing between her legs.
He slid his mouth down her neck, and she arched herself further into him. Against the coolness of her skin, his caress was hot enough to warm her entire body. She took the opportunity to take in a much needed breath and softly groaned at how delicious his lips felt upon her. His hand brushed aside her fichu to gain him access to the tops of her breasts. Drops of rain fell from his head onto her bosom. The coolness of the water mixed with his heat made her head swim. She could not recall when last she had felt such exhilaration. Desire built within her sure and fast, and she would have him rip the fichu from her. She grasped the lapels of his coat with both hands.
His breath had quickened as much as her own, but he abruptly pulled his head up. Had he sensed her desperation? Was he repelled by it? Should she have demonstrated more womanly reserve? There was no mistaking the hunger in his gaze, as if he meant to devour her with his eyes alone, but then why did he desist?
“I did not go in search of Andromeda to secure such an award,” he said huskily.
She continued to hold his lapels and felt his arm still around her back. She did not want him to release her.
“Do you disapprove?” she asked over a shaky breath.
“Hardly. You have rightfully called me out as a roué. I would not deny it and affront your intelligence. Nor would I deny that I much desire to finish what had begun in the library at the Bennington ball. But I think, my lady, that you would rue what had transpired here.”
She could not help feeling provoked by his words. She was no chit come late from the schoolroom. What manner of seducer was he?
“Pray tell you are not a rake with a conscience?” she responded.
He considered her words before answering, “A conscience would be a sorry liability for a rake.”
“Indeed. And I think you underestimate which one of us is the greater voluptuary.”
A muscle pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I understand your tally of lovers to exceed mine own, but I am told you are now committed to the Viscount Tremayne.”
Of course. She had, perhaps conveniently, forgotten Charles. It vexed her that she should be reminded of him by Montague Edwards of all people.
“And the specter of another man has stopped you before? I wonder that you have had as much success as has been claimed?”
Her attack on his manhood had found its mark for his eyes steeled and his arm about her stiffened. She was about to be ravaged...
MONTAGUE HAD HER WHERE he wanted. The Viscount may or may not forgive her upon learning that she had lifted her skirts to another. Regardless, Montague would have taken a significant step towards accomplishing the Earl’s goal. He should, therefore, have no cause not to devour the Baroness in the manner urged by every fiber in his being save for that peculiar thing he had dismissed but moments ago – a conscience. Why that quality should rear its head after years of dormancy was baffling at best. Perhaps it was a consequence of his contempt for the Earl of Frotham.
Her lips hung deliciously close beneath his. His cock urged his body towards her. She would have fitted perfectly against him. In more ways than one, Lady Debarlow was a fitting match to him. He need not worry of the aftermath with her. There would be no tearful adieus, no attempts to form an attachment, no heart broken, no sorrow turned to spite. Theirs was a mutual understanding to satisfy the cravings of the flesh. She was as like to use him as he was of her.
But a tumble now could prove but a short term gain. He knew women well enough to know their lust could as easily wane as surge, like the ebb and flow of the menses. To fulfill his charge, he needed to woo the Baroness completely from Tremayne. For that he required a more lasting commitment. Yet, what harm could a little dalliance beget?
“The foil comes off the rapier, I see,” he remarked, silently cursing his hesitation – a most unfamiliar state for him. It was true that his venture out into the damnable weather was not intended as part of his seduction. The poor woman had looked so distraught that the thought of procuring that which she most desired at the moment emboldened him. He had relished the anticipation of seeing the look of joy upon her face should he return successfully with the mare. He was not naïve and had certainly entertained the possibility that her appreciation might lend itself to deeper feelings, but he had not expected to find her waiting for him at the stables.
“Are we adversaries then, Mr. Edwards?”
He could sense the balance of power shifting. The art of seduction was a delicate dance with the movement oftentimes alternating between partners. Nonetheless, he found most women content to have the man leading the dance. It was for him a comfortable role. He had suspected, even prior to seeing Lady Debarlow at Madame Botreaux’s, that she would entertain an interest in being at the helm. Her control of the situation disarmed him, but only briefly. He would allow her command for the time being.
“Only if you wish it,” he answered.
She contemplated his words, and he could see her senses returning to the space formerly occupied by sensibilities. She withdrew from him, but he pulled her back to him. Her eyes widened in surprise. He had permitted her enough consideration. It was his turn once more to be the aggressor.
“I would change your mind, Baroness,” he said as he moved a hand to the base of her head and recalled his caresses from that night in the library, “and bid you call a truce.”
Her eyes fluttered in her attempts to fend off what his touch was doing to her, but he could feel her body melting into his. He lowered his head and kissed the collar he had been eyeing every time she wore a low décolletage. Kneading away the tension in her neck as he caressed her chest with his lips, he dismissed all doubts regarding the wisdom of his actions. He did not want to go another night wondering what it would be like to hold her. The desires of his body overruled more rational thought. To hell with the consequences. He would deal with them later. For now, he would have her.
Chapter Eight
WHAT HAD HAPPENED? Abigail wondered even as she thrilled to his touch. She had wanted him, then persuaded herself otherwise, only to find her desires enflamed once more. He had an exquisite embrace. She felt surrounded by his presence: one hand pressing against the small of her back, the other working its charm upon her neck, his lips searing the cool of her skin. Wrapped in his arms, she felt safe to lose herself in the passion. Perhaps it would prove a deceptive security, but his caresses were melting away all caution.
“The stable boy,” she murmured against his ear when his mouth had kissed a trail up the side of her neck.
“Would his presence deter you?” he replied as he nipped deliciously at a spot behind her ear, making her rise to the tips of her toes and her concern for privacy to fade.
“I see you’ve no shame.”
Lifting her by the waist, he whirled her around and backed her against a stable post. “None.”
He pressed his body over hers. The wetness from his clothes began to seep into hers, but the dampness
could not dull the fire that had started between her legs and now engulfed her whole. She groaned when he put his mouth to the angle where her neck joined her shoulder.
“Faith, I thought I had come upon my equal in the Lady Debarlow,” he murmured as he tilted her chin up with his thumb and kissed the softness beneath her jaw.
Half formed questions fluttered through her head of what he might have heard to give him that supposition, but she heeded not such nuisance. She had determined that she wanted him. As delightful as his caresses were, she wanted his mouth on hers. He had teased her hunger to aching heights and would rip the clothes from him if he allowed it.
“I am shocked by nothing,” she declared, “but I freely admit to possessing a shred of shame. The stable boy is not yet a man.”
“We have been alone for some time,” he assured.
It surprised her not that he would be aware of their surroundings – more so than she to her chagrin. She vaguely recalled a moment earlier when he had seemed to look past her and inclined his head towards the door. Perhaps that had been his directive to the stable boy to leave. He was a practiced seducer, indeed, and she was comforted to know that she was in the hands of a master.
“But our privacy is by no means certain,” he pointed out, “as anyone can come upon as at any moment.”
“Then why do we dally?” she responded, rolling her hips against him.
His gaze of her hardened and then his mouth descended fully upon hers. At last! she thought, savoring the ability to return his attentions. She devoured him equally, their tongues entwining as they tasted the depths of each other’s mouth. She heard him groan and felt the rod between his legs pressing against her hip through her petticoats. Reaching a hand between them, she rubbed his shaft. He grunted, pulled her away from the post, and lay her down into a bed of hay. She wrapped a leg around him as he covered her body with his. Too consumed by lust, she ignored the discomfort of the hay and arched herself against his weight.
Gathering her skirts in one hand, he pulled them up to her garters, high enough for him to snake his hand beneath them. He cupped a buttock before sliding his hand around her thigh, slick with the wetness of her lush, and to the nub of flesh at her mons. He grazed it with his thumb. She gasped. Over and over he glanced his thumb across her clitoris, drawing the wetness from her until she could feel the petticoat moist beneath her arse. He circled his thumb gently on the swollen nub and ran a finger along her quim. When he had found the spot that made her moan and strain the most, he applied quicker and more forceful strokes. She wanted the penetration of his cock but could not bring herself to stop his delightful ministrations. Her voice was not her own as she emitted gasp after gasp, groaning and whimpering, whimpering and groaning. He pressed his thumb into her flesh and agitated her vigorously until she convulsed against him and a cry tore from her throat.
Somewhere a horse neighed and pawed the ground. He eased her down from her climax with gentle, languid strokes. She shuddered and took a long haggard breath as the wave of her orgasm subsided. She opened her eyes and looked into his. Was it his own unsatisfied ardor that made him gaze so intently upon her or was his look of disconcertion part of his seduction? Realizing she was clinging to his coat still, she released her grasp. She should have been satiated, but the greedy part of her wanted it all over again.
He rolled off her.
“Are we finished?” she asked, surprised, glancing at the still obvious bulge in his breeches.
He kissed her thigh and looked at her with shimmering eyes. “Only for now.”
She tried not to show her disappointment. Her mind had hummed at the thought of his thick, stiff cock buried inside of her. Strange that he should not seek his own fulfillment. She did not encounter many of his sex who did not wish to eagerly relieve their hardened desires, especially after they had attended to her. Did he not desire her enough? Perhaps he needed encouragement. She reached for the buttons of his breeches, but he caught her by the wrist.
“The gesture is appreciated but unnecessary,” he said as he stood and pulled her to her feet. He plucked the hay protruding from her hair.
Still a little baffled, she peered at his face for answers. “Are you in haste?”
“I must admit to wanting myself out of these damned sopping clothes.”
She blinked. He was ranking dry clothing above an opportunity to spend? He must not have heard all that was said about her or he would know that no man had ever claimed her to be a poor tumble in the sack – or hay.
He picked up her shawl from the floor and handed it to her. She wrapped it about herself and put on a mask of dispassion.
“I shall be sure to call upon you, Mr. Edwards, if ever I should go riding in a storm once more,” she said lightly as she took his arm.
They headed back to the house.
“I pray that you will, Lady Debarlow.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Abbey envisioned Constance pouncing upon her with questions as to what had happened. For the first time, she would have to reply that she was not at all quite sure.
MONTAGUE FELT AS IF he had been holding his breath for the past five hours. From the moment his lips took hers till he was ensconced back in his room at the inn, his body was tensed like a bow primed to shoot. Taking his body off of Lady Debarlow had taken an exhausting resolve. His head had spun upon finding her so wet between the legs. His cock yearned to taste the honey from her quim. But he had seen her desire and knew that he had to leave her unfulfilled that she might wish for another encounter. He had intended to ruffle her and thought he might have succeeded, though her nonchalance at the end was rather convincing.
“Would you not say that you have successfully seduced the Baroness?” Latimer inquired as they rode a carriage back to London. “I wonder what manner of proof the Earl requires?”
“I am successful only if Lady Debarlow relinquishes Tremayne or if he were to renounce her,” Montague corrected.
“And which of those ends are you hoping to orchestrate?”
“Either would suffice for my purposes.”
“But she has seen fit to lift her skirts to you. I should say it were no monstrous effort to induce her attentions toward you and away from Tremayne?”
Montague looked out the carriage window in thought. “I know not what compels her to Tremayne. Persuading her to lay with me is easier than penetrating her trust. Most women are more like to give first of their affections than their body, but Lady Debarlow is the reverse.”
“Why worry of her affections? You have clearly spoken to her carnal desires.”
“Because you cannot conquer a woman by invoking lust alone.”
Latimer stretched his long legs before him. “Is that why I have failed so many times before?”
Montague smiled. “My friend, you would rather apply yourself to a round of hazard at Brooks’.”
“True, true. I must say that you owe me one, Edwards. Dragging me out here to the country to suffer such godforsaken weather. Not to mention enduring that Lord Bennington and his countless stories of his battles with various beasts. Gad, you would think he had come across Goliath if he had met a canary. And I can safely declare that I loathe the sport of hunting.”
The following day proved more propitious when Jonathan informed him that Lady Constance and the Baroness Debarlow were to ride through St. James’ Square. Montague selected a pair of buff breeches, high glossed boots, and a dark blue coat. He had his steed brought round.
The warm day had brought a crowd to St. James Square, but he managed to spot the two women riding. He directed his horse toward them.
“Lady Constance, Lady Debarlow,” he greeted with a touch of his hat.
The former gave him a wide smile, but the latter only nodded.
“Mr. Edwards, how nice to see you,” Lady Constance returned.
“How is it that we should cross paths so frequently in so small a time, Mr. Edwards?” Lady Debarlow wondered with an eye upon her friend.
“I am remiss,” he replied. “Forgive me. I hope you would not believe that my lack of poetry or ability to offer such pleasant flattery signifies that I regard you ladies as anything but a vision.”
“Mr. Edwards is not the flattering sort,” Lady Debarlow observed.
“And would that be a flaw or a quality, my lady?”
“It is neither at present.”
She studied him, and a cool silence fell upon them.
“Well, Mr. Edwards, you are forgiven,” Lady Constance spoke. “I tire of men who are prone to excessive flattery.”
Lady Debarlow stifled a yawn. He started. Did she find his presence boring?
Lady Constance, also disconcerted by her friend’s response, continued, “You are to be praised, sir, for your modesty as you are quite the hero, having braved the most treacherous elements to rescue Andromeda. Do you not agree, Abbey?”
Lady Debarlow turned her attention back to them. “I, too, appreciate the modesty and had expressed my gratitude to him for his efforts.”
She turned away as if in search of someone else. Clearly, she was not as committed to the tête-à-tête as her friend. She had been desperate and frantic to find Andromeda, but from her tone, one might have deduced that he had simply gone round the block to retrieve her bonnet. Her behavior was most unsettling and not what he would have expected from the fair sex. From a rogue, yes – one who, in the light of day, regretted having lain with the virgin and wanted no more to do with her. He found himself a little angry at the thought that she might lament their moment in the stables.