by Maya Rodale
This touch had to be pleasing to him, because his head relaxed back and his eyes closed.
“How are you so shameless?” she asked.
“This is all good, Prudence. Our bodies were made to feel this way.”
“What way?” she asked in a whisper.
“Hot. Do you feel that heat building inside?” She answered with a soft moan. “Do you feel a need for more of this feeling, even though it is driving you absolutely mad?” All of his words came out in quick gasps.
“I feel that,” she said, breathless.
“Press harder,” he murmured. She pressed harder, increasing the pressure with which she touched herself in wicked little circles around a sensitive place of pleasure she’d never before discovered.
She moaned. And there was no stopping it.
“One day, I’ll press my mouth there,” he said, and she gasped. “I will do with my tongue what you are doing with your fingers.”
God, that sounded wicked. God, it sounded heavenly. God, that had never occurred to her, but now that it did, the thought of his head bowed between her legs, as if reverentially, wouldn’t leave. And she couldn’t help but imagine his firm, sensual mouth pressing kisses there and chasing away all the bad things.
Although her fingers were doing a damn fine job, too. She smiled. But then that faded as she lost herself in the sensations she was inspiring and the wicked imaginations of what he had to be feeling.
“Prue, what do you feel?”
“I feel like I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t stop.”
“You’re close. God, you’re close. Press harder now, Prue, and let go.”
She pressed harder, groaning under the pressure of her touch and the pressure of something building inside her. It wasn’t a bad pressure at all. It was lovely, like fireworks on a hot night, and because he said to let go and she trusted him, she let go, and then—
The force of it took her breath away. Vaguely, she heard him cry out, too. There was nice and then there was pleasure so intense and overwhelming that it took her breath away, cleared her thoughts, and ricocheted over every last inch of her body in the most exquisite way.
Her body, which she had started to reclaim.
Her body, which had known evil and now knew loveliness.
Her body, which possessed secrets she never would have known had it not been for Castleton’s hoarsely whispered directions and his herculean self-restraint, which kept him on the far side of the room, giving her the freedom to explore, to discover, and to possibly start loving herself.
Chapter 17
The following day
The day before Lady Penelope’s Ball
UNTIL THE PREVIOUS evening, stuff of the flesh had been bad, horrible, and a never-ending nightmare for Prudence. This morning, she wasn’t fixed or healed or normal by any stretch. But she did know that there was at least one man in the world who didn’t take gross advantage of a woman. And dear God, she had just discovered that her body could feel pleasure, too.
The world as she knew it had tilted sharply on its axis, jumbling everything.
There was much to reconsider, like how lucky she was that she hadn’t married Cecil after all. She hoped he was all right. Surely he’d found his way back to his estate or town. But it was for the best that they’d never wed. They would never have made each other happy, and he would certainly never have taught her how to defend herself or pleasure herself.
Although now she didn’t have a husband for Lady Penelope’s Ball.
Perhaps she shouldn’t even go. They might not arrive in time. She didn’t have a dress. She still didn’t have the gumption to go alone.
Prudence gave a sidelong glance at the tall, handsome man seated beside her in the carriage.
Or they might arrive in time, she could procure a dress, and . . .
John caught her glancing at him with a thoughtful expression on her face.
“I’ve been thinking,” Prudence remarked.
“Oh no,” he said with a nervous glance in her direction. She pursed her lips peevishly.
“I hate to ask you for anything,” she began.
“This is ridiculous,” he replied. “I want to give you everything. I hope last night demonstrated that.”
“You’re making me blush,” Prudence replied.
Castleton glanced over at her. Her cheeks were indeed pink. It was adorable.
“Ask me anything, Prudence,” he said. He meant it.
“Can we pretend to be married?” Prudence asked.
“We already are pretending to be married,” he answered. “We’ve been telling innkeepers all over the countryside that very ‘fact.’ ”
“Can we keep pretending when we get to London?” Prudence pressed on.
She had already promised him an introduction to Ashbrooke and Radcliffe, and he was confident that she wouldn’t go back on her word. He had nothing to gain from this but Prudence’s happiness, which was reason enough for him to say yes. Still, he hesitated.
“Is there an occasion, or is this an indefinite arrangement?”
“There is a party,” Prudence began to explain. “An anniversary party. It’s a stupid thing, and I’d already given up on attending, let alone attending with a husband, but then last night . . .”
Something had changed last night. He had felt it, too. He’d been with women before—he was a man, and one with a pulse at that. There had been flirtatious and obliging housemaids, and barmaids, and, recently, the occasional widow who’d taken advantage of the freedom of her station and whom he’d been happy to oblige.
But he had never felt such a soul-deep connection with another person—never mind that the woman in question had been across the room and in a haze of her own.
He couldn’t even imagine what must have occurred for Prudence.
She didn’t finish explaining what had happened last night. But he sensed what her question would be.
“Do you want me to attend as your husband at this party?”
“Yes,” she said, exhaling.
“I’d be honored,” he said, glancing down at her. It was a huge risk to take. Pretending to be married whilst staying at country inns they would never return to was one thing. But pretending to be married for high society? It was begging for trouble.
But he could still imagine her cries of pleasure. He still hadn’t tired of gazing into her lovely brown eyes. He still hadn’t held or kissed her.
He couldn’t say no to her. She caught his eye and smiled shyly. He returned her smile. But he felt something intense inside. Desire. Heartache. Regret. All of it, in one sharp pang.
He was falling for her. Nothing could come of it.
She was opening up to him, but all his secrets were still locked away. He couldn’t confess to them—surely he would then watch her retreat to the place of fear and mistrust from which she was only just starting to emerge. He couldn’t take that from her. She might never recover.
He also couldn’t confide in her because then Prudence certainly wouldn’t want anything to do with him, and he couldn’t, as a gentleman, leave her alone with Dudley roaming the countryside. Aye, John would keep his secrets until she was safely returned to her family in London.
He shouldn’t have gotten close to her. But he had, and now he dreaded losing her.
Castleton shook his head, chasing the thoughts away. The sun was shining in a cloudless blue sky. They were on their way to London. She would provide him with the introduction that would change the lives of himself, his sister, and his mother. He could provide so much happiness if just given the chance.
“Tell me all about this party,” he said. “And spare no detail—we have hours yet to travel.”
“It’s to commemorate the hundredth anniversary of Lady Penelope’s Finishing School for Young Ladies of Fine Families. Emma, Olivia, and I attended. And every year at this anniversary party they recognize all the girls that have wed. And no one, in the history of one hundred years of the school, has remained
unwed this far into their fourth season.”
“Not one?” he asked, suspecting he knew where this was going.
“Well, me,” she said with a heartbreaking sigh.
“You won’t go alone,” he promised. “We’ll waltz every waltz together, drink champagne whilst looking at the stars, and I’ll call you my Lovely Lady Castleton very loudly at every opportunity so there is no mistake.”
“Suddenly I find that I am no longer filled with dread at the prospect of this ball,” Prudence murmured. “Funny, that.”
“I’m happy to oblige.”
“It’s just a stupid ball, I know,” she sighed.
“It’s more than that,” he replied knowingly.
“It’s an imaginary target I had to hit,” Prudence explained. “Or it’s a measure of my worth. You know it’s very awful that a woman’s worth is only determined by whether she’s married or not,” Prudence lamented. “It’s ridiculous that a woman’s entire life should be reduced to her marital state and the delivery of heirs.”
“Indeed,” he agreed, knowing a little something about how the world could demand less of people than they were able to give.
“But I believed it, too. So much so that I tried to elope,” she confessed, and his heart stopped in shock for a second. “But then the mail coach was robbed and . . . I managed to slip away into the forest. And then I met you.”
It was a moment before his heartbeat and breathing returned to normal. That information stopped him sharply. So that’s how she’d come to be roaming the countryside unaccompanied. It was an explanation that only raised more questions. At his command, the horses slowed, and he turned to face her.
“Wait a minute, Prue. You have a fiancé running around the countryside, presumably looking for you?”
She hesitated. “Oh, I doubt he’s looking for me. Cecil didn’t really want to marry me. I suppose I didn’t really want to marry him either.”
“Then why agree to marry him?”
“He wouldn’t hurt me. And I just didn’t want to be alone at this party. I didn’t want to be the one failure—the one blemish—in the history of the school.”
But marriage . . . she would have traded a lifetime for just one night. John had half a mind to track down this “fiancé” and thrash him within an inch of his life for leaving a woman to face a highway robbery alone. Then again, thank God he’d done so, so that John could find her. But bloody hell, the lengths she went to in order to face this party.
And for what? There was one crucial point she was forgetting.
“You still will be unmarried, even if we pretend,” he said, regretfully pointing out the truth.
“Yes, but no one else will know,” Prudence said softly. “It’s important that no one know.”
“What about Emma and Olivia?”
“They’ll understand,” Prudence said confidently. “And they won’t tell.”
“What about after?”
“I can’t think about after. The event looms so large in my mind that I cannot see past it,” Prudence confessed.
“Or we could just get married in truth.” The words were out of his mouth before he could bite them back. It was just a flippant suggestion. A crazy idea, a mad remark, a borderline lie.
But the deep sense of righteous that settled within him suggested it wasn’t crazy or mad or flippant but right. It felt like . . . the idea of home. A safe haven, a refuge, a place he’d always yearn to return to. Yet any good feeling was swiftly replaced with a cold, hard knot of regret: he could not marry her.
“You can’t possibly mean that,” she said with a little laugh of disbelief. “Not . . . me.”
“Why, because of Dudley?” He glanced over at her; Prue’s cheeks had pinked and her gaze was fixed on her hands, clasped in her lap. “I hate what he did to you, Prudence. But I don’t think less of you because of it.”
“You’re mad,” she said softly. He didn’t miss the slick sheen of tears in her eyes.
“Tell me, Prue, is my winning streak continuing?” John asked with a grin.
“We’ll see,” she said primly. Her lips were pursed, as if fighting a smile.
“We’ll see,” he echoed. “Oh, God. The lady wounds me.”
“We can’t actually get married,” Prudence said, matter-of-factly.
“Why not?” He was treading upon dangerous territory but couldn’t—wouldn’t?—find the path back to safety.
“Oh, I don’t know. A dozen reasons, at least.”
“Name one,” he said. John could think of a few himself—namely that once she really knew him, she couldn’t marry him even if she wanted to. But there was this stubborn little spark of hope that kept insisting maybe, maybe, maybe.
Maybe they could find a way to ride off into the sunset, happily married as man and wife and madly in love. No, what he felt for her was clouding his judgment and occupying all his thoughts.
“We haven’t even kissed,” Prudence said. “Not really. The kiss in the stables was nice, but . . .”
John smiled. That kiss had been all too sudden, and all too brief. It hadn’t the soul-deep, lose-one-self kiss he—and Prue—needed. His hands eased up on the reins and the horses slowed.
“A real first kiss is something that is very easily remedied,” he said easily. “If you want.”
There was a long moment in which the horses walked on, John’s heart thudded hard in his chest, and Prudence remained quiet and still beside him. He’d give anything to know the details of the battle likely being waged in her head and heart.
Then, in a low voice, she said, “Pull over.”
“The most romantic words I’ve ever heard,” he murmured as he guided the carriage over to the side. The road stretched ahead and behind as far as the eye could see. There was not a single other carriage. On either side were vast fields and meadows, alive with birds and the buzz of bees, but not another human in sight.
She glanced up at him, her brown eyes full of feeling. He could discern that she was fearful, but resolute. She was nervous, but desirous. She was refusing to be scared, even though she was scared. Tugged at his heart, that.
“Just one kiss. If you don’t stop . . .” Her breath hitched, and she was aware of how alone they were. John was keenly aware of how much his self-restraint in this moment could either save her or devastate her completely. It didn’t help that he wanted to lay down his jacket on the soft, mossy, grassy ground under that tree, lay Prudence down, too, and make love to her with the sun on his naked back.
By wanted, he meant hard with desire, his body urging him instinctively to lay with her. He couldn’t breathe, he wanted her so badly. There were all those inches of skin that he wanted to taste and touch.
But the only thing as strong as his desire was his self-restraint.
Nevertheless, he told her, “If I don’t stop, you’ll hit me like I taught you.”
She nodded solemnly. He spoke again. “To really enjoy a kiss, you’ve got to be able to surrender to it. I want you to enjoy this kiss. Which is why I’m giving you this.”
John pulled out the knife he kept in his boot and pressed the handle into her palm. He wanted her so badly. The only other thing as strong as his desire was his determination that Miss Prudence Merryweather Payton have the exquisite first kiss she had been denied. If he had to risk an injury for it, so be it.
“If I don’t stop when you tell me to, then feel free to use this. But, Prue, you have to tell me to stop if it all becomes too much.”
Prudence nodded yes because she wasn’t sure she could speak at the moment. She wanted this kiss with a fierceness that surprised her. The setting was beautiful, if a bit remote. And the man . . . she was falling for this man.
Because of him, she felt stronger, which made her feel safer, which made her feel able to enjoy the little things, like a handsome man’s smile or the sensation of his leg brushing against her skirts, or being able to ride in his carriage rather than stumbling along desolate country roads, alone.
“I want this kiss,” she whispered. He seemed to be waiting to hear it.
His lips quirked into a faint smile. She noticed that his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. Today his eyes perfectly matched the color of the sky. Castleton was handsome, there was no doubt about it. He made her think of happily ever after.
He started by pushing a strand of hair away from her face. His knuckles gently grazed her cheeks, just as he had described. It was just like her own touch: soft and hesitant. The gesture was sweet.
Pleasant as it was, her heart was pounding in her chest, equal parts fear and anticipation. The knife in her hand wavered. Just when she started to panic, her gaze locked with his. Those blue eyes gazing at her kept her steady.
“Close your eyes,” he said softly.
By some miracle she did, shutting out the scenery and, fortunately, the nervous thoughts dashing through her head. Instead, she focused on more sensual matters, like his scent and how she could feel him leaning in close to her. She was aware of his heat and the soft rush of their breaths.
She opened her eyes for a second to see that his chest was just touching the tip of the knife.
Any second now would be her first real kiss. This was a moment she feared had been lost to her forever. She savored it now.
Castleton’s lips swept softly, lightly, gently across hers. Had she not been so attuned to him, she might have thought it just a slight summer breeze. But then he was there with more warmth and more pressure, making it impossible for her to think of anything other than him.
With his fingertips, he lightly caressed the slender column of her neck and up and down her arms. The delicacy of the touch made her aware of the tension she carried. He kept kissing her. She sighed, allowing herself to soften under his touch. She hadn’t felt soft in quite some time.
