by Erica Ridley
Cool air kissed her bare thighs as his warm hand slid to cup her core. Her mind fogged. When had he lifted her skirts? Were they even still clothed? She didn’t know and didn’t care. He’d begun to dip a fingertip inside. Rhythmically. Deliciously.
He returned his mouth to hers as he continued to work his magic.
Her lungs forgot how to breathe as the inexorable coil of want began to expand and build within her. She recognized the warning signs. Her fingers were not nearly as talented as his but had often brought release she could not find elsewhere.
He was bringing her close to the edge, but she didn’t want his fingers. She wanted him. All of him. This was a moment that was meant to be shared.
She tugged his shirt from his waistband, fumbled for the buttons of his fall.
He lifted his lips a breath above hers. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to free your sex organ,” she panted. His fingers had not ceased their ministrations and it was becoming increasingly difficult to form coherent words. “I want it inside of me.”
He paused. “What did you just say?”
“I want your sex organ inside me right now,” she repeated, then hesitated. “Is the suggestion unclear?”
“Very clear,” he assured her, and claimed her mouth in a long kiss. “And a splendid idea. My sex organ thinks your idea is the best suggestion it’s ever heard. I was just thinking that before we get to that step, I might pleasure you in a few other ways first. Specifically, I could—”
“You could stop talking.” She grabbed the sides of his face and pulled his mouth back down to hers. “You might also—”
“Take your suggestion.” He lifted his hips and unbuttoned his fall without delay.
She knew the precise moment because the heat and weight of his shaft now pressed just inside her thigh. Her pulse skipped. They were closer, but not close enough.
She’d waited her entire life for this. She now realized she’d been waiting for him. It was time. She could not bear a moment more. Not when every molecule of her body yearned for him. Her hands ran over his hard muscles. She longed to combust together. Didn’t he?
Her heart pounded uncertainly. “Aren’t you—”
“I’m getting there.” He took a ragged breath. “Penelope, I’ve never… There might be pain.” His words were husky, his gaze agonized. “I’m so sorry. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
She shook her head. “You won’t. I’m ready.”
Very ready. His fingers had already brought her close to her peak. There might be some pain upon entry, but not much. After all, there was no barrier for him to breach. She’d taken care of that years ago with an accidental discovery.
Since long before the ancient Greeks, women had been using artificial phalluses to pleasure themselves. Evidence could be found in paintings and antiquities collections all over the world.
After investigating the evolution of methods and varieties, what woman of science could resist the professional obligation to perform empirical personal research?
As enjoyable as artificial phalluses turned out to be, the experience would be nothing like this one. Penetration substitutes were sturdy, but lifeless. Meant to be used in solitary circumstances.
Or were they? A scandalous experiment flashed through her mind. What if she were to wield her false phallus, whilst Nicholas—
All thoughts of future erotic experiments vanished as he nestled his very real phallus at her entrance. She wrapped her legs about his hips and gasped at the sensation. It was not pain at all, but a thick delicious fullness. A connection unlike any other.
This was perfect. He was perfect. Hot and hard, sensual and strong, carnal and caring… She cupped his face and kissed him with a fervor she could not control. Their chemistry was magical.
That their union should occur on the chaise before the fire was even more perfect. She’d chosen the drawing room on purpose. Here, where they always exchanged their gifts. The pretty stone upon the mantel, the glass petal, the plates of fresh biscuits… and now each other.
Her spine arched with pleasure. The wet friction of each stroke, the sweet heat of each kiss—nothing could stop the chemical reaction building between them. At any moment, the explosion would happen.
She gripped her legs tighter about him, matching him stroke for stroke. “Nicholas, I think I’m going to…”
“Don’t hold back,” he murmured between kisses. “I’ll join you.”
She couldn’t hold back if she tried. The knowledge that they were about to reach their peak together pushed her over the edge. Release flooded her. She cried out as dizzying waves of pleasure took her higher than she had ever been. All because of him.
She thought she detected complementary throbbing begin in his phallus, but after one final pump he jerked free from her embrace, bucked his hips beneath a handkerchief, and collapsed back on top of her.
Progeny. He’d had the presence of mind to prevent potential progeny. She swallowed hard.
Thank heavens one of them had behaved rationally.
A woman of science would never admit being swept away by illogical emotions. Next thing you knew, she’d claim to believe in miracles and true love. Nonsense. She brushed a damp curl from Nicholas’s forehead and tried to calm her pulse.
“One night to slake our lust,” he mumbled. “Do you feel well and truly slaked?”
The corners of her mouth twitched. “If I say no, will you do it again?”
“We’ll do it even better,” he promised sleepily. “You skipped a lot of good bits.”
Her heart thumped. “I might like that. After you wake up.”
“I might stay just like this forever,” he murmured, and nestled close. “I love the way you smell.”
At his words, cold sliced through her heart. He hadn’t made a connection with her. His instincts had responded to a chemical compound. She stopped stroking his hair and tried to blink the hot stinging from her eyes instead. He was here in response to her scent. Exactly as she manufactured it.
She hated Duchess a little more every day.
Her throat tightened. She’d wanted this moment to be true. But it wasn’t. None of this was real. This was an illusion of intimacy engineered in her laboratory, with no regard for his feelings on the matter or her own. She deserved exactly what she got.
Even if that meant nothing at all.
Chapter 13
Penelope wrapped her scarf tighter about her neck. She was standing in the makeshift observatory at the rear of Gloria’s cottage, but the open window was not the source of her cold. Penelope’s emptiness came from within.
Gloria glanced up from her telescope, her gaze concerned. “Are you ready to talk?”
“No.”
There was nothing to discuss. That was why Penelope had ushered Nicholas out the door as soon he had re-buttoned his fall, washed off every trace of perfume, and buried herself alone in her bed with only her thoughts and the darkness of the night to accompany her.
Gloria gave her a sympathetic look. “Then why are you at my house before dawn?”
“I knew you’d be awake,” Penelope answered immediately. “You stay up all night to watch the stars.”
“I know why I’m awake.” Gloria narrowed her eyes. “Why are you awake?”
Because no matter how far Penelope hid beneath her blankets, sleep had refused to come. She had gravely miscalculated the aftereffects of Duchess achieving a successful trial.
She did not feel as though she’d won. She feared she had lost much more than her virginity. She had lost her focus. Her rationality. She needed to get it back.
Gloria turned back to her telescope. “I stopped by the castle for supper last night.”
“Hm,” Penelope responded distantly. “Anyone there?”
“Only every female in Christmas,” Gloria said with a laugh. “The dining hall has been overflowing with women for two weeks. Every lady in there is hoping to catch sight of—or spend the night with—Saint N
ick.”
Penelope’s stomach filled with nausea. She longed to ask if Nicholas had been present to bask in the adoration, but she dreaded the answer. Either way, if he had not returned to the castle after leaving her cottage, that meant he had gone somewhere else. Possibly to someone else. And if so, she didn’t want to know.
“Trust me,” Gloria said with a roll of her eyes. “If Duchess was ready for sale, you could make a fortune in the next half hour.”
The knife in Penelope’s stomach gave another twist. Duchess was ready. Penelope was not. She certainly did not want other women using it on Nicholas.
The thought of him engaged in intimate activities with someone else… White-hot jealousy roiled her stomach. Based on observable history and empirical patterns, a rake engaging in consensual copulation with everyone he pleased was not a hypothetical situation but a foregone certainty.
Gloria angled her head. “What’s wrong? You used to find such antics amusing.”
Had she? Penelope wrapped her arms about her aching chest. Apparently, she used to be an idiot.
“You can’t possibly be jealous,” Gloria scoffed. “The moment you met him, you could not think of a worse sort of man. After you argued over Duke, I was certain that would be the end of it. Did you see him again after that time at the refreshment buffet?”
Penelope focused her gaze at the wall as though she no longer spoke English.
“You did see him again,” Gloria breathed. “Good heavens, this isn’t envy. This is possessiveness.”
“I do not possess him.” Penelope’s voice cracked.
“No one could,” Gloria agreed. “Luckily, it’s not as if you two…”
Penelope pretended to be deaf.
“Did you?” Gloria demanded, hands on her hips.
Penelope wished she were invisible.
“You did.” Gloria’s eyes widened in disbelief. “When? How?”
Penelope sighed. “First…”
“Don’t tell me,” Gloria interrupted quickly. “I understand the mechanics. I just don’t understand how they happened between the two of you. I thought you disliked him.”
“I thought so, too.” Penelope hugged herself tighter. “For a day or two. And then I…”
“And then you what?” Gloria arched a brow. “You thought the best way to settle your differences was to get to naked and let biology take over?”
“Turns out,” Penelope said, “that’s a terrible way to settle anything.”
“Good to know.” Gloria stepped closer, her tone soft. “Then why did you do it?”
“I didn’t mean to, at first. It was supposed to be a simple test. I wanted to prove that passion and emotion were illogical human behaviors, and that chemistry was not only more dependable, but more powerful.”
“And now?” Gloria prompted when Penelope didn’t continue.
She sighed. “Emotion is definitely illogical, and passion is as powerful as chemistry.”
Gloria crossed her arms. “Did you truly believe women of science were exempt from emotion?”
“It’s illogical,” Penelope repeated. “I thought women of science were logical.”
“You can be a chemist and aware of your emotions.”
Penelope shook her head. “No one wants an emotional chemist.”
“You mean, Saint Nick doesn’t?” Gloria asked softly.
“He’s not attracted to me,” Penelope said. “I manipulated his brain into a false attraction to a chemical compound on my wrists.”
“Dynasties have been built on less,” Gloria assured her. “But what is your excuse? If he is a mindless gnat drawn to your honey-like wrists, what made you attracted to him?”
“Gnats aren’t drawn to honey,” Penelope mumbled. “Most feed on plants, although there are some carnivorous varieties that—”
“Penelope.” Gloria sent her a warning look.
She let out a long, slow breath.
“He’s kind,” she said at last. “He’s charming and handsome, yes, but so much more than that. He’s… complex.”
Gloria blinked. “Saint Nick, London’s favorite rake, is complex?”
Penelope nodded. “I’m beginning to suspect everyone is. Until I met him, I thought I was simple, too.”
Nicholas was more than just skillful in the bedchamber. He was funny, he was sweet, he was thoughtful. He was also a talented artisan.
Especially given the damage his father had caused, she respected Nicholas’s commitment to art. Aware his peers would judge him or change their opinions about him if the truth were to come out, Nicholas hid that facet of himself, but he did not stop. He held nothing from his passions.
“No wonder everyone swoons over him,” Gloria said.
“I wish I could swoon,” Penelope said. “Lying unconscious would be preferable to my current state. All this emotion is overwhelming. I have no control over it. It’s something that can only be experienced, not quantified. It’s terrifying. I don’t know what to do.”
“Because he’s a rake?” Gloria asked.
“Because he makes me feel like there’s more to life,” Penelope admitted.
Gloria cocked her head. “Like what?”
“Like… believing in love.”
“Believing?” Gloria lay a hand on Penelope’s arm. “You are in love.”
Penelope’s stomach bottomed. Bloody hell. This was not the result she’d been looking for.
“That’s your hypothesis,” she stammered.
Gloria was undeterred. “Are you afraid he doesn’t feel the same about you?”
“I know he doesn’t.”
That was the part that hurt. Her perfume had worked. It made a man as amazing as him believe he was interested in her.
Unbeknownst to him, it wasn’t true. It was just science. Carefully constructed aromas designed to fool his brain. Chemistry. Alchemy. Manipulation.
And Penelope was the one who had fallen for it.
“Why don’t you tell him how you feel?” Gloria asked softly.
Penelope scoffed. “What would that do?”
Gloria pursed her lips. “You don’t believe in reformed rakes?”
“No,” Penelope answered bluntly. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t want to change him. That’s not what love is.”
Gloria arched her brows. “Now you’re an expert on love?”
Penelope was pretty sure she no longer considered herself an expert in anything. But if she found it objectionable for others to demand Nicholas give up his art, she could not ask him to forsake any other passions. Even the ones that made her want to cry.
“Do you believe in reformed rakes?” she countered.
“He’s ton,” Gloria admitted. “Isn’t keeping mistresses acceptable Society behavior, as long as it’s discreet? I am certain he wouldn’t flaunt his other lovers in front of you—”
“He wouldn’t have to. The caricaturists and the society papers flaunt all his indiscretions for him. I don’t want the image in my head at all.” Penelope rubbed her temples. “He’s leaving tomorrow. That is the best thing for both of us.”
Gloria crossed her arms. “What about love?”
“He’s not in love,” Penelope said in exasperation. “Once he is out of scent range, the effects of the perfume will wear off and he’ll forget me completely. Life will return to normal.”
“His life,” maybe,” Gloria said doubtfully. “What about yours?”
Penelope touched her fingertips to Gloria’s telescope stand. “You have the stars. I have science to keep me busy. I’ll be in my laboratory.”
With the door shut tight to ensure she be unable to hear anyone knock. If she saw Nicholas again, she would have to confess the truth about the trial. She could not continue living a lie.
Gloria hesitated. “You plan to lock yourself in your laboratory until he’s gone?”
“No,” Penelope said. “That would be an ineffectual half measure.”
She planned to cocoon herself in her laboratory for the rest of h
er life.
Chapter 14
Nicholas shoved his blowpipe into the fire and glared at the dancing orange flames. Normally, nothing was as calming as blowing glass or crafting an intricate mold. This morning, he was far from calm. He had bolloxed things with Penelope.
He had wanted their first lovemaking to be perfect. Slow, gentle, romantic. Instead it had been fast and carnal. They hadn’t paused to kick their shoes off, much less get undressed. And as soon as it was over, they were done. Goodbye.
For a rake, that specific sequence of events was often considered an ideal encounter. It was not what Nicholas had wanted to give Penelope at all. He wasn’t certain how he felt to discover that it was all she had wanted from him.
Oh, very well, he knew exactly how he felt.
Miserable.
He gathered molten glass onto the tip of his blowpipe and sighed.
Penelope was marvelous. Smart and sensual, funny and logical. A scientist and a surprise. Any man would be lucky to have her. Nicholas preferred that the man in question… be him. But he couldn’t blame her for turning him away.
What had he offered her? Not one night, but two? How generous of him. Imbecile. She should have made him exit through the chimney.
He locked the molten glass inside the clay mold and began to blow. It was all his lungs were good for. What could he have said to Penelope? The more he opened up, the more he risked being found not good enough.
As a rake, he was more than serviceable. He was splendid. London knew what to expect, and Saint Nick delivered.
As Nicholas the bachelor glassblower, however, he became an oddity. A hobby that would raise no eyebrows for a man outside the beau monde would make Nicholas a laughingstock.
He would not offer Penelope a laughingstock. Nor had he any intention of forcing her to mix with his fast London crowd. Not that it mattered. He had already been dismissed.
He snapped his blowpipe from the clay mold. Was he cleaving to the persona of Saint Nick for Penelope’s sake, or for his own safety? Just because something was easy didn’t mean it was right. Or good.
