A Lover for Lydia (The Wednesday Club Book 4)

by Sahara Kelly

  Observing the delightful flush he’d brought to her creamy breasts and the ripe scent of her filling his nostrils, he fought down his own fierce desires and focused on making this a moment she would remember.

  The chair wasn’t large, but he managed to shift her further down across his lap, resting her back on the plush arm and keeping one of his around her.

  Her nipples were hard and protruding, begging for his attentions. He willingly obliged, but this time allowed his free hand to grab the fabric of her skirts and slide it up over her legs. Shifting at his touch, she parted her thighs, whether knowingly or unconsciously he had no idea.

  But he wasn’t about to stop for a moment and ask her.

  Instead he let his palm learn the firm creamy contours, the feel of her calf, soft flesh hiding muscle, the bones and curves of her knee,. Gently he slid his hand upward, pulling back from her breasts and watching her face.

  “Lydia,” he whispered. “Lydia, open your eyes.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered back. “I’m…feeling so much.”

  “Too much?” he asked.

  “No, no,” she mumbled. “Not enough.”

  Her bottom shifted on his lap, crushing his arousal, bringing a whimper of agony to his throat. He managed to choke it down, and focused on what he wanted to do. Which was to take her to the ultimate heights of pleasure.

  So his hand slid even further upward, this time curving round her thigh, measuring it, stroking it, running his fingernails gently up and down and noting the way her lips parted on a soft moan as he progressed further on his journey of exploration.

  One of her hands was around his neck and he sensed the tension in her fingers as she clutched at his hair.

  The other, to his utter shock, drifted down to his and lay on top, pressing it into the warmth of her thigh, then pushing it gently upward, dragging her gown away at the same time, baring herself.

  She knew where she wanted his touch, and he was only too willing to oblige.

  In moments he found her, the fiery heat of her, the slick moisture welling from between the soft folds of her secret woman’s flesh.

  Curls of silky hair brushed against his questing fingers, shining silver in the candlelight and sparkling with droplets of passion.

  She stilled as he touched her, her eyes wide open now, fixed on his face as he began to delve within her heat, seeking the places that would give her the most pleasure. As he searched, she swallowed harshly, tightening her grip on his hair, but keeping her gaze on him.

  “Do you like this?” he asked, knowing his voice was rough with his own desire.

  “Yes,” she gulped, a strangled sort of sound resulting from one finger delving deep within her. “God, Mowbray…” Her hips moved, thrusting against his hand.

  He nearly sobbed. The urge to rip his breeches off, turn her onto his lap and push himself all the way into her was overwhelming and his control threatened to vanish beneath the assault of her body, the demands she made without even knowing it.

  There was not one damn thing in the entire world he’d rather do than complete this experience by taking her to the bed in the corner and making love to her all night long. And probably through the next day as well.

  Biting down firmly on his own lust, Mowbray mustered his tattered self-control. His fingers moved, rubbing, circling, teasing and returning, his eyes watching her response, noting the tight nipples, the flush on her cheeks and finally—finally the taut explosion that threatened to crush his fingers. She peaked, whimpered and spasmed violently, every muscle taut, her mouth open, gasping for air as her body shattered and trembled on his lap.

  He held her tightly, letting her ride the whirlwind of her orgasm safely within his embrace and keeping her close as she finally calmed enough to catch her breath.

  She focused on his face. “Mowbray,” she whispered. “Oh God, Mowbray.”

  He withdrew his hand, straightened her gown over her legs and pulled her bodice back up over her breasts with a sigh of regret.

  “Mowbray, what can I say?” She watched him, lazy and languorous, her face soft, her lips slightly swollen.

  He pulled her close again, a cuddle this time for comfort and warmth.

  “You asked me to show you the stars…” he grinned, ignoring the agony that had yet to diminish within his breeches.

  “You succeeded. Beyond measure.” She touched his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he said politely, hoping his balls wouldn’t explode if he were to stand up anytime in the next hour.

  “There is more, isn’t there?” She looked at him.

  “We can’t go there, Lydia.”

  She smiled, all soft eyes and lips, and for some reason his erection shrank a little.

  “Maybe not tonight, but soon, Mowbray. We both want to. So let’s just find the right time and place.”

  To his surprise, he found himself resorting to those words his mother tended to say at moments when she didn’t want to commit to anything.

  “We’ll see.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lydia was frustrated. Her erotic interlude with Mowbray had done little to ease her desires. On the contrary, it had stimulated her interest in such matters and she spent considerable amounts of time wondering how to get him into bed so that they could complete the act his touches had aroused.

  Ivy caught her the next day, staring from the window, and mumbling to herself.

  “Dearest Lydia. What on earth is the matter? You’re wandering around rather like the ghost of Maiden Shore at the moment. Unsettled and frowning.” Ivy touched her arm. “By the way, we don’t have a ghost, in case you were worrying.”

  Lydia smiled back. “No, I’m not worrying and no there’s nothing the matter with me.” She sighed gustily. “Well, all right, not much the matter with me.”

  Rose wandered in. “Prudence and Colly have gone to see Mrs Radford’s puppies,” she said. “I wondered if you’d gone as well…”

  “No,” said Ivy. “I’m trying to find out what’s wrong with Lydia.”

  Rose nodded. “At a guess, I’d say Mowbray’s what’s wrong with Lydia.”

  Lydia spun on her heel and looked at her friends. “Certainly not. What an absurd notion. He’s not a problem. Not at all.” Her chin went up.

  The other two glanced at each other, then back at Lydia.

  “Shakespeare said it best,” snickered Ivy. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

  “Yes indeed,” agreed Rose. “Far too much.”

  Lydia opened her mouth to argue, then saw the concern in the eyes of her two best friends. She walked to a chair, sat down and put her head in her hands. “Oh hell.”

  Ivy rang the bell and when Woodleigh appeared, requested sherry. A full decanter.

  Woodleigh raised his eyebrows, looked at the women, and nodded. The sherry arrived less than three minutes later.

  Rain, which had threatened the morning, began to fall, pattering against the windows. With a glass of sherry and her friends, Lydia’s tension eased, as she felt cocooned in a moment of warm, gentle companionship.

  “I suppose we shocked Woodleigh,” she sighed. “But you were so right, Ivy. Tea would not have helped very much.” She held up her glass. “This does.”

  “What is it, love? Is it Mowbray? What has he done?”

  “Should we have strong words with him and take a cricket bat to his head?”

  Lydia grinned. “No, of course not. He’s done nothing wrong. Which,” she frowned thoughtfully, “is actually the problem.”

  “Aha.” Rose nodded sagely. “You want him to do the deed.”

  Lydia gulped. “Yes.”

  Half of her anticipated a shocked outcry and protestations. The other half was very pleased that didn’t happen.

  “Hmm.” Ivy swirled the sherry in her glass. “Have you told him how you feel?”

  “I suppose you could say so,” Lydia avoided answering directly. “We had—um—what you might call an int
erlude last night after everyone had gone to bed.”

  “An interlude. Really. After all that ale?” Rose quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll wager it was fun.”

  “Oh God, yes.” The declaration was out before Lydia could stop it.

  Ivy and Rose sneaked a grin at each other.

  “Not just a sweet kiss or two, I’m thinking,” said Ivy, her lips curving into a smile. “You’d want more than that.”

  “I do,” sighed Lydia, “and he doesn’t.”

  “I doubt that statement,” Rose looked at her. “You can’t really engage with a man that way and not get him interested in pursuing matters.” She bit her lip. “How do I say this…er…do you recall anything that might have indicated his…er…physical interest?”

  “Did anything…shall we say…arise during your interlude?”

  Ivy’s question drove Rose into an explosion of laughter, and within moments all of them were wiping the tears from their eyes.

  “Oh Lord,” whimpered Lydia. “Don’t say anything like that again, please.”

  Another round of sherry restored some level of order.

  “Right then. So yes.” Lydia lifted her chin. “In answer to that question, yes.”

  “Well there you are. He is interested in you in that way. But for some reason he’s holding back.” Rose wrinkled her nose. “He is a gentleman, through and through, dearest girl. And I can’t see him bedding you just like that. He has more respect for everyone, man or woman, than probably anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “I know,” sighed Lydia. “And I suppose I should feel rather disgusted with myself for wanting him that way.”

  “Oh piffle,” scorned Ivy. “We’ve been taught for too long that women must not have any kind of needs. That we shouldn’t even think about kissing men, let alone doing anything else. I’m so tired of that absurdity.” She rose and paced the room. “Besides, look at how successful Cytherean Tales was. And that book wasn’t written for anyone but women. It was obvious.”

  Lydia nodded. “I learned more about the act from that little book than all the women I grew up with. My mother would have drowned herself in syllabub before even speaking some of the words, let alone describing the situations in such detail.” She took a breath. “Especially the chapter about the Slave King and his captive.”

  A slight moan ran through the room as all three recalled the details. And enjoyed a deliciously abandoned shudder.

  “Well,” Rose passed her empty glass to Ivy, who promptly refilled it. “It’s my considered opinion, Lydia darling, that you must try for patience. Keep doing what you’re doing. Obviously it’s having an effect or your interlude would never have happened.”

  “It’s so damned hard.” Lydia sighed.

  “One would hope so. Much better that way.” Ivy’s wicked chuckle set them off again, and Lydia found she’d shed her irritable mood thanks to her friends. And Woodleigh’s sherry.

  “What’s this?” Prudence entered the room, bringing a gust of fresh air with her, along with damp curls around her ears. “Afternoon hilarity? More drinking? After all that ale? I’m shocked.” She looked at Ivy in mock horror. “May I have a glass please? It rained coming back from the Radford’s and I’d hate to catch a chill.” She gave a tiny theatrical cough.

  Ivy chuckled and poured a little for her. “Here you are, Miss Impudence.”

  “Thank you, Auntie.” Prudence twinkled cheekily at Ivy.

  Rose shook her head. “That still sounds strange.”

  Lydia agreed. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  The rain splattered against the window, drawing their attention. The clouds had settled in, the sea looked grey and dull, and even the seagulls were apparently tucked away somewhere dry.

  “If this keeps up, we’ll never get to swim,” mourned Prudence. “I was so looking forward to it, as well.”

  Lydia tilted her head. “Perhaps we should plan for it anyway? Although how we’re going to talk the gentlemen into it, I’m not exactly sure…”

  “This might be a good time to discuss what circumstances are required?” Rose looked curious. “Obviously it cannot be in full darkness.”

  “Maybe dusk,” added Ivy. “The sun sets late, and there’s still an hour or so before it gets too dark to see.”

  “It might make sense to visit that cove before we think of doing anything…” said Rose practically. “If someone has built a house on the cliffs, then we’ll have to scotch the notion.”

  “Right then.” Prudence held up her hand and began to tick off their list. “We need one, dusk. Two, good weather, of course. That goes without saying. Three, ensured privacy. And four, most important of all, the understanding and support of the men of our party.”

  “Any ideas how to achieve that?” Prudence sat on the opposite end of the sofa to Rose, tucked one foot up beneath her and sipped at her sherry.

  Rose smiled back. “You know if we become too accustomed to this level of informality we’re going to be in trouble when we return to town.”

  “Let’s leave that until the time comes,” sighed Lydia. “But Prudence’s question is valid. And since you and Ivy have two of the men we have to convince, and probably the two most difficult, your ideas will carry weight.”

  A companionable silence fell over the room, as each lady considered the problem and tried to come up with ideas.

  “Bribery?” Ivy sighed. “I can’t think of any other way to ask them…”

  “Ask us what?” Colly strolled in, as if summoned by his wife’s thoughts. “I say, isn’t it a bit early for sherry?” He blinked at them.

  “Not really,” answered Lydia. “It’s almost August.”

  *~~*~~*

  Discussion of the entire matter was postponed with the return of Colly and the other gentlemen who had been doing whatever gentlemen did when they went out walking.

  As always, when they were all together, time passed quickly and dinner, with the addition of Lady Maud and Sir Laurence, was even more lively than usual.

  This night, the ladies did withdraw, observing the customary habit with a greater amount of enthusiasm, since Maud had constantly been more of a mother and friend than a Society hostess.

  And, since their summer habits were becoming quite deplorable, tea was dismissed and replaced with brandy.

  “I should worry about you girls and your consumption of spirits,” said Maud, “but since I wholeheartedly approve, it would be rather absurd of me to do so.”

  “Indeed it would,” agreed Ivy.

  Lydia leaned back. “Since it’s just us ladies here, I’d like to present you with a conundrum, Lady Maud. We girls want to swim. Without benefit of the silly bathing machines, clothing that might drown us if it gets too waterlogged and in private. We think we know where we can be private, but we need to use the ocean to get there.” She frowned into her brandy glass. “Which means sailing. Which, in turn, means the gentlemen have to be involved.”

  Maud sipped her brandy. “Hmm.” She thought for a few minutes while everyone else held their breath.

  Lydia was convinced that if anyone could find a solution, then Maud was the one who would come up with it.

  “Who would be sailing you all? Sir Ronan?”

  Ivy nodded. “Yes. His yacht is moored at the Staunton’s jetty. They’re our nearest neighbours.”

  “Oh yes,” Maud smiled. “Sir Francis and Lady Susan. Is she still giving out those rib-cracking hugs of hers?”

  “Indeed she is,” Rose joined the laughter. “Mine are still sore, I believe.”

  “Let me think a bit on this,” Maud narrowed her eyes. “There might be some options here to be considered.”

  “More brandy?” Ivy waved the decanter.

  “Can’t hurt,” grinned Maud.

  Prudence sat down next to Lydia. “Will you swim?”

  “Oh yes, if I get the chance. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I’m not a person who can swim for miles, but I must admit the chance to play in the ocean without a
ny clothes seems like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Lydia caught Prudence’s enthusiasm. “I will add that it seems terribly unfair that it’s quite all right for men to gallop naked into the waves. But should we ladies wish to gallop the same way? Oh no. No indeed. Not permissible.”

  Prudence sipped her brandy and nodded. “After all, our bodies are much more attractive than theirs.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Rose wandered up to them. “I can’t say I mind looking at a well-built man with no clothes on.”

  “That’s good to hear dear, but we’re going to wander away from the topic under discussion if we go too far down that road.” Maud raised an amused eyebrow. “Anyway, I think I’ve thought of something.”

  “Oooh,” Prudence leaned forward. “Do tell, Lady Maud. You have the very best ideas.”

  “All right then. First thing to do is to survey the beach or cove or whatever it is. To make sure it isn’t dangerous to swim there, and quite private.”

  Four heads nodded in agreement.

  “So all of us, including the gentlemen, sail with Sir Ronan, if he’s agreeable.”

  “He will be,” giggled Prudence.

  Maud grinned at her. “I thought so. Then, after gathering our information on the cove, we inform the gentleman that we would like to use that for our swimming adventure.” She paused for a little brandy. “They will, doubtless, act just as you would expect and start protesting about bathing machines and all the other nonsensical objections they can dredge up, poor things.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming,” said Lydia.

  “Correct, my dear. But…we will counter these arguments by pointing out the privacy and safety of the beach.” She blinked. “All this assumes the beach is safe and private, of course.”

  Four heads nodded in unison once more.

  “After listening patiently to more protests, we will point out that we are only going to ask Sir Ronan to sail us to the spot. I will be there as chaperone, and he and I will stay on the yacht which he will then sail far enough away to give you girls complete privacy. I’ll make sure that occurs.”

  “I like it,” said Ivy. “Private, but secure as well.”