Devlin glanced over his shoulder. His licentious eyes glistened as he granted her a lopsided smile. Did he read her thoughts or was he used to women admiring him from behind? The man was too beautiful by far, his presence compelling as well as aggravating.
He continued forward, and she focused on his backside once more. Without looking, she tripped over a jutting rock and almost fell onto Devlin. She balanced her step in time before further disgracing herself.
“Beware of the cobblestones. They can be uneven in some parts,” he said.
Molly glared at the back of his head.
They rounded a tall hedge with rose vines entwined in the foliage. Molly stood next to her tutor and sucked in a gulp of sweet air. Before them was a beautiful, grand lake. In the distance, a thin mist lightly hovered while undisturbed water mirrored the moon casting a shine upon its surface.
“It is enchanting,” she whispered.
Standing with crossed arms, his eyes were half closed. “Disrobe.”
“I beg your pardon?” she choked, knowing exactly what he had said. She hoped the moonlight would not show her telling blush.
“Remove your clothes and let me see what I have to work with.”
Molly remained motionless, unable to budge. She had never undressed in front of a gentleman before. In fact no man had ever seen her naked.
Tsking, he shook his head with displeasure. “How are you to be a courtesan if you will not undress?”
“Well I—”
“Do you want to be a courtesan or not?”
“I—”
“Then take off your clothes,” he commanded, his tone rising with frustration.
She remained speechless, her heart racing.
He turned to leave.
“Wait…please.”
He faced her again with a black layered look, his eyebrows arching with expectation.
Irritated by his mocking stance, she peeled off her shawl and slowly untied the bow at the back of her high waistline dress. She raised her hands and lifted the garment over her head, leaving her in a soft muslin stay.
Devlin’s pulse raced, his mouth was dry and hot. She stood with her hands clasped together, her chin held proudly even though her body trembled. Her white stays gleamed in the moonlight as petticoats flared around her shapely calves. Bending over, she pulled off her boots, affording him a delicious show of cleavage.
Catching his breath, Devlin’s chest constricted. She was exquisite. The most unique creature he had ever seen. The shifting emerald lights of her eyes and nervous hands fascinated him. The painful erection in his breeches could attest to her untamed beauty.
He had the urge to rip the undergarments from her back, throw her on the dewy grass, and sink into her delicate entrance. He shook his head of the vision. He had to remember she was just like all the other conniving women. A courtesan.
Cursing his eagerness as if he were the one untutored in the ways of pleasure, he growled, “I do not have all evening, Miss Molly.”
“My apologies, my lord.”
In one swift tug, her petticoats gathered at her feet, exposing her feminine red curls between the apex of her long, creamy legs.
Devlin licked his lips again. He wanted to push his tongue between her thighs. Good Lord, his cock pulsated with a yearning he had not felt in years.
Seemingly unaware of the impact she had on him, Molly continued to her stays. Untying the shoulder straps, she released her ample breasts that fell free from restrictive confinement. Her soft, ivory skin glowed while her nipples pebbled against the cool breeze. Completely naked, she looked more beautiful than a woman had a right to. She would make a most desirable courtesan. Of this, he was certain.
Devlin stepped closer to her, so close he could almost kiss her pink lips. Charming freckles peeked through the soot, drawing his attention to the becoming flush on her high cheekbones. He was taller than her, but only just. Usually he towered over ladies, but not this one. Her shadowed eyes met his, silently daring him. Devlin knew it to be false bravado. She had to be scared.
He removed the pins that held her hair in an unruly bun. Thick scarlet locks tumbled past her shoulders, caressing her skin around the tops of her breasts. Devlin sank his fingers into the lush cherry mane and lowered his head to smell the sweet fragrance of her hair. Unlike the rest of her it produced an aroma of flowers as if she rolled in a bed of roses.
“My lord?” she breathed, her voice husky.
Devlin jerked away, as if woken from a hypnotic spell. What was he doing? He was acting like a love-sick youth and with a farm girl, no less. Remember, she was just like the others—hungry for money and power.
“I am in no need of another courtesan,” he said, gritting his teeth.
“I would never presume…”
“Just so you know, I am here only at my father’s request. I am your tutor. That is all!”
Molly nodded vigorously, her eyes wide with innocence.
“You’ll not be forcing me to pay for the pleasure of your body,” he stated with more vigor than he intended.
“I understand, my lord.”
He grabbed her arm and led her to the edge of the water. “Wash yourself. You are filthy.”
Her green eyes widened with hurt, and Devlin instantly regretted his harsh words. Unwilling to apologize, he turned away and retrieved a small chest concealed within the shrubs. Straightening, he opened the box and threw Molly a bar of scented soap. It landed near her feet with a splash.
Without another word, Molly swooped down for the bar and entered the icy water. Her teeth chattered, but she would not complain. She was going to obey the conceited marquess even if he asked her to lie down in front of an oncoming carriage. She would prove to him that she was worthy to be his student—worthy to be a courtesan in the infamous sex society of Harman Manor.
Scrubbing her skin until it was pink; Molly peeked from beneath her eyelashes at the forbidding man. With his arms crossed, he stood still as if he were one of the statues, cold and hollow. The whites of his eyes glistened on his shadowy face, giving him a menacing appearance.
Wading out of dark water, Molly boldly faced him, steeling herself for his disapproval. A rustling came from behind the hedges, and the butler appeared carrying a drying cloth. The old man crudely tossed it at her. Molly caught it and covered herself while the butler studied her with smug rudeness.
She stood before the two men for what seemed an eternity when the marquess glanced over his shoulder at the butler.
“Leave us!” Devlin ordered the servant.
Molly jumped from the tone. Was he angry with her or the butler?
The old man bowed toward him and sniffed with indignation at Molly, then disappeared beyond the hedge.
“He does not like me very much,” Molly said, readjusting the cloth around her shoulders.
“He was brought here by my mother,” Devlin answered and stepped on her blue dress before she could pick it up. “This gown, along with those boots, will be burned.”
Her muscles stiffened.
“From this moment you will wear what I choose.” He lifted a strand of her hair and cocked his head to one side. “Perhaps an emerald gown to compliment your hair and…olive eyes.”
Her mouth turned in the shape of an O. Did he just give her a compliment?
He caressed the side of her cheek with the back of his smooth hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb across her lips. He smelled of fresh pine and leather, an intoxicating combination when he was so close. Despite herself, his nearness affected her composure.
She edged forward, willing him to kiss her. He lowered his head and pressed his tender lips to hers.
Closing her eyes, Molly almost collapsed. Her knees threatened to buckle while the pit of her stomach fluttered into a wild swirl. It was a simple kiss, almost chaste, yet she felt branded by the heat of his lips.
He pulled away.
Lost in thrilling sensations, Molly’s lips remained puckered for more. She heard the marq
uess chuckle low in his throat. She squeezed open one of her eyes. No doubt her naiveté was amusing. She cursed her foolishness to think he would find her alluring. He must think her a ninny. Tilting her chin a fraction higher, she vowed to show him how unaffected she was by the intimacy.
“Come,” he ordered, as if commanding one of his hounds and left her standing on the embankment.
She swallowed a spiteful retort and followed, struggling with the wretched towel that persisted in slipping off her shoulders.
Chapter Four
Feeling like a wet horse, Molly followed the Marquess. Her limp hair hung around her face while her bare feet padded up the slippery marble steps to the manor. Devlin led her through a side door, and her hopes of avoiding the other guests shattered.
Every muscle in her body froze when she stared across the crowded Roman-style ballroom. An orchestra garbed in black cloaks played music that sounded sweet and melodious. In stark contrast to the harmonious song, everyone wore strange, grotesque masks with brightly colored costumes. Others hardly wore much at all, proudly exposing their bodies, except their faces. Entranced by the sights, Molly absently walked through the crowd.
A loud cackle pierced through the music. Standing in a small circle of people, a heavy woman wore a horse mask. A tan leather gown wrapped her body like a glove. With a riding crop and a glass of sherry in one hand, she shoved the head of a short, bald man into her chest, rubbing his face into her ample bosom.
A naked muscular man wearing a white wig, a black mask and red stain on his lips sidled up behind the woman and pushed the short man away. In a commanding manner he bent the lady over and raised her gown to reveal a plump, creamy backside. He smacked her buttocks, and her glass shattered on the floor, spilling red liquid. Unconcerned, the man grabbed her hips and thrust his engorged member into her. She threw her head back and neighed like a horse.
Molly’s cheeks burned while she stared with keen interest. The burly man plunged harder and harder into the woman. A line of sweat etched its way down between his chiseled shoulder blades, his ass cheeks tense with each powerful thrust. Molly licked her lips. Her nipples tingled beneath the damp cloth while her skin prickled with arousal.
A squeal came from above her. Molly gazed up to see a mature lady, her brown curly hair swaying over the edge of a floating platform. Suspended by ropes from the high ceiling, two servants on either side of the ballroom swung the platform back and forth through the air. Behind the lady, the red face of a bald man peaked over the rim as he rammed vigorously into her.
The orchestra played another song and couples moved sensually upon the ballroom floor. Molly stood on tiptoes over the crowd to watch their erotic dance. The gentlemen brushed their hands across the breasts of their naked partners before twirling them onto the next man. The ladies clasped their hands around their partners’ erections, teasing them with a slow dance of seduction.
On the chairs around the ballroom, many were openly making love. Men sat on the seats, their breeches undone while ladies bounced up and down on their laps, their gowns and petticoats fanning around them in a display of satin, velvet and lace.
Molly stood in one spot, twirling around to see, hear, and smell all the exquisite delights of the ballroom. Her face flushed with excitement; she wanted to join the wickedly sinful guests and try all the different positions they displayed.
Fingernails lightly scrapped the back of her neck, sending ticklish bumps down her arms. Molly turned to find a woman staring at her through a white, sequined mask with ivory feathers. With shiny ebony hair swept up into a chignon, she wore a creamy transparent gown that revealed her voluptuous curves. Her perfectly rounded breasts pushed against the thin fabric. She circled Molly, smiling as if she were a cat about to pounce on a mouse.
“What a little sweeting you are,” she purred, her voice low and thick. Her finger caught hold of the towel clutched at Molly’s chest. Tugging on the cloth, the lady studied Molly’s breasts. “Hmm, they look delicious,” she said, “May I have a taste?”
Astonishment caused the words to wedge in Molly’s mouth. Before she could answer, Devlin’s dark presence appeared at her side.
“This one is not ready, Lady Parnell,” he announced. His broad chest touched her back, the heat granting her a strange comfort.
Pouting with disappointment, the lady placed a light kiss on Molly’s lips. “Then perhaps later, my sweeting.”
Devlin’s fingers wrapped around Molly’s bare arm. Gently but firmly, he led her across the ballroom. “If you are of that persuasion, Lady Parnell is most generous with her courtesans.” He pushed his way through the curious crowd. “But she is easily bored and will throw you onto the streets when she is no longer pleased.”
Devlin glanced at Molly and she nodded, her wide eyes were one of inexperience and disbelief. He chuckled to himself at her expression then sobered upon hearing whispers as they passed onlookers. The vultures were eager to sink their teeth into the new flesh at his side. Well, let them hunger. He wasn’t about to introduce his novice until he was ready.
He escorted Molly up one of the wide staircases. The enticing aroma of lilac soap on her skin assailed his senses. She clutched the cloth to her chest, contorting the top of her breasts upwards. He peeked from the corner of his eyes to the V of her cleavage. Stifling a groan, he continued in a brisk walk to the Lily Room across from his. It had better access if he had need of her in the middle of the night. Moreover, he wanted to keep a close eye on her comings and goings.
Molly brushed past him when he opened the door. Lit with countless tall candles, fresh flowers adorned every surface, giving the white room a romantic appeal. Devlin made a mental note to thank Yvette for the extra touches. He entered with his hands tucked behind his back. He always liked this room. A grand four-post bed with sheer lily fabric hanging over the posts dominated the space. A painting of exotic nymphs making love adorned the wall while in a corner sat a mahogany wardrobe carved with naked women riding horses. This room was tactile and comfortable—one of his favorites.
Molly strolled to the red velvet, lyre chair that matched a regal mahogany table. She glided her hand across the smooth wood. “Sheraton?”
Caught off guard, he asked, “How does a farmer know the furniture of Thomas Sheraton?”
“My aunt told me your father commissioned him when they were—”
“What else did your aunt tell you?”
She peered at him over her shoulder, “Not much else.”
He leaned against the wall with his legs crossed, his hand rubbing his chin.
Her eyes averted. She was lying.
“You will fit right in here as a courtesan,” he said with sarcasm.
She smiled, obviously misunderstanding his remark.
Molly returned her attention to the table where brushes, combs, powders, and perfumes lined the surface. She picked up a pink bottle and smelled the fragrance. Her nose twitched and wrinkled. Molly swiftly replaced the lid. He smothered a smile. Does she have any idea how adorable she looked?
With grace and awe, Molly’s hands ran over the items on the table. What would it feel like to have those same hands run over his body? Exploring, caressing. The growing ache in his breeches caused him to shift uncomfortably. He pushed away from the wall and strode to the terrace doors. In one swift movement, he shoved them open, allowing a cool breeze to enter the stifling chamber. A gush of swirling wind gave the room an ethereal presence, giving life to the fluttering bed curtains.
Unwillingly, his gaze returned to her. She looked at him as if he were her knight in shining armor. Her sweet, glistening eyes captured his unbidden desire, and his pulse raced through his veins. Why does this slip of girl have such an effect on him? The kiss they shared by the lake returned to his mind. It was almost his undoing. He nearly forgot who she was, who she wanted to be. An awkward moment stretched between them.
Wordlessly, he walked onto the terrace to cool his ardor. Sweet roses mingled with a sharp aroma of dewy
grass gave him a brief reprieve.
A tentative hand glided over his shoulder. He turned to face Molly’s provocative beauty.
“I am ready to lose my…my maidenhead,” Molly stuttered softly and dropped the cloth from her shoulders.
Devlin devoured the long length of her smooth body. A dusting of delectable freckles lined her shoulders, challenging him to kiss each one. Her pink tipped breasts jutted forward, and he wondered how they would feel against his tongue? Warm, or cool from the night air?
As if intoxicated, he swayed closer to her until he noticed her hands. They rested by her side, but trembled like a butterfly’s wings.
Her nervousness was like a cold bucket of water upon his aroused body.
“Get some rest,” his voice was heavy with reproach. He stepped away from her and without turning, left the room.
Molly collapsed on the bed in relief and disappointment. “He does not desire me.”
Looking down at herself, she lifted her heavy breasts in both hands, wishing she had a different body. A powerful man like the marquess would be accustomed to exquisite women of tight bodies with little flaw. Attractive ladies with perky breasts.
She groaned and threw herself backward onto the oversized cushions. Hurt tears flowed from her eyes. She willed her bruised heart to harden, but it did not obey.
After the last tear had streaked her cheeks, she covered herself with soft blankets. Emotionally depleted and exhausted, her wounded pride finally allowed her to drift asleep.
Laughter floated up to her room through the open terrace doors, waking Molly from a light slumber. The candle sconces had since extinguished while darkness outside invaded her room. Molly pushed to her feet and goose bumps ran over her body, instantly chilling her skin. Pulling a blanket from the warm bed, she wrapped it around her shoulders, the heavy fabric soft against her skin. She stepped away from the bed only to stumble over a solid object.
Tutoring Miss Molly Page 3
