As soon as the door closed, they fell upon one another. All of the small jokes, the brief moments of laughter, were replaced with a need so urgent that Serafine knew she could keep no dignity whatsoever. As soon as Richard let her feet touch the floor she reached for him, pressing her lips to his, gripping his shirt as he gasped. So much haste, so much hunger—words would be the ultimate waste of time.
She couldn’t wait anymore. She reached for Richard’s clothes with feverish eagerness, stripping him of cotton and buckskin as her own gown was tugged to the floor. When they finally embraced, she couldn’t help but gasp; the heat of his skin, the silken hardness of his member, cried out for her hands and lips as much as her body ached for him.
Fierce, frenzied moments passed as she kissed him, her tongue daringly stroking Richard’s own as he took hold of her breasts, squeezing them, his touch the perfect mixture of strength and gentleness. Serafine sighed with pleasure at the feel of him, running her hands down his hips to take hold of his cock as Richard growled with pleasure.
‘I don’t care about ruin.’ She whispered in his ear as she stroked the head of his rigid member, delighting in his reaction. ‘Take me. Please.’
‘Get over to the bed, or I’ll take you in the middle of the floor.’ Richard pointed; Serafine obeyed, delighting in his reaction. ‘And look at yourself.’
Now the long, ornately carved mirror next to the bed revealed its purpose. Serafine stared wide-eyed at herself after clambering onto the bed, briefly shocked by the sight of her own flesh, as Richard gently pulled her onto her knees.
‘Face the glass.’ He positioned her, placing small, light kisses along her shoulders that made her shiver with delight. ‘Yes, Like that.’
‘But how will I be able to face the glass while we… well?’
‘Oh, Serafine. You’ve been kept in the dark about ever so many pleasures.’ Richard moved his hands to the back of her thighs, convincing her to part them. Serafine, briefly afraid of losing her balance, placed her hands on the mattress to steady herself. ‘Ah, yes—like that.’
‘I feel as if I’m about to sweep a floor.’
Richard’s brief moment of silence made her doubt what she had just said. Then came a soft, almost helpless burst of laughter that launched a spear of tenderness amidst the pleasure. ‘Christ, you’re funny.’
‘Am I supposed to be funny in this exact place, at this exact time?’
‘I don’t think there’d be any way of stopping you.’ Richard softly kissed her shoulder blade. ‘None at all.’
‘And… and you like it? That I’m funny?’
‘Of course I do.’ Richard moved behind her. Serafine’s gaze lingered on the mirror-image of his taut torso, his broad arms, as he rested her cock between her parted thighs. ‘You can feel exactly how much I like it.’
‘I always thought you were feigning it. This.’
A small but penetrating note of seriousness entered Richard’s voice. ‘And I told you that I don’t tell falsehoods, Serafine.’
It was still so strange to have him speak to her seriously. As if they were truly creating something solid, rather than merely meeting and parting in a world of mischief and good humour. ‘I don’t know how I’ll ever believe you.’
‘Please believe me.’ Richard held her hips, his hands warm and obscurely comforting against her skin. Serafine closed her eyes, gripping the bedsheets as his cock rested wickedly at her entrance. So much temptation, so much hunger, for something she had never truly experienced to the extreme that she craved. ‘Please.’
‘I do.’
‘Because if you don’t believe me, I…’
‘What?’
‘I was going to say that I would leave. But I won’t.’ There was a hoarse, strained hunger in Richard’s tone that sent a delicious spark of want through Serafine. ‘I can’t.’
There was no way she could reply without revealing something. Without giving up the secrets of her heart—those she hadn’t already given to him. But as Serafine opened her mouth, ready to say some light, inconsequential witticism, Richard’s cock slowly slipped inside her.
‘Ohhh.’ She couldn’t help but moan. Couldn’t help but grip the sheets even tighter, her entire being now concentrated on the ecstasy that came at being filled by him. None of the pain of her wedding night encounter, no blood on the sheets, no shame. Just pleasure, more and more perfect, spiralling pleasure that came as Richard moved deeper, claiming her, possessing her.
‘Fuck.’ Richard’s blasphemy through gritted teeth only heightened the feeling. ‘You feel–you feel like–’
‘Like we fit.’ She was frightened to say the words, but she said them anyway. It was the only possible way to speak of the way he felt in her. ‘Perfectly.’
‘Yes.’ Richard stilled his hips. Serafine sighed at the feel of him, the way her body welcomed him as if it were the deepest instinct she possessed. ‘Exactly.’
Only after a long, delicious moment of adjustment, of growing accustomed to the new sensation, did Serafine dare to move. The most gentle, exploratory tightening of her muscles, barely more than a flutter of her deepest self, but Richard’s answering grunt of pleasure sent a spark through her so bright that it almost felt dangerous. Then came a flex of Richard’s hips, a slow grind that drove him deeper inside her, and Serafine understood the animal rhythm she was meant to follow. The deep, base call and response of thrust and counter-thrust, moan and sigh, that once begun felt impossible to stop.
She had never understood that there was a part for her to play in the act of love. A woman’s role was to lie still and recieve the blessings her husband saw fit to give her. But this was a symphony as opposed to a cheap tune; she was meant to participate, meant even to take the lead when it was warranted. Meant to thrust back against Richard’s hips as she did now, taking as much of him as she could, greedy for all the experience she had missed during the lonely, barren years before the Grand Hotel.
She stared at Richard in the glass. He was no longer the elegant, fastidious ballroom creature whose clothes were perfectly cut, his face perfectly arranged except for the brief instances where a cutting comment was made. Now he was a focused, grim, panting example of savage pleasure, and Serafine had never found him quite so beautiful.
‘Don’t look at me.’ Richard gently grazed the lobe of her ear, thrusting so deep that Serafine bit her lip to keep from crying out. She couldn’t help staring at him; the harsh line of his jaw fit so perfectly against the rounded curve of her shoulder. ‘Look at you.’
‘But–’
‘Look at how beautiful you are.’ Richard buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in reverently as he guided her hips. Serafine could do nothing but obey; anything that would keep the swift sparks of pleasure coursing through her body. ‘Christ, you’re perfect.’
At first it was strange to watch herself. It felt forbidden, almost. But as Serafine looked at her own body in the mirror, at the rosy flush in her cheeks and the way her breasts swayed as Richard thrust, a new edge of dark, scandalous enjoyment began to sharpen the pleasure she already felt. This had to be what courtesans felt, what women of the demi-monde felt–a sense of power, pure power, that heightened each and every sensation to a near unbearable degree.
‘There.’ Richard moved one of his hands to her breasts; Serafine couldn’t help crying out as he took the weight of one of them, his palm hot against her nipple as he gently gripped her. ‘You see now. Do you see?’
‘I–I do.’
‘This is what I’ve seen when I’ve looked at you all these years. What I’ve imagined.’
Serafine couldn’t answer. Instead, with a low moan that would have embarrassed her had she not progressed past a point where shame could hurt her, she let her head rest against Richard’s strong shoulder as she gave herself over to the rhythm.
All that mattered was this. The pleasure of it, the magnificence of the union between herself and Richard. The deep, unbreakable link that grew between them with each th
rust, making something far more significant than she had ever expected or imagined–and oh, the sensation! The shivering, tremendous peak building in her body as the minutes passed, beginning to wash over her like rain…
‘I love you.’ Richard’s murmur was faint, almost inaudible, but the intensity of it shot through Serafine like lightning. She tried to reply, but a wave of pleasure crashed over her with a strength that was almost painful.
I love you. Had he truly said those words? They felt impossible, a miracle—but she couldn’t say a word, not with the fireworks of sensation filling her core. All she could do was cling to Richard’s strong arms as he held her, shaking at the sheer force of it, whimpering as her climax finally came.
I love you. She had to forget the words, drown them out, but they worked in tandem with her pleasure. I love you.
When the last traces of acute pleasure had finally died away, leaving a satisfaction that clung to every nerve and bone, they lay in delicious, conspiratorial silence. After long minutes of stroking, of light and exhausted kisses to temples and cheeks, Richard moved away and stared. ‘Time to put you back in your room, my lady.’
Serafine yawned. It was almost an imposition to speak, here in this church of comfortable quiet. ‘I don’t want to go.’
‘I don’t want your staff to notice you’ve gone.’
‘Oh, Martha. Bother Martha.’
‘Bother her indeed.’ Richard smiled. ‘But it’s going to be more of a bother if she finds your room empty, with no good explanation as to where you’ve gone.’
All Serafine could do was smile and acquiesce. She didn’t speak as Richard gathered her gently in his arms, kissing her shoulders and face as he wrapped her in the embroidered coverlet of his bed. He lifted her, carrying her through the miraculously emptied corridor back into the safety of her bedroom.
‘Don’t worry about the servants gossiping.’ Richard smiled as he laid her onto her own pillows. ‘I wrapped you up so securely, no-one would have imagined who was under all that wool and cotton.’
‘I’m not worried about servants’ gossip.’ Serafine reached for his wrists, holding them. ‘But—but don’t go.’
‘I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to.’ Richard kissed her forehead. ‘Believe me.’
‘I had to throw you out of the room like a bundle of washing last time.’ A deep, nameless fear struck her heart. ‘Did I do something wrong? Was it—’
‘It was perfect, and you were perfect. I’ll hear nothing more from that department, thank you very much.’ Richard paused. ‘I simply need to think. To plan.’
‘I don’t want you to think or plan. I want you here, with me.’
‘And you have no idea how wonderful it feels to hear you say that, but—but trust me.’ Richard smiled, but Serafine detected a new seriousness in him. ‘You will be even happier, I hope, when I can tell you what I’ve been thinking about.’
‘Tell me now.’
‘Not yet, my demanding lady.’
‘Then—then we are finished?’
Richard’s kiss was deeper than the one that came before it. ‘Nothing is finished. Not yet.’
Nothing is finished. Not yet.
If her previous encounter with Richard had left her good for nothing, this one left Serafine in another place entirely. As if she had been transported to the firmament and placed among the stars, shining there with a deep, fulfilling light that could be seen by everyone in the world.
‘You’re being silly.’ She murmured the words faintly to herself as she lay in bed, afternoon dwindling into evening.
How strange that what she and Richard had done had taken place during such a traditionally staid part of the day. One wondered how their lives would be rearranged if they spent more time in one another’s company.
Nothing is finished. Not yet.
She couldn’t truly tell herself that she was being silly. Not with any real conviction in her voice. Because as they had both reached their peak of pleasure in Richard’s enormous bed, it hadn’t felt silly at all. It had felt precious, tender. New.
She couldn’t think the word love. It was absolutely forbidden. Even though she was sure that Richard had murmured the word in her ear as he came, giving her his heart along with his body in those final, breathless moments.
How was anyone meant to do anything, anything at all, while feeling such impossible contentment? All she wanted to do was close her eyes and dream of Richard, long for him, conjure him up again.
There was a knock at the door. Serafine, startled from her reverie, wondered if she had inadvertently developed the power of witchcraft. If it really was Richard standing outside the door, she would have to begin selling love charms in Covent Garden. ‘Who is it?’
‘Martha, ma’am. We have something to discuss.’
What could Martha possibly want now? Underneath the usual spike of discomfort that came whenever Martha made her presence felt, there came a treacherous bubble of anger. ‘I don’t wish to be disturbed.’
‘I’m afraid needs must, ma’am. This is too important to ignore.’
Not a good beginning. Gathering her wrap around her, Serafine suppressed a groan of frustration as she opened the door.
The first surprise was Martha’s appearance. Not only was her maid dressed to go out, she was dressed for a long journey; why, she was even wearing the same shawl that she’d worn on the ride to London, along with carrying the large, shapeless bag that contained her needlework .The second surprise was the way she walked into the room as if it belonged to her, turning to stare at Serafine with a complete lack of deference.
‘As I was walking home from church, ma’am, I remembered I needed to buy buttons.’ Martha’s voice was dangerously quiet. ‘Given that I have been given so very little work to do during your brief stay here, and am left quite unoccupied despite my love of being useful–’
‘Martha, I was sleeping. This interruption needs to be a very important one for me to–’
‘Let me finish.’
Such a brazen interruption was astonishing beyond measure. The hairs on the back of Serafine’s neck stood up; she sat very still, as if she had come across a growling dog.
‘This hotel is, as I have previously mentioned, in a most disreputable area. It was difficult to find a haberdasher that is both close by and in a street that could be deemed respectable.’ Martha paused. ‘As it turns out, there is a small but serviceable establishment two streets away. It crosses the street outside the hotel directly.’
A faint seed of suspicion filled Serafine’s mind. ‘Why exactly are you informing me as to the location of said haberdashers?’
‘Because I know you are of a suspicious nature, ma’am. I know you believe I pry needlessly, even when it has been abundantly demonstrated that my watchfulness is warranted when it comes to your conduct. So I need you to understand that I wasn’t following you, or even intending to watch you, when I saw you lingering outside that–that coffee-house.’
No. Serafine bit her tongue, a cry of alarm trapped in her throat.
‘I have no desire to observe sin. The righteous man or woman averts his eyes from such displays of naked brazenness as that coffee-house specialises in.’ Martha turned up her nose, her voice acquiring that peculiar shade of pomposity that always made Serafine itch with the urge to slap her. ‘But I saw enough, ma’am. I saw you there in your finery, lingering outside that Godforsaken place with every intention of entering!’
‘Martha, I–’
‘And I saw that fine young gentleman greet you in a most familiar fashion! I saw you follow him!’ Martha closed her eyes, her expression fraught with a disgust that frightened Serafine to her very core. ‘Lord knows where you went! Lord knows what you did! But given your unspeakable manner during this stay, your atrocious frivolity, I can only assume the very worst!’
She hadn’t seen her and Richard, but it didn’t matter. She had already invented even more sordid activities—and Lord, she would tell anyone who would listen.<
br />
But she couldn’t give into Martha now. Couldn’t give into the fear that threatened to break her in two as she stared at her maid, attempting to keep her dignity even as Martha stared at her with superior disgust.
She was worth more than this.
‘Ma’am, you have committed the gravest of errors. If this indiscretion was ever to come out–’
‘Martha, I do hope you’re not intending to gossip about something that cannot be proven.’
‘I would never dream of gossip, and it is an insult to me that you would casually make such a tremendous accusation.’
The woman had to be living on the moon. Serafine tried to keep her composure, sure that she was now dealing with someone teetering on the edge of madness. ‘You are the one who dares to speak of accusations?’
‘Accusations without merit are not to be borne. Accusations based on the facts, however, will spread no matter how severely the accused wishes to keep them hidden.’ Martha sniffed, the very image of self-righteousness. ‘But all is not lost, ma’am.’
‘Excuse me? You—you dare to tell me that—’
‘All is not lost, because I have decided to forgive you.’ Martha folded her arms, nodding. ‘It will be difficult, but not impossible.’
Forgiveness? From—from Martha? Had Serafine fallen asleep, or had she stumbled into an increasingly exaggerated farce somewhere between opening the door and sitting down in her armchair?
‘We shall have to leave at once.’ Martha half-turned as she placed her bag on the bed, apparently ignoring Serafine’s shocked stare. ‘There are no two ways about it.’
‘I think you’ll find that there are two ways about it.’ Serafine looked at her maid, too surprised to glare. Martha had always taken every liberty available to her, but this was far too many steps over the line that separated mistress from servant. ‘My way, which happens to outrank yours.’
Martha rolled her eyes. Serafine actually flinched, so unexpected was the rudeness of the gesture. ‘Your way, ma’am, has proven to be both unwise and perilous to our immortal souls.’
The Widow and Her Duke: The Grand Hotel: Book One Page 7
