Secret Desires of a Gentleman

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  Her mattress dipped with his weight as he moved to lie beside her. His weight on one elbow, he gazed down at her for a moment, then reached out to touch her face. His fingertips lightly grazed her cheek, down the column of her throat, over her breast, and lower, tracing light, random patterns across her stomach. She wriggled and gave a hushed squeal at this unbearable teasing, and that made him smile.

  “Ah, yes,” he murmured. “How could I have forgotten you’re ticklish?”

  “I’m not,” she lied, unable to stop herself from laughing even as she tried to push his hand away. “I don’t know why you would think that. Oh, Phillip, don’t!” Those last words were a desperate wail.

  He relented, but she soon realized he had another, more delicious form of torture in store for her. He pressed a kiss to her stomach that sent quivering tickles of sensation rippling through her, fluttering quivers like the beating of butterflies’ wings. She shivered. His tongue touched her navel, then moved lower, and lower still, trailing soft, wet kisses down to the edge of her blonde curls.

  He paused, and she caught her breath, waiting in tense anticipation. When she felt his hand ease between her thighs, she thought he was going to touch her as he had in the carriage, but then he surprised her, sliding his other hand between her legs as well. The quivering suspense inside her grew stronger as he began pulling her legs apart.

  He eased his body between her legs, sliding his arms beneath her thighs. Shocked, she tensed, realizing in a vague sort of way what he was intending to do. She opened her eyes and lifted her head with a sound of protest.

  He paused, lifting his head to look at her. “It’s all right,” he told her. “Just relax for me.”

  Relax? Her legs were spread apart, her most intimate place exposed to him. It was unthinkable…It was…oh, God…it was wicked. She felt herself blushing from head to toe, and she shook her head. “I can’t, Phillip,” she moaned, letting her head fall back, too embarrassed to look at him. “I can’t.”

  “Maria, listen to me.” He turned his head and kissed the inside of her thigh. “I want this. I want it badly.”

  He slid his body down a notch, and she squeezed her legs against his shoulders with a moan. “Don’t. Oh, Phillip, don’t!” she moaned as she felt his hot breath against the top of her thigh.

  “I want to kiss you here,” he said, his lips brushing her curls. “Pleasure you here. Let me do this.”

  His voice was shaking as he spoke, and she wavered, in an agony of shame and desire. He nuzzled her, and she relented, relaxing her legs.

  His tongue touched the folds of her sex, and she cried out at the shocking carnality of it. Her fingers grasped fistfuls of the counterpane and her hips arched upward. His hands tightened, imprisoning her hips as his tongue caressed her sex, lightly at first, then deeper and deeper. The pleasure in her deepened as well, spreading through her body.

  Oh, that anything could feel like this. It was wicked and wanton. It was wonderful. That Phillip, whom she’d always thought so proper, should know of such things as this. It amazed her.

  The tension of being held prisoner was becoming unbearable, and she jerked her hips in protest. He relaxed his hands to let her body move, and the moment he did, that pleasure she’d felt before came again, surging through her body in thick, pulsing waves, again and again and again. She was whimpering—she could hear herself making the soft sobs she’d made before, sounds she knew now were sounds of release. Her hips lifted one more time and her body arched tightly against his mouth, the pleasure finally shattering in a shower of white-hot sparks. She collapsed, panting, shuddering, against the mattress. He continued to stroke her softly, gently, with his tongue, bringing her a few more lingering surges of that sweet pleasure, before he kissed her one last time.

  His body moved, sliding upward over hers with sudden urgency. She could feel his shaft, hard and engorged, rubbing the place he had kissed her moments before. His breathing against her ear was hot and fast. “Maria, I want to take you. I want to be inside you. Do you understand what that means?”

  “Yes,” she gasped, but when she felt the tip of his shaft pushing between the feminine folds he had stroked with his tongue, she felt a wave of something different. Panic.

  “Phillip?”

  He heard the apprehension in her questioning voice, and he paused, lifting his body above hers. “It’s time, love,” he murmured, nuzzling her throat, kissing her ear. “I’ve waited so long. I can’t wait any longer to have you.”

  He kissed her throat, pushing his shaft into her with a groan. “Yes, love, yes,” he murmured, pulling back, then easing deeper into her. “That’s it.”

  His voice was unsteady, excited, and she knew this was giving him the same pleasure he had given her. She wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him down, bringing him even more deeply into her, but with that move came something else—a sudden, searing burn, and she cried out.

  He turned his head, capturing the sound of her surprise and pain into his mouth. “It’ll be all right, my love,” he groaned, shifting his weight to cradle her in his arms as she shuddered with the unexpected sting he had evoked. He lifted his head and his cobalt-blue eyes looked into hers. “It’ll be all right, I swear, it will.”

  He lowered his head, nuzzling her throat again, and he began to move more forcefully. She held on to him, her palms flat against the powerful muscles of his back, as he pushed into her harder, faster.

  Beginning to understand this new rhythm, she moved her hips beneath him experimentally, thrusting up to meet him. He groaned again and quickened his pace even more, until his body was pressing hers into the mattress with each thrust, his weight driving the air from her lungs.

  Then, suddenly, a violent shudder rocked him, he let out a hoarse cry. He thrust against her one last time, then was still.

  Her arms tightened around him and an overpowering tenderness washed over her that was almost as wonderful as the pleasure he had given her. With one hand, she caressed his broad back, and with the other, she toyed with his hair as she felt the tension leave his body and lethargy take its place.

  He pressed a kiss to her mouth, then rolled to his side, taking her with him, cradling her in his arms. She rested her cheek in the dent of his shoulder, staring up at the ceiling.

  She had lost her innocence. She ought to feel shame, she supposed, if sermons and whispered cautions were anything to go by. Unless a woman was married, virginity was a sacred thing, treasured and preserved. A bit like dried flowers, she thought with a hint of amusement—musty, flat, and lifeless.

  But she did not feel like that at all. She felt fresh and alive. Joy bloomed inside her with all the vibrancy of spring. Virginity was all very well, Maria decided, but being a fallen woman was much more beautiful. Smiling, she closed her eyes, and within moments she was asleep.

  Chapter 16

  Man shall not live by bread alone.

  Matthew 4:4

  Maria felt him stir beside her, and when he rose from the bed, she opened her eyes. The lamp was still lit, but it was morning, for daylight filtered in between the edges of the draperies at her windows.

  She peeked over the counterpane to study him as he moved about the room gathering his clothes. In profile, she could see the defined, muscular contours of his body. It amazed her that he was so strong, and yet had touched her with such sweet tenderness.

  She watched as he bent to reach for his trousers, and renewed heat stole through her body at the sight of his sleek, bare bum. When he turned around, he caught her watching, but she still couldn’t resist a glance over the rest of his body. She stared for a moment, her blush deepened, and she raised her gaze at once, to find he was smiling at her.

  “Good morning,” he said, dropped the clothes, and started toward the bed.

  She bit her lip and looked away as he approached, feeling strangely shy, and yet happy. When he leaned over the bed, cupped her chin and turned her face to plant a kiss on her lips, her happiness deepened into a joy so
intense it was almost painful.

  “Good morning,” she answered and reached up to caress his cheek. It was roughened with beard stubble, like sandpaper against her fingers. How extraordinary a man was. “What time is it?”

  He turned his cheek to kiss her palm. “It’s after six.”

  “Six? Oh, lord.” She came out of her romantic daze at once and pushed aside the sheets. He straightened, stepping back to allow her to rise from the bed, but it was only after she had done so that she remembered she was naked. It was one thing to study him covertly as he moved unclothed about the room, but quite another to be the subject of his scrutiny. Still, it was too late to duck back under the covers, and besides, she had no time for prudery.

  She was still blushing as she crossed the room, for she could feel his observant gaze studying her back, but when he said, “My God, you’re beautiful,” her shyness vanished, and only her happiness remained.

  She smiled at him over her shoulder, then opened the armoire and pulled out undergarments, a skirt, and a shirtwaist for herself as he began to don his clothes. “I can’t believe I slept so late,” she said as she pulled a chemise over her head and reached for stockings and garters. “I am usually awake far earlier than this.”

  “And I am often just coming home,” he answered as he sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots.

  The clock in the corridor struck the quarter hour, and she gave a cry of vexation. “My apprentices have already arrived,” she muttered, buttoning her shirtwaist. “I can’t think why one of my maids didn’t come to fetch me already.”

  “One of them did.”

  She stopped, looking up from her buttons. “What?”

  “That’s what woke me. One of your maids came in. She saw me.” He paused, meeting her gaze. “She saw us.”

  Maria turned away, reaching for her petticoat and skirt, trying to think as she put them on. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose,” she finally said, knowing she couldn’t worry about what her staff might think just now. “I mean, I shall have to face her,” she added as she pulled on her boots, “and that will be embarrassing, to say the least, but—”

  “Maria, we have to talk.”

  She shook her head and began lacing her boots. “I have to finish dressing and go down. Heaven only knows what my apprentices have been concocting without me. And we’ve heaps of work today. There’s your charity luncheon to prepare for, for one thing.”

  “Yes, I know, but we must talk now.” He crossed to her side, and as she straightened, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Your servants will draw the logical conclusion. They will believe you are my mistress.”

  “Yes, I realize that.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “But there’s nothing to be done about that now.”

  “Yes, there is. You’ll marry me.”

  The happiness inside her at those words was a vastly different feeling from the emotions evoked by his first proposal, but when a door banged down below, and voices could be heard floating up the stairwell, she cast an anxious glance at the door. “Phillip, I have to go. Facing my servants is one thing, but the shop will open in just over an hour, and I have to go down. Your charity luncheon—”

  “Will you stop worrying about the luncheon?” He grabbed her hands and kissed them. “I’ll have Bouchard find whatever’s needed somewhere else.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t. I will not shirk my obligations.”

  “This particular obligation is to me, and I relieve you of it.” He entwined his fingers with hers, pulled her toward him, and kissed her.

  “I don’t like the idea that some other bakery is receiving even one bit of your business,” she grumbled, though she tilted her head to one side so he could kiss her neck.

  “My competitive darling,” he murmured, laughing against her skin. His hands let go of hers, and his arms slid around her waist. “But what does it matter? Before the season’s over, Bouchard shall be using the bakery he used before, or find a new one.”

  She stiffened in his arms. “Why can’t he continue to use mine?”

  Phillip drew back, a slight frown knitting his dark brows. “Because you won’t have it, of course.”

  Her blissful mood faded as an inescapable dread began to take its place. “What do you mean? Why won’t I have my shop?”

  He stared at her as if in astonishment. “Because you’ll be my wife. You’ll be a marchioness. You can’t keep the bakery.”

  “Can’t?” she repeated, bristling at the word. “So you shall dictate to me what I can and cannot do? If you become my husband, you become my master?”

  His frown deepened. “A marchioness does not engage in trade. Once we’re married, you’ll close the shop.”

  “But owning my own pâtisserie has been my dream, what I’ve been striving for these past twelve years. I’ve only been open three months. I can’t give up a dream of twelve years after only three months.”

  “But you’ll be my wife.”

  “Will I? I believe the last time you proposed, my answer was no. Yet, you now take it for granted that my answer is yes? You presume a great deal.”

  “You’re damned right I do. I’ve taken your virtue. I’ve bedded you. We have to marry now. Any other course of action is unthinkable.”

  He wanted her to close the shop. She felt a wave of panic. “But we hardly know each other!”

  “We’ve known each other since we were children.”

  “I know, but—” Frustrated, she broke off, trying to think of how to explain what she meant. “There has been no courtship between us, no time to become reacquainted.”

  “I know, and it is regrettable. I appreciate that a woman always desires to be courted, but we haven’t time for it.”

  “And what of my livelihood?”

  “Darling, once we are married, you’ll be a marchioness, with an allowance of a thousand pounds a month. You won’t need a livelihood.”

  “I’m not talking of what I need. My work is important, just as important as your shipping business, your estates—”

  “Nonsense. Being a marquess is an enormous responsibility. A bakery is—”

  He broke off, but it was too late.

  “A bakery is not important. That’s what you were about to say.” She didn’t wait for him to affirm or deny it before she spoke again. “I see no pressing need to give up my life and all I’ve worked for to go rushing into matrimony.”

  She tried to pull away from him, but he tightened his grip on her fingers. “But Maria, the need is pressing. You might be carrying a child. My child.”

  She went still. Heavens, she hadn’t even thought about a child. Her panic intensified, but she tried to force it down. “We don’t know if there will be a child,” she said, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “And if there is…” She swallowed hard, forcing the words out past the sick lurch of fear in her stomach. “I know that you will take care of us, even if…even if you and I do not marry.”

  He stared at her, and this time there was no need to guess what he was thinking. Disbelief, shock, and anger were plainly written on his face. “You were an innocent woman. Do you think that I would ruin you and not insist upon doing right by you? Do you think I would subject you to the shame of an illegitimate child? Do you think I would stand by and watch my child be born a bastard? God, Maria, do you think so little of me that you believe I would allow any of that to happen?”

  “And do you think so little of me that you do not consult me before making these decisions about my life and my future?” she shot back, growing angry herself, gripped by an unreasoning fear, a feeling of being trapped. “Once again, you are dictating to me what you think is best for me! You do not ask what life I want, you take it for granted that the life I want is the one you offer.”

  “And what else should I presume?” he countered. “What other options are there?”

  She struggled for an answer, struggled for a compromise. “Why can’t we simply be together for now,
and be content with that? There are ways…I have heard there are ways to prevent pregnancy. We could be lovers.”

  “What? A man of my position and a woman of yours cannot simply be lovers! You are either my wife or my mistress. Anything in between is not possible.”

  “Why not? Many couples are lovers who are not married.”

  “Not married to each other, I grant you. They are each married to someone else, which provides the veneer required to protect a woman’s reputation. If we became lovers, your reputation would suffer, just as it would if you were my mistress.”

  “No one has to find out.”

  “People always find out. Your servants know. By the end of the day, they’ll have told my servants. The society papers watch me tirelessly. How long do you think it will be before they discover that the pastry chef who lives next door, who makes the cakes for my parties, is also very pretty? How long before snide little snippets about you appear in the papers? I’m surprised it hasn’t been remarked on already.”

  His expression hardened. “No. We shall be married. There is nothing more to say.”

  “There is a great deal more to say!” she cried, rebelling against giving up everything she had worked so hard to attain, refusing to be forced into something just because he thought it best. “Once again, you feel this is all about you. Your desire. Your decision. Your honor.”

  “By offering you marriage, I believe it is your honor I am trying to save!”

  “You didn’t offer it. You demanded it. There is a difference.”

  “By suggesting that we be lovers, you are expecting me to abandon a lifetime of principles! You are expecting me to abandon my honor as a man and a gentleman.”

  “No, what I expect, what I demand, is that you treat me as an equal, with equal say in what happens to us.”

  He made a sound of impatience. “For God’s sake, are we back to that again?”