by Lavinia Kent
“I can too. Or, at least, I could. I daresay it’s been at least a dozen years since I tried.”
“I beat you there. I was out a week ago with my nephew.”
“So you have a nephew.”
And two nieces, but that he did not say. “Yes. Now it is your turn to tell me something.” The risk might be worth it to learn about her.
“I fell in love with my husband when I was four, but you probably do not want to hear about that.” He could feel her withdraw.
He should not want to know, and yet he did. “No, tell me.”
“I had gotten a kitten for my birthday. My mother did not approve of pets, but I had begged for one for months. I do not remember that part, but she never did cease telling me about how much she sacrificed for me. She claimed it made her sneeze, although I never saw her so much as sniffle.”
“Go on.”
“Well, my kitten—I called her Mittens—had gotten up a tree. I sat at the bottom in tears. I was frightened to tell my mother because she would have taken it as an excuse to get rid of Mittens. And my father … well, I never bothered my father. I was so scared I’d never get Mittens down. I can still remember that feeling of absolute terror as I huddled at the bottom of the tree. I was too scared to even cry. And then John appeared. He must only have been about eight, but he seemed so large and capable to me, a real knight in shining armor. He was up the tree in about a minute.”
“And so you loved him for rescuing your kitten.” He could have done the same if he’d been there.
“Yes, but it was more than that.” She rolled nearer on the bed, the mattress sinking beneath her. “You see, Mittens was not at all sure she wanted to come down, and she did have some very sharp claws—and teeth. Poor John looked like he’d been rolling in the briar patch by the time he got her down. And to make it worse, while Mother might have pretended to sneeze, John’s nose began to run, his eyes puffed up, tears streaming down, and by the time he got to the base of the tree he could hardly breathe. And he never once complained. He never said anything against Mittens. He just did what was needed. When he was down he handed me my kitten, kissed my tearstained cheek, and left. I am not sure he even said a word.”
Now that was hard to compete with, although he’d certainly never been known as a complainer.
Grace’s small hand came to rest upon his chest as if feeling for the beat of his heart. “It’s your turn again. Tell me about your first love.”
Had he even had one? It would certainly not add to her fantasies if he said that he hadn’t. “My true first love stood sixteen hands and had deep bay hair. He could run like the wind and jump any obstacle set before him. He broke my arm once, but never my heart.”
“Your first love was a horse?”
“I imagine many boys are the same. Girls were silly, but Foxtail was magnificent. He was my father’s favorite hunter. I would sneak down to the stables with my pockets full of carrots and sit in his stall until dinner. I don’t think anybody cared that I was there or worried what I was doing, but I always acted with utmost secrecy. Some of my best moments were spent in the stables.”
“I have a secret about the stables, too.” Her fingers beat a light tattoo upon his chest. “I cannot sing. And I mean I really cannot sing. Even the footmen cringed when I tried, and it took a lot to make my mother’s footmen show any sign of emotion. The problem is that I love music and love to try my hand at a tune. When I was a child it was the only thing that ever made my mother scream; usually she just spoke in a tone that let me or my brother know we had done something very, very wrong.”
“And what does this have to do with stables?”
“In the later years of my marriage, when I was left alone, I would sneak down to the stables at night and sing to the horses. They never seemed to mind, although I confess I often brought a couple of ripe apples with me. I am sure some of the groom’s boys knew what I did but they never said anything. I felt so free when I was there.”
Her head joined her hand upon his chest. Normally he hated these moments, saw them as false caring, but this felt quite right. He wrapped his arm about her.
“I’ve never felt free, or ever wanted to,” he replied. “It must sound odd, but my family could be too free, and so all I wanted was order, order and reason. I was probably the only boy who fled to the schoolroom instead of away from it. When I was sent to Eton it felt like being sent to heaven—all those rules and regulations. I knew what I should do and what would happen if I did not. It was wonderful.”
“That was not how my brother described it.” She snuggled even closer, all soft and warm and sweet.
“Your brother went to Eton? When?”
He felt the intake of her breath. Her body pulled away slightly. “No. I didn’t say that. I just meant that he went away to school and most definitely did not find it wonderful.”
He wasn’t sure if he believed her or not, but he was certainly not going to speak in challenge. “Can I ask you something?’ he said, changing the subject. “I fear you may find it a bit embarrassing, but I probably should have spoken before.”
“You can ask me anything,” she answered. “Although I do not promise to answer.”
“Did you talk to Ruby about pregnancy? I would not wish to leave you with child. I should have asked earlier, but I confess you rather distracted me from practical thought. I should probably have asked her myself.”
She turned her face into his chest. Was it possible to feel a blush?
“I’ve just finished my menses, only a day ago. Madame Rouge said this was a safe time, though nothing is ever guaranteed. I did ask. I would not wish to seek a new husband with a babe already in my belly. It would be most dishonest.”
His gut curled at the thought of her finding a husband. He figured it must be because at this moment she was his and his alone. He’d never seen the attraction of virgins, but he had to admit that it filled him with warmth to know he was Grace’s only lover. “Yes, no man would take well to being fooled in such a manner.”
“Madame did say that I could come to her for help if I found myself in such a situation. I would confess I am not sure how she could help me. I can’t imagine she has the contacts to send me away until after the birth.”
Grace would probably be surprised by what contacts Ruby did have, he knew, although he was not sure that was the type of help Ruby had meant. He doubted that many of Ruby’s girls who found they had a bun in the oven ever carried the child to term. But his Grace did not need to know about that. “She was only trying to be helpful.”
“I am sure you are right. She is not at all what I expected a madam to be like.”
“Ruby is always full of surprises and secrets. And I should tell you that should you find yourself in such a situation, send me a note through Ruby. I certainly do have the connections that you would need.”
Grace did not reply, but settled against him, her whole body growing limp—unlike his.
Lying abed with a naked woman cocooned against him was not proving restful.
“Can I tell you something strange?”
He wondered what there was left to say. “Of course.”
“I feel like you are seeing more of me, knowing more of me, than any man ever has—even John. Isn’t that odd, when we’ve worn masks the whole night?”
“Well, I have seen rather a lot of you this night.”
“I don’t mean my body. Be serious.”
Now that sounded like a woman—always wanting a man to be serious. But deep in his heart he did know what she meant. He’d told her more than he’d ever told anyone else, even his own family.
And he wasn’t altogether comfortable with that thought.
Chapter Nine
He hadn’t moved an inch, but Louisa could feel him pull back. What had she said? Or done? She’d been told little enough about sex over the years and nothing about what happened afterward. And yet, their talk had seemed so natural, so easy.
Why had he pulled away?
Although that part of him straining against her hip did not seem tired at all. It sometimes jerked with a life of its own. She turned on her side so that it was cradled at the juncture of her thighs.
He did not respond.
Could he be tired of her? She had heard that men grew tired of a woman quickly once the deed was done.
She shifted her head back to her own pillow. He did not stop her.
Their bodies still lay pressed together, but a distinct distance had grown between them.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
It was odd how different darks could be. The blindfold. The dark of the room. The darkness of a closed eye. Each had its own texture. She almost commented upon it, but clearly he was not interested.
How could everything turn about in the fraction of second?
She refused to let it. This was her wedding night and she planned to make the most of it.
She placed her hand back upon his chest, felt the heartbeat beneath his skin, speeding along.
He was not as bored with her as he might pretend.
Her fingers trailed down his body, enjoying the feel of hard muscle and smooth skin. He had a scar just above one hip. She traced it with her fingers, outlining the raised ridge.
“The same riding accident in which I broke my arm. I was fourteen and did not have permission to be riding Foxtail,” his voice spoke in the dark.
“Was your father angry?”
A long sigh. “I would have been happier if he was. No, he told me not to do it again, but that he was proud I’d showed some spirit. He took it as a sign that I was not completely dull.”
“I cannot imagine anyone thinking you dull.”
“You should talk to my family.”
“I’d like to.”
She felt him pull away again. Clearly, her words were allowed to cross only so many boundaries, so she’d let her fingers trespass instead. They ran down his hip, circling forward. His hair was coarser than her own, more springy. Grabbing a few strands, she tugged lightly, then enjoyed his playful swat at her hand.
“I think it’s my turn to call the shots,” she said, laughing, glad that the moment of dark had been swept away.
“And what do you think ‘calling the shots’ means, my sweet?”
“It definitely involves that tasting we keep speaking of, but never getting to, and perhaps some …” She drew a blank, could not think of a single thing. What else did one do as part of bed play? “Perhaps some kissing. I’ve become rather fond of kissing.”
“Does kissing come before or after tasting?”
Which would be better? “I think both.” She raised herself on her elbows, moving up his body until she neared his face. Lifting a hand, she brushed a thumb through the air and found his cheek, and then his lips. She teased across the lower one, pulling it down slightly. His lips were thinner than hers, less full, but still soft.
Charles placed a kiss upon her thumb, sucking on it lightly.
The low throb began again, deep in her belly.
Lifting herself farther, she brought her face closer to his, but the angle was awkward. With sudden inspiration, she sat up and then swung a leg across his chest, straddling him like a man did a horse.
“Taking up riding, are we?” he asked, and she could feel his smile beneath her thumb.
“I was just thinking you were like a horse.”
“Far better than a sheep.”
“You are not going to let me forget that, not ever, are you?”
“Not tonight.”
And tonight was all the “ever” they had. “Then I will have to punish you for not acting like a gentleman.”
“Punish me?” The growl was back in his voice.
She shifted her hips back along his torso and felt him, his cock pressing against the cleft in her behind. “You would like to be punished, would you?”
“Normally, I prefer to do the punishing, but tonight I am yours.”
Moving her hips even farther back, she sat up straight, removing her hands from his face. “And how do you normally punish?”
“I’ve always been in favor of a good spanking. It does let one know who is in charge.”
She considered—and rejected. “No.”
“A crop? A slight thrashing?”
That did not sound fun at all. “I don’t have one and even if I did, I do not see the appeal.”
“You might be surprised.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so. Next.”
“You could tie me to the bed.”
That had possibilities, but … “No, I think I would want to see you then.”
“You are a most demanding customer.”
“My friends have always told me I am most undemanding. I imagine the same is not said about you.”
“No, it is not.”
“Aah, I know what. I will punish you by not allowing you to say no to me. For the rest of the night you must do as I say. No more making me wait. No more not letting me move.”
“That truly will be a punishment. And if I do not comply?”
“Then I may just spank you—and I will not be gentle.”
Did his cock jerk at her words? It was hard to be sure, positioned as she was, but she rather thought it had. “Now, I want you to stay still while I kiss you properly. Kissing is one thing I do know how to do.”
“You’ve kissed a lot of men, have you?”
“No, only John—not counting my father and brother—but when we were young we did practice quite a bit.”
“Not later on?”
“Marriage is for other things.”
He did not answer, and she wondered what he was thinking. She did not like not knowing.
“I think you should put your hands on my breasts. I did rather enjoy it and it will put me in the mood for kissing.”
“Your wish is my command.” His arms reached out and found her waist, worked their way up to the lower curves of her breasts. “Is this what you want?”
“It is rather nice, but I liked it better when you played with my nipples, pulled at them.”
“And do I get to taste them? I like the feel of them in my mouth. Suckling you brought me great pleasure.”
And her as well, but … “No, I cannot kiss you if you have my nipple in your mouth, and I do rather desperately want to kiss you. Can you keep your hands on my breasts while we do that? It does seem like it should be possible.”
“I do believe it can be managed. Now, are you going to keep talking or are you going to kiss me?”
“I don’t believe you are allowed to question me. You are being punished.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And that reply I think deserves a kiss.” She leaned forward, feeling her way up his chest, while his hands continued to work their magic. It felt so good.
With one hand she found his chin, slightly pointed and scratchy with beard growth. She ran a nail across it, enjoying the rasp.
And then she kissed him. A child’s kiss, a mere brush of dry lips against dry lips.
“You call that a kiss?” He spoke the words against her mouth.
“I am doing this how I want. Now be quiet or I’ll stop.”
“That is a threat.”
She kissed him again, a little more firmly, with a little more passion.
She pretended to herself that she could feel only with her lips, and used them to taste and explore, experiencing every nuance of his mouth. The arched bow of the upper lip. The sweet fullness of the lower. Her tongue slipped out, eager to join the exploration. She traced the seam of his lips, but did not seek entrance; instead she dallied, enjoying him—and herself.
He moaned beneath her, the sound slipping from his mouth to hers.
Delectable. She’d never thought of a man as such, but no other word could describe the feeling of his lips beneath hers.
She wiggled her hips a little and enjoyed the feeling of him squirming beneath her. He ha
d made her beg with need. Now it was his turn.
For the first time she let her tongue slip between the opening of his lips, not far, but enough to taunt. She brushed along the slickness of his teeth, swept her tongue over the tender skin beneath lip and gum. She did not pass the barrier of his teeth.
She simply savored.
He moved beneath her, insistent, but she refused to be rushed.
She bit at his upper lip, catching it between her teeth and pulling.
Oh, he liked that. He most definitely did.
She repeated the action, then laved at the wound.
His breath grew uneven.
His hands gripped her, trying to pull her closer to him.
She moved back, sitting up straight again. “Stop that or I won’t let you keep them on my breasts no matter how much I enjoy it. Do you want me to make you keep them over your head?”
“And how would you manage that?”
“I imagine words would be enough—or should I tie you? I do have the blindfold on my wrist.” She could not imagine that it would be enough to hold him, but still it was a good threat. Besides, she could not even imagine who would tie someone to a bed, although it was an interesting image. And would she rather tie or be tied?
“I’ll be good,” he said with a sigh. “You learn too fast.”
She was almost sorry. Her imagination had been painting such a pretty picture.
Leaning forward, she gave him one gentle kiss and then one slightly deeper.
Her tongue slipped forward, began its exploration, and then thrust deep.
The kiss grew serious, challenging.
His tongue rose to meet hers, danced with hers—and tried to take over.
She refused. This was her moment.
She slipped back, then parried forth, letting him know she would not be defeated.
He refused to concede.
Mouths dueled. His hands grew more urgent upon her breasts.
Melting desire began to pool between her legs, but she would not give in—not to him, not to herself.
The kiss went on and on. Her hands rose, tangling in his hair, wanting him closer, wanting to—
Suddenly, her fingers felt a ridge, just within his hairline above his left ear. It was a large raised area, not wide but easily the length of her forefinger.
