The melody he played turned urgent, matching the quick work of her fingers on his waistcoat buttons. This, too, she pulled down over his shirt sleeves, one side at a time. She could see the dark hair of his chest through the open collar of his shirt and even through the linen.
“What do you plan to do, Miss Thorne?” he asked as she ogled him shamelessly.
Pulling the tails of his shirt free, she lifted it, exposing his hard, lean build, inch by inch. “I am developing my appreciation for the human form. Your melody is inspiring me.”
Soon, his shirt was on the floor. She’d already given up folding every article of clothing. She was getting impatient and overheated. And at last her gaze touched him. He was no statue of marble but somehow looked harder, firmer. There were no soft lines chiseled into his form, yet his muscles moved with grace and ease. From his corded throat to his broad shoulders, and from the defined musculature of his arms and chest to the ridges of his stomach, he was perfect.
Twisting her arms behind her back, she unfastened the short row of buttons between her shoulder blades. She slipped her dress from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Having no maid of her own, she was used to such maneuvers, yet Lucan appeared transfixed by them.
His gaze roamed over her. “You are quite adept with your hands.”
It wasn’t true. She was nervous and her fingers had fumbled over the buttons. Being here in this room in the light of day, alone with him, and undressing them both was the most audacious thing she’d ever done in her life. But no amount of maidenly apprehension could stop her. She wanted him, she loved him, and she refused to go another day without him.
“I’m certain not nearly as clever as you are.” Even though she was thinking about his sleight of hand tricks, by his sudden rakish grin she realized she’d implied something else altogether. Frances imagined that she was correct about that too. She wanted to find out.
Her petticoat unbuttoned similarly, and she slipped it off as well. Encouraged by his hungry gaze, she ignored her trembling fingers and unfastened her short stays. Even in nothing more than her chemise, stockings, and shoes, she still felt far too hot.
Lucan continued to play, every note a caress. Desire rippled through her, tightening her own flesh. Her nipples rasped against the damp cotton of her chemise. Lucan’s eyes lingered there, and he swallowed as if he could taste her. Moving one hand off the keys, he pulled her over to stand in front of him, between his thighs. At the same time, he slipped one strap down her shoulder. The blue ribbon border of her chemise clung to the taut crest of her dusky nipple. Then he leaned forward, pulled it down with his teeth, and devoured her breast.
His music covered the gasp of her pleasure. She clutched his head, threading her fingers through his dark silken hair. Sliding down the other strap, she offered herself to him. He feasted. His hot, ravenous response revealed that he was just as eager as she was. The music was all around her now, inside of her. Her pulse was the stroke of each key. His mouth was the melody.
On a growl, he stood, pushing the bench behind him and lifting her to the piano top in one motion. Parting her legs, she pulled him closer. Her hips were just above his waist, and it gave her the perfect access to kiss him. Still holding onto him, she indulged in his mouth, delving deep with her tongue, tasting the dark, exotic flavor of him, drinking him in.
“One of us must play. And I’m afraid my hands are otherwise engaged,” he said, lifting her knees to remove her slippers. Then he placed her stockinged feet on the keys. Hers was not music at all, but more of a clash of notes.
Again, he proved his skill by playing a beautiful symphony over her flesh, making her writhe. He kissed her throat and laved her breasts. And with a gentle shove, he urged her to lie back. The ebony piano top felt cool against her skin. But in the next instant, she felt Lucan’s kiss on her stomach. His lips brushed over her flesh, followed by his tongue. He was greedy, touching her everywhere, tasting her, stroking every part of her. His urgency aroused her, making her tremble with need. She ached with it. How had she been able to live without experiencing the force of his passion and her own for so long?
The springy hair of his chest brushed against her bare thighs. He traced her nipples in feather-light touches that made her arch against his fingers, begging for his caress. She covered his hands, pressing his palms to the pale swells of her breasts. He nipped her stomach with his teeth as his hands kneaded her flesh. Then his kisses roamed lower. His hands drifted too, leaving no part of her without his touch. He stroked her hips, her thighs, and the sensitive flesh behind her knees, teaching her about pleasure, making her feet restless on the keys. He nudged her legs wider.
Frances watched his kisses drift downward. She could feel his hot breath against her sex. Then his mouth claimed that part of her in a hard, heated kiss. Her hips arched off the piano. Her feet pressed down on the keys with a discordant crash, but it was the sound of ecstasy to her. His tongue rasped against her flesh, slipping through the swollen seam of her sex. He murmured unintelligible hungry sounds that made her tremble all over. She was lost to pleasure. Sunlight poured in through the windows, bathing her. She felt the heat of it inside as well, pulsing low and fast, matching the flicks of his tongue, eliciting an insistent throbbing pulse. At seven and twenty, she’d explored her own body a time or two. Curiosity had gotten the better of her. But it had never felt like this. Her own ministrations had left her unfulfilled and frustrated, eager for something more.
“Yes. More,” she groaned, lifting her hips higher. She knew he would understand—that he was everything she’d ever wanted.
He growled in response, sliding a finger deep inside where she was wet and ready. She felt her body clench around him and then the vibration of his next growl against her sex. Ripples of pleasure expanded and multiplied, like a stone skipping across the surface of a lake. The ripples grew stronger, turning into waves, washing all the way through to her fingertips and toes. And then he drew on that bud of flesh, suckling, his tongue flicking once more—
She cried out, arching higher, seeking . . . and suddenly ecstasy rushed over her. The sound of her climax was still echoing in the room when Lucan lifted her to him. Holding her, he lowered her onto the bench so that she straddled him. She could feel him shaking, even through her own residual tremors. Meeting his gaze, she saw nothing remaining of his carefully guarded self. Instead, she saw a hunger so intense that it sent a wanton thrill through her.
“Do you have any hesitation at all?” he rasped, his hand poised between them.
She shook her head, certain. “We are beyond that.”
He ripped open the fall of his breeches. His thick flesh jutted forward, standing tall and solid like a sentinel. Adjusting her spectacles, she barely had time to admire this part of him before he lifted her hips and positioned himself at the damp entrance of her body.
“Now is not the time for study.” In other words, there would be time later. This was only the beginning.
Slowly, he filled her, inch by inch. At her age, she needn’t worry about a barrier guarding her virginity. Still, her flesh burned where her body stretched to accommodate his girth. She held on to his shoulders. Her face close to his, their open mouths shared breaths. They were sharing everything now. She never knew this was what she’d been missing all along. Yet even so, she knew that making love wouldn’t be this powerful with anyone else.
He closed his eyes, his face tight with near anguish. “The way you feel . . . killing me.”
She resisted the urge to smile but pressed her lips to his. He guided her hips down the length of his shaft and then up again. Each time, her wetness coated him, making her movements easier. And soon she was moving of her own accord.
“Frances. Frances. Frances,” he crooned against her lips in a way that was more potent than any I love you she’d ever heard.
She rode him slowly, sliding down to the hilt. There, she stopped on a gasp as a spasm of pleasure jolted her. She hadn’t been expecting that. B
eneath her, he moved his hips, thrusting, eliciting another spasm. Her body clutched his. He urged her faster, lifting her, tilting her hips forward so that she rubbed against him. Again, pleasure spiraled through her, coiling, tightening. She was close already. Overcome with sensation, and fearing that she would give them away, she pressed her mouth to his. Instantly, she came apart. A low keening moan escaped her as her body clenched. Lucan kissed her in return, pulling her down hard, thrusting deep, burying himself inside of her. He groaned too, his body quaking as he found his release.
Mouths open, they gasped for breath. Against the short hairs of his chest, her nipples ached. She felt sore and tight all over but still never wanted to separate from him.
Frances dropped her head to his shoulder and nuzzled his neck, pressing her lips to him and tasting the salt of his perspiration. “You don’t think anyone suspects what we’ve been doing in here, do you?”
Lucan pressed a kiss to her head, her neck, and her bare shoulder. She could feel his flesh still pulsing inside of her. He stroked her back with one hand and touched the piano keys with the other. “I’m certain they imagined that your delectable sounds were caused by your strenuous efforts to open the door.”
She shifted on his lap. “But they couldn’t possibly have heard me.”
His flesh twitched, and he grinned. “Of course not.”
“You shouldn’t tease me so,” she said, trying to sound cross, but it was impossible. She loved him too much. “Besides, what about you and the way you said my name over and over again?”
“I’m afraid I have to give you the blame for that as well. You forced me to abandon the last shreds of my control after all.”
She saw the truth in his gaze and felt as if she were glowing from the force of her smile. “Then, you’re finished resisting me?”
“I don’t suppose now is the time for any declar—”
“No. Don’t.” She covered his mouth with her hand. “I did not come here expecting any declaration. I know that winning your wager is important to you. And because you are important to me, I want you to win. It is just that I couldn’t imagine not being with you, like this.”
He gently lowered her hand and kissed her fingertips. “But, Frances, you must realize that—”
He was interrupted this time by the unexpected barking of RJ down the hall.
“They have returned.” His hissed an oath under his breath. In an instant, he reached back into the pile of discarded clothes and found a handkerchief. As she lifted away from him, she winced. He carefully but efficiently cleansed her sex and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “We will speak more later.”
“Yes,” she promised, believing they would come to a satisfying arrangement. She stood. Already she felt empty without him. Yet they needed to dress—and with haste.
In no time, Lucan was fully clad and assisting her with her buttons before helping to replace the pins she’d lost. Then, just as they heard voices in the hall, Frances placed the brooch in her fichu.
“I don’t look like we’ve just engaged in wild, amorous congress, do I?”
Lucan poured her a glass of lemonade. “Perhaps you should drink this to cool your cheeks. I’ll open the windows.”
“Very good. I’ll get the door.” She sipped as she crossed the room and quietly turned the key. When she opened the door and rushed back to her seat, but the door slammed shut with the force of the breeze coming in through the window.
She couldn’t help but laugh.
Lucan resumed playing the piano as she crossed the room once more. This time when she opened the door, their friends were standing on the other side.
“I’ve been having a terrible time keeping this door from slamming shut,” she explained, feeling another rush of heat to her cheeks. “With the windows open, I might need to put a chair in front of it.”
Everhart, Calliope, Danvers, and Hedley all looked at her with speculative grins. But as they walked inside, another gust of wind blew the door shut. Frances looked up and offered an unspoken thank-you to the heavens.
Lucan was at odds with himself. He couldn’t repress his joy. He felt victorious and at the same time completely at peace, even though he’d lost complete control. Making love to Frances had been an experience like no other. He felt changed, in a way that he’d never imagined. Everything seemed clearer, brighter. The shadows he carried with him had receded for the first time.
Yet he’d just lost the wager.
Frances might not think so, but he would correct her later. They would be married, and soon. His mind turned with all he must do. First, he would need to free Thorne from Fleet and then remove him from the country so that he was out of Whitelock’s reach.
Lucan would come up with a plan and enlist the help of his friends. Pride had kept him from sharing part of his life with them. Pride and fear. He’d been afraid of their rejection all this time, believing that if they knew how dark his life had begun, they would no longer welcome him as a friend. Yet if a person as remarkable as Frances could see past all of that, he suddenly felt confident that they would as well.
When they entered the music room, he tried to keep his gaze on the piano keys because, surely, if anyone saw him look at Frances, they would discover a stranger residing in his skin. Then soon enough, they would know the reason.
“It was such a warm afternoon that we decided not to go the market after calling on the neighbors,” Calliope said, easing down onto a chair nearest the windows. “Had I known you were dropping by, Frances, I would have stayed here.”
“My visit was of an unexpected nature.” Frances glanced at Lucan as she took another sip.
Hedley looked from Frances to Lucan and slowly grinned. “I’m delighted that Lucan was here to entertain you.”
Frances sputtered, coughing on lemonade. Lucan stood immediately and stepped out from behind the piano. Apparently seeing him out of the corner of her eye, she gave him a hard look.
“It is fine. I’m not choking on another seed this time,” she rasped, attempting a charade for his friends to cover his instinctive response. Apparently, she thought she was saving him.
Everhart cleared his throat. Danvers looked entirely too smug. Calliope and Hedley both beamed. His friends knew he’d lost the wager. Perhaps not what had occurred moments before they arrived, but his intentions toward Frances were impossible to hide.
Yet Frances—as clever as she was—did not seem to realize how different he was with her than with anyone else.
He silently laughed at himself and shook his head. What a fool he’d been all this time to think that the wager would never apply to him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Frances returned to Whitelock Manor, against Lucan’s wishes. But when Whitelock’s driver had arrived at Fallow Hall, she was almost relieved to depart. Trying to pretend that she wasn’t bursting with love and happiness in front of their friends had been next to impossible. All she’d wanted to do was wrap her arms around Lucan and stay close to him. Forever.
She’d left with the promise that they would talk about their plans later that evening. Yet the moment the carriage separated her from him, she realized something important—what she had with Lucan was honest and true. And perhaps he knew her better than she knew herself. She wanted more than an arrangement with him. She wanted a life.
Now standing in the main hall at Whitelock Manor, she stared at the painted clouds on the domed ceiling. They resembled the ones that she’d seen from the music room window earlier.
“Miss Thorne, if you have a moment,” Viscount Whitelock said, catching her lost in a daydream.
She instantly sobered. “Yes, my lord?”
“Take a walk with me to my study,” he said, gesturing with his open hand toward the hall. “There is a matter I should like to discuss.”
Frances felt a jolt of uncertainty when she noted that Lord Whitelock’s expression bore displeasure. With her goal of freeing her father from Fleet only weeks away, she couldn’t bear to lose he
r post. “I hope I am performing to your satisfaction, my lord.”
With his study just down the hall, they were inside before he answered.
“I could not hope for better,” he said, closing the door behind them. “However, it has come to my attention that you have been seen in the company of Lucan Montwood. Since you are under my care, it falls to me to offer a kind warning.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks before she took a moment to realize that Whitelock couldn’t have known the intimate details of this afternoon. And it was unlikely anyone could have seen her with Lucan in the shadowed corner of the gallery each night. Therefore, it had to have been when they were on horseback together. Since there didn’t appear to be any fondness between the two gentlemen, and one of them paid her salary, she tread carefully while still respecting her own privacy.
“I appreciate your concern, my lord.”
As expected, the viscount approved of her words. “Have you formed an attachment? I only ask because he has no income other than gambling. I’m not sure if you are aware, but gambling debts are considered debts of honor. Left unpaid, and a gentleman can be cast out of society, even out of his own family, and without means.”
Just as Roger Quinlin had fled London after purchasing a commission in order to escape his debts, which his father had paid for him. Yet this had nothing to do with Lucan. “Yes, I understand, but I cannot see how this relates to—”
“Montwood has such a debt,” Whitelock interrupted. “In fact, I’ve learned that he intends to fleece his own friends with a wager.”
She smiled. “That wager was nothing more than a lark.”
“I’d hardly call ten thousand pounds a lark.”
Ten thousand pounds? Her mouth opened on a gasp. They’d never mentioned that amount when they’d spoken of the wager. But this was absurd. She didn’t believe it. For her, that would be equal to ten thousand weeks of labor. Her head was spinning. “A wager for that amount is unheard of, I’m sure.”
The Maddening Lord Montwood: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series Page 20
