by Lyn Stone
Bedrooms?
Neville almost stopped her when she flung open a door and pulled him in behind her. She released his hand, left him standing there and hurried to light a lamp. This was obviously her bedchamber, done up in soft yellow and white, a woman’s retreat with her own light lavender scent pervading, pillows and silk gracing every surface. “What…are we doing here?”
“I would never buy a hat without trying it on,” she declared, tossing off her shawl. She turned her back to him. “Undo me,” she ordered. “And make no mistake, this is not the beginning of an ongoing assignation. I will be no man’s mistress. Are we understood? This is one night, one time, only to see if you suit. After this, we either marry or we go our separate ways. Agreed?”
He fumbled with the buttons down the back of her bodice. “As you will.” Neville stifled a laugh. It was hardly funny, but he could scarcely believe what was happening. Wasn’t this precisely what he wanted?
He did want her, more than his next breath, but he disliked the way she seemed to be lording it over him, as if this were some sort of test to see whether he could come up to scratch!
“There are to be rules for this particular episode,” she announced without the slightest tremor in her voice.
“More rules?” The little termagant! Neville worked the fifth button, silently cursing his sudden clumsiness.
“First of all, it must be brief. The servants will only be out for the next hour or so. We should be downstairs in the parlor by that time. Or you should be gone.” She paused. “One other thing…”
He took a deep breath to calm his rising temper. “And that would be…?”
“Do whatever you must to prevent conception in the event this does not work out. I assume you have the proper knowledge of how to do that?” Now he heard a tremor in her voice.
So she did not want consequences of this lone episode. Well, neither did he. At least not now. “Of course,” he muttered, rapidly forming second thoughts about this little jumped-up adventure. If she got with child, the betrothal would be cut short, his deception discovered too soon, well before he had convinced her that it didn’t matter.
Preventing a pregnancy had not occurred to him until she had mentioned it. He always had it in mind during any encounter of this nature. Why hadn’t he thought of it now, before she had? Odd.
He popped the last button free and she dragged the gown off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
She stepped out of the pool of muslin and turned around. “Now you.”
Neville quickly unbuttoned and shrugged out of his waist-length coat, then reached for his cravat. As he dispensed with that, she untied the bands of her small boned corset and unwrapped it, freeing her breasts from their lifted confinement.
Breath caught in his throat at the sight of her wearing only a loose silken chemise and long, lace-edged pantalets. Both were nearly transparent.
“Well?” she asked, raking his clothing with an impatient gaze. “We haven’t much time.”
He sat down on her vanity stool and removed his boots and stockings, then stood and unbuttoned the flap of his trousers. All the while, he watched her watch him.
He knew she had seen a man undress before, of course. She had been married for years. But she had not seen him undress. And this was not his usual hurried, laughing prelude to a quick tumble where both involved were excited and eager to get on with it.
She was being rather cold-blooded about the whole thing. Premeditated. Businesslike. Perhaps angry with him for his earlier rejection of her proposal. Or angry with herself for wanting him in spite of it. He should either take charge of matters immediately or get the hell out of her bedroom and her house.
He stood in only his thigh-length shirt now and she in her drawers and shift. Neville had had enough of her high-handedness.
“Your shoes,” he said, trying his best to look and sound seductive. He felt like turning her over his knee and spanking her precocious bottom until she squealed for mercy. Instead he indicated the velvet cushioned stool he had just vacated.
She sat. Before she could lean forward to remove anything, he knelt before her and reached for her foot. “Allow me,” he growled and added a wicked half smile, looking up at her, letting her see the heat she generated in him.
He untied the silk ribands around her ankle and slipped off her shoe, cupping her stockinged foot in his palm, massaging it gently. “Such small, pretty feet,” he said, holding her gaze as he slid his hand over her ankle and halfway up her calf.
She sighed, her command slipping.
He lowered that foot to rest on his thigh and took up the other. This time, he let both his hands travel above her knees to her garters. After a bit of tickling exploration, he untied the bands simultaneously. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he rolled her stockings down and off her feet.
“Stand up, love,” he whispered. When she complied, he remained kneeling before her, snaked his hands beneath her shift to her waist and untied the drawstring of her pantalets. “So fashionable,” he said with a suggestive grin. “So naughty, these things.” He let them drop and grasped the lacy fringe of her shift as he rose, slowly lifting it as he stood. She raised her arms and he pulled it over her head. He tossed it, watching it drift to the floor like a handful of down.
Satisfied he had gained control of the situation, he looked down at her upturned face, a study in surrender. Or so he thought.
Arousal flared like a flame to dry tinder when he felt her nails lightly score the sides of his hips as she raised the tail of his shirt, gathering it up. Eager enough now, he took over, tearing the thing over his head and tossing it aside. When he would have embraced her, she backed away.
Neville might have snapped at that if he had not seen her expression. Her mouth was a round little O of surprise and her eyes were wide. “What’s the matter?” he asked, trying for gentle but sounding a bit gruff with frustration.
“You…you’re so…different,” she gasped, reached forward as if to touch his member, then drew back her hand.
He almost laughed. “I should hope so!”
She made another timid gesture. “It…it stands up.”
“A salute to your beauty,” he said with no little pride. “You are a beautiful woman, Miranda. So lush, so desirable and—”
“It won’t do,” she said, and pretty firmly at that. Her head shook side to side, somewhat sadly it seemed. “I’m so sorry, but it just will not do.”
Neville issued a gust of disbelief and threw up his hands. He looked down at himself. “What do you mean, it won’t do! Of course it will do, Miranda. In fact, it does very well!”
“Not for me,” she declared, turning away and grabbing up her chemise from the floor.
“Wait a moment,” he said, snatching the garment from her and holding it to his chest to keep it from her. With his other hand, he took one of hers. “Have you changed your mind or are you afraid of me?”
“Not you,” she insisted. Her look was pointed. “Just that.”
“Oh.” Her husband had been an old man, probably not too virile, and a rather small person, only just larger in stature than Miranda herself. Neville realized that it was his size that appeared threatening to her. “Suppose we calm your fears.”
“How?” she asked, perplexed.
“Come lie down,” he suggested in his most cajoling tone.
“Not for all the tea in China,” she muttered, shaking her head, still eyeing his body as if it belonged to the devil.
Neville laughed. He just couldn’t help it. “Ah, Miranda.”
“There’s nothing humorous about this in the least, Neville! What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” he told her, swiping a hand over his face to sober his expression. “Really, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not grotesquely grown, only a man with the usual apparatus. Ludmore was hampered by age and a small build, that’s all.”
She bristled, braced her hands on her hips and stuck out that stubborn lit
tle chin. “Do not dare speak that way of Ludmore! He was a wonderful man and an excellent husband in every way! Not hampered! Perhaps he was not my choice when we married, but I loved him!”
Neville gritted his teeth and cursed the misstep. He felt damned ridiculous, standing in the middle of the room stark naked, arguing about the size of his and another man’s endowments. “You’re right, of course,” he said, attempting to cool her temper.
This was no way to seduce a woman. If indeed, the woman could be seduced. He had never had a problem like this before. Ever.
“You know what the problem is?” he asked her. When she offered a curious frown, he answered. “We talk too much.”
“I know,” she said in a small voice. “You should put on your clothes and go home.”
Chapter Five
Miranda feared he wouldn’t comply. And she feared that he would. Wouldn’t it be better to dismiss him and begin her search again with a more suitable candidate? How could she still want him so fiercely when she knew they would not match physically and it would be painful in the extreme?
He had made no move to dress himself. He simply stood there holding her chemise and smiling at her as if he knew worlds more about life and lovemaking than she. Perhaps he did. “You aren’t leaving?” she asked barely above a whisper.
“If you really want that, I will. But if you let me stay, I promise you won’t have a single regret.”
She assessed him again. All of him.
“Touch me,” he suggested, reaching out to trail one finger around her left breast. “Once you become familiar enough, I think it will banish your fear.”
“I’m not afraid,” she lied. And saw that he knew it for a lie.
He took her hand and led her to the bed. He lifted her onto the mattress and joined her there. He lay on his side, head propped on his hand looking down at her as she lay rigidly on her back. “Relax. Unless you want to, we’re not going to do anything but touch.”
And touch he did, lightly at first with only his fingertips. He began at her brow, brushing away the curls that had escaped the hairpins. She closed her eyes as he trailed down her cheek and chin to her neck and found an unusually sensitive spot she hadn’t known existed.
Then he opened his hand and caressed her shoulder and her arm. Quite naturally and as she expected, he eventually got to her breasts. All sorts of wicked attention there. She gave herself up to the pleasure and sighed with it.
“See? I’ve almost conquered my fear,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But not quite,” he continued as he brushed his palm over her abdomen and lower still.
Her swift intake of breath caused him to pause. And then he withdrew his hand and let it rest along his own hip. “Your turn,” he whispered as he leaned forward and kissed her lightly.
He resumed his position and waited. “Come now. Where’s your sense of adventure, love?”
Miranda could never resist a challenge. She frowned up at him as she raised her hand and followed the same pattern as he had done. His skin felt hot, as if fevered.
His chest was so broad and covered in the middle with dark curly hair. She toyed with it for a moment before curiosity got the best of her. After a deep breath, she clenched her eyes shut and edged her palm over his ridged abdomen until she felt the head of his male member touch the back of her knuckles.
“Open your eyes, Miranda. You might as well. Here, I’ll help you do what you want. What I want as well.” He took her hand by the wrist and lifted it, lowering it to rest on that part of him that most fascinated and frightened her.
She closed her hand around it. Hard, yet encased in velvety soft skin. She measured the length. Longer than her hand from wrist to fingertips. The end of it was smooth as lips. She traced every inch.
He groaned softly then guided her hand lower. She had not had this sort of exploration in her marriage with Ludmore. Probably just as well, she thought as she continued to map every surface.
Neville remained immobile except for an occasional undulation to make himself more comfortable.
She risked a look at his face and saw that he wasn’t comfortable at all. His eyes were tightly closed and his jaw clenched. “Does that hurt?” she asked.
He released his breath in a gust and sucked in another. “No…but…I believe it’s my turn again.”
Miranda reluctantly abandoned her exploration of him and wondered what came next. She wasn’t certain whether he would start from the beginning or take up where he’d left off.
“Ah.” Her breath shuddered out. Where he’d left off then. And this time his hand was a bit more insistent, kneading her stomach, her thighs, her mound.
He insinuated his hand between her thighs and pushed them gently apart. Fair was fair, and she wanted his touch. Desperately.
Slow and featherlight, his hand wielded magic and more. He seemed to surround her fully as his mouth settled on her breast and suckled gently, then so diligently she was immersed in pleasure and could not be still. She wanted more of him, inside as well as around her, but words were beyond her.
But he seemed to know her every need. The magic hand had moved. Her breasts ached as he ceased laving them. She felt him move and settle over her, elbows braced on either side, his lower body nestled against hers. “Try me on, love?” he whispered as that part of him she had stroked now nudged her entrance.
She rose to meet him in wordless invitation. He thrust home slowly, a wondrous and surprising fit, a glorious and soaring sensation. Miranda cried out in welcome and in relief. He was perfect.
Pure and delicious feeling replaced thoughts as he loved her, slowly at first, then faster when she urged him on. Reaching for something she knew was there but had never found before, her body demanded and offered, all that he was, all that she was. The explosive pinnacle of pleasure shook her so profoundly, she cried out. Her entire being seemed to melt beneath him, replete and euphoric.
She grasped his back in desperation as he tried to leave her but could not hold him inside. He groaned deeply and she felt him shudder with his own release. He mumbled something unintelligible and buried his face in the curve of her neck.
With one boneless hand, she cradled his head, lacing her fingers in locks now in total disarray. The smile on her face must be permanently etched, she thought lazily.
“Sleep now,” he growled. She felt more than heard the words. And so she slept.
* * *
Later, Neville dressed and went down the servants’ stairs at the end of the hallway and quickly let himself out the back door of her town house.
Damn, but he had not counted on how finally having Miranda would affect him. Perhaps he did love her. This was certainly beyond lust. That, he knew well and this was much more. Deeper, more tender, more profound, more lasting. In any event, she had a hold over him he had not expected.
He had almost violated her trust to prevent conception. Never had he been quite that lost in the moment. Or perhaps, in the depths of his mind somewhere, he had wanted her to conceive. That way she would have to accept him.
Why was he so set on marriage now? He had achieved what he had set out to gain, hadn’t he? And yet, bedding Miranda, wonderful as that had been, was not close to enough. She must belong to him and he, to her. Until this very moment, Neville had not realized how desperately he needed to belong. And Miranda was the only person in the world he trusted enough to hold his heart.
Maybe there were no happy marriages. If not, he meant to make theirs the first and best. He would make her happy.
But would she ever return his trust when she learned how he had lied?
He crossed the gardens, slipped through a break in the hedge and hurried down the dark alley to the street.
Her essence clung and teased him even now. The mere memory of her in the throes of passion half aroused him even as he strode swiftly in the cold night air. He had not wanted to leave, but respected her earlier wish that the servants not know they were intimate.
Her maid might well gue
ss what the mistress had been up to, but none of the other servants should be aware of what had gone on. He had heard them return as Miranda slept and had waited until they were abed to leave. Stealth definitely was one of his well-developed talents, given his government work. He hoped she would be pleased that he used it in defense of her reputation.
When he arrived at his rooms, he found a note from Mr. Tood slid under his door. He laid it aside after he entered, intending to go straight to bed and read it in the morning, but had second thoughts. It must be urgent or Tood would have delivered it tomorrow.
He quickly poured himself a drink, broke the seal on the letter, read it and cursed the contents.
Your family has asked that I locate you immediately. The earl is abed, his heart failing. Your aunt believes this is due to news from Belgium. Your cousin Caine has been severely wounded and might well die there. You are needed. Your servant, R. Tood, Esq.
Neville tossed the letter aside and hurried to wash and change clothes. He must go to Aunt Bewley tonight in case the worst happened. He prayed his uncle would recover and that his cousin would survive. Caine and Neville had played together as children, but had not seen each other in many years. Still, the man was family and Neville would have more than a death to grieve over if Caine succumbed to his wounds.
Should his uncle and Caine not survive, Neville would be the next earl of Hadley. He would be twice as wealthy as he was now and twice as undesirable as a husband for Miranda.
In addition to that tragedy, being a noble would play havoc with the life he had built for himself. Earls did not engage in the dirty world of international trade and certainly not espionage. The duties of an earldom were so great that even if society accepted such and a man had the inclination, he would not have enough time for either enterprise.
He took a deep breath as he plucked a fresh cravat out of his drawer and tied it quickly. Why not just choke himself with the damn thing? Here he was, about to lose Miranda forever and his chosen occupation, too.
