A Truly Perfect Gentleman

by Grace Burrowes

  He was not inside her. He was instead at heaven’s door, while she ran her slick flesh along his length. The sensation was exquisite torture, and she was barely getting started.

  “Ride me,” he said, urging her down. “Ride me as long and as hard as you please, and we’ll find pleasure along the way.”

  Pleasure, not quite consummation.

  Addy was a fast learner and a dedicated equestrian. She soon found a rhythm and pressure that tried Grey’s restraint to the utmost and set the bed to rocking gently.

  “This is…” she panted against his neck, “interesting.”

  Interesting was a balm to Grey’s soul, for he was not an interesting man. He was polite, he was dutiful, he was a good farmer, a loyal brother, and a conscientious landlord. Nobody had ever described him or his ideas as interesting.

  And with her, he was barely getting started. “Don’t think, Addy. Feel.” He raised his hips, meeting her on her next undulation, anchoring her with an arm at the small of her back.

  She moved more quickly and more firmly, until he knew she was close—he was close—but the moment wanted… He brushed her shift aside, got his mouth on her nipple, and bit gently.

  “Yes.” A soft groan, a hard push from her hips, and he could feel the pleasure coursing through her. “Like that,” she murmured. “Oh ye gods, exactly like that.”

  He held back. He held back as a gentleman must when pleasuring a lover, though the effort nearly cost him his back teeth, and then Addy was a panting bundle of feminine repletion on his chest, her braid tickling his shoulder.

  “You have the knack now?” he asked, stroking her hair.

  “I have the knack. It’s a lovely knack, Grey, though I can’t grab your bum this way.”

  Give me strength. “Perhaps another time we’ll include that on the agenda. Fortunately, I can grab yours.” He obliged, firmly, not too firmly. “Ready to go again?”

  She peered at him. Her braid was a bit frazzled, her cheeks pink. “Again?”

  “Of course again. By the grace of God and a typical Englishman’s unrelenting self-discipline, I haven’t spent.”

  She raised up enough to peer down at his member, which was joyfully ruddy, glistening, and hard as a Dorset fence post.

  Also aching like thunder.

  “Thanks be for an Englishman’s unrelenting self-discipline,” she said, kissing him soundly.

  Grey lasted, somehow, through her next gallop, then rolled with her to spend on her belly. When he could move again and had used his handkerchief on the resulting mess, he shifted to his back and pulled a warm, limp Addy over him, then used his foot to get the extra quilt within grabbing range.

  Addy dozed on Grey’s chest as the bed curtains shifted gently in an afternoon breeze, and he wallowed in the happy relaxation that followed a good bout of lovemaking.

  She burrowed closer, and he wrapped her in his arms, kissing the top of her head.

  Addy was precious and dear, and those were not sentiments born of a mere afternoon romp. They were the tip of a complicated iceberg drifting closer to a rocky shore Grey could not at the moment bring himself to examine. He knew this, though: He and Addy were not yet lovers in the technical sense, and that occasioned a puzzling but unmistakable sense of relief.

  Chapter Eight

  “Do come in,” Theodosia Tresham said. “I was sorry to miss you yesterday, but thank you for sending Lord Casriel around with my parasol.”

  Addy passed her bonnet to Theo’s butler. “His lordship came of his own accord, and he and I met here by happenstance.”

  “I was sorry to miss you both,” Theo said, setting off down the corridor. “Come with me to the library. I’m organizing the collection, which hasn’t been done since the Crusades. Jonathan peeks in every so often, then slips out hoping I don’t put him to work scampering up and down the ladder.”

  Casriel would be like that—peeking in—but he’d be happy to impersonate a footman, happy to lug boxes and scale ladders, even as he also discussed the various horticulturalists on his shelves.

  And offered scandalously erotic observations all the while.

  I have misplaced my wits.

  “Will you be at tomorrow night’s ball?” Theo asked. “I’m organizing Jonathan’s dance card. He’s willing to stand up with the young ladies for the quadrilles and minuets, but would rather not waltz with them. Perhaps you could save him your supper waltz?”

  Addy neither liked nor disliked Jonathan Tresham. He’d intervened when Lord Davington had pawed her in a secluded alcove, then Tresham had dispatched her into Casriel’s company. To Addy, trouncing a complete ponce was useful, but dealing with an upset woman took courage.

  That again.

  “You are quiet today,” Theo said, opening the door to the library. “When we strolled by Lady Brantmore’s lake, I suspected you were ready for a respite from the socializing.”

  “A respite?”

  “A visit to Bath, Harrow, somewhere peaceful, perhaps Canmore Court. Shall we sit?”

  The last place Addy would go for a respite was Canmore Court. “Let’s have some fresh air,” she said, crossing the library to a set of open French doors. “We’ll be cooped up for half the night, and the day is lovely.”

  “The ball isn’t until tomorrow.”

  “The card party is tonight.” Addy had considered sending regrets, but Grey was likely to attend. She should have asked him what his plans were, though that might have been intrusive.

  “We can sit in the shade,” Theo said, descending the steps of the back terrace. “Shall I ring for a tray? I should have brought my workbasket.”

  So domestic, so happy. “Theo, might we simply sit and talk?”

  They’d done a great deal of sitting and talking when they’d both been widows managing their own households. Theo in particular had had to practice economies, though Addy was by no means a spendthrift.

  “Of course,” Theo said, taking a chair at a grouping in the shade of a stately maple. “How are you?”

  Theo’s expression was friendly and interested, not concerned, not the perceptive friend who grasped subtleties without a word being spoken. Where had that friend gone, and would Addy ever see her again?

  “I am in need of information.”

  Theo’s gaze sharpened. “Is Mr. Tottenham bothering you again?”

  “He keeps his distance.” Like a wolf kept to the shadows as long as the campfires blazed. Roger had not been discreet about his pleasures. Addy doubted he’d been discreet regarding his marital frustrations.

  “Davington has taken rooms in Paris,” Theo said. “He won’t be a problem.”

  Casriel had told Addy that. “Good to know, but that’s not the information I’m seeking. How do I prevent conception, Theo?”

  Theo sat back. “Keep your distance from men?”

  “I’m serious.”

  Addy’s hostess gazed out across the garden, a lovely expanse of tidy parterres, classical sculptures, and beds abloom with daisies, roses, and lavender. The scene was both soothing and relaxing, and it also struck Addy as wealthy.

  A rich man could afford such gardens, and Tresham was rumored to be very rich.

  “Keeping your distance from men is the only sure method of preventing conception,” Theo said. “I made a study of the matter.”

  “I know you did. If I send for a midwife to enlighten me, the staff will notice.”

  “And a midwife might talk, however innocently, about the fine widowed countess who asked such curious questions. Are you with child, my friend?”

  Addy rose rather than face the concern in Theo’s eyes. “I am most assuredly not, and glad of it. For years, Roger counted days, consulted physicians, read arcane texts, all in an effort to ensure conception. I know all of the strange notions, myths, and folklore intended to result in a child, and I know none of them worked.”

  “If you cannot conceive, then why…?” Theo waved a hand.

  “Why not enjoy myself? Because what if t
he fault lay not with me, but with Roger? He indulged in many vices, and I have wondered if something—excessive drink, opium, a great fondness for hashish, his sexual recreations—might have impaired his virility.”

  Theo’s scowl boded ill for Roger’s memory. “I thought he was faithful.”

  “I believe he tried to be, at least as regards women. I didn’t pry.”

  “As regards women?”

  “Roger wasn’t a puritan.” Though at the end, he’d accused Addy of being one. “The point is, none of what I learned as Roger’s wife has given me insight into how to prevent conception should the need arise.”

  Theo was quiet, doubtless shocked. Addy had been shocked for the entire first year of her marriage, though she’d always told herself that Roger cared for her, in his way.

  “This has to do with Casriel, doesn’t it?” Theo asked.

  Now Theo’s instincts were roused? Now she turned up perceptive? “It might. I like him and esteem him.”

  And that was the worst problem of all. Addy had considered the occasional romp with the occasional rake, widower, or lonely bachelor. Her eye was drawn to mature men who knew how to conduct themselves discreetly. Men unlike Roger.

  “You’ve liked and esteemed other fellows,” Theo said. “Why Casriel?”

  “Why not Casriel? He’s comely and handles himself well.”

  Theo was a mother, and thus she had an ability to compel truth from those reluctant to part with it. She didn’t have to say a word. Her gaze was sufficiently patient that Addy went on speaking.

  “I’ve never been tempted to the point of indulging, Theo. Marriage to Roger provided me endless opportunities to appease my erotic curiosity—what little I had—to the point that the whole business became tedious. Then he grew fixated on having an heir of his body, and tedious became tiresome. With Casriel, I face a paradox. I want to have an illicit affair with him because he’s so decent.”

  Theo’s smile was wan. “Only you, Beatitude, could arrive at that reasoning. Casriel is also no threat to your independence.”

  Addy resumed her seat in the shade. “What does that mean?”

  “He’s not exactly rolled-up, but he and Jonathan have discussed finances. Casriel could be comfortable, but for the fact that he’s a rural earl with a regiment of brothers to launch. Most of them are done with university and ready to become established in a profession.”

  Casriel had been forthright about his circumstances, which was no comfort at all. “Launching young men takes influence, which a rural earl might not have much of, and coin. There’s also a daughter.”

  “An illegitimate daughter?”

  “Afraid so. Casriel would dote on her, but his common sense allows him only to cherish her from a careful distance. She will need a dowry.”

  Theo brushed her fingers over a purple heartsease sitting in a pot on the table. “A fire has reduced the Dorning Hall dower house to rubble, Addy. That’s not common knowledge.”

  If Theo knew of it, word of the fire would soon reach others in Town. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

  “Sycamore Dorning has taken over management of The Coventry Club. When Jonathan offered him that role, he expected one or two of the older Dorning brothers to assist, but so far, young Sycamore has been the only one to take an interest in the place.”

  Theo was trying to make a point too subtle for Addy to grasp. That earlier comment, about Casriel being no threat to Addy’s independence, demanded consideration.

  “Is Mr. Tresham concerned for the club?” Addy asked.

  “Sycamore Dorning is young, hotheaded, impulsive, and opinionated. Running a gaming hell takes tact, self-possession, experience of the world, and restraint. Jonathan hasn’t said anything, but I’m sure he’s concerned. A gambling establishment can quickly end up under the hatches, no matter how handsome, bold, and charming the proprietor is.”

  And again, Casriel had kept this worry to himself. “You hate that place. You’d be pleased to see it fail.”

  “I don’t hate The Coventry Club. I simply don’t want the ducal finances to rely upon it, and Jonathan respects my wishes.”

  If Theo was being honest, her view of recreational wagering had become vastly more tolerant since marrying Mr. Tresham.

  “You’re saying Sycamore Dorning might need his older brother’s financial help.”

  “Possibly. The spare—Willow Dorning—has begun some venture to do with hounds or dogs. I’m not sure what. He too will rely on Casriel’s backing if that enterprise fails to thrive.”

  The reality Grey faced became more stark the longer Theo spoke. Addy had danced with Sycamore Dorning. She’d been introduced to Willow Dorning and seen him in Hyde Park, walking his dogs while other men galloped their blood stock. She’d partnered Ash Dorning at cards.

  These were worthy men who’d simply been born with more pedigree than pence, and they all looked to Casriel for support, influence, and entrée.

  “I came here to ask you about preventing conception,” Addy said. “I will leave wondering how Casriel has time for frolics when so much responsibility rests on his shoulders.”

  “When the world gives us the least joy is when we need our comforts the most,” Theo said, rising. “I have a book you should read, not from the ducal library.”

  “About?”

  “The author is a French midwife, and the general topic is women’s health, but I bought it for the chapter on conception. I am confident every scullery maid and laundress knows the basics before she puts up her hair. We ladies are too delicate to understand how our own bodies function.”

  “I suspect the physicians are largely guessing,” Addy said, getting to her feet. “They had no useful answers for me when I desperately wanted a child, though they certainly charged a pretty penny before they admitted as much.”

  “That must have been difficult, but then, I gather you’ve not told me the whole of your situation with Roger.”

  That was an invitation Addy would have to decline. “In some ways, I was the worst possible wife for him. He thrived on adventure and exploring the unknown. My ignorance was simply one more novelty to him. He’d never met a woman as unworldly as I.”

  Theo escorted Addy not directly back to the house, but along the garden path that led to the focal point of the landscape design, a fountain in the center of the largest parterre. The sculpture in the middle was a pineapple, the symbol of hospitality. Water gushed from the top, creating a blend of stone foliage and cascading rivulets that drained into a wide circular basin. The result was pretty and different, exactly the sort of eccentricity a ducal garden could turn to good effect.

  “You mentioned that Roger was not unfaithful with women,” Theo said. “Were there men, Addy?”

  “At university, I know there were. Thereafter...? My imagination boggled at some of the sexual escapades Roger described in the most prosaic terms. His younger self amused him, while I…”

  She’d been appalled, fascinated, worried. How could a man who’d done such things be content with a church mouse for a wife? He couldn’t be, was the honest answer, though he had tried for a time.

  “You simply wanted a child,” Theo said, “which was a reasonable desire for an earl’s wife. I’m sorry your marriage was so lonely. You and Roger seemed like such good friends.”

  “I worked hard to be my husband’s friend. I could hardly hope to hold his interest on any other ground, could I? He tried to be my friend too.” He’d betrayed that friendship at the end, if a friendship it had been.

  The sound of water trickling over stone fruit filled a sad silence. Addy had awoken with such a sense of well-being and happy possibilities. She’d felt not wicked for having shared an interlude with Casriel, but fortified. His intimate consideration was balm to her soul, his hands…

  She’d dreamed happy dreams about Casriel’s hands. This conversation had eroded her good spirits and given her much to think about.

  “Come,” Theo said, taking Addy by the wrist. �
�Let’s find you that French treatise I mentioned. You are entitled to enjoy Casriel’s company on any terms you please, and devil take the hindmost. He’ll be married by the end of the Season, and you might as well have your pleasure of him while he’s yet unattached.”

  There was the pragmatic, blunt Theo whom Addy loved, so why did Addy wish that comment had gone unsaid?

  “I won’t see you tonight,” Theo went on when they’d returned to the library. “Jonathan and I try to stay in one evening a week other than Sunday. This is the volume you should read. You need not return it.”

  Because Theo had no need to prevent conception. Just the opposite.

  “Thank you,” Addy said, tucking the little book into her reticule. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then, and if Mr. Tresham needs an ally for the supper waltz, let me know.”

  For Casriel would doubtless stand up with Lady Antonia or Miss Quinlan, perish the pair of them and their fat settlements.

  “Jonathan will be relieved. Shall I see you out?”

  “I know the way. Enjoy reorganizing.” Addy kissed Theo’s cheek, wanting to be away to somewhere quiet and private. She had to wait at the front door for Thiel, and even his company on the walk home was a weight on her mood.

  She had recently labeled Roger a coward, because his version of marital intimacy had been largely limited to copulation and other pleasures of the flesh. He’d never invited a conversation about the sorrow of childlessness. He’d never spoken openly of the rift with his brother. He’d never admitted that, in the midst of a marriage that looked to be a match of affection and liking, he was lonely too.

  Perhaps he hadn’t been.

  Was an affair with Casriel merely a safe frolic, with a guaranteed parting in the near future? Was that what Addy wanted?

  Thiel bowed her through her own front door. “Will we be going out this evening, my lady?”

  To watch Casriel partnering Lady Antonia? To see him endure the flirtations of the Arbuckle twins? To smile as Miss Quinlan hung on his arm and flaunted her fortune at him?