“I should probably expire in bliss if you did any better.”
“A notable challenge.” She pushed open her eyes to see him watching her with a wicked, knowing smile.
“Mr. Hamilton, is this all a plot to take advantage of me?” He laughed, pressing his thumbs into the ball of her foot, and Celia let her eyes fall closed again. “If so, it’s working splendidly. Oh, heavens. There—oh, there. Oh, Anthony…”
“I love to hear you say my name,” he whispered. “Particularly in that voice.” His fingers stroked up the back of her leg. “Perhaps I should buy you another pair of slippers with a raised heel, so you’ll welcome me into your room every night.”
“Make them blue,” she murmured. “To match my new evening gown.”
Anthony chuckled. “Ah, but then your knees would soon be sore.” He slid one hand up her leg to her knee, his fingertips circling her kneecap. “And then your entire leg.” Now his hand was on her thigh. Her eyes still closed, Celia lay motionless. Her feet felt wonderful, but as his hands continued to move up and down her legs, pushing her nightdress a little higher each time, the rest of her body began to warm in anticipation.
“I couldn’t contribute to that,” he murmured, and then he pressed his lips to the inside of her knee. The muscles of her calf quivered as his tongue flicked over her skin. “I shall have to tempt you with something other than slippers.”
“With what?” she asked breathlessly. His hands had moved to her inner thighs, still stroking lightly. The air on her bared skin only heightened the sensation, although she wasn’t cold at all.
His laugh was quiet and full of promised pleasures. “I shall have to think. Jewels are too hard, too cold.” Her nightdress slipped up over her hips, pooling around her waist. Celia lay still, her breathing turning shallow. “Roses are too fleeting.” His fingertips skimmed her belly, and she gasped. “You deserve more than that.”
“What?” She had to wet her lips to speak at all. “What do I deserve?”
“You deserve to be worshipped.” He took her foot in his hand again, cradling it and lifting it. He kissed it, right on top above her toes. “Every inch of you.” His hands slid up her leg, holding it up for the succession of lingering kisses he pressed every few inches along the inside of her calf. As he moved, he raised and bent her knee before resting her foot on the bed, right below her hip. He moved to the other leg and repeated his slow, unhurried caresses and kisses, and Celia sucked in her breath as he propped that foot on the bed, too. How wicked she must look, with her knees raised wide, her most private place fully exposed and right in front of him.
“There is something about a woman’s body,” came Anthony’s velvet voice. “Something exotic and enticing. I could spend my life exploring and worshipping yours.”
Her breath came in little pants now. She kept her eyes closed but couldn’t erase from her mind the thought that he was staring at her, between her legs, where she was already growing wet. Could he tell by looking at her there? He must know what he was doing to her. He ran his hands lightly down the tops of her thighs, easing her legs further apart. A tiny spasm rippled through her womb, and Celia gulped in a shuddering breath.
“These valleys and swells, so foreign, so mysterious,” he whispered. Now his hands were stroking over her hips, her belly. “All shadow and temptation.” He brushed the curls that covered her there, and Celia’s neck arched, her hips unconsciously tilting toward him. “Here,” he whispered, his voice growing even softer. “The last veil. A woman concealed, yet bare. A hidden oracle.” His finger glided through the springy curls, parting them. “The map to a treasure man would give his life to find.”
Celia made an inarticulate sound as his fingertip rolled over and around that spot, that spot, oh, that spot. Her hands fisted in the coverlet beneath her. “Let me adore you,” Anthony murmured, nipping the flesh of her inner thigh until she moaned. “Let me worship…here.” And he put his mouth where his fingers had been.
Celia’s mouth fell open in a soundless cry as he kissed her, licked her, suckled her. There, on that spot. Oh, God, she never knew…Her hips rose off the mattress, straining closer to the pulsing pleasure in his mouth. Every sweep and thrust of his tongue jolted her to new awareness of how sensitive, how primitive, her body could be. She clutched at him, tangling her fingers in his hair. She wanted him to keep going, she wanted him driving inside her, she wanted him…wanted only him…
Anthony tore his mouth away, taking little kissing bites of her thigh again. He pushed one finger, then two inside her, and Celia gave a low, keening moan. “Celia, darling,” he said, his voice rough and ragged. “My God, how beautiful you are like this.” He suckled on her some more as his fingers stroked hard and deep inside her. Celia was shaking, real tears running down her face. She could feel it, winding tighter inside her, that exquisite tension, that desperation for release.
“An—Anthony,” she gasped. “Please…You…Not just your mouth…”
“Come for me first,” he whispered, his breath hot against her sensitive, aching sex. Celia tossed her head from side to side, almost whimpering in ecstasy. Her breath caught and held; she trembled as he sucked at her with long, hard pulls. Her climax pooled in her belly like a knot of heat, then it cracked and split, reverberating through her entire body. Celia arched her back with a choked cry, quaking with each wave of pleasure.
Anthony lurched to his feet. A moment later it wasn’t his fingers inside her, but his cock, thrusting slick and hard. Celia cried out again as her body clenched around him, as if to hold on to him and draw him deeper inside her. Anthony’s hands on her knees flexed, taking a firmer grip, and then he began a hard, slow, steady rhythm. Every time he came into her it bowed her spine and made her breasts bounce. The soft silk of her nightdress felt like coarse wool against her skin, made exquisitely sensitive from his touch and his words.
“Touch yourself,” he commanded, thrusting into her after each word. “You want to.”
Celia blinked aside the traces of tears and stared at him as she pressed her hands to her breasts, rubbing her palms against her nipples. Anthony’s face darkened, and the muscles in his neck tensed. He squeezed her knees, pushing them farther apart and back into her chest. She was bent and curled, completely open and helpless beneath his relentless, driving possession. And she had never felt more alive in her life.
“Touch here.” He seized one of her hands and brought it to his mouth. He sucked on her finger, his tongue swirling around it as he had done to another part of her body, and Celia’s breath hitched again. Without looking away from her face, he guided her hand from his mouth to that—oh heavens—to that spot between her legs. His fingers covered hers, guiding hers, showing her just what he wanted her to do. Celia felt him inside her, above her, all around her. As she felt another wave building inside her, insanity rolled over her. She dug her toes into the mattress and began meeting his thrusts harder, bucking her hips into him, thrilling when his eyes flared and he seized her waist, dragging her toward the end of the bed and tilting her hips as he changed the angle of his thrusts. Sharp and short, hard and fast; Celia spread her hands on her belly and felt him moving inside her.
With an astonishing snap, her climax came over her, so fast she wasn’t prepared for it. Her body simply seized, her back arched and taut, her hands closing in fists around the folds of her nightdress. Dimly she heard Anthony’s victorious growl, and then his head sank and his shoulders heaved, and he was still.
After a long moment Anthony raised his head. His eyes were soft and golden as he regarded her. He reached out and brushed his knuckles down her cheek with sweet tenderness. “Darling,” he murmured. “Oh, Celia.”
She couldn’t speak. She wrapped her fingers around his hand and turned her head to press her lips against his palm. He had upended her world, scattered her thoughts, and left her not knowing what to think. For now she only wanted to lie here beneath him, luxuriating in the aftermath of his lovemaking.
After a mo
ment he shifted, sliding out of her. Celia made a soft noise of regret, and he smiled. He turned away, doing something she couldn’t see, and a moment later fastened his trousers, leaving his shirt hanging out.
He leaned over her again, pressing a kiss to her stomach before pulling her nightdress back down over her. Celia smiled lazily at him. “What’s that?” she asked, reaching for his hand.
Anthony caught her hand and brought it to his lips as he sat beside her on the bed. Celia rolled onto her side, wanting to curl herself around him. She wanted him to stay. She wanted to know what it was like to sleep in his arms, to wake with him beside her. At this moment, being with him didn’t feel like a risk; it felt like a necessity.
“It prevents conception,” he said then, showing her what was in his other hand. Celia looked up, surprised out of her dreamy thoughts.
“Oh.” It looked like a crumpled piece of wet silk. “Why—I mean…I might not even be able…”
His smile this time was bitter. “I swore never to have a bastard. It would ruin the mother, and the child…” He shrugged, still holding her hand next to his cheek. “It wouldn’t be fair to the child, saddling it with a lifetime of misery just for my night’s pleasure.”
“Oh. Then…Then you don’t…”
He sighed, replacing her hand on her stomach. “No. Not one.” He got up and crossed the room to pull on his dressing gown, then shoved the crumpled sheath into the pocket, as well as a small jar that must hold the ointment he had spread on her feet. Celia just watched him move around her room. He didn’t look out of place at all, or ill at ease. He never did, she realized. No matter where he was or what he was doing, Anthony always managed to appear composed. Controlled.
He came back across the room to her side. “Good night, my lady,” he said softly.
“Must you go?” She reached for him again.
“Yes, you know I must.” He pulled the coverlet over her, smoothing it around her shoulders. His eyes crinkled again as he grinned at her. “Sleep well. Until tomorrow.” He kissed her forehead and left.
Celia curled her arms around herself. He used a sheath to spare any children of his the pain of being bastards. And to spare her the shame of having a child out of marriage. He might be a hedonist, as people said, but he certainly wasn’t reckless or selfish in his pleasures.
She snuggled into her coverlet. Her pulse seemed to echo between her legs, strong and steady and blissfully sated. It would be very easy to get used to being worshipped by Anthony.
Chapter Twenty
The next morning the Hillenbys left for London. Mary said goodbye in a subdued, almost fearful tone, often glancing at her husband. Celia decided she must be the reason Lord Hillenby wanted to return to town early, from the cold look he gave her as he said farewell. Mary walked out to the carriage behind him, her shoulders stiff despite the rain drumming down on her. She didn’t look back as the carriage drove off, even though Celia watched them to the gates.
That could have been her life, Celia realized. Not because she would have been married to an old man like Hillenby, but because she and Bertie had already fallen into a similar life of silence and resentments. She just hadn’t been afraid of him, as Mary clearly was of Hillenby.
She went back into the house and found Louisa in the drawing room. Elton, a round, soft pudding of a man, always slept late. Louisa was normally glad of this, but today she seemed out of sorts. It gave them little to talk about, as Celia was still preoccupied with thoughts of the previous night. And Jane came down late, which seemed to vex Louisa most of all.
“There you are,” exclaimed Louisa when she finally appeared. Her eyes narrowed. “And don’t you look pleased!”
Jane drifted into the room, a contented smile on her face. “Good morning,” she said graciously, dropping into a chair next to Celia. “What a splendid day.”
Two thin lines appeared between Louisa’s brows as she glanced at the rain drizzling down the windows. “Why is that, Jane?”
Jane gave Celia another wide, almost silly grin. “It could only be a splendid day, after such a night.”
“What about your night?” Louisa was in a peevish mood today, thought Celia. She felt much more in charity with Jane, whose expression mirrored her own mood.
“Mmm. Percy.” A tinge of color rose in Jane’s cheeks, and suddenly Celia knew exactly what Jane had done last night. She resisted the urge to feel her own cheeks as her blood warmed again.
“That’s all you can say?” Louisa scowled at her. “What about Percy? Did he come and talk to you of horses?”
Jane laughed, the full, rich laugh of a well-satisfied woman. “Not one word of horses! Oh, good heavens, no. At first I was quite astonished to see him; he nearly followed me up to bed, which is out of the ordinary. And especially in such company! He’s more likely to sit up late and play at cards or billiards than come to bed early. But last night…” She sighed, her eyes drifting closed. “He asked me if I were happy, and if he could make me happier—as his wife. I was so surprised I scarcely knew what to say at first.”
Louisa’s face had been growing stonier and stonier. “What did you tell him?”
Jane blushed again and lowered her voice. “I said I wanted a child. We have been married almost two years, and although Percy feels no urgency for an heir, I—I would like a child.”
This time Louisa just stared at her. Celia’s lips parted in surprise, and Jane gave her a hesitant nod.
“And he agreed.” Jane’s voice warmed, and her smile returned. “Oh, how he agreed. And after, we talked until late at night. Did you know, I never knew Percy liked a well-played violin? I never thought he had musical opinions at all.”
“And what brought this on?” Louisa recovered her voice to ask.
Jane glanced around, then leaned forward. “That was the most astonishing thing,” she confided. “When I asked what made him so attentive, he apologized for not being so earlier—Percy, apologize!—and then he said he had had an enlightening conversation with Mr. Hamilton. Mr. Hamilton, of all people! I asked what he meant and he said it was Mr. Hamilton who put it in his head that he ought to pay attention to me!” Her eyes glowed, and Jane actually giggled. “Well, it was astonishing, but I must say, Percy ought to spend more time with Mr. Hamilton, if this is the result.”
“It is incredible,” said Louisa after a moment.
But Celia didn’t think so. She wondered if Anthony had meant to send Mr. Percy into Jane’s arms, or if he had just spoken sense to Mr. Percy, but she rather thought he would be quite pleased to see Jane’s happy glow this morning.
“And this morning, Percy composed a verse to me as I was dressing.” Jane giggled again, drawing her fingertips along her collarbone. “It was dreadful, of course, but so dreadful it was amusing. I couldn’t help but laugh and laugh, and then it took ever so long to get dressed.”
“What a dreadful pity Elton won’t speak to the man,” Louisa lamented, beginning to look peeved again. “How convenient it would be if my own husband could be persuaded to care for my happiness and satisfaction.”
“Oh, yes,” said Jane on a sigh. “Much more convenient than dancing around a lover, trying to be discreet, and of course the uproar if you can’t manage it. My father-in-law is such a martinet, I would be pilloried for that sort of scandal. And I wouldn’t mind in the least if Percy and I were to become one of those disgustingly devoted couples. After this visit, seeing His Grace and Her Grace together, and Lord David and his wife…well, it looks rather pleasant.”
Yes, Celia thought warmly. It did. She remembered again Hannah’s face yesterday: I would have missed Marcus most of all….
“But who would have thought such a thing of Mr. Hamilton?” Louisa asked. “Certainly not I. Are you sure he didn’t give Percy the idea that perhaps he meant to seduce you, and that spurred Percy?”
“No,” said Celia before Jane could answer. “Of course not.” Louisa looked at her in surprise. “He would never do that,” Celia repeated.
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Louisa cleared her throat delicately. “Er—no. Perhaps not.”
“Oh, do stop,” Jane told her, unperturbed. “Percy’s not precisely the jealous sort. He did not specifically say, but I believe Mr. Hamilton’s words were more in the nature of advice. And I for one should like to thank him for it. He can give Percy all the advice he likes in this vein.”
It wasn’t until after luncheon that Celia had an opportunity to speak to Anthony. Someone proposed going boating once the morning rain had been driven away by sunshine, and so a small party walked to the lake. Celia contrived to end up alone in a boat with Anthony, even sending her brother David a fierce look when he seemed about to approach and join them. It wasn’t quite private, but they could talk without fear of impropriety.
“You have made Mrs. Percy very happy,” she told him as he rowed them out.
“Have I?” He cocked his head curiously, pulling on the oars.
Celia grinned. “She barely made it downstairs before luncheon.”
His eyebrows went up. “I had no idea.”
“Hmm.” Celia twirled her parasol. “And yet you are to thank, according to her.”
Anthony gave her another quizzical look as he removed his hat and jacket. The sun was bright and hot in the middle of the lake, despite the cool breeze. The other men had already removed their jackets. “I don’t believe I’ve spoken to Mrs. Percy in several days.”
“Oh, but you spoke to her husband, and that made all the difference.”
Comprehension dawned in his face. “Ah,” he murmured with a slight smile. “Then I am delighted to have been of some small service to her.”
“What did you tell her husband, I wonder?”
He squinted across the water at the other boaters, rowing them farther out. “How to win at the races.”
Celia dipped her fingers in the lake and flipped water at him. Anthony laughed, flicking the end of an oar and sending a light spray of water back at her. “What did you really tell him?” she demanded, laughing.
A Rake’s Guide to Seduction Page 20
