Once Upon an Accident 02 - Lessons in Seduction

by Melissa Schroeder

  Robinson sighed. “Aye, I would. I had a bastard of a father too.” That bit of information took Douglas by surprise. “Did you not wonder how I knew your worst fears, where you would hide?”

  Douglas shook his head.

  “I lived through the same terror and ran away at the age of ten and three. I barely survived, but the day your grandmother walked into the inn where I cleaned slop and hired me is a day I will be thankful until I die.”

  Douglas felt a lump rise in his throat as he watched the man’s eyes fill. He had always thought of Robinson as an older brother. He had been the one who taught him to ride, how to smoke a cheroot and helped him recover from his first night of drinking to excess.

  Robinson cleared his throat. “Now, you will be late, and I doubt you would want that, Your Grace.”

  Douglas nodded, but stopped when he placed his hand on the doorhandle. He turned and said, “Thank you, Robinson.”

  “Just make sure you return with that cravat in decent shape.”

  “Robinson.”

  The valet looked up from his work.

  “Thank you, for everything.”

  He nodded and went back to work, although Douglas was sure he heard the man sniff.

  By the time Douglas made it to the Endinton’s ball, it was in full force. The crush of people had risen to an uncomfortable level, the heat of the ballroom overwhelming.

  He spotted Cicely almost immediately. The ton’s apparent fixation with Lady Cicely had yet to wane. Every eligible bachelor, even some of those who had sworn no interest in marriage, gathered around her vying for attention. When Douglas came upon the scene, he ground his teeth and pushed his way through the crowd. He stopped short when he found Bridgerton standing to her left. The impassive look he gave Douglas irritated him even more. Douglas was sure now that the earl knew of his intentions toward Cicely. If Bridgerton thought he could make a play for her, he was sadly mistaken.

  Cicely, who had been engaged in talking to Scotty Farrington, the younger son of the earl who was hosting the ball, noticed him. Her eyes widened, then warmed. A smile curved her lips.

  She offered her hand, which he took, and curtsied. “Your Grace.”

  He waited for her to rise, then bent over her hand and murmured, “Lady Cicely.”

  After releasing her hand, he felt the pause in the conversation around them. Every eye was watching them, weighing his behavior and that of Cicely’s. Irritated that he had to do this in front of an audience, he shifted to her right, taking his place next to her. The look he gave the other gentlemen was met with a mixture of expressions ranging from irritation to fear to outright anger. Even so, the conversation continued.

  Cicely had maneuvered the discussion back to the diary. Now he understood why Bridgerton was standing guard.

  “Lady Cicely.” Lord Oglithorpe—who was for once not talking to her breasts—said, “Have you had any experts look over this diary?”

  He felt Cicely stiffen. The cut to her research skills and intelligence was so obvious, the murmurs around them rose. Douglas, outraged on Cicely’s behalf, opened his mouth to put the old man in his place, but Cicely did not allow him the time.

  “Since I am not sure if it is real or not, my lord, I see no reason to worry on that. My own research ability is fine enough for a project like this.”

  She turned away, trying to dismiss the man, but he would not let the subject go. “But, forgive me for saying, you are a woman and therefore unable to discern the possible intricacies of historical review.”

  “Really?” The tone of her voice, not to mention the way she drew out the word, signaled to Douglas that Oglithorpe was in trouble. The smile she offered the older gentleman had nothing to do with humor.

  Oblivious to the rise in animosity not only from Cicely, but from some of the other women in the crowd, the old goat continued on, digging a much deeper hole. One Douglas was sure Cicely would gladly bury him in. “Of course, at your young age, you would not understand that a woman’s mind cannot work through every detail. Females are known to be flighty, and therefore cannot focus on serious historical study.”

  By the time the ass finished, Douglas could feel annoyance vibrating from Cicely. A flush of anger crept up her neck and into her face. She leaned forward, ready to strike out at the windbag. Douglas glanced over her head and noticed that Bridgerton’s shoulders were shaking in silent laughter. Douglas would get no help from that corner.

  Cicely would take a lot of things. She would take people attacking her looks, her ability to hold polite conversation, even her prospects of marriage. But she would not take any slight to her intelligence. Soon, her temper would take control and Lord only knew what would happen then.

  “Lord Oglithorpe—”

  The sweep of bows across strings interrupted Cicely’s attack.

  Understanding he needed to save her from an embarrassing scene she would later regret, he lightly touched her elbow to get her attention.

  She started and turned to look at him. The irritation still darkened her eyes, and the wonderful flush left her skin all rosy, as if she had just risen from bedding a lover.

  Moving away from that thought, for now at least, he said, “I believe I have this dance, my lady.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing. Just nodded and after excusing herself from the crowd, allowed him to guide her to the floor.

  Once there, she came into his arms without hesitation. He knew no one could tell by her actions, or her expression, that she was irritated.

  She was the picture of a serene lady of Quality. But in the last few weeks, he had come to know her expressions well. And this one boded ill for Oglithorpe if she did not get over her anger.

  Her eyebrows drew together in a frown, the skin between them crinkling. Her posture was stiff, formal, as was the smile she afforded him.

  “I know you are angry with me.”

  Her gaze moved to his, then slid away again. She said nothing as he turned them around the floor. Inwardly, he chuckled. This woman actually thought she would not make a good duchess. She had the imperious look down pat. She would rule his home with no problem.

  “I wanted to save you from making a spectacle of yourself.”

  Again, she looked at him. “Truly?” The incredulous tone in her voice, not to mention the snort that followed, told him he had not convinced her.

  “Punching a man in the middle of a crowded ballroom—no matter how much he deserved it—would only draw more attention to you. And not the type you would want.”

  She harrumphed. “I daresay it would have been worth it.”

  “Nevertheless, it would not allow us our next lesson.”

  That bit of information caught her unaware. But she recovered nicely, even if she spoke with a bit more breathlessness than before.

  “Your Grace, I cannot wait to see what you have to teach me tonight.”

  Just that little breathy sentence and the deepening of her voice, had his body reacting. His blood heated and his cock throbbed. Being this close, holding her thusly was driving him mad. The dip in her voice signaled her arousal, but she did not know what she had been missing.

  He did, and he intended to show her tonight.

  “As I said before, patience is readily rewarded.”

  She looked up at him through her lashes, the act so overtly coy but innocent at the same time, it struck him in the gut. What he was doing, seducing a young woman because he needed her, was not the most honorable thing. But Douglas could see no other way. If he declared himself immediately, she would panic and run from him. If that happened, he was truly not sure what he would do.

  As the waltz drew to a close, he maneuvered the dance, ensuring they ended up near the French doors that led to the patio. With the supper hour drawing near, he hoped that many of the people would be inside looking for partners. His theory proved true as they stepped out and found the area deserted.

  “Where are we going?”

  He looked at her
and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. In the moonlight, her skin shone as if it were fine porcelain. The violet dress she wore clung to every curve, accentuating that tiny waist and full bosom. But it was the look of excitement in her gaze that struck him to the core.

  “I know of a room with a lock.”

  She giggled. “Lead on, Your Grace.”

  Taking her hand in his, he did just that.

  The room that Douglas had in mind was indeed perfect for seduction, thought Cicely. A branch of candles cast dancing shadows along the walls, and a fire had been lit. The coziness of the room made her think that their hosts had left it to welcome liaisons.

  The click of the door lock caused Cicely’s heart to jump a bit. She was not sure what Douglas had in mind for tonight, but a strange mixture of apprehension and anticipation wound through her.

  She did not turn around as Douglas moved toward her. He stepped up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and drawing her against him. His body heat warmed her but she shivered. Not because she was cold but because he was doing absolutely delicious things with his lips to her neck.

  He chuckled, his breath feathering over her skin. “Like that?”

  She nodded, then bent her head to the side to allow him more access.

  His lips moved over her, nipping and licking. His teeth grazed the sensitive flesh just behind her earlobe.

  “What did you have in mind tonight, Douglas?”

  He paused and slowly turned her around. “I think it is better if I surprise you.”

  Pulling her close, he took her mouth in a kiss that spoke of not only passion, but possession. She twined her arms behind his head as his hands slipped around her waist and pressed her against his aroused body. When she felt his hands on her bottom, she gasped, and he used the opportunity to invade and conquer. His tongue tangled with hers, a dance of seduction on another level.

  Just as the night at the theater, her body reacted on some primitive level she did not fully comprehend. Her flesh grew damp and her nipples hardened—begging to be caressed. As if he heard her thoughts, he moved from her mouth to her throat, nipping and kissing until he reached her neckline. Baring her breasts, he skimmed his mouth over them, arousing one, then the other. With each touch of his tongue to her flesh she lost another bit of her grip on reality.

  In the next moment, her world turned on its axis as Douglas lifted her and placed her on the desk. Before she could understand what was happening, he was pulling away from her, getting down onto his knees in front of her.

  “Douglas?”

  He smiled. “Trust me, love.”

  She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and nodded. Without taking his gaze from hers, he grabbed hold of the skirt and slowly eased it up her legs. His palms followed the silk, skimming along her thighs.

  Her heart was now beating out of control, her face burning with embarrassment. But she refused to look away. Instead, she held his gaze boldly. At that, his smile widened, warmed. Mesmerized by it, and the corresponding heat in his eyes, she did not realize at first he was sliding her legs apart and slipping in between them. Before she could react, he bent his head and pressed a kiss on her inner thigh.

  Heat shot to molten lava within her veins. She opened her mouth to reject this action, to tell him it was not right. What she had wanted to say dissolved the moment his tongue skimmed the skin just above her stocking. Her senses thrilled, her nerve endings danced. The scrape of teeth, the swipe of his tongue, he continued his actions as he moved up her leg. Closing her eyes, she ignored the rising physical discomfort that had her wanting to stop this insanity. But somewhere, somehow, she knew it would cause more pain to stop.

  He carried on with his assault until he reached the apex of her thighs. Alarm shot through her as she felt his breath on the most private part of her body. Her eyes flew open, her mouth followed to reprimand him. She was wet there, her body melting under his masterful assault, but when she gathered her wits and tried to close her legs, he ignored her. She expected him to comfort her, tell her not to worry, but he seemed transfixed. Without a word, he pressed his mouth against her.

  “Douglas! ”

  He did not even flinch at her shout. Instead, he applied himself to licking, touching and kissing her intimately. Her breasts ached, her body throbbed. Cicely knew she should stop him. What he was doing was not right, could not be right. But the warmth of his mouth had her softening to his demands. He positioned his hands beneath her bottom and pulled her closer, feasting on her as if she were his last meal.

  Not able to speak, not willing to ruin the delicious decadence he worked on her, she closed her eyes again. His fingers dug into her rear end as he persisted. His siege against her senses toppled every defense she had against him. Her body tightened, wet heat surged. Fire blazed a path along her flesh.

  The muscles that had tensed now grew almost unbearably tighter.

  She shook her head, trying to grab control of her sanity, but he continued. His mouth grew more insistent as he worked, and her body responded. Nerves grew taut and she felt like she was racing toward a goal she did not know or understand. And still, he continued. His hands were moving over the globes of her rear end, her skin putty beneath his palms. Smoothly, easily, he pushed her, prodded her to the finish.

  Understanding that he would catch her, that he knew just what she needed, she surrendered—her body, her soul—to the pleasure that called to her. Heaviness gathered between her legs as he held her closer. His tongue flicked over some pressure point and the dam broke. She moaned his name as she shattered into a thousand pieces, her body convulsing.

  Weak from her release, she bent forward. Douglas rose to his feet, drawing her tight against his chest. Her ear rested against him and she could hear his heart pounding almost in tandem with hers. Lifting her head, she looked up at him. The heat in his eyes still lingered and she realized she had received her relief, but he had not.

  “Douglas—”

  He stopped her with a kiss. The musky taste of her passion filled her senses, the knowledge of that both wicked and thrilling.

  They were both breathing heavily when he pulled away. He rested his forehead against hers. “Do not worry.”

  “But, you did not…”

  His smile was gentle, loving. It did more to her composure than the seductive ones he had bequeathed on her earlier.

  “No, but this was not for me. This was for you.”

  Knowing now, even as she tried to gather her wits, what it meant for him to go unfulfilled moved her. The sacrifice, not to mention the gift he had given her, touched her heart, warmed her to her toes. She understood it represented more to her than it did to him, but still she had to tell him her feelings. She needed to convey everything it meant to her, would mean to her in her memories.

  But the only thing she could do was lean her head against his chest and say, “Thank you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  In which Lady Cicely takes the initiative—as all women should.

  Douglas walked wearily to his bedchamber, trying to keep his thoughts straight and his irritation beneath the surface. Since they had arrived at the Throckmorton house party, Cicely had been driving him mad. What was he saying? She had been driving him mad from the moment she asked him for lessons.

  She was not overtly flirting with him. But, through the course of the trip here, and the time they had spent together, she had done her best to entice him. Just like at the theater, her glances were above the detection of most others. But with each look, each brush of her body against his, she pushed him further.

  Since their last lesson, he had spent most of his time half aroused. It had been a painful few days and her behavior had made it worse.

  He reached his door and opened it, stepping over the threshold with a sigh. He was tired, but sleep would be hard to come by. He had not had a decent night’s sleep in days thanks to denying himself pleasure. But it was not the right time, the right place. Initiating Cicely before h
e received her acceptance of marriage would be foolhardy. And would disrupt his plans.

  Oh, but it would have felt so good to sink into her, feel her muscles tense around his cock. He closed his eyes as his blood drained to his loins, and his body, already hard, grew harder. He wanted to lose himself in her, forget memories of his past that had been bothering him as of late, and just enjoy. She would accept him for who she thought he was.

  And knowing that was killing him little by little.

  He groaned, his frustration growing.

  “Is there something wrong, Douglas?”

  He heard Cicely’s voice but did not open his eyes. Instead, he wanted to wallow in the idea, the fantasy that she was here with him. He heard movement on his bed and he willed his eyes to open.

  There, sitting in the middle of his bed looking like a treat waiting to be enjoyed, sat the object of his thoughts, the star of every one of his fantasies.

  Irritated, already aroused, he said with too much force, “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

  Instead of scaring her, or even deterring her, she smiled. “I’ve come for my next lesson.”

  “You what?” His voice had risen and he sounded like an offended spinster.

  Again, she paid no notice as she slipped from the bed and walked toward him.

  She wore nothing but a sheer nightgown, white in color and almost transparent thanks to the fire glowing behind her. She approached him on bare feet, her steps barely making a sound as she crossed the floor.

  She stopped less than a foot away.

  “I said I have come for my next lesson.”

  “But—”

  She chuckled and moved closer. “But nothing. You promised more when we came here and it has been two full days. I cannot wait much longer, Douglas.”

  Excitement dripped from her voice and scattered his good sense.

  “You cannot?”

  She nodded and placed her hands on his chest. “Since our last time together, there has been a…need growing. A need for you.”