Sinful

by Charlotte Featherstone

  “I am not leaving, Sarah. I was…I was…” Jane looked around her room, at the trunks and the gowns thrown hastily inside, and tried to come up with a suitable excuse.

  “Somehow your gowns got packed by magic?” Sarah supplied with a soft laugh that was part sob.

  “Precisely.” Jane smiled sadly, squeezing Sarah’s hands and delighting in the easy forgiveness Sarah offered. “I am afraid your estate is filled with naughty little faeries that are bent on causing trouble.”

  “Maybe I should check my gowns, too, in case the faeries have gotten into my things.”

  “That is a very good idea,” Jane said with a laugh as she squeezed Sarah’s hands once more.

  “You need to fix your hair.” Sarah looked up at her and crinkled her nose. “It looks like a nest the robins made in a tree outside my bedroom window.”

  Laughing, Jane smoothed her hand along her hair.

  “Miss Jane? Would you teach me to read while on a picnic?”

  Bright yellow sunlight filtered in through the windows. It was followed by a warm, whispering breeze that carried with it the sweet scent of fruit blossoms. Gazing out the window, Jane saw the trees in the orchard swaying gently in the spring morning. She imagined being outdoors enjoying that heavenly scented air. “I think it’s much too early for you to be out of doors.”

  “My brother is very strong. He’ll carry me.”

  “Sarah, I’m not sure that this is the right thing to do. Perhaps your brother—”

  “Oh, goody!” she cried. “I will tell Matthew. He will be pleased. It was his idea, you know. He loves picnics.”

  Jane tore her gaze from the window and reached for Sarah as she struggled to rise from the bed. “Wait, what’s this about your brother?”

  “Help me to my room,” Sarah commanded, sounding every inch the daughter of a duke, “before you change your mind.”

  “What a lovely day for a picnic, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Jane glared at Matthew from beneath her bonnet brim. He was standing in a patch of sunlight, a wicker basket dangled from the fingers of his right hand, while a green and red wool lap blanket was folded neatly over his left arm. He passed Jane the basket then bent to pick up Sarah, cradling her carefully in his arms. She hugged him, kissing him awkwardly on the chin.

  “This is the bestest idea, Matthew.”

  “I’m glad, pet,” he said, his gaze softening as he looked at his sister. “And what do you think, Miss Rankin? It is a far better way to begin your lessons than in a stuffy old schoolroom, wouldn’t you agree? I vow, I was getting a headache visiting that sickroom of yours, pet. The fresh air will do you good.”

  Jane cocked her brow and tapped the toe of her half boot on the grass. The devil had the nerve to laugh.

  “Well, then, let us be off. I thought we would take the boat down the river to the west side of the estate. It’s lovely this time of year.”

  Sarah wrapped her arms around his neck. “Shall we, Miss Rankin?”

  Jane glared at him, then came out from her spot beneath the leafy canopy of a quince tree.

  “How magnanimous of you to allow me to tour you about the estate,” he drawled as she came forward.

  “Do not think you have won,” she muttered quietly, so that Sarah would not hear her. “I have not agreed to this preposterous plan because of you. I have done so for your sister. Nothing more.”

  “What are you saying?” Sarah asked as she pressed forward and peered at her over Wallingford’s shoulder.

  The devil had the nerve to lift his brow in challenge. She shot him a look of barely concealed contempt before addressing his sister. “I was asking your brother if he thought it prudent for him to escort us today. After all, he must be very busy with business and ledgers and land tracts. Far too busy I would think to spend the day entertaining his sister and her nurse.”

  “Ledgers and land tracts?” Wallingford said with an amused laugh. “Obviously you have mistaken me for one of those aristocrats who actually sees to the running of their estates, Miss Rankin. I am not of those nobles, darling,” he drawled, and the warmth, the intimacy of it trailed across her skin like the tips of his fingers caressing her arms. “I am very indolent, you see. I would not recognize a land tract from a ledger, or a hedgerow marking my property from my neighbors. My knowledge lies elsewhere—primarily in the diversity of corsets and petticoats.”

  “My lord!” Jane scolded, her gaze darting to his sister, who seemed, to Jane’s relief, to be occupied following the fluttering orange wings of a butterfly that was busy suckling the nectar from a flower.

  “Do not concern yourself,” he murmured. “I have no thoughts to business today. I have spent my morning doing far more productive things, like organizing our little excursion and this afternoon’s entertainment.”

  “What are you about, sir?” she asked, unable to keep from wondering what nefarious plan he had in store for her.

  His grin was devilish. Jane felt blinded by the beauty of it. She was quite certain that if Wallingford chose to smile, his lips, combined with his lethal predatory grin, could make a woman swoon from at least fifty paces away.

  After last night, his mood was too light, and Jane was immediately on guard. She didn’t trust him. Nor did she trust herself with him.

  They’d reached the dock. Carefully he stepped into the boat, placing Sarah just so, covering her with a blanket and propping her with cushions that were already in the craft. He took the basket from her and placed it at the bow, then he turned his attention to her and held out his hands.

  “I don’t like being manipulated, my lord.”

  “‘Matthew’ is fine, especially when we are alone.”

  “I mean it,” she said, furious with him. “You are pushing your sister, sir.”

  “Inglebright thought it a grand idea. Was I mistaken that you value his opinion? Did you not inform me he is one of London’s best physicians? Besides, it was you who told me that Sarah needed to get up and moving.”

  She scowled, not liking her words thrown back in her face. “You deliberately set out to manipulate me by using your sister and my obvious affection for her.”

  “I did no such thing. I merely suggested a picnic.”

  “You did it to blackmail me after the debacle last evening. You cannot simply plan a picnic and think that I will forget about all we said to each other last night.”

  Ignoring her protests, his hands encircled her waist, lifting her off the dock. “I wanted at least another day with you, is that so very bad?” he whispered next to her ear.

  He held her up by the waist so that they were eye level and Jane was forced to put her hands on his shoulders and look straight into his blue eyes. “I did not attempt to manipulate you in order to have you stay. If that is what you think. Sarah is her own person, capable of forming her own stratagems.” Then, unceremoniously, he deposited her into the boat, leaving her gasping in indignation and burning for more of his touch.

  Hmph! she huffed before settling herself against the side of the boat. She watched as he expertly untied the rope, and with his booted foot, pushed them away from the dock.

  “I thought we’d spread the blanket beneath the apple trees,” he said cheerfully as he picked up the oars. “No better time, the blossoms are in full bloom.”

  Jane struggled to tear her gaze off the bulge of muscle beneath his jacket. With every stroke of the oar, the material bunched and tightened, fascinating her, making her dream of feeling it tighten beneath her fingers. She remembered the way his body felt, all hard and sculpted—and warm—growing hotter as her hands traced the planes of his broad shoulders and sculpted back. As if aware of her thoughts, he suddenly turned his blue gaze on her and grinned wickedly.

  “I was looking at that spot over there.” She pointed, just above the outline of his shoulder.

  “Indeed?” he drawled, allowing his gaze to linger on the front of her bodice. “And what did you think of that particular spot?”

  Sh
e shot him a severe, disapproving look and focused her attention instead on Sarah who was busily looking through the stack of books she had brought with her. With a deep chuckle, Wallingford set the paddle once more into the water, plunging it deep to turn the boat to their intended direction.

  As the oar dipped in the lake, she followed the ripples of water, her gaze lifting in time to see the black and white swans, swimming together. They stopped, floated for a second, then the black one began nuzzling the feathers of the white swan. He was grooming her, and Jane watched with rapt attention as the male indulged his female. Matthew followed her gaze, and studied the swans, as well.

  “They’re beautiful together, aren’t they?” Jane murmured. “So different, yet the same.”

  He cocked his head, studied her, and Jane looked away, fearing she had said too much. She was determined not to speak another word to him.

  Within minutes, they had traveled the width of the river and were approaching the dock. “I’ll moor the boat first, then help you ladies out. The water is rather deep here, you’ll have to have an extra care.”

  “Will you lift me out?” Sarah asked, looking up from her books.

  “Of course, pet.”

  “I will not need that sort of assistance,” Jane muttered, refusing to allow herself to think of Wallingford lifting her out of the boat and bringing her to his chest. Absolutely not. Her hand still burned where his fingers had held hers, and her heart had not slowed to its usual pace.

  Damn him for making her feel like this, like a giggling green girl.

  “I am afraid that is the only way out of the boat,” Wallingford said. “The area where we are picnicking does not have a shore, so to speak. The dock, as you see, is quite a distance away from the riverbank. It’s deep here, and the dock is high, making it quite difficult for a lady in layers of petticoats and a heavy gown to step up from the boat to the dock. I’ll have to lift you.”

  Jane glared at him while secretly waiting to feel herself being lifted in his arms like a helpless heroine. But she was no fainting girl, and she would not be one for him.

  Jane leaned back on her wrists and inhaled the heady fragrance of the apple blossoms. “Mmm, it smells so good.”

  Matthew offered her some cheese and a piece of freshly baked bread.

  She shook her head and gazed up at the canopy above her. Sarah had already eaten a small portion and was curled on some pillows, fast asleep. The outing had been good for Sarah, but exhausting, as well. She needed a nap before they returned to the house, and Jane, enjoying the breeze on her face, closed her eyes. She could get used to this quite easily.

  “What are you thinking of, Jane?”

  “How lovely it is here.”

  “But that is not all you’re thinking of.”

  How well he knew her—already.

  “Jane?”

  She glanced at him and heard the truth spill from her lips. “I’m just mulling over the fact that I know very little about you, and yet, we have…”

  “Been intimate? Yes. I know what you mean. It seems we should know one another better…. After all I already know your taste.”

  She blushed. “My lord—”

  “Matthew,” he interrupted. “We need not be so formal when we are alone. We’ve moved past that, have we not, Jane?”

  She nodded awkwardly, not knowing how to disagree with him. They had moved on. She’d felt it last night, and now, sitting beneath the tree, surrounded by nature. Something was drawing them together, and she was helpless to resist it.

  She felt him move, and she opened her eyes to see him sprawled out beside her, his head propped up with his hand. “Last night ended in a disaster, Jane. I don’t want it to be like this.”

  “I am…not used to the company of men, and the conversation was rather…”

  “Painful?”

  She nodded. “Honesty can be as cruel as a lie.”

  “I am not accustomed to caring about other’s feelings, Jane, but last night, after you left, I was…stunned by your anger. Confused. I couldn’t understand what I had done to earn your fury. It took me most of the night, but I finally came to realize that it was because I had been so rude, so damn hurtful to you as you stood before me on the sidewalk.”

  “Don’t go any further, please.”

  “I’m sorry, Jane,” he said as he lowered her face so that he was gazing directly—and deeply—into her eyes, “that I did not see you, that I treated you and your tender feelings so horribly.”

  “I would have rather died than admit to you that you had hurt me, but now…” Jane closed her eyes and fought for the strength to open herself up to him. “Now I will admit that your appraisal of me more than stung. It hurt. It tore me apart inside until I was left with nothing but pain—and the desire to hurt you just as horribly. A flaw, I’m afraid.”

  “I am full of flaws, Jane, but with you—” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, making Jane wish to press her lips to it. “With you, Jane, I have the very great desire to be the sort of man that cares. That feels. A gentleman, I believe the ladies call that sort of man.”

  Jane smiled despite herself. Matthew, Lord Wallingford, would never be the gentlemanly sort, and the knowledge secretly thrilled her.

  He reached into a satchel that lay on the grass and pulled out a book. “Look.”

  She flipped through it and scanned the elegant nudes he had sketched. They were of a woman with a lovely body, sprawled in many positions. The woman was faceless in every sketch, until the last. There she saw her face. It was her in bed, blossoms covering her.

  “I want to paint you like this,” he murmured, taking the book from her hands. He pressed her back onto the blanket with his palm on her belly. “I want you naked, surrounded by blossoms.”

  Matthew slid in beside her, his hand resting beneath her breast. The breeze blew across them, sending a few blossoms wafting down, landing on the exposed flesh of her chest. She moved her hand to brush them off, and Matthew clasped her hand in his, threading his long fingers slowly between hers.

  “Let me.” Then, lowering his head, he gently blew the blossoms off her gown.

  Jane couldn’t smother the small cry that escaped her, nor could she hide the goose bumps that sprang up to cover her flesh. His hand tightened on hers, then his lips brushed over her skin in much the same way as his breath had. Her skin tingled, and an ache developed in her breasts.

  “You taste so sweet,” he breathed against her flesh. “Your skin is so soft, so warm.”

  Jane cried out when he unlocked his hand from hers, but her protests ceased when she felt his fingers beneath the edge of her bodice.

  “It all went so wrong last night, Jane. So wrong,” he murmured as he tugged the bodice lower and ran his tongue along the edge. “You thought I believed you insignificant, but the truth is, I find you fascinating. You think I suppose you’re not pretty, but, Jane,” he said, looking up, “I find you stunning. Your eyes…your imperfect mouth. It’s beautiful, and I want to paint you how I see you, sensual and womanly, dying to break free of an ideal that imprisons you.”

  His fingers unhooked the top buttons of her gown, and she glanced over to Sarah, who was quite a way away, partially concealed by the trunk of a tree.

  “She sleeps deep,” he whispered as he parted her bodice to reveal the swells of her breasts, “and I need you. I know your body is not mine, that you will not give it wholly, but could you give me something of you, Jane?”

  She closed her eyes and allowed him to bend his head to her breasts. He nudged the gown lower with his mouth, nipping her skin. “Yes,” she murmured. Tentatively, she ran her fingers through his hair. “Yes, Matthew.”

  He exposed her, pulling her breasts free of her corset. The warm breeze kissed her nipples, hardening them, and she opened her eyes to see him tracing one areola, his circles becoming smaller and smaller until his fingertip caressed the very tip of her nipple. Reaching above her head, he picked up a handful of blossom
s and dropped them onto her chest, then he lowered his head, and blew them so softly away from her. Her nipples crinkled further and he brushed his lower lip against one.

  “I have never seen a nipple this color before, such a deep coral. I wonder how I shall find the right shade.”

  He sipped her, his lips working her nipple until she was moving restlessly beneath him. “I want to watch you come, Jane.”

  He reached for her skirts and tunneled his hand beneath her gown and petticoats. Up her stocking his palm smoothed, making his way to her garter, which he traced with his fingertips. “I want to sear the image in my mind so I can paint you pleasuring yourself.”

  She gasped as his fingers found the opening to her drawers and smoothed over her sex, spreading the wetness that had been slowly building since she set eyes on him that morning.

  “Matthew,” she pleaded, needing him to touch. His eyes closed and he rubbed his finger between her folds.

  “Again.”

  “Matt—” Her voice broke off as he buried one finger inside her, and she moaned as he slipped in another one and stroked her. “Matty.”

  She felt him shiver, his broad shoulders trembling beneath her hands. She could feel the muscles there, beneath his white lawn shirt, tightening and stretching, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

  “Oh, God, Jane,” he whispered. “Open your eyes, and let me see you. The real you.”

  She obeyed him and found him looking down into her face as he slowly moved in and out of her body with his fingers. Her womb contracted and she felt herself grow slick, coating his hand. His lashes fluttered closed and he removed his hand, making her clutch at his shoulders.

  “I want to know what you’ll taste like mixed with quince.”

  Jane watched as he brought his hand to his mouth, the one he had used to pick up the blossoms, the one he had pleasured her with. He licked his fingers, which glistened, then brought his mouth down on hers, kissing her, erotically sliding his tongue inside her mouth as he slipped his way inside her body, his fingers building her up, slowly pulling her orgasm from her. And all the while he kissed her, until she began to tremble. Only then did he pull back and watch her unravel in his arms.