Lady Beauchamp's Proposal

by Secret Cravings Publishing

  But thought was becoming too difficult as the pressure inside him began to build and build to catastrophic proportions. He should stop her before he erupted in her mouth. He reached forward to bury one of his hands in her hair to push her away, but then it was too late. With an agonized cry, he came with a great volcanic spurt, his body shuddering, every muscle tightening into rigidity as a titanic wave of pleasure surged through him. And somehow she was swallowing him, drinking him, sucking him dry until there was nothing left.

  Gasping, he collapsed onto the rug. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even open his eyes, although he badly wanted to look at Beth again. He felt her ease herself off his legs, and then after a moment, she was at his side. She lay a warm hand upon his forehead, then brushed a damp lock of hair away from his face. He looked up, but he still couldn’t even drag in enough breath to speak.

  She was smiling—perhaps even a little smugly—and holding a glass of Burgundy. She took a sip of the wine then tilted the glass slightly toward him. “Can I get you some, my lord?”

  He grimaced and pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Beth…I can’t believe you’re still calling me, my lord…after pleasuring me like that.”

  Her smile grew wider. “James, then. Can I serve you some wine?”

  He laughed and took the glass she had been sipping from—his glass—away from her. “I’m afraid we’ll have to share this. Before you came back, I’d set about drinking myself into a stupor. This is probably the last glass. Unless you’d like me to ring for Roberts to fetch us some more.” He immediately regretted his words.

  “You wouldn’t,” she whispered, her face blanching.

  He reached forward and twisted a lock of her silken hair around his finger. “No. I wouldn’t. Considering what I’m going to do with you next, I wouldn’t want there to be any interruptions.”

  Chapter Nine

  What was he going to do with her?

  A shiver of nervous anticipation tingled over every inch of Elizabeth’s skin as Lord Rothsburgh—James—let a lock of her hair slowly unravel and slide off one long finger. He offered her his glass, and she took it, taking another sip—the rich red wine mingled on her tongue with another taste—the delicious, salty taste of him.

  Elizabeth was quietly pleased with his reaction to her lovemaking. She had wanted to please him, and this was the only act she knew that she was particularly adept at—according to Hugh at any rate. She hoped that the marquess would remember that she was good at something, even if she turned out to be a disappointment in all other respects.

  And she also hoped and prayed that Lord Rothsburgh wouldn’t disappoint her like Hugh always had. It was probably unfair of her to be placing such high expectations on one man—that he would be able to fulfill her when her husband had never been able to. But she so wanted to experience a climax when she was with a man. And given that Rothsburgh could arouse her so effortlessly—just being in the same room with him, aroused her—she knew if she was actually physically capable of reaching that ultimate peak with someone, he would be the one to take her there.

  She was risking everything—her very soul—to experience such a wondrous thing.

  She glanced over at Lord Rothsburgh—James (she must remember to call him that)—and let her eyes feast upon the glorious sight of his naked upper body—the long, lean lines and planes of rigid muscle, bone and sinew—gilded by the firelight. The Prince of Darkness, the Great Tempter indeed. Her gaze then drifted lower along the tantalizing line of black hair that ran from navel to groin, to the opening in his trousers where his spent cock still lay exposed in a nest of dark curls. Even in that state, she still marveled at the length and width of him. Had she really taken so much of him into her mouth?

  He noticed where her gaze drifted, and his mouth tilted into a smile at one corner.

  “Don’t worry, Beth. I’ll be ready again soon.” And sure enough, within a second or two, his cock did indeed start to twitch and swell before her very eyes.

  Oh. Elizabeth pushed a strand of hair away from her face with her free hand. And then shrieked as a sharp spike of panic speared through her. “Oh my God. My hair. There must be pins everywhere.” She had to find her hairpins. She couldn’t let the staff find them all over the floor. What would they think?

  Elizabeth knew exactly what they’d think and as much as she didn’t want it to matter, it still did.

  She hastily placed the wine glass down on the hearth, and began to crawl about the floor, looking and feeling for the pieces of thin wire. Rothsburgh was laughing; aside from hearing his low chuckle, out of the corner of her eye she could also see him bending forward at the waist, his ridged stomach muscles contracting with mirth.

  She shot him a glare. “Don’t laugh. Help me, God damn you.”

  He immediately bit his lip, clearly trying to look contrite—but failing abysmally. Laughter still danced in his dark brown eyes. “I’m sorry, Beth. I’ll help. It’s just that after what you and I just did…Well, it’s amusing to see you scrabbling about so.” He roughly buttoned his breeches and then joined her on hands and knees, and within a few minutes, they had a small pile of a dozen hairpins.

  She frowned then looked at Rothsburgh. “Thank you. But there were more, I think.”

  “They’re probably in the drawing room near the piano. I did make a frightful mess of your hair when I kissed you the first time. I’ll get them.”

  He returned within half a minute, brandishing the wayward pins and deposited them in her hand, amusement still tugging at the corner of his mouth. She slipped them into her gown’s pocket along with the others, trying to think of something both witty and cutting to say, but in the end, she simply smiled back at him. She couldn’t have explained why, but she suddenly felt uncommonly happy.

  Rothsburgh’s eyes suddenly softened and he reached out to tuck the same errant lock of hair behind her ear. “Beth, I would love to take out the rest of those pins. Would you let me?”

  “Of course, my…James,” she said softly, quite mesmerized by his heavily muscled chest and arms as he moved a step closer. He gently pushed his fingers into the wild tumbling mass of her hair, searching for pins and releasing the snags, until her disheveled locks fell freely across her shoulders and down her back.

  “Perfect,” he murmured, then bent and placed a gentle, almost chaste kiss upon her lips.

  Surprisingly, even though her earlier brazen behavior should preclude her from doing so, Elizabeth blushed—perhaps because of his praise, perhaps because of the caring, more intimate sentiment with which he had bestowed the kiss. She wasn’t sure, but she suddenly felt quite vulnerable being bathed by his warm regard. She was reminded of the time he had felt her forehead for fever, and it suddenly occurred to her why she found these more tender moments difficult to deal with. They reminded her of what she had been missing for so long in her life, and what she could never, ever contemplate sharing with James—love.

  Elizabeth didn’t know how long this affaire would last, but if she had any sense at all, she would break it off and start again somewhere else, sooner rather than later, before she felt too much for this man.

  That’s where the real danger had lain all along.

  “Why are you suddenly so sad, my angel?” James stroked her flushed cheek with the back of his hand, pulling her from her maudlin thoughts.

  She summoned a smile. “It’s nothing.” She placed her right hand gently against the wide plane of his chest, then raked her fingernails lightly across his hot skin, watching his nipples pucker. He’d said that he was going to do something else with her… “I’m just wondering what is going to come next.”

  He grasped her hand and raised it to his lips. And then frowned. “Beth, your wedding ring…”

  “I…I took it off,” she explained, trying to keep her tone light, to downplay the significance of such an act. “After I made my decision—to be with you—it didn’t seem right to wear it anymore. I mean, I don’t want to wear it anymore.”


  “I’m honored,” he said gravely, holding her eyes. Then quite deliberately he raised her ring finger to his mouth and drew it inside, sucking it gently and laving it with his tongue, his eyes never leaving hers. She gasped at the flagrant intimacy, the delicious wickedness of what he did as liquid warmth flooded her lower belly, and made her slick between the legs.

  Somehow she managed to make her voice work. “I think it’s time for whatever it is that you want to do next, my lord.”

  * * * *

  “I agree whole-heartedly, my lady. And I think we should retire to your bedchamber so I can show you exactly what I have in mind.”

  Beth raised her delicately arched eyebrows a fraction. “My bedchamber?”

  Rothsburgh grinned. “Well, I don’t mind undressing you here…”

  “All right, all right. My bedchamber then.” She blushed again and looked more than a little flustered. He decided he liked it when she blushed. And he intended to make her blush a whole lot more before the night was through.

  He retrieved his shirt from the floor and tossed it on. Although most of the staff would have probably retired for the night by now, it wouldn’t do to be seen striding around the castle in a shirtless state in the company of a disheveled Mrs. Eliott.

  “Come,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her toward the door. He knew he was being impatient and demanding, but he really didn’t want to waste another minute of this precious night. She followed him willingly though, through the gallery, up the stairs and along the hall until they were in her room.

  He locked the door and turned to face her, his beautiful Beth.

  Her hand was still in his, but he felt her fingers imperceptibly stiffen, and he noticed she was breathing quickly—was it from the exertion of rushing up the stairs or nerves? Yes—she was looking nervous. Even by the low light cast by the fire and candles, he could see the shadows of worry behind her wide grey eyes. Confusion tugged at his brain. After everything she had done to him—she clearly wasn’t a novice, and she’d been married for Christ’s sake—why was she suddenly looking so uneasy? Whatever the reason, he was clearly going to have to proceed cautiously, gently…slowly.

  “Beth,” he murmured, bringing her hand to his chest. And then he leant forward and kissed her oh so softly—a brief, light touch only.

  Her lips moved to return the kiss, but when he drew back, he could see she was still edgy.

  Tilting her chin gently upward, he searched her eyes. “Are you having second thoughts about this…about us?” He couldn’t hide the concern from his voice. It would kill him if she pulled away now.

  “No…I mean…I suppose I’m just a little nervous. I’ve never been with anyone else. And it’s been a long time…months, in fact, since I…”

  “Ah.” Why hadn’t he thought of that himself? He carefully cradled her face in his hands. He would kiss away her doubts and her resistance. He was certain he could. He had to. “We’ll take it slowly then. I’ll stop at anytime…if you want me to…although I might die in the process.”

  She smiled at that. “Well, we wouldn’t want that now.”

  Taking her response as an encouraging sign, he stroked his thumbs along the sensitive flesh below her ears, and was rewarded with a shiver. “I just want you to remember, Beth, that this time, my pleasure is your pleasure.”

  * * * *

  Elizabeth’s breath caught at his words, and a deep thrill coursed through her, all the way to her very bones.

  Her pleasure.

  Hugh had never cared about her pleasure. Before he’d gotten bored, he had taken from her, and had always left her wanting. But Rothsburgh—James—wanted her to experience pleasure.

  “Show me,” she whispered.

  He did not hesitate. His mouth was on hers in the next instant, his lips and tongue caressing and teasing her gently. She tasted him back—the faint taste of Burgundy and the moist sliding heat of his mouth, the smell of his skin, all melded together and flooded her senses. When he pulled away she almost moaned with disappointment and she realized she had become hopelessly addicted to his kisses already.

  He pulled her over toward the bed, his eyes dark and mysterious, locked on her face. “Turn around Beth,” he said, his voice a deep, rich purr.

  She immediately acquiesced. Sweeping her hair across one shoulder, he placed his lips on the nape of her neck, and she gasped at the feather-light contact. Her skin was so sensitive, she could feel goose-bumps everywhere, and her nipples contracted to hard aching points. He slid the jet buttons of her horrid, bombazine gown undone, kissing the length of her spine, down to the edge of her shift and corset. His large, warm hands then slid across her shoulders and down her arms, easing the stiff black fabric away from her body until the gown fell to the floor.

  Then his clever mouth was back at her neck, tracing a line of kisses from there up to one ear, and then down along her shoulder whilst his hands floated lightly over the bare skin of her arms, creating tingles of exquisite sensation wherever he brushed. He was taking his time with her, but it was fast becoming torturous when her very core was throbbing with anticipation. She almost couldn’t bear it. She needed more.

  She turned her head to the side. “My corset…please…”

  His lips spread into a smile upon her skin. “Now, now. Patience, my dear Beth.” His breath was hot against her sensitized flesh. Who would have thought that words and breath could themselves be a caress?

  Nevertheless, he heeded her plea, and she felt him pulling the laces undone until the lightly boned garment joined her gown on the floor. Before he could stop her—he was not having it all his own way—she turned around and pulled his head down for another kiss. This time he wasn’t so gentle with her, and she reveled in the knowledge that perhaps she was tempting him to lose his control just a little bit too.

  His hands came to rest on her waist, then pressed up and over her ribs until his palms found her aching breasts at last. She moaned softly into his mouth as he pulled and rolled her nipples with his fingers and thumbs through the thin linen and lace of her shift. Was this pleasure or the sweetest of tortures? Whatever it was, she didn’t want it to stop.

  He fumbled with the ribbon at the front of her shift, and she raised her hands and tugged it loose for him, impatient for his hands to be on her. But he didn’t push his hands beneath the sagging linen, he took a step back, then pulled the garment over her head before tossing it away.

  Now she was naked except for her silk stockings and slippers. She blushed, holding her breath and stole a look at James’s face. Would he think her beautiful? Would he think her too wanton because she hadn’t worn drawers? She so didn’t want to see the desire fade from his eyes.

  But she needn’t have worried. He was gazing at her, his eyes tracing her curves and hollows with a potent combination of awe and hunger. Yes—there was definitely hunger. His eyes were molten black. She shivered, her nipples pebbling. And then he smiled, his wide, perfect lips stretching into a lazy, lopsided tilt. “I would say you were a vision straight from heaven, except for the fact that you are as tempting as sin, my love.”

  My love. Surely he didn’t mean that. He’d only used the endearment in the heat of the moment. She confirmed this to herself when she glanced at his eyes and saw they were still smoldering with unabashed lust. Indeed the air around them was heavy with it.

  It had never been like this with Hugh. But she didn’t want to think about Hugh anymore.

  All she wanted to think about was James. And that was proving very easy to do as he cupped her breasts, and then lowered his head to suckle on one achingly tense nipple then the other, his teeth, and tongue, and lips working her into a frenzied agony that was coalescing into one throbbing point between her thighs. Head thrown back with her eyes closed, she could barely stand, and clung to his iron hard biceps lest her knees buckle beneath her.

  As if attuned to the havoc he was so happily wreaking upon her, James suddenly wrapped an arm around her waist, and with the o
ther cradling her buttocks, he lifted her and bore her backwards onto the bed, all the way up to the pillows. She opened her eyes and saw that he was looming over her, smiling his slow, lazy smile again.

  Damn him, he was enjoying this far too much.

  “I think you are a tad over dressed for bed-sport,” she managed to say, although her voice was little more than a husky whisper. She wanted to touch him again, feel the steel and heat of him under her hands and against her body.

  But he simply grinned. “Well perhaps I shall dispense with my boots for now. I wouldn’t want these bed clothes to get too dirty.” He moved to the side of the bed and she heard the clunk of heavy leather on the floor. Somehow, she had already managed to lose her slippers, but her stockings had stayed in placed.

  It was something James noticed too, as soon as he returned to her side. He loosened the ribbon garters, and then slowly peeled off each stocking in turn, his hands running over her legs all the way down to the tips of her toes.

  “Even your ankles and feet are beautiful, Beth.” Cradling one foot in his hands, he then glanced up at her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

  Oh no. Surely he wasn’t going to—

  But he did. He was. He trailed a path of kisses from her calf to the arch of her foot. She squirmed, but he had her firmly trapped in his grasp. With horrified fascination, she watched him kiss her toes in turn until he arrived at her big toe and sucked it into his mouth. She cried out and bucked, but he didn’t let go. It was wrong, it was depraved. It was delicious.