by Lisa Kleypas
“Within reason, of course. One can’t be certain that everything in that book is anatomically possible. But it would be interesting to find out, wouldn’t it?”
“You are depraved,” she informed him. “You are corrupt and degenerate.”
“Yes, and for the next three months, I’m all yours.” He surveyed her with a wickedly speculative gaze. “Now, exactly how did Chapter One begin?”
Amanda was torn between laughter and horror as she wondered just how much of his outrageous proposal was in earnest. “I believe it started with a particular gentleman being shown the door.”
Jack covered her mouth with his in a deep, sweetly invasive intrusion. “I seem to recall that it started this way,” he murmured. “Let me take you upstairs and demonstrate further.”
Amanda led him to the staircase, but paused before ascending the first step, feeling a surge of bashfulness. In the dark confines of his carriage, it had been easy for her to surrender her hold on reality. However, here in the familiar surroundings of her home, she was all too awkwardly aware of what she was doing.
Seeming to understand her twinge of uncertainty, Jack stopped and pinned her against the banister, his fingers curving around the polished wood on either side of her. His lips held the hint of a smile. “Shall I carry you?”
She stood a step higher than he, so that their faces were level. “No, I am too heavy. You’ll drop me, or tumble and break both our necks.”
His blue eyes sparkled with devilish amusement. “I’ll have to teach you not to underestimate me.”
“It’s not that, I’m just—” She squeaked in surprise as he bent and lifted her easily in his arms. “Oh, don’t! No, Jack, you’ll drop me.”
But his grip on her was solid, and he appeared not to feel her weight as he carried her up the stairs. “You’re not even half my size,” he said. “I could carry you for miles and never miss a breath. Now stop squirming.”
Amanda threw her arms around his shoulders. “You’ve made your point,” she gasped. “Set me down, please.”
“Oh, I will set you down,” he assured her. “Right onto your bed, as soon as we reach it. Which room is yours?”
“The second door down the hall,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. She had never been carried anywhere like this, and while she felt slightly ridiculous, there was a certain primitive appeal about it. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and allowed herself to enjoy the sensation of being swept up in the arms of a powerful man.
They reached her bedroom, and Jack closed the door with his heel. He set her carefully onto the large bed with its barley-sugar twist posts and yellow-gold damask hangings. Curls of steam rose from the ewer of hot water that had been placed on the corner washstand. Tendrils of flame danced in the fireplace as kindling ignited into a sputtering blaze.
Amanda watched Jack with wide eyes, wondering if he intended to undress right there in front of her. He tossed his coat onto the nearby dressing table and removed his waistcoat and cravat.
Amanda cleared her throat, while her heart picked up an agitated pace and her blood stirred with restless heat. “Jack,” she murmured, “we aren’t really going to do Chapter One, are we?”
He grinned as he realized she was referring to The Sins of Madam B. “I confess, peaches, that my memory needs refreshing. I can’t recall how the damn thing begins…unless you would care to enlighten me?”
“No,” she said abruptly, making him laugh.
Jack approached her with his shirt half unbuttoned, the lamplight gleaming over the muscular surface of his chest. He reached for the teardrop earrings that dangled against her jawline. He removed them gently, and rubbed her sore earlobes with his thumbs and forefingers. Setting the jewelry aside on the night table, he unpinned her hair. Amanda closed her eyes, her breath coming in unsteady swishes. His every motion was slow and careful, as if she were some fragile creature that required extremely gentle handling.
“There must have been some part of Gemma’s book that you liked.” Removing her shoes, he dropped them to the carpeted floor. “Something that intrigued you…that excited you.”
She jumped a little as she felt his hands clasp her ankles and slide up to her garters. The bands were untied with a few deft twists. Jack rolled down her silk stockings one at a time, pausing to stroke the firm curves of her calves. His fingertips tickled the susceptive places behind her knees, causing her legs to twitch in pleasured reaction.
“I would hardly tell you such things,” she protested with a choked laugh. “Besides, I didn’t like any part of that dreadful book.”
“Oh, yes, you did,” he said softly. “And you are going to tell me, peaches. After all we’ve shared so far, a fantasy or two won’t be that difficult.”
She hedged. “You tell me yours first.”
He closed his hands around her ankles, pulling her toward him. “I have fantasies that involve every part of you. Your hair, your mouth and breasts…even your feet.”
“My feet?” She jolted in reaction as she felt his thumbs stroke over her arches, soothing away little knots of tension. He placed her foot on the front of his trousers, right where a thick, heavy ridge strained against the blend of wool and broadcloth. The heat of his body saturated the fabric and seemed to scorch the sole of her foot, and her toes curled in automatic reaction.
Feeling embarrassed and aroused, Amanda peeked at him through her lashes, and saw the hint of playfulness in his devil-blue eyes. She snatched her foot away and heard him laugh. Then he removed the rest of his clothes and let them rustle to the floor. The room became quiet, except for the crackle of the little fire in the hearth. Amanda risked a shy glance at the bare male form in front of her, and her gaze was riveted by the sight. The interplay of darkness and firelight threw every detail of him into stark relief, all muscle and golden skin and intimate shadows, and long, sinewy lines that conveyed both elegance and power. She had not imagined that someone could be so comfortable with his own nakedness, and yet he stood before her as easily as if he were fully dressed. His body was aroused, a gloriously masculine flaunting of desire that he made no effort to conceal. As Amanda stared at him, a low, coursing pleasure filled her limbs. She had never wanted anything in her life as she did in this moment…to feel the heavy naked weight of his body over hers, to feel his breath pelt her skin and his hands grasp and guide her.
“Now you’ve seen a completely naked man,” Jack said. “What do you think?”
She moistened her dry lips with her tongue. “I think that thirty years is too long to have waited for this.”
He reached around her and unfastened the back of her gown. The smell of his skin, warm and slightly salty, gave her the same slightly dizzy feeling she sometimes had when she had drunk her wine too quickly. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, her fingertips tingling from the hard, satiny texture of him.
Gently he eased her to the floor and pushed the loosened dress downward until she stepped out of it. Left in her light corset and chemise and drawers, Amanda edged away from him with an abashed murmur.
“Jack…” She went to the washstand and poured some steaming water into a painted earthenware bowl. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting behind the dressing screen,” she said without looking at him, “I need a moment of privacy.”
He came up behind her, his hands settling at her waist. “Let me help you.”
“No, no,” she said in a sudden paroxysm of embarrassment. “If you’ll just go over there…I’ll manage by myself.”
But he hushed her with a kiss and ignored her protests while unfastening her corset and stripping away her undergarments. Flushing deeply, Amanda forced herself to hold still as he gazed at her body. She was well aware of her defects: legs that should have been longer, hips that were too wide, a stomach that was not quite flat. But as Jack stared at her, a visible pulse appeared in his throat, and his hand shook slightly when he touched the undercurve of her breast. One might have thought he were beholding a godde
ss instead of a thirty-year-old spinster. “Damn, how I want you,” he said, his voice rasping in his throat. “I could eat you alive.”
She puzzled over the baffling and somewhat alarming statement. “Please don’t try to claim that I am beautiful. We both know that is not the case.”
Jack soaked a linen cloth in the hot water and wrung it out, then gently cleansed her inner thighs. To her mortification, he bade her place a foot on a nearby chair, thereby exposing herself more fully to his ministrations. “Every man has his own preferences,” he said. The cloth was rinsed and soaked again, and he placed it directly between her thighs, so that the heat eased the soreness caused by their encounter in the carriage. “You happen to fulfill all of mine.”
Amanda leaned forward until her cheek rested against his bare shoulder, relaxing against his invitingly warm body. “You prefer short women with large hips?” she asked skeptically.
His free hand coasted over the generous shape of her buttocks, and she felt him smile against her cheek. “I prefer everything about you. The way you feel beneath my hands, the way you taste…every curve and valley. But as much as I desire your body, your most attractive feature is here.” He tapped her temple with his fingertip. “You fascinate me,” he murmured. “You always have. You are the most original, challenging woman I have ever encountered. I’ve wanted to take you to bed from the first moment I saw you on your front doorstep.”
She stood quietly, allowing him to cleanse and soothe her, and apply more hot compresses between her legs. When he was finished, he pulled her with him to the bed, and lifted her to the linen-covered mattress. Her heart knocked violently against her ribs, and the walls of the room seemed to disintegrate, leaving only darkness and firelight and the warm tangle of their limbs.
“Jack,” she whispered as he stretched her out beneath him, the stiffly bobbing weight of his arousal brushing against the inside of her knee. Her hands found his buttocks, squeezing the densely textured flesh like a cat kneading with its paws, and Jack gasped against her hair. Emboldened, she slid one hand to his sex and touched him, her fingers closing tightly around the pulsing shape. He moved to his side to give her more access to his body, letting her touch him in any manner she wished.
Gently she cupped the fuzz-covered pouch at the base of his sex, which felt cool and soft in comparison to the turgid shaft. Her fingertips traced over the ridges of veins that led all the way up to a broad tip. Experimentally she drew the pad of her thumb over the satiny bulb, and he clenched his hands in her hair and groaned.
“Does that please you?” she whispered.
It appeared that he found it difficult to speak. “Yes,” he finally managed with a smothered laugh. “God, yes…if you please me any more, I will probably explode.” He tilted her head back and brought their faces together, his features shimmering with a mist of sweat, his eyes ablaze with blue light. His large hand covered hers, helping to guide the head of his shaft to the thatch of soft, wiry curls between her legs. His palm moved to her thigh, hitching it over his hip so that she was spread open for him. “Rub it against yourself,” he murmured.
Amanda’s entire body turned crimson. Slowly she took the head of his shaft in her fingers and brought it to the damp furrow between her thighs. Her breath rushed in harsh surges as she rubbed the tip of his organ over her intimate flesh, until the moisture from her own body made him slippery.
“Jack,” she moaned, pushing his sex against the wet cove of her body, “take me now. Please. I want you inside me. I want—”
He interrupted her with a deep kiss, his tongue playing with hers, his hands folding over her breasts. “Turn around,” he whispered. “Lie on your side, and hold your bottom against me.”
Amanda groaned as his fingers gently pinched her nipples. “No, I want—”
“I know what you want.” His mouth slid over her hot face. “And you shall have it, my love. Just do as I tell you.”
Amanda obeyed him with a sob, settling so that her back was pressed against his chest, and his body was wedged behind hers spoon-fashion.
She felt the rise of his erection against her buttocks, and she writhed against him, her need so acute that all shame had vanished. He kissed and bit the nape of her neck, and murmured instructions, urging her to part her legs and arch her back. To her surprise, she felt him enter her from behind. She gave a guttural moan as he drove deeper, filling her until she was stretched tightly around him. Although he was gentle, she felt a pinch of discomfort, her body still unaccustomed to this intimate invasion.
“Does it hurt?” he whispered against her earlobe.
“Yes, a little,” she gasped.
His big hands coasted over the front of her body, stroking her breasts, her quivering stomach, then moving to the aching peak of her sex. His clever fingertip rested close to the tingling flesh without quite touching it, teasingly elusive, sliding away each time Amanda strained to push herself against it.
He tormented her until she began to writhe, desperately working for the stimulation he held just out of reach. Each time her hips surged forward, he followed the movement, thrusting deeper into the grasping depths of her body. The soreness disappeared as each liquid glide sent a rush of delight through her, and the exquisite tension climbed higher, higher, until she bit her lips to hold back a scream.
“Jack, please, please,” she moaned, her every limb stiff, her skin sweating until even the roots of her hair were wet. She clawed at the gentle hand between her legs, straining to reach the climax he withheld.
“All right, my love,” came his dark voice in her ear. “You’ve earned your pleasure.” She felt him pinch the throbbing little nub between his thumb and forefinger, and he gently stroked the silken flesh even as he thrust hard and straight inside her. It seemed that the world exploded in sensation and fire as her body clamped on his invading hardness with spasms of ecstasy. The rippling of her inner muscles brought him to the same rocketing climax, and he withdrew from her with a groan, spilling his seed on the sheets.
Exhausted, satiated, Amanda rolled to face him, her arms sliding around his back. She felt the slight ridges of scars from long-ago beatings, and her hands lingered on the marks, fingertips softly stroking. Jack went very still, the cadence of his breath changing. His lashes lowered, concealing his thoughts from her.
She stroked the small of his back and then moved her hands up the powerful length of his spine. Finding the scars once more, she touched them lightly, as if she could soothe them away. “Mr. Fretwell once told me that you took many beatings meant for other children at the Knatchford Heath school,” she said. “You tried to protect the smaller boys from harm.”
His mouth tightened with annoyance. “Fretwell talks too damned much.”
“I was glad that he told me…I would never have guessed you were capable of such sacrifice.”
His shoulders moved in a careless shrug. “It was nothing. I have a tough Irish hide—I never felt the thrashings as much as the younger boys would have.”
Amanda snuggled closer to him, careful to keep her voice sympathetic rather than pitying. “Don’t make light of what you did.”
“Hush.” Jack placed gentle fingers over her lips. Dark color touched the crests of his cheeks. “Next you’ll make me out to be a damned saint,” he said gruffly, “and believe me, that is not the case. I was a hellion, and I grew up to be a reprobate.”
Amanda applied her tongue to one of his fingers, tickling the inside crease.
Surprised by the playful swipe of her tongue, Jack jerked back his hand and grinned down at her, the shades of bitter regret vanishing from his eyes. “Little witch.” He pulled back the covers and shifted Amanda’s body onto the expanse of smooth linen sheets. “I think we can put your tongue to better use than that,” he murmured, and covered her mouth with his own.
Chapter 11
Amanda’s relatives were not pleased by the news that she would not be coming to Windsor for the remainder of the holidays. They made their disgruntlem
ent known through a cache of rapidly posted letters that Amanda declined to answer. Usually she would have taken the time to soothe their ruffled feathers, but as the days slipped by, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her entire existence had become centered on Jack Devlin. The hours when they were apart passed with unbearable slowness, whereas the evenings sped by in a sweetly frantic rush. He always came to her after dark fell, and left just before dawn, and with each hour she spent in his arms, she only craved him more.
Jack treated her as no man ever had, regarding her not as a sedate spinster but as a woman of warmth and passion. On the occasions when Amanda’s inhibitions got the better of her, he teased her ruthlessly, provoking a temper she had never suspected herself of having. There were times, however, when Jack’s mood changed and he was no longer a mocking rogue but a tender lover. He would spend hours cuddling and stroking her, making love with exquisite gentleness. During those times, he seemed to understand her with a thoroughness that frightened her, as if he could see into her very soul.
Just as they had agreed, Jack made her read certain chapters of The Sins of Madam B, and he openly enjoyed her squirming discomfort at having to enact particular scenes in bed with him.
“I can’t,” she said in a muffled voice one evening, pulling the bed linens over her scarlet face. “I just can’t. Choose something else—I’ll do anything but that with you.”
“You promised you would try,” Jack said, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he jerked the sheets away from her.
“I don’t recall anything of the kind.”
“Coward.” He kissed the top of her spine and worked his way down her back, and she felt him smile against her skin. “Be brave, Amanda,” he whispered. “What do you have to lose?”
“My self-respect!” She tried to wriggle free, but he pinned her down and gently nipped the sensitive spot between her shoulder blades.
“Just give it a try,” he coaxed. “I’ll do it to you first—wouldn’t you like that?” He flipped her over and kissed her quivering stomach. “I want to taste you,” he murmured. “I want to put my tongue in you.”
