by Lavinia Kent
“Yes, and I do not believe you do not care.”
She turned her head and stared out at the crowd just as the lights were extinguished and the performance began. “Well, I wish not to care.”
He turned his head and laid a kiss upon her palm. “I know.”
“But, you are right—sometimes I care too much. I am working on not caring, however.” Her eyes met his again and he could swear he saw a sparkle.
The music began and for a moment they were silent.
Linnette reached out and began playing with the tie of the curtain at the front of the box, her fingers twisting the heavy silk cord, unmindful when the cord pulled loose and the curtain fell part way forward.
Then, for no reason he could understand, she stood, pulling away from him, and for a moment he feared he had lost her, that she had decided to avoid all gossip, that it all had been too much for her.
Shaking her skirts, she turned and walked towards the two sets of curtains that closed the balcony from the hall. She tripped on the step, her clumsiness so different than her usual grace, and the loud clatter of her heels drew all eyes to her, despite the gentle rise of the music. They continued to follow her as she moved toward the double set of curtains that blocked the hall. She stood for a moment, her pale skin highlighted in the castoff glow of the stage.
He wanted to call her back, but having no idea what had prompted her to leave he did not know what to say.
She stepped into the darkness of the drapes, and he knew he had lost his chance.
The velvet curtains swayed and billowed.
All eyes turned back to the stage and away from the disappearing duchess.
He forced his own glance away, staring out at the crowd, pretending he saw anything but her straight back as she left.
Something caught deep in his chest.
Had he lost her?
A floorboard creaked, almost inaudible beneath the swell of the music.
He turned his head back—and he saw her—saw Linnette standing half behind the heavy drapes that blocked the exit, deep in the shadows.
“Wha—?” He started to speak, but she held up a single finger, silencing him.
Was she really going to do this?
She was.
Something had gotten into her this day and she wasn’t quite sure what, wasn’t sure what was pushing her to act in such unthinkable ways.
First, Elizabeth and the lake—and now this.
No, she wasn’t sure what—but she was beginning to think that she liked it.
There were some definite mixed feelings about what had happened with Elizabeth. But this was not the time for those.
She was going to do this because it was the right thing, because it was needed. James had said they would play the game as she wished and this was most definitely what she wished.
She flattened herself against the wall, hidden from wide view by the curtain she had loosened. She slid against the wall, praying that only James could see her return.
James was still staring at her, and she gestured for him to turn back to the stage. He raised a brow, but did so—his eyes still doing their best to follow her, even as he faced the stage.
She could feel James’s peering at her from the corner of his eyes and it gave her courage. He was trying to keep his head turned forward, but she could tell he wanted to turn and ask what she was doing. She lifted her head and smiled, slowly but with clear purpose, keeping her intentions in mind, letting her every move show just what she wanted, what she needed.
She slid forward another step, her movements slow and sensuous. And then she was beside him. Keeping her back straight against the wall, she lowered herself with care until her knees touched the floor. She looked down a moment, and then raised her eyes to his, staring up at him from her spot kneeling on the floor. Pulling in a deep breath, she moved slightly until she was before him, the high front of the balcony blocking her from all view but his.
Unable to wait any longer, she ran a hand up each of his calves, her fingers massaging the muscles as she went. His whole body stilled, as James finally understood her design.
“I don’t believe this is wise,” he whispered.
Not wise? No, this was not wise. And she didn’t care. Ever since James had left her eight years before she’d done things because they were wise.
She’d married Charles because it was the thing to do.
She’d carried on when he died because it was necessary.
She’d been ready to welcome the new duke and retire gracefully to the country because she didn’t want to be a bother.
She’d continued managing the estates when he chose to stay in India because what else could she do?
She’d kept on when he died because there had been little choice.
And then James had arrived. And all her choices seemed meaningless.
Oh, she could not deny she hadn’t come to enjoy running the estates, relished the power, but she had not done any of it because it was what she wanted.
If she’d done what she wanted, she would have sailed after James and let him know just what she thought of his desertion. The army would have shot him if he’d deserted it the way he deserted her. She might have shot him, also. She just would have aimed differently.
“What are you thinking? You have the strangest expression on your face,” James asked, speaking so quietly it was hard to hear.
“I am thinking that you are very lucky that I did not meet up with you soon after you left or what is about to happen would have been impossible.”
She slid her hands from his knees, where they had come to rest, up his thighs. She watched him swallow and then diverted her eyes lower. “Yes, it would have been most unfortunate if I’d fulfilled my dreams in those months after you deserted me.”
“You are never going to forgive me, are you?”
“I have already forgiven you. That should be evident.” She let her hands slip even higher, stroking the lush fabric of his trousers, feeling his shivers as she let her thumbs explore his sensitive inner thighs.
“It would seem so, but I am not sure.”
“I am very sure.” She leaned forward and blew hard, so that her breath would penetrate the fabric.
“Then why . . . ?” His voice trailed off as she found an especially sensitive spot just below the joining of his thighs. He had to clamp his lips tight to keep from moaning.
She longed to hear that moan, to force sound from him—but knew too well the risk she took. Instead she let her fingers trail upward until they reached the buttons of his fall.
His hand came down to cover hers as she undid the first one. “I am really not sure that you should do this. You can still sneak back and reenter the box properly. No one will ever know.”
“Is that really what you want?” She leaned forward and blew again, but this time she arched her back, pressing her breasts against the low neckline of her gown. “It’s not what I want and I don’t see why anybody will know anyway—unless you intend to be noisy.”
“I am not sure I’ll be able to contain myself.”
“Oh, I think I can contain you.” She grinned up at him and licked her lips in an exaggerated manner.
One of his hands released her and slid forward to caress the upper curves of her bosom. As always, his touch sent little sparks running through her and she had to bite her own lip not to moan. She raised her face and stared into his eyes as his fingers slipped under the lace edging of her dress, seeking ever more sensitive targets.
But it was his eyes that held her, that made the whole world disappear. His fingers were making her forget her own task, tempting her to give in to her own pleasure, but his eyes told her that her every pleasure was his, that all he wished was to make her happy—endlessly.
It was her turn to swallow and shiver.
She licked her lips not with exaggeration, but with pure emotion.
“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, bending a little forward.
She pulled bac
k, that much of her mind remaining. “No, that is impossible.”
A breath ran through him like a shudder. “I know and it is the greatest torture that you could have thought of—to be stuck here, pretending to watch the singers—we are lucky they are loud—and all I want is to sink to the floor beside you, to push up your skirts and down your bodice, to bare you completely, to—.”
Linnette shifted, uncomfortable as her body hummed to life. She pressed her thighs tight and ignored the dampness between them. His gaze might promise pleasure—but it was his turn.
She concentrated on his eyes again, watching as his pupils grew and darkened, feeling her power grow with his desire.
Picturing just what she wanted to do to him, letting that desire show clearly on her face, in her eyes, she arched her back further, settling her breasts firmly against him, pressing herself tight against his hardness. “If you use both your hands, you can push my bodice down, see my bare breasts, feel them against you.”
He paused for a moment, and then freed her second hand, leaning forward just enough to follow her direction. “You planned this, wore this dress on purpose.”
“I will confess that I had seduction in mind. After the way we left things this morning, I thought you might need some sweetening, but I was thinking of in my carriage later—and I wasn’t even sure of that. I truly did not expect to find you at the opera. I was merely hoping that our paths might cross at some point later in the evening. I was even prepared to brave a few soirees and crushes looking for you.”
“Such a courageous woman.”
She laughed quietly, holding it deep in her throat, fully aware of his gaze being drawn back to her breasts as she knelt before him, her deep midnight dress the perfect background for her pale flesh. No, she had not planned this, but she would have, if she’d thought of it.
She let her fingers move toward each other, meeting at the center, surrounding him, caressing him through the fabric of his trousers.
He groaned—very softly.
She licked her lips, looking up at him from beneath lowered lashes. “Shh.”
She pressed her fingers close, encircling him as best she could through the fabric, running her fingers back and forth, up and down.
And then her fingers were back on his buttons, pulling them loose, pushing down the fall, slipping inside his small clothes, baring him to her eager gaze.
Velvet and steel—she’d heard it a whispered description on several occasions, but never had it seemed as true as it did now. She licked her lips, again—this time without thought. He truly was everything she’d ever wanted.
“You are my every fantasy,” he murmured, “and this, this is beyond even my most vivid dreams—pink-tipped breasts bare against my flesh, surrounding me, the fall of your curls, the silk of your dress. I wish you would see yourself through my eyes, see just how desirable you are, how unbelievable.”
Sitting back slightly, settling herself more comfortably, she glanced at his face one more time, at the clenched jaw and rigid tendons in his neck, saw his fight for control. That would not last for long, not if she had any say in the matter.
She dropped her glance away from his face and settled it once again on his lower regions, on his full erection. God, he was beautiful. She’d never thought of the penis as beautiful—actually had always considered them rather funny—but there was nothing funny about his, about this moment.
She swallowed and ran her fingers up the tender flesh, and down—and up, stretching the soft skin over the steel interior. A drop of moisture formed at the tip and she leaned forward, flicking it off with her tongue.
His whole body shuddered. She could feel the effort it took him not to cry out.
She flicked again, and again, before settling her lips firmly about the tip and sucking him in just a little.
His hands moved across her breasts, squeezing, tugging at the nipples. She bit back her own sigh. He knew her body too well. He caught her nipples between thumb and forefinger, pressing and releasing, moving in the small circles that could cause her to climax with no further contact.
Her belly tightened and clenched, flames of desire and pleasure rushing through her, tempting her to throw her head back and do nothing but enjoy.
The opera was rising to crescendo, the soprano reaching unheard-of notes.
She bent forward further, and licked, hard, firm, unrelenting. This was her moment, her power.
She felt the throb of the vein that ran along the underside, pulled back, ran her tongue up the vein and down again, running her fingers about the shaft, her tongue playing eagerly at the head.
She slipped one hand lower, reaching between his legs to fondle his balls. He might know her, but she knew him too, knew just what motion it took to drive him over the edge, to drive him to—.
He had died and gone to heaven—although he’d never imagined heaven to be a place of such torment. If Linnette kept moving at the pace she was, he’d be screaming before the aria was finished and wouldn’t that be a fine thing.
Her lips closed about him again and he bit down on the inside of his cheek to hold in all sounds. She sucked steadily as her tongue danced about the lower side of his cock. He could feel the pressure building, the end coming—but she eased back again, looking up at him with that mischievous glint in her emerald eyes.
Her fingers were working magic on his balls, caressing and pulling, stroking, pressing.
God, it truly was heaven.
His head fell back. He hoped that the crowd would merely assume he was bored with the performance.
Her breasts were still beneath his hands and he played with the peaks, wishing he could grant her the pleasure she was giving him. She wiggled beneath his touch and he felt his own devilish desire to turn the table grow.
Once they were done, then he would have Linnette sneak out and then return. She could pretend she’d merely been refreshing herself. Then, when she was seated beside him, he could let his own hands do a little exploring. He wouldn’t be able to taste her, but . . . Closing his eyes, he let his imagination run free as he thought of all the things he would love doing to her delectable body.
Her mouth was back on him and it drove most, but not all, thoughts from his mind. His fantasies of all the ways he would make her come, make her feel desire, the endless hours of pleasure—
—and then even that thought was gone. There was only sensation. Tightness. The endless drive to pleasure. He felt it start—knew release was near—knew there was no reason to hold back—his waiting would only increase her effort, increase the risk.
Forcing his hands from her breasts, he gripped the rails of the chair, pulled his head up to stare down at her—this miraculous woman, all cream skin, flashing hair, and blue silk, more than any man could ever want.
And then he was lost in her eyes, in her passion. He’d worried about not pleasing her, but her expression told a different story. Lips wrapped about his cock, eyes shining up at him—she was exactly where she wanted to be, where she needed to be.
She was his.
His forever.
God, it was too much.
She pulled deep, her tongue working its magic—and he was lost.
The orgasm grabbed him and held him, like none he could ever remember. He pumped into her, filling her, and she swallowed and licked, swallowed and sucked, driving him on even further.
He was surprised the roar did not rip from his chest, drawing all attention to him.
And still he came.
He watched her eyes growing larger, her body shook and strained along with his.
Her eyes filled him.
Then blackness.
Then a million flashes of light, the heavens colliding.
It was over.
He felt the collapse, felt his body sag upon the chair.
His eyes weighed heavy, but still he could not tear them from her. He felt more as if they were one person than two. He watched as she blew a long slow breath out, her cheeks shiny and pink
from exertion. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, and he could tell her heart raced.
And she looked happy. Damned happy.
He continued to hold her gaze and waited for her to speak.
CHAPTER NINE
She was happy. It was not a thought she’d ever had at such a moment—not that she’d ever had such a moment. She still couldn’t believe that she’d done it.
And she couldn’t believe that James was looking at her the way he was, as if she was the most perfect thing in the entire world, something he would give up everything for.
He’d had that look eight years ago on the night she’d first given herself to him and she’d never thought to see it again. Certainly never thought to believe it again.
But, she did believe it, believe him.
She let her mind mull over this fact as she continued to stare up at him, to stare into him. There was no deception in his gaze, only—only she did not dare to believe what it was she saw there, afraid that to even acknowledge the thought would make it fade, make it less real.
Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted them back to his lap and gave him a final caress before beginning to refasten his trousers. He lifted a lazy hand and tried to take the task from her, but she held strong, wanting to do this, to complete her role.
He allowed his hand to drop back and she finished, brushing all wrinkles from him, and pulling the edges of his coat forward, smoothing the fabric of his waistcoat. He looked like he’d been sitting, doing nothing more than enjoying the opera.
She was another matter, she was sure. Her hair must be a mess, her face flushed—and her gown, she leaned back and tried to arrange herself back into her bodice. It was not an easy task. Her corset had been pushed down and now held her breasts out in a ridiculous manner, rather like the prow of a ship. The lace edging of her gown lay flat and scrunched, and she didn’t know what had happened to her pearls. She was sure she’d been wearing them at the beginning of the evening, hadn’t she?
James watched her struggles with a most satisfied grin.
She stuck out the tip of her tongue at him and watched his eyes darken. She could read his mind, see him remember exactly what that tongue had been doing.
