The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  He gave a small smile, pleased with her answer. "I can tell you’ve read Wollstonecraft. Our friends are not like that, though. Not every relationship is like that. The Duke and the other Rakehells, my mother and Martin. Blake and Arabella."

  "Well, perhaps you are right. Love begets love."

  "They’re friends and colleagues for a reason. Because they respect and admire each other, and they appreciate each other’s qualities every day. It’s all too easy to focus on the negative. It would be far more healthy for couples if they focused on the positive."

  "How?"

  "For example, we could give the people we cared about three compliments each day."

  She sighed wistfully. "It would be nice to find that kind of love."

  "Then the starting point is yourself, Ellen, er, Miss Jerome, if you really wish to live in a world like that."

  "Myself?

  "Aye. Not balls and soirees. You. The reading and self-improvement you spoke of, and a study of your body. Finding things to appreciate about yourself. Telling yourself you’re not all the vile things Bridges said."

  "My body?" she asked with a blush. "What can I possibly already learn about it that I don’t already know? I hate it sometimes, these awful breasts that men grab and snatch at, my um, well, bottom. My monthlies," she added shyly, dropping her voice to a mere whisper.

  His golden eyes glowed. Though he told himself he was treading on dangerous ground with the young woman, he also believed in honesty. It was evident she needed his help. That her understanding of herself as a woman had been badly skewed by the horrible men who had tried to victimise her.

  "All those things can be beautiful with the right person beholding them. Even the monthlies are part of your overall beauty as a woman, marking as it does the potential for childbirth. New life. Your fertility. Many cultures believe the onset of menstruation worthy of a ritual, and find pregnant women lovely and incredibly desirable."

  She blushed but merely commented, "I never thought of them as anything other than an inconvenience. And as for being pregnant, well… I never imagined it could be anything but discomfort and inconvenience and pain. Not to mention great danger for a woman."

  "I’m sure a normal, loving man would be understanding of monthlies, see them as a possible barrier to intercourse, if they inconvenience you or are painful, but certainly no barrier to intimacy. Especially not if they consider all parts of the body worthy of making love to. As for babies, well, bringing new life into the world is a beautiful thing, is it not? My mother had two blooming pregnancies recently, and never enjoyed her husband more."

  "Oh my," she squeaked.

  "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shock you."

  "No, it’s just that, well, you really are different from other men. In a good way," she added quickly.

  "Well, I’m a doctor, for one thing. Moreover, I’m told I view many things differently from most men. Love and sexuality and so on. In any event, before I shock you further, let us go back to the issue of bodies. Namely your own and how you’re worried about it."

  "Well, not worried about it," she said quietly. "More very confused." She settled herself in the bed more comfortably, shy but avidly interested.

  "Any part of the body can be a pleasure center. It’s all about concentrating, about touching. About understanding your own body. Also wanting to learn about the other person’s."

  "But isn’t it, um, well, isn’t touching yourself wrong?" she whispered.

  He shook his head and said in a mild tone, "How can you know anything if you don’t explore it? Learn about it? You can stumble along by trial and error. I have no doubt that many people are happy enough that way. But there can be so much more. Would you like to me to show you more?"

  "No!" she said blushing profusely. "I mean, we can’t possibly." She looked as though she were going to bolt from the bed.

  "No, no, you misunderstand. I promise not to touch you," he hastened to reassure her, standing up from the chair and heading halfway to the door. "What do you take me for? Someone like Bridges?"

  "No, not all. I didn’t mean-"

  "It’s all right," he said, somewhat mollified. "I can see you’re confused. Here, I’ll stand all the way at the end of the bed so you have nothing to fear. Just close your eyes and begin to feel you hands. That’s right, let them slide and glide and rub together. Lace the fingers through each other gently. Now fold them together. Now squeeze, and release.

  "Next take your index finger of your left hand and run it between the fingers of your right. Stroke delicately the little webs between your fingers. Feel each knuckle and the hollows between them. Vary the contact between hard and soft. When you’re finished with the left hand, have it explore your right. Take your time. Don’t forget the thumbs as well.

  "When you’re done with that you can rub them together as though you were washing them. You can explore your palms, and the backs, the nails, the cuticles. That’s right, take your time. There’s nothing wrong with spending time on pleasure."

  Ellen wasn’t sure if it was just the soft delicate touches or the thrilling sound of his deep voice as he instructed her, but she could feel herself going all hot and cold in the most unexpected places far away from her hands.

  "Feel the hard parts, the soft parts. Test the strength of each," he continued in a soothing tone. "Feel your fingers, each of the different sections that make up the whole. Continue feeling both your hands, until you think you’ve explored all of them.

  "When you come to the end, you can stop or move on to you wrist. Touch is all about affection, sensory perception, and even healing in my culture. Don’t be afraid of it."

  She felt more and more confident as she explored, and noticed that she did feel much more happy and relaxed.

  When she stopped after about five minutes he rose from his seat and handed her a small pot of cream which smelt pleasantly of almonds and honey.

  "Now put some of this on and start all over again. See what the difference is, if you prefer with the cream or without. At the very least you’ll end up with softer hands."

  After about ten minutes of exploration, she got down to her wrists.

  He said quietly, "And this is something you can share too. Would you like me to show you?"

  "Um, yes," she said breathily. She was afraid, but thrilled too.

  He dabbed some cream on his hands and rubbed his own for a moment, before beginning to slide them palm to palm with hers.

  She gasped and jerked away, the colour flying to her cheeks.

  "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have," Ash apologised quickly. "I should never have touched you. I’ll leave you alone now. Ring for Nelly if you need anything."

  Before she could call him back, he was gone.

  Chapter Four

  Ellen lay in Ash’s bed panting as though she had run a marathon. The jolt of his touch had shot right down to her most feminine parts.

  She didn’t know what to think. She had never felt anything like it before. Even more terrifying than the prospect of feeling something so sensual was the thought of never feeling it again.

  Many men had touched her—mauled and pawed her even, in a much more overtly sexual way. But no one had ever made her feel like Ash did, with just one simple look or touch. Perhaps she had become overheated looking at the pictures on the wall? His stimulating books by the bed?

  They were provocative, certainly, but could not possibly have produced the ragged lightning which had shot right the way from her hands up to her breasts and down to the secret cove between her thighs.

  She lay back on the pillows stroking his silk spread, smelling the masculine scent which lingered there despite him saying he had moved over the other side of the house.

  This was still quite clearly his room, overawing her with his strong masculine presence. Dominating her…

  But no, quite the opposite. He was a strong man, but did not have to prove it by expecting her to be a weak woman.

  Though of course she was. She
had been at her lowest point when he’d come to save her.

  And what had he done? Comforted her and taught her how to fight back. Taught her about herself, her own needs, and even about her family.

  How was it he could see things so clearly in an instant? Like he was looking right into the depths of her soul…

  It was all too confusing. Ellen tried to push it from her mind, both the pain and the pleasure. Numb oblivion was what she would seek. She closed her eyes in exhaustion, and instantly began to dream of piercing golden eyes.

  Of elephants and tigers, and couples in the throes of the most exquisite dances of love…..

  Of the whisper of silk on her skin, and his own flesh against hers, palm to palm, arm in arm, heart to heart….

  Chapter Five

  On the landing outside his bedroom door, Ash stood with his hands pressed together, trying to subdue his trembling.

  What on earth had happened? He had given many people a hand massage before without the least physical impact. But as soon as he had touched Ellen Jerome, his arousal had been so fierce that he’d almost lost control. It had been too long….

  It had never been like this with any woman.

  Hell, even seeing some of the most lovely women in the world naked had never produced such a ragged bolt of lightning such as the one which had jolted right the way from his hands down his groin. His erection was so hard and his delicate pouch gathered so tightly he was almost in agony, poised on the brink of ecstatic release. He could not get the vision of her bare bosom out of his head, fully revealed to him before he had draped his jacket around her pink and white voluptuousness when he had rescued Ellen in the forest.

  The sound of the front door opening downstairs calmed him somewhat. He told himself he had been having a hard time keeping his raging desire in check because she was so very lovely.

  The sight of her in his bed with her blond hair curling damply around her temples and flowing down over her silk-clad shoulders had been almost more than he could bear.

  It would be all right. She was breathtaking, it was true, but she had never been the slightest bit interested in even speaking to him, let alone…

  He did not dare complete that thought. The Jerome girls were Blake and Martin’s cousins, and as such off limits. They were far too staid a family apart from wild Georgina to ever accept him.

  They had taken to his mother because she had reformed Martin, helped him come back into the land of the living. Whilst not exact the jolly man everyone had said he has been before he had nearly been killed back in 1812 by some highwaymen, he was warmly content. They had a blissfully happy marriage, so much so that everyone envied them when they walked into a room together.

  Now he heard his brother and sister gooing and gaaing, and ran downstairs to help.

  "Hello, Mother."

  "Ash! What a lovely surprise. I didn’t expect you back from London until the weekend. Did you get the rest of your things moved out of your digs?" the dark-haired woman with golden eyes asked as she gave him a warm hug and kiss.

  "Every book and paper," he confirmed, kissing her back. "I missed you all and wanted to come home. Just as well I did."

  "Oh? Why?" she asked, immediately alert and prepared to help.

  Ash told her what had nearly happened in the woods as he helped remove the children’s outer garments. She lifted her medical bag at once.

  "Where is Ellen now?"

  "In my old room."

  She nodded once and began to ascend the stairs.

  Ash popped his head in the door just long enough to effect the introduction and withdrew, though Ellen, just roused from her slumbers, and more than aroused by her dreams, had rather hoped that he might stay.

  Eswara was very direct and to the point, and even asked her if she wanted to assess her to make sure her virginity was still intact.

  Ellen squirmed under the perusal of the golden eyes, so like Ash’s in many respects but different, older, more weary in some senses, yet more lambently soft and joyous in others.

  Her face was as beautiful as Ash’s was handsome, and she felt a pang of envy for all the lovely women Ash must know from his homeland.

  There were not many Indians in this district, but she knew he had joined the budding Indian community in London and was in contact with a doctor down in Brighton as well. He came from another world, yet he could be part of hers too. Or she of his?

  Martin had told them all about Ash doing so well on his final examinations the last time she had seen her cousin. In fact, Martin had been more than proud of his step-son over the past few years. Ellen felt badly now that she had not really bothered to pay more attention to what had been said.

  She had been so caught up in her own little world that it had not seemed to matter. The world of the Jerome family, privileged and wealthy, not quite noble, but certain very prominent in the Millcote area, along with the Stones and now the Sandersons, her cousin Blake and his wife, had seemed to be her whole world. But an empty one, she could see that now.

  They had been taking their time, but Blake’s magnificent new house was nearly complete. She had envied them the palatial mansion until she had seen Ash's room, snug and sensual.

  As Martin had said, the Sandersons would be using the huge establishment as a clinic and hospital as well as a home. Blake hoped that the wealthier patients would be able to pay enough to eventually support a fever hospital for the poor, but they would need a building, staff, all sorts of things they could as yet only dream of. It was something to aspire to in the future.

  Ellen thought it was a pity Ash could not use the fine house Blake would be vacating, Dr. Gold’s old home. But Blake said there was just not enough money to go around at the moment and had sold it to a man from overseas about to get married.

  She had never really concerned herself so much before, but now she found herself thinking it would be a fine thing for someone like Ash to have a proper practice of his own. And he was so radical, he would not mind. She knew he was at least moderately wealthy, otherwise why would his uncle have tried to seize his fortune? Would it not be splendid if they could…

  They? What on earth was she thinking! She had scarcely seen the man in four years, hardly ever spoken or even danced with him.

  As his mother examined her limbs and applied cream, Ellen tried to recollect the times she had met Ash in the past. No, she had had a couple of close calls, but always something had stopped them from dancing or having any private conversation with one another.

  She recalled with shame that morning in Bath when he had been at the breakfast table with his mother and the Duchess of Ellesmere and her baby, and Georgina had just ridden roughshod over their feelings and dragged Martin away Eswara as though she hadn't mattered in the least.

  She recalled now the stricken look the older woman had been unable to suppress. So Eswara had been in love with her cousin as far back as that.

  Ellen was surprised. Eswara had never let on. And he had loved her, for she recollected and understood now with hindsight how angry Martin had been, and how he had gone back to the townhouse in a huff. Ellen would have liked to have stayed with them all too, if the truth be told.

  "Are you sure you’re all right?" Eswara said, breaking into her reverie. "You look a bit dazed."

  She saw Ellen’s gaze taking in the entire room, including Ash’s pictures. Eswara looked at the girl with no small degree of mistrust. She was her husband’s cousin, true, but their nearly four years of marriage had not brought the two parts of the family any increased intimacy. She found little to interest her in the spoilt and self-indulgent young women, and she and Martin were too busy with their medical careers and family to do much socialising.

  If Ellen was anything like Georgina, woe betide her if she had any designs on her precious son. She was a lovely English rose, delicate, fragile by the look of her. But then she had never had any call to be anything else.

  Oh, Eswara knew about what Ellen had gone through with Adam Neville and
how she had been acting like a victim ever since the engagement had been broken off.

  But the older woman had found early on that the only way to avoid being a victim was by not acting like one. Bullies thrived upon people who did not stand up to them. She said as much now.

  "Being a lady is all very well in its place, Miss Jerome, but the next time anyone tries to harm you in such a manner, you knee him in the groin and run like the Devil, do you hear me?" Eswara said in a kind tone which belied her harsh words.