by Cheryl Holt
He guided her fingers around a sort of rod that was hidden inside his trousers. It was very large and very warm, the skin pliant and smooth. He instructed her in how to stroke across it, demonstrating the appropriate rhythm.
“What is this thing?” she asked. “What’s it called?”
“It’s a phallus. Or a cock.”
“I want to see it.”
“No.”
“Jordan!”
“No,” he said more adamantly.
“Why not? You’ve seen plenty of me, and I didn’t object.”
“If I remove more of my clothes, I may not be able to control myself.”
“I don’t want you to control yourself.”
“Which is why I’m keeping my trousers on.”
“What could it hurt?”
He leaned nearer and whispered, “If we’re not cautious, we could make a babe.”
“Oh.”
She was such a ninny that the possibility hadn’t occurred to her. Of course, the end result could be a babe. How could she have forgotten? The man rattled her wits!
“How does it happen?” she queried.
“You don’t need to know. You just need to let me set some limits, for despite what you may have heard about me, I refuse to leave you ruined and pregnant.”
“You’re a cad.”
“Yes, I am.”
“But I find that I’m rather fond of you anyway.”
“You have marvelous taste.”
She started stroking him again, and he quickly reached a pinnacle where restraint was shattered. He slapped her hand away and rolled on top of her.
“I have to finish it,” he said.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t do anything.”
He clasped her hips and flexed his loins, his phallus pressed to her belly. Momentarily, he uttered a soft groan, his entire body rigid, and he held himself very still as a hot liquid spewed across her abdomen.
It was the most exciting experience of her life, and she was tickled to discover that she could goad him to such a desperate conclusion.
Gradually, he relaxed, the endeavor drawing to a close, and he rested for several quiet minutes, his face buried at her nape. Then he slid away and went to the dresser, to fetch a wet cloth.
He sat on the edge of the bed and swabbed her stomach, then he tossed the cloth on the floor and grinned.
“Well, what do you think of male passion?” he inquired. “Are you about to swoon?”
She laughed. “Why? Is it common for a woman to be overcome?”
“If she’s timid.”
“And I’m definitely not.”
“No, you’re definitely not.”
“Shall we try it again?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
As he lay down and stretched out, she cursed herself for ten times a fool. But she welcomed the iniquity. If she’d had a hundred years to revel with him, she would never have her fill, and when she hadn’t the fortitude to extricate herself from the morass she’d created, why not dig a deeper hole?
Chapter 10
“I’m warning you,” Cassandra said, “as Mother never will.”
“About Viscount Redvers?” Felicity asked.
“Yes.”
Cassandra glanced across the room, to where Redvers, Bainbridge, and Adair were playing cards.
Victoria had invited several neighbors to supper, and the exotic trio was the center of attention. The women were trying to get Redvers and Adair to notice them, and the men were trying to peer down the front of Mrs. Bainbridge’s gown.
Bainbridge leaned toward Redvers and whispered something, then she peeked over at Felicity and Redvers chuckled. Clearly, they were making fun of Felicity, and while Cassandra presumed any mockery was warranted, she detested how the Londoners thought themselves superior to the Barnes family. It galled her to be the butt of their jokes.
She glared at Felicity.
“If you wed Redvers,” she advised, “he’ll expect you to do all sorts of things you won’t like.”
“What sorts of things?” Felicity inquired.
“Marriage has a physical side that’s extremely unpleasant. It’s kept a huge secret because if girls knew, they would never proceed. You’ll have to submit to whatever foul suggestion he makes.”
“You’re talking in riddles.”
“You’ll have to remove your clothes,” Cassandra explained. “You’ll have to let him look at you naked and touch you in your private parts.”
“I will not,” Felicity insisted.
“I’m merely sharing what I learned. I don’t want you to be surprised on your wedding night.”
Felicity gazed over at Redvers, where so many females were hovering. “You’re just jealous because your husband was a withered old goat, but mine will be dashing and handsome.”
The comment pricked at Cassandra’s temper, and she should have shrugged it off, but anymore, her equanimity was in short supply.
“Do you have any idea who Mrs. Bainbridge really is?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s Redvers’s consort, his mistress.”
“She is not.”
“She is!” Cassandra relished—in a thoroughly immature way—the chance to deliver bad news to Felicity. “She’s his lover. He never goes anywhere without her.”
“That’s not true.” Felicity studied them. At seeing how closely they were sitting, she frowned, not as sure as she had been. “If she’s as loose as you claim, Mother wouldn’t have let him bring her here. It would be an insult to me.”
“Mother wouldn’t? If that’s what you suppose, you’re a fool.”
“You don’t know everything.”
“No, I don’t, but you should ask yourself this: Are you prepared to endure a marriage where your husband has a doxy hiding around every corner? Though I must inform you that he has no intention of hiding her.”
“What are you saying?”
“He’ll live openly with Bainbridge in London while he stashes you at some obscure, rural property.” Cassandra sipped her wine. “Out of sight, out of mind. That’s how his kind always does it.”
“You are such a liar,” Felicity charged.
“Maybe I’m lying, and maybe I’m not. I guess time will tell.”
Cassandra peered over at the trio again, just as Mr. Adair glanced in her direction, so that—without meaning to—she was gazing into his big brown eyes.
He was humored to catch her watching him, and he tipped his drink in acknowledgment. Mrs. Bainbridge noted the gesture, and she smirked.
“Mrs. Stewart,” she called, “would you like to join us for a game of cards? Paxton mentioned that you love to play.”
Adair had discussed her with Bainbridge?
At the prospect, Cassandra was furious. She shot Adair a look of such hot rage that she was surprised he didn’t melt into a puddle, but she couldn’t shame or cow him.
He grinned, which infuriated her even more.
“Mr. Adair was mistaken,” Cassandra said. “I hate cards.”
She scowled at him, visually sending the message: And I hate you, too!
Since the evening he’d bestowed his torrid kisses, she’d avoided him like the plague, and as he trained his wicked smile on her, every sensation rushed back.
Her cheeks heated, her breasts ached, her nipples throbbed against her corset.
Suddenly, she was entirely too warm, and she stood and left, hurrying out the rear door that led to the terrace.
The night air was crisp and fresh, and she inhaled deeply, then raced down the stairs into the garden. She wasn’t certain of where she was going; she simply had to escape the insufferable drawing room chatter.
The stifling environment of her mother’s home was suffocating her. She was too old to be under Victoria’s dominion and control, and she couldn’t abide the slow passing of days where nothing happened and nothing changed.
If only she could move b
ack to London! If only she had the funds to keep her own house! But Victoria would never permit it, and as had been proven over and over, there was no way to fight her mother and win.
She ran down one path, then another, until she arrived at the gazebo by the lake. It beckoned, like a secret haven, and she hastened to it and went inside. Moonlight shone on the water, and she sat on the cushioned bench and stared out. She was forlorn and angry and bored out of her mind, and if her situation wasn’t altered soon, she just might go mad.
His footsteps sounded long before she saw him. As if he were a homing pigeon, he came directly toward her, not pausing to wonder where she was. He seemed to know, and as he approached, she panicked.
What did he want? What should she do?
For some reason, when she was with him, she couldn’t maintain the cool indifference she exhibited to every other man of her acquaintance, and she was too distressed to be sequestered with him.
He climbed the three stairs, and he leaned against the wooden beam that marked the doorway. He’d loosened his cravat, and he was holding a decanter of liquor.
“Hello, Mrs. Stewart,” he greeted.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m following you,” he brazenly admitted. “I’ve brought brandy, cheroots, and cards. Which shall we try first?”
He pulled the cork from the decanter and took a swig.
In the past few days, she’d spent too much time thinking about him. He would bring her nothing but trouble, and she was anxious for him to leave her alone.
She rose and marched over, hoping to skirt around him and depart, but as she neared, her senses came alive. She could smell the starch in his clothes, the soap on his skin. There was another scent: one that was more subtle, that she thought was his very essence.
It called to her feminine instincts, making her eager to misbehave in a fashion she’d never considered prior.
“You told Mrs. Bainbridge that we played cards!” she accused.
“Yes, I did. I lied and told her you beat me, too. She found it hilarious.”
“I won’t have that witch knowing my business.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I didn’t tell her I kissed you.”
“You better not have,” she threatened. “If I ever learn that you spread any gossip, I can’t predict what I’ll do, but it will be something you’ll regret till your dying day.”
He swilled more liquor, then held the bottle out to her.
“You’re being a shrew,” he calmly stated, “and I can’t abide a surly woman. Have a drink and compose yourself.”
“If you don’t like how I’m acting, go back to the party. I didn’t ask you to tag after me.”
“I know, but I did it anyway. Doesn’t it enrage you?”
“Yes. Why would you?”
“I want to kiss you again. Why would you suppose? And that necklace you’re wearing is very interesting. We’ll wager for it—unless you’d like to simply give it to me and save me the bother of stealing it from you?”
“You are impossible!”
She tried to shove him aside, but he was too big and wouldn’t budge. He gripped her wrists and clasped her hands to his chest, and she could feel the steady beat of his heart.
They stood, tangled together, and like a magnet to metal, he drew her to him and kissed her.
For the briefest instant, she allowed the contact then, with a groan of dismay, she yanked back but didn’t step away. She was conflicted about him, and he took advantage of her confusion to dip down and nibble at her nape. He hadn’t shaved in many hours, so his chin was rough and scratchy, and goose bumps cascaded down her arms.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he murmured.
“I’m not.”
“I would never hurt you. Just ask any woman who’s ever been with me.”
“I’m sure it’s a very long list.”
“It is. I’m a sorry character.”
He shifted away and offered her the brandy. She shook her head, declining, and he laughed.
“Don’t play the modest maiden with me. I’ve got you figured out, remember? Have a drink; I know you want one.”
She dithered, then took it, enjoying the slow burn as the liquor glided down her throat.
“That’s my girl,” he said as he watched her.
He linked their fingers and guided her to the bench, and she didn’t protest as he sat and pulled her down, too. He arranged her over his lap, her knees on either side of him, and he eased her down so that their loins were touching.
“Relax,” he coaxed.
“I shouldn’t be this close to you. It’s not appropriate.”
“So? There’s no one to see.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You will, though.”
“You are so conceited.”
“I can’t deny it.”
She didn’t know what he planned, or what she wanted to have happen, but he exuded no hint of menace. He wouldn’t proceed against her will, and the notion was oddly liberating. It made her feel in control as she hadn’t been in a very long time.
He reached into his coat and retrieved his deck of cards, with his thumb, sliding the top one toward her.
“Guess what card it is,” he said.
“Why?”
“If it’s higher than your choice, I win. If it’s lower, you win.”
“What is the prize?”
“If I win, I want your necklace, and if you win, I will do anything you ask.”
“Anything?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know me well enough to make such a wager.”
“You’d be surprised,” he contended. “Go ahead. Guess.”
“Five of clubs.”
“Ooh, it’s a ten.” He flipped it over so she could see it. “I’ll have your necklace, if you please.”
“I’m not giving you more of my jewelry! If I keep letting you cheat me, I won’t have any left.”
“If you don’t wish to pay, you shouldn’t play.”
She snorted with derision. “Spoken like a true charlatan.”
“If you won’t part with your necklace, I’ll have to claim another prize.”
“You can’t have my earrings.”
“Who said anything about earrings?”
“What is it you want then?” she asked, her voice slightly breathless.
“I want to kiss you until I’m tired of it.”
“No more kissing.”
“Are you saying you didn’t like it the last time?”
“I’m not saying that at all.”
He studied her, then grinned. “Oh, I understand. You enjoyed it too much.”
“I did not.”
“Let’s try it again—just so you’re sure.”
Her heart fluttered with excitement. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Who cares about what is wise?”
He dipped under her chin again to nuzzle her nape, and he was sucking on her skin, the sensation tugging at her breasts, her womb. When he started in, she lost the ability to act rationally, and with a pitiful moan, she wrenched away.
Her chest was heaving, her pulse racing, and she was very afraid, when she couldn’t fathom why. She wasn’t scared of him.
“I can’t. I can’t,” she insisted.
“I’ll stop whenever you ask”—his hand was on her back, urging her nearer—“although pride forces me to advise that, with me being so marvelous, you probably won’t ask.”
He captured her mouth in a torrid kiss, exhibiting none of the reserve he’d demonstrated prior, and though he was holding her, she didn’t feel confined or claustrophobic. She relaxed a bit, and of course, cad that he was, he pressed his advantage.
His fingers slid into her hair, extracting the pins, so that it fell about her shoulders. He riffled through it, whispering praise, declaring her beauty, and his sweet words and tender ministrations made her feel free and wild.
She’d never previou
sly been touched in a kind or gentle way. There’d been no hugs from her mother, no pats from a nanny, no affectionate caresses from her spouse.
She’d been ill-used, not just by her husband but by most everyone. Her body was unloved and untended, and Adair’s amorous efforts were like a healing balm.
Of her own accord, she pulled him to her, deepening the embrace. He reveled in her boldness, giving her all she craved and so much more.
Gradually, he laid her down onto the bench, and they stretched out, the two of them barely fitting on the narrow space.
He draped a thigh over her, then an arm, then more of a leg. Eventually, he shifted so that his whole torso was atop hers, but amazingly, he wasn’t heavy. She wasn’t being crushed by him.
It was so easy to be with him, to do what came naturally to other couples, and at the realization that she could dabble with a man, that she could enjoy it, she was stunned.
He was kissing her with a great deal of relish, which made her breasts ache and throb, and she yearned to have him rub them to relieve some of the pressure, but he did nothing to increase the level of ardor, and his restraint had her frantic.
He’d aroused her until she was about to beg for more. Who would have guessed?
Much sooner than she would have liked, he drew away, and he smiled down at her, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight.
“I should win at cards more often,” he murmured, chuckling.
“You said you’d keep on till you grew weary. Are you tired of me already?”
“No, I’m definitely not tired.”
“Then why stop?”
“Because I need the stamina to kiss you tomorrow.”
“You’re awfully positive that I’ll be amenable.”
He rested his hand on her breast, her hard nipple poking the center of his palm. He didn’t squeeze the protruding tip, but at the slight contact, her anatomy rippled with anticipation.
“I think it’s safe to assume you’ll do it again.”
“Vain bounder.”
“Yes, I am. Make no mistake.”
He moved off her and sat, then tugged her up so she was sitting, too.
“Next time,” he said, “we’ll play cards again.”
“You and your cards!”
“I want to have the chance to win your gown. Then your shoes and stockings. Then your corset.”
