Trailing kisses from her lips to her throat, Jack followed the path his hand had taken until he reached the low neckline of her nightgown. With nimble fingers, he undid the first tiny button, then continued on, unbuttoning it as he went, until his lips reached her other breast.
When he touched the nipple with his tongue, she gasped, but not with fear. Still, he took his time. Circling both nipples, one with his tongue, the other with his thumb, he then returned to her lips for another long, deep kiss.
Emboldened by the delicious sensations Jack aroused, Nessa began her own exploration, skimming her hands over his shoulders, first above and then beneath his dressing gown. So heightened were her senses by this time that the touch of her fingers upon his bare skin was almost a shock. Apparently he felt it, too.
“Oh, my dear,” he whispered. “Have I told you how very exciting I find you?”
Timidly, curiously, she shook her head. “Let me pleasure you, Nessa,” he said. “Let me excite you as much as you excite me. I want you to know just how good it can be.”
She swallowed, but managed an almost imperceptible nod. Smiling, he resumed his attentions, stroking, touching, kissing. First tentatively, then more eagerly, Nessa stroked his back and shoulders in return.
His dressing gown had fallen open by now, and she saw that he wore nothing beneath it—but the knowledge no longer frightened her. She slid her hands lower, exploring areas she would never before have dreamed of touching.
Jack moved his own hands lower as well, massaging her breasts, her waist, her hips, her belly. Finally, with one finger, he brushed the mound of curls below, and the cleft they concealed. At that touch she stiffened again, pulling back from him, reminded again of her first wedding night. At once he retreated, but only back to her belly.
Kissing her again, he whispered, “I won't hurt you, Nessa. I'll never hurt you.”
She opened her eyes, searching his. “I trust you,” she said.
For an instant she wondered if his vow extended beyond physical pain—and whether it was a vow he could keep. Surely he'd loved and left dozens of women over the years, never intending to hurt any of them…
Desire superseded such anomalous reflection then, as Jack again gave Nessa his undivided attention. This time when he touched her most sensitive spot she did not flinch away. Softly, gently, he stroked and massaged, all the while kissing her mouth, her earlobes, her throat. When he slid one finger inside her she gasped—but with desire, not dismay.
Slowly, then more quickly, he eased his finger in and out, giving her a foretaste of what was to come on a grander scale. She tightened around his finger with a small moan.
He shrugged his dressing gown the rest of the way off. As he'd already unbuttoned the entire length of her nightgown, nothing now separated them. He rolled to cover her body with his own, but at once her eyes flew open, the fear returning.
“No, no, it's all right,” he whispered. “We'll do this another way, so that you can stop any time you wish to.” Rolling back onto his side, he turned her to face him, kissing and caressing until her fear again faded into desire.
When she again convulsed around his finger, he moved his hips forward until his swollen member rested against her mound. He moved slowly, gently, though by now she felt more than ready to receive him. Removing his finger, he replaced it with the very tip of his manhood, teasing her moist lips apart until he was just inside her.
Rocking ever so slightly back and forth, he duplicated the action he'd begun with his finger, at the same time massaging her tiny, sensitive nubbin. Nessa matched his rhythm, moving her own hips to meet him. Now it was his turn to groan as he covered her mouth with his, stifling her gasps of pleasure.
Nessa had gone beyond wonderment by now, lost in a sea of sensation she had never dreamed existed. Jack had promised he would make her want him, and oh! She did, she did! She quickened the thrusting of her hips, parting her legs slightly to impale herself upon him. Over and over she thrust her hips against his, reveling in how he filled her, reveling in the absence of pain. An even more intense surge overwhelmed her and she went over the edge into a world of pure pleasure that had her shuddering with ecstasy.
As she began her descent from the heights, Jack accelerated his own movements, driving himself into her once, twice, again. He tensed then and shuddered, just as she had, gradually slowing his movements. Nessa's body still throbbed around him, but now a warm languor began to steal over her, replacing the urgency she'd felt a moment ago.
Her breathing slowed, and she could hear his doing the same. Speaking seemed out of the question, and yet she felt a need to express her thanks for the new world he had opened to her. Never again would she fear him, fear the physical aspect of marriage. Tentatively, shyly, she touched his cheek with her fingertips.
Jack opened his eyes, pools of midnight blue, and smiled. “Did I keep my promise?”
She nodded. “And it didn't take all night, either.”
He gave a bark of laughter, then hugged her to him. “Nessa, you are truly a remarkable woman. I'm glad I married you.”
A warm glow filled her, as pleasurable as the one his physical loving had aroused. “I'm glad too, Jack. Thank you. For everything.”
He raised a quizzical brow, making her blush. “Oh, that wasn't everything, not by a long shot.”
“No?” She felt breathless, but daring. “I seem to recall a discussion of lessons…”
“And that was but the first. Come, my wife, let me demonstrate the full range of my instructional abilities.” He pulled her to him again and this time she felt not the smallest desire to resist.
~ ~ ~
BY MORNING, Nessa felt as if she'd acquired years of experience, if not much sleep. Marriage to a rake had much to recommend it after all, she had decided well before midnight. Now she found herself a bit sore, but happy. She'd longed to throw off all those years of propriety and, in one glorious night, she'd done it. And would again—and again.
She smiled up at the plaster flowers on the ceiling. Three days ago, she'd promised to play the paragon in public if she could be wicked in private. Now that she knew just how much fun “private wickedness” could be, she realized such a life was her ideal. She could enjoy frequent— nightly!— tastes of wildness without visiting scandal upon Prudence, Jack, or anyone else.
At that thought, she suddenly sat up with a gasp, awakening Jack, who still slumbered at her side. “The guests! What time is it?” A glance at the clock above the fireplace showed the morning well-advanced, though still wintry-dull.
Jack turned toward her with a smile. “Does it matter? No one will expect newlyweds to appear early for breakfast.” He reached out to pull her to him once again, apparently revived enough by a few hours sleep for more lovemaking.
But Nessa evaded him and scrambled out of the bed. “No, Jack, I promised—you made me promise. I am now officially hostess of Fox Manor, and your mother and Lady Gwendolyn leave this morning. 'Twould be a dreadful insult were I not to see them off.”
“Would it?” Jack frowned. “I can't see how. You've been everything proper since they arrived— more gracious than they deserve, by a long sight. Surely it's for them to take leave of us.”
Nessa began splashing her face at the basin. “Yes, yes, but if we are not available for her leavetaking, then the onus is upon us. One of the frightful things about propriety is that one misstep wipes out any number of perfect ones.”
Jack snorted, but sat up and groped for his dressing gown. “I suppose you're right, though 'tis why all the resolve in the world will probably never restore my reputation. How can one stay on one's guard every minute of the day?”
Drying her face, Nessa went to give him a quick hug. “I can, so long as I may drop it at night.”
His deep chuckle quickened her pulse, but she ducked away when he would have pushed her back onto the bed. “At night, I said.”
“I'm glad the days are short just now.” With a wink, he returned to his chamber to
ring for his valet.
Though she knew it was foolish, Nessa quickly tidied both the bed and herself before signaling Simmons to attend her. The maid must know, of course, what sort of activity had transpired here overnight, but she preferred not to flaunt it. Besides, keeping the wildness of their passion a secret made it seem more wicked—and fun.
~ ~ ~
HALF AN HOUR LATER, Jack had to admit that Nessa looked every inch the proper Lady of the Manor as she descended with him to join the guests assembled in the morning room.
“Such a lovely couple, as I've been telling everyone,” Lady Gwendolyn declared, brushing aside Nessa's apology for their tardiness. “This young lady will be the making of you, Jack, you mark my words. I see noticeable improvement already.”
Grinning, he stepped to Nessa's side. “I don't doubt it, Aunt Gwendolyn. I do feel much improved.” He shot Nessa a quick wink, which she valiantly ignored, though her color rose.
“Incorrigible boy!” exclaimed Lady Gwendolyn, but her tone was indulgent rather than censorious. “And now, I really must be on my way if I am to reach Lewes before nightfall. The days are short, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” Jack kept both voice and face innocently solemn, but sent Nessa a sidelong glance that set her blushing again.
“Claudia, it appears your son has turned out rather well after all,” Lady Gwendolyn commented then.
Lady Branch now stepped forward, with the warmest smile Jack had ever seen her wear. “Indeed he has. And I thank you for it, my dear.” She gave Nessa a quick peck on the cheek before turning to Jack. “I can honestly say I'm proud of you—Jack.”
For a moment, he found himself speechless. Since her arrival, his mother had called him nothing but Lord Foxhaven, and even in his youth she had despised his nickname, insisting upon “John.” Something else to put to Nessa's credit.
“Thank you, Mother,” he said after a pause. “I'm pleased to hear you say so.” He bent to kiss her cheek, and was surprised when she squeezed his arm in return. It was not much, perhaps, but it was a start.
As his first full day as a married man progressed, Jack reflected with satisfaction that so far he had no cause for regrets. Nessa was the ideal hostess, dividing her attention among the house guests and taking gracious leave of those departing. Already she was consulting with Cook about the menus and making a few changes in servants' schedules to improve efficiency.
And, of course, she had proven even more delightful in bed than he'd envisioned. What a wedding night! Jack had been with several world-renowned courtesans over the years, women known both in England and abroad for their skill, but never had he been so well satisfied so many times in one night. What Nessa lacked in experience, she more than made up in enthusiasm.
Watching her skillfully settle a debate between Lord Peter and Harry that had threatened to become heated, he frowned. A night like that after a year and more of abstinence was bound to have certain physical effects upon her. He'd have to be extremely gentle tonight, or even desist altogether—if she'd let him!
As though feeling his eyes upon her, she turned just then and gave him a saucy half-wink when no one was looking. Jack grinned, then hastily seated himself next to Lord Peter to conceal her effect upon him. He'd let her decide what she was ready for tonight, he decided. Who was he to deny her, after all?
~ ~ ~
THAT EVENING, as Jack was on the point of knocking on the door to Nessa's chamber, a tap sounded on the other side. Opening it, he stared, too overcome for the moment to speak.
Clad in the low cut red gown and feathered mask she'd worn the night he met her, Nessa stood in the doorway.
“May I come in?” At his feeble nod, the vision swept past him, then paused to survey the room. “Not quite the monkish cell I was led to believe, Brother Eligius. Why! What a big bed you have.”
Jack emerged from his momentary trance and grinned. “The better to please you with, my Lady Monique.” Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips. “Observe this poor friar overcome by the honor of your visit. How might I be of service?”
Her brown eyes sparkled at him through the mask. “I have come to you for religious instruction, of course.” When he blinked in surprise, she continued. “I should like to learn more about the Song of Solomon. 'Tis a facet of my theological education which has been sadly neglected, and I have reason to believe you are well suited to fill the gaps in my knowledge.”
He began to chuckle. “My lady, you have come to the right monk.” Tightening his grip on her hand, he led her toward the bed.
Jack proceeded to instruct Nessa on ways of pleasuring each other that would not exacerbate her soreness—to which she only reluctantly admitted.
“I promised not to hurt you, remember?” he said when she insisted it did not matter. “I want you to think of our marriage bed only in terms of pleasure, never of pain.”
“For enough pleasure, I'm willing to endure a modicum of pain,” she assured him, “but if 'tis possible to forego the pain entirely, so much the better.”
He demonstrated that it was, pleasuring her with touch and tongue and giving her subtle cues on how to do likewise for him. She proved an apt pupil—so apt that though they'd both skimped on sleep the night before, neither felt inclined to rest until well after midnight. Then they fell into an exhausted but happy slumber that again lasted until the morning was well advanced.
~ ~ ~
BY TWO HOURS PAST NOON, the remainder of the house guests had gone, save Peter, Harry, and the Creamcrofts. Jack found himself looking forward to a quiet Yuletide with just his bride and closest friends. Time enough later to contemplate their return to London and the complications awaiting him there. For now, he could relax.
He was rather surprised, therefore, to hear a loud knock at the door only half an hour after the last guests had taken their leave. Curious, he rose languidly from his place beside Nessa on the drawing room sofa, where he'd been awaiting tea along with the others. Peering into the hall, he was in time to hear a familiar voice say to Hackett, “I've an urgent message for Lord Foxhaven from the Duke of Wellington. I understand he is in residence.”
Jack strode forward, his mind quickly shifting from indolence to curiosity. “I am indeed, Mr. Woolsey.”
At once the man reached into his pocket and extended an envelope to him.
“I thank you,” Jack said, even more curious. “Hackett will see that a room is prepared for you. Pray join me in the library in half an hour.”
A moment later, seated at his desk by the crackling library fire, Jack read through Wellington's latest missive with a deepening frown.
Two weeks earlier, Lord Liverpool had written to the Duke to warn him of another assassination plot and the official opinion that his situation in Paris was now judged unacceptably dangerous. As soon as a plausible reason could be formulated, one that would not smack of retreat, Wellington would be recalled, probably to take a post at the Congress of Vienna now underway.
Though Jack would no longer be able to serve as originally requested, Wellington felt he could still be of use here in England. The assassination plot, incredibly, appeared to be of British origin, and two of the primary suspects were known to have spent time in the company of Miranda Dempsey after Jack left Paris in August. Now that Jack had attained a degree of social influence as Lord Foxhaven, the Duke felt he might be in a position to extract valuable information from Mrs. Dempsey—information that could bring these traitors to justice and protect England from any further outrage.
Jack scowled down at the letter and drummed his fingers on the desk. Though he typically did not say so, Wellington's life was very likely on the line here. If Jack refused to act, these would-be assassins might very well follow the Duke to Vienna, to carry out their dastardly plot there. But to accede to Wellington's wishes would be to betray the wedding vows he had taken only two days since—and his grandfather's wishes, as well.
What the devil was he to do?
His struggle was sharp
but brief. Whatever befell him personally, Jack could not refuse his erstwhile commander's request. He would simply have to devise a way to extract the necessary information from Miranda while doing minimal damage to his marriage and reputation. A strategist of his caliber should be able to manage it—shouldn't he?
By the time Mr. Woolsey joined him several minutes later, his response to the Duke of Wellington was already written.
Not long after, Jack reentered the drawing room to resume his seat beside Nessa, just as though his life had not suddenly been turned upside down. “It occurs to me,” he said casually, “that you haven't yet seen the rest of the grounds. The weather has turned clear for the moment. What say you to a walk?”
“That would be lovely,” Nessa exclaimed. “If you'll wait a moment, I'll go up to change my shoes and fetch a wrap. Perhaps the others would like to come too?”
“No, no,” said Lady Creamcroft, correctly interpreting Jack's quick frown. “You two newlyweds run along.”
Though her phrasing only added to his burden, Jack smiled his gratitude. For what he needed to say to Nessa, he preferred they be alone.
FIFTEEN
NESSA TOOK A DEEP BREATH of the bright, wintry air. Lovely as Fox Manor was, she'd begun to feel a bit enclosed. Some outdoor exercise was just what she needed. “What's beyond that small rise over there?” she asked, pointing.
“The east end of the orchard, with a brook and small wilderness beyond. It's quite pretty in summer, but I doubt it's much to look at now. There's a path, but parts of it may be muddy.”
“I'm game if you are.” Alone with Jack, she could shed her mantle of propriety for awhile— not that it was so onerous now, with most of the guests gone.
“Off we go, then,” he said, stepping out at a fairly brisk pace. In five minutes they crested the rise, and in two more they were out of sight of the house. Both slowed their pace then, in unspoken agreement.
Nessa chuckled. “I believe we've successfully escaped. Is that the wilderness you spoke of, off to our right?”
Scandalous Brides Page 99
