by Diane Gaston
‘Your dress?’ he asked.
‘I’ll lace it up myself and cover it with my pelisse. I only have a short distance to walk. I do not need you.’ Her last words made her feel like weeping, because she did need him.
Well, she had needed a mother, too, and had done without. She’d even done without a father, since he never bothered much with his daughters. She would learn to do without Dell, too.
She heard him moving around and assumed he was putting on his clothes, getting ready to walk out on her. Instead the bed creaked. He climbed on to the bed and turned her around to face him. He’d undressed again. Completely.
The murals and statues in her late husband’s country house had shown many a naked figure of a man. Gods, they were supposed to be, but none was as fine as Dell. Broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, strong-armed, his muscles so well defined no sculptor could have created a finer image of a man.
He lay her back against the mattress and rose over her again. ‘This time,’ he murmured, kissing her neck. ‘This time we will take it slow so it doesn’t hurt you. This time I will show you what it can be like.’
She threw her arms around him and simply clung to him.
He’d stayed! Dell had not left her.
* * *
Dell sought her lips and kissed them as hungrily as before. What had he almost done? He’d almost walked out on her. He’d almost left her alone with all her emotions and unspent passion. He’d almost been cruel and he never wanted her to feel cruelty again.
‘Forgive me, Lorene,’ he murmured. ‘I was taken off guard.’
He was glad Tinmore had not forced himself on her. He could hardly bear to think of the man’s hands all over her trying to consummate the marriage. He’d been so fevered with desire for her before that he’d thought only to slake his need, to reach that pinnacle of pleasure within his reach. This time, though, he’d make love to her. He’d show her all the pleasure that lovemaking could bring. That he could give her.
He sat her up again and loosened the laces of her corset, pulling it off her. Her shift came next. She lay in front of him in all her naked beauty. His gaze drank her in like a man who’d almost died of thirst. Her full firm breasts, her deep pink nipples, narrow waist, fuller hips.
She did not cover herself, but gazed back, catching his eyes whenever he tore them away from her smooth, creamy skin. His gaze travelled to the triangle of dark hair at the apex of her legs and his desire surged as before.
He hurriedly kissed her, to at least stave off some of his hunger for her. Then he slowly explored her, stroking her skin, feeling every curve. He felt her muscles relax under his touch. First he would free her body of tension, then he would build her desire. Only then would he enter her, this time slowly so her body accepted him with pleasure, not pain.
As her breathing slowed and contented sounds escaped her mouth, his lips sought the tender skin beneath her ears. He filled one hand with her breast and savoured the sensation. He scraped his palm over her nipple. Her hips rose off the bed in response.
His hand slid down between her legs. Very gently his fingers gently stroked and stretched. It was difficult to bank his own feelings. The desire to plunge inside her again was nearly impossible to resist, but resist he did.
Pleasure, not pain.
Beneath his fingers her flesh became as supple as putty and she was wet with desire for him. He positioned himself over her and, with gentle strokes, eased himself inside her.
He moved in and out, in and out, in a rhythm that mimicked The Duke of Kent’s Waltz. In. Out. Come together. Go apart. Like the dance.
She followed the dance perfectly, increasing the tempo as his passion intensified. He could feel hers building, as well. She stayed with him until she cried out and convulsed around him. It was all he needed to unleash his own passion. His climax erupted with more force than he could ever remember. They held on to each other as their bodies tensed and the pleasure washed over them.
Now he was reduced to putty as he slid off her and settled next to her. She turned towards him and nestled against him.
It took a while for him to speak. ‘Did I hurt you this time?’
‘No. On the contrary, that was...’ She pressed her lips to his skin. ‘Indescribable.’
He held her closer.
‘Is it always that way?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he said, but added, ‘For you and me, yes.’
She smiled and he kissed her.
He held her and felt more content than he could remember. The sense of being alone washed away, but with it an encroaching anxiety. He was at great risk of needing her, loving her, having her matter to him. He felt the fear of losing her, heard the crackle of flames as if fire would take her away as it did his family.
He fought the anxiety, the fear. Do not think of it now, he told himself. Enjoy the moment. Savour her now.
His lips sought hers again and sparked a return of desire. This time he was unable to be so careful, so controlled, because he needed to forget himself in the pleasure of her. This time her body would remember and accommodate to him. This time they both would know what was to come.
To his great gratification, her desire was aroused as quickly as his and she was as impatient as he was to rush to that moment of pleasure. His hands explored more aggressively, but she responded in kind, her fingernails scraping his back. This dance was more Scottish Reel than Waltz, faster, rougher.
The rhythm they established grew faster and faster, as did their desire. Her climax came a moment before his and they writhed together once more, crying out from the intense pleasure.
This was happiness. She was happiness.
But as he’d always known, this moment would be fleeting.
Reality set in.
‘I think I must return home,’ Lorene said. ‘I do not want to, but I should. Who knows what the outcome of my mother and Genna’s little talk will be? Or what will happen when the Count returns.’
What faced him at home was wine before dinner with whoever the Duke and Duchess had invited for the evening, a dinner filled with political discussion and a trip to the opera to see and be seen by more men who the Duke hoped to sway to vote his way.
Could he return there and pretend nothing had changed? His insides twisted. She’d broken down the wall he’d erected around his heart. Dare he allow her to become so important to him?
Dell sat up. ‘I’ll help you dress.’
He gazed around the room. Even in the afternoon light, the room seemed lit by sunshine. He could see himself waking every morning in this room.
He would awaken every morning thinking of her.
* * *
A few minutes later they were outside and the town house locked.
Lorene elected to take the soiled linens with her. Certainly she would have an easier time explaining a spot of blood on linens than would he. She folded it into an innocuous bundle that was easily carried.
‘I will be at the town house tomorrow,’ she told him as they walked the short distance to her town house. ‘Mr Good and I will meet in the afternoon to plan more rooms.’
Her question was implied. Would he come there as well?
He should say no. He should say they ought not to repeat what happened between them today.
‘I will be at the Lords tomorrow,’ he began, but added, ‘My morning is free.’ How could he not want her again? And again? ‘Will you meet me at the town house in the morning?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘At ten o’clock?’
‘Ten o’clock,’ he repeated.
They walked on.
Her countenance turned serious. ‘Dell, I do not want you to think I expect more from you than—than the lovemaking. We are free to have an affair, are we not? I—I do not expect marriage. I never want to marry again, as you
know.’
No commitment? Yes. That would do nicely. If they both remained independent—separate—there could be no devastating loss when—when they could be together no more.
‘An affair,’ he repeated. ‘For as long or as briefly as we wish it.’
‘Yes.’
A built-in time to say goodbye. He could do that.
They reached her house and he bid her goodbye cordially, although he really wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her one more time. They were not private, however. A man stood nearby as if waiting for someone.
After she disappeared behind the door, he started towards Ross’s father’s town house.
Perhaps he would move into his own house, as Lorene suggested, Dell thought. The ghosts of his family were gone and he thought he could handle the pleasant memories he was making with Lorene there.
He’d let the Duke know this evening.
He glanced up to see a gentleman waiting at the end of the street. When he came closer, he recognised the man as Lord Brackton, Lady Alice’s father. Had Brackton seen him walking with Lorene? Probably. But what did it matter? Dell knew now he could never pick Lady Alice.
He tipped his hat to the man. ‘Good day, Brackton.’
‘You were with that Lady Tinmore.’ Brackton made it sound like an accusation.
‘Yes,’ Dell responded, his response questioning as if to say, Why do you remark upon it?
Brackton continued in the same tone. ‘This is not the first time you have been connected to her.’
He certainly was not going to discuss his feelings for Lorene with Brackton.
‘Her sister is married to Rossdale.’ Everyone knew he and Rossdale had been fast friends since schooldays. ‘That puts us in each other’s company from time to time.’
‘But you dishonour my daughter!’ Brackton cried.
Dell kept his voice even. ‘I do not dishonour Lady Alice. I hold her in high esteem. Walking with Lady Tinmore has nothing to do with your daughter.’
‘You court my daughter and gallivant with that scandalous widow?’ Brackton’s face turned red.
Dell gave him a direct look. ‘Sir. I have danced with your daughter. I have taken her for a turn in the Park. If it had been my intention to court her, I would have asked your permission first.’
‘My daughter said you are courting her. She says you made her an offer of marriage.’ Brackton peered at him with suspicion. ‘Have you trifled with her?’
This was outrageous. Impossible. He’d been careful never to lead Lady Alice on.
‘I would never dishonour your daughter in any way.’ Dell tried to speak calmly. ‘I cannot explain why Lady Alice would say I am courting her. I never discussed such a matter with her. I certainly never offered her marriage.’ How could he convince this man? ‘You might ask the Duke of Kessington. He has been privy to my thoughts on this subject.’
‘My wife has spoken to the Duchess,’ Brackton shot back. ‘Her Grace assured my wife that you did, indeed, mean to marry my daughter.’
The Duchess. Was she behind this? She was always trying to manoeuvre others to her ideas of what should be. In politics, Dell had no complaint about this. But this was his life. He’d had enough of the scheming woman. First agitating Lady Summerfield, then insulting Lady Northdon. Now this.
‘I do not take her Grace into my confidence.’ Dell fought to hold his temper. ‘There is no truth in this, sir. I give you my word.’ He looked Brackton directly in the eye.
Brackton, at least, looked less certain. Still, he puffed up his chest. ‘We shall see about that!’ He marched away.
Dell remained where he was, waiting for some sense of composure to return. He knew the Duchess tried to stop Ross and Genna from marrying, but it had never occurred to him that she would take even the smallest interest in manipulating his life.
Had she or Lady Brackton shared this falsehood with others? If so, there was sure to be gossip, even scandal. And, if he shared openly his intended relationship with Lorene, the scandal would fall upon Lorene, as well, and as undeserved as ever.
He strode off at a quick pace. He’d have it out with the Duchess and he would not spend another night in her house.
Chapter Sixteen
When Dell reached the Duke’s house, he asked the footman attending the door where the Duke and Duchess were.
‘In the drawing room, m’lord.’ The footman took his hat and gloves.
Dell went directly there and found Ross with them. Ross was often there. He’d taken on many of the Duke’s duties in the last two years, ever since the Duke had a seizure of the heart.
They were all having a glass of wine.
‘Ah, Dell! Glad you are here,’ the Duke said. ‘Come have some claret.’
Dell crossed the room. He did not look at the Duchess who was seated on the sofa. He accepted the glass of wine and drank half of it in one gulp.
‘Is something amiss?’ Ross asked.
Dell swivelled around to face the Duchess. ‘I encountered Lord Brackton on the street. He said you told Lady Brackton that I had decided to marry Lady Alice.’
‘Lady Alice?’ cried Ross. ‘No, Dell!’
Dell put up a hand to silence him. ‘Did you say such a thing to Lady Brackton?’
The smile froze on the Duchess’s face. ‘Why, Dell, did you not say you would court her?’
He glared at her. ‘You know I did not.’
Her expression turned all innocent. ‘Why, I am certain you did.’
‘I know my own mind, Your Grace,’ Dell told her through gritted teeth. ‘You and the Duke were keen on my marrying Lady Alice. I did nothing more than consider it.’
‘Thank God,’ Ross said.
‘Now, Dell.’ The Duchess spoke to him as if he were a child. ‘You know you did more than consider it.’
He leaned into her face. ‘Do not try to manipulate me, ma’am. You had no right to speak to anyone about our private conversations, let alone tell falsehoods about me.’
The Duke put down his wine glass. ‘Constance, what have you done now?’
She tossed her husband a defensive look. ‘Well, we both know Dell will come up to scratch in the end. The Bracktons were considering other gentlemen. I was merely helping matters along.’
This still did not explain why Lady Alice said he was courting her, though, Dell thought.
‘You have exposed an innocent girl to gossip and me, as well,’ Dell said.
She blinked up at him. ‘Then you will simply have to marry her and the gossip will have no teeth.’
‘Constance! Damn your infernal meddling!’ the Duke said sharply. ‘Dell is our friend.’
‘I’m doing this for Dell,’ she protested.
The Duke shouted, ‘I am out of patience with you. I expect you to return to Lady Brackton and tell her you lied.’
She blanched. ‘I will do no such thing!’
The Duke glared at her and pointed to the door. ‘Leave us! Immediately! I will deal with you later, but, rest assured, you will do as I say.’
Likely it would not matter. Once a scandalous story reached society’s ears, it persisted in spite of a dozen protestations that it was untrue.
After she flounced out, Dell turned to the Duke. ‘I hope you realise, sir, that I can no longer stay here.’
‘Yes. Yes.’ The Duke nodded.
‘Come stay with us.’ Ross clapped Dell on the arm.
Dell felt the friendship. ‘I appreciate your invitation.’ Indeed it warmed him deeply. ‘But I am not going to disturb that idyll you and Genna have together. I’ve meant to go back to the town house, even before this.’ A decision made within the last hour.
‘The town house!’ Ross exclaimed. ‘It is a shell.’
He was not ready to
tell Ross about Lorene managing the renovations. Ross would ask too many questions. ‘I started renovations,’ he said vaguely. ‘Enough rooms are done for me to take residence, at least in a few days. I’ll stay at Stephen’s Hotel in the meantime.’
‘No, Dell,’ the Duke broke in. ‘Stay here in the meantime. I’ll keep the Duchess out of your way. If you go to a hotel it will cause talk. Make matters worse.’
That made sense. ‘Very well.’
He ought to have spent the rest of the day in mellow bliss, savouring the memory of making love with Lorene. Instead he was faced with a manipulative duchess and some addled young woman who decided to invent a proposal where none existed.
* * *
Lorene had hurried up to her bedchamber. She wanted to change clothes right away lest someone notice her dress was a bit wrinkled, but instead of trying to untie her laces herself, she collapsed in a chair.
She could not hide it from her maid. And what was she to do with the soiled bed linens?
Moreover, what was she to do to prevent getting with child? Her words to Dell were brave, but a child out of wedlock had a hard road growing up. She’d witnessed what it had been like for Edmund. Who was she to ask what to do?
Tess? Genna?
She wished to tell Tess and Genna eventually, but for right now she wanted this special time with Dell without anyone knowing or talking among themselves about it. Tess and Genna would keep her secrets, but they would discuss it with each other and with her. At the moment it seemed too precious to share.
But she could not engage in this affair without addressing the risk of a baby.
Nellie, her ladies’ maid, walked into the room. ‘Oh! Beg pardon, m’lady. I did not know you were at home.’
‘No need to apologise,’ Lorene said, trying to sound calm, when she did not feel calm inside.
Her maid peered at her. ‘What is amiss, m’lady? Are you ill?’
Yes, she could not hide from Nellie.
She looked up at the girl, younger than herself by at least two years. ‘May I depend upon you, Nellie?’ she asked.
