Lost in Temptation (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 1)

by Royal, Lauren

  "That's not what he thinks."

  Tris stared hard at the dog, opened his mouth, then shut it. "Well, he's going to have to get used to sharing me. Come see the long gallery."

  Rex followed them through another door into a lengthy tunnel of a room. A room that called for quiet. Woven matting on the parquet floor muffled their footsteps. Large paintings in heavy gilt frames were spaced evenly along the dark paneled walls.

  Even Rex kept quiet as they walked along slowly, gazing at the pictures. The painters here weren't important; this gallery was all about their subjects. Gentlemen in silks and velvets, ladies in stiff white neck ruffs.

  "Some are older than the house," Alexandra observed softly. "Are they family?"

  "Nesbitts, one and all."

  A few of the names were familiar from inside her ring. Henry and Elizabeth. James and Sarah. She stopped to study a canvas whose brass plaque read WILLIAM AND ANNE. The painting showed that particular Lord Hawkridge standing behind his seated lady, who held a white kitten on her lap. Her blue eyes looked kind, and Alexandra could almost see her graceful fingers stroking the silky, purring cat.

  "They look happy," she decided.

  The next couple, Randal and Lily, looked happy as well. "1680," she read off the plaque. The man had gray eyes, like Tris's. His hair looked like Tris's, too, but longer, and a huge dog that looked just like Rex sat at his feet. A small child stood at his side, still in skirts so she couldn't tell its gender. The man's hand rested on the shoulder of his pretty, dark-haired lady, who beamed a smile at the baby in her arms.

  Alexandra smiled in response. "Everyone here has been happy. I can feel it, can't you? This is a good house. A real home." History and tradition fairly oozed from the walls.

  "My uncle wasn't happy," Tris disagreed quietly.

  "Not after his family died, of course. But before?"

  "He was happy," Tris conceded. Clearly unwilling to promise that they would be happy too, he gave her another kiss, short but heartfelt.

  She would swear she heard Rex snort.

  "The library is through here," Tris said.

  It was a lofty, two-story chamber with dark shelving crammed with important-looking books. Alexandra walked over to pull one out and flip idly through it, the old pages crackling as she turned them.

  "You don't want to read now, do you?" Stepping up behind her, Tris bent to kiss the side of her neck.

  "Not really." Tingling warmth spread from where his lips met her skin. He reached around her to take the book from her hands and set it on a small table, and she turned in his arms to meet his mouth.

  Rex's bark echoed up to the laurel wreath in the center of the high ceiling.

  "See why I lock him out of my rooms?" Tris asked with a sigh.

  "I hope it's not because you like to kiss women in there."

  "Only one," he said with a soft smile that made something kindle deep in her belly. "Shall we escape the beast and go there now?"

  Her heart thumped harder than Rex's tail. "Aren't there more rooms I haven't seen?"

  "None that cannot wait until tomorrow." He skimmed his fingertips over her cheek, ignoring Rex's protest. The pad of his thumb brushed her lips. "And I cannot wait any longer."

  That simple statement made her heart give a little leap. She pressed a hand to her chest. A faint smile curving his bruised lips, he lifted that hand and brushed his mouth over the knuckles before lacing his fingers through hers.

  Rex dogged their steps all the way back through the long gallery, the north drawing room, and the round gallery. Tris quickened their pace into the corridor and past the Queen's Bedchamber. By the time they reached his rooms, they were running. Alexandra laughed at the absurdity. When they finally darted through his bedroom door and he whirled and all but slammed it in the dog's face, she laughed even harder.

  Rex whined once, barked three times, then padded away, his big feet thudding with each step.

  "He knows when to give up," she observed with more giggles.

  "You find this humorous?" Tris returned with mock severity. Without waiting for her to answer, he dragged her into his arms and silenced her with a kiss.

  It was a kiss of desperate tenderness, a kiss that quickly escalated, igniting heat with its demand. Though she wondered if the pressure hurt his swollen mouth, she couldn't bring herself to care. The scent of him filled her senses: fresh air and soap and that elusive something she thought of as him. He tasted of Tris and the wine he'd drunk with dinner, and she thought she'd like to taste him, to kiss him, forever.

  When he finally released her, she just stood and gazed at him, unsteady on her feet.

  "You're not laughing anymore," he said with a smug smile.

  "Laughing? I think I forgot to even breathe."

  The smile widened as he walked away to turn down the gas lamps. There were four of them mounted on the walls, two on each side of the room. Even battered and bruised, he moved easily, with an innate grace, so tall and handsome in the wedding outfit his valet had cobbled together, the white breeches hugging his muscled thighs.

  She could scarcely believe he was hers.

  "There," he said when the room was bathed in a softer, hazier glow. "Isn't that nicer?"

  "It is." Watching his gaze roam over her, she smoothed the white lace skirt of the dress she'd borrowed from Corinna. "Thank you."

  He shrugged out of his black tailcoat and draped it over the back of one of the striped chairs before he began untying his cravat. As his long fingers worked at the knot, she noticed his tanned hands, their backs lightly sprinkled with hair that glowed golden in the gaslight. She wanted to walk closer and help him, but she didn't trust her knees. She was forgetting to breathe again. After all those years of hopeless dreaming, to think he was really hers…

  It was incredible. She swallowed hard—so hard she feared he'd heard it.

  "Are you nervous?" he asked, sitting on the chair.

  He had heard it. And misunderstood. "Not really. Griffin told me what to expect."

  He looked a bit startled at that news. "Did he?"

  "Oh, yes."

  He tugged off his black pumps and peeled off his white stockings, leaving his feet and well-defined calves as bare as the day he was born. Sweet heaven. If she had to watch him anymore in the act of undressing, she wouldn't be responsible for her actions. "When are you going to leave so I can get ready for bed?" she asked a little shrilly.

  He gave her a puzzled smile. "I was planning to get you ready for bed myself."

  "Pardon?" That wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to leave her, so she could change into Juliana's pretty nightgown, and then return wearing a dressing gown himself. One that went to the floor and covered all of him. Including his legs, where her gaze seemed to be permanently fastened. "You're supposed to leave so I can prepare myself and wait for you in the bed."

  He rose and came close, his silvery eyes narrowed. "Says who?"

  "Griffin. Griffin told me—"

  "Griffin is a muttonhead." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Turn around."

  She did, her gaze falling on the bed. It looked big and soft, and someone had already turned the covers back invitingly. And by all indications, he wasn't going to let her get in it without him.

  After he untied her sash, she felt his fingers freeing the buttons down her back. Practiced fingers. "You've done this before."

  "I have buttons on my own clothes, you know." He managed to sound both amused and evasive. "What else did Griffin tell you?"

  "He said it's not like horses—we will do it face-to-face."

  "Yes, usually," he said, and before she could ruminate on that, added, "What else?"

  Her bodice loosened, and she crossed both hands over her bosom to hold it in place. "He said it would hurt. But just a little, and only the first time."

  He swung her back around, his eyes searching hers. "Are you worried about that?"

  "Not really."

  "Good. I'll go slowly,
I promise. If it hurts, just tell me, and I'll stop."

  "Thank you," she whispered, caught in the intensity of his gaze.

  He raised her hands from her chest to his mouth and placed a warm kiss to the back of one and then the other.

  And her dress fell to the floor, revealing her sleeveless linen chemise.

  He stepped back, his gaze roaming hungrily over her half-clothed body. The possessive look in his eyes was more exciting than she could have imagined.

  The shiver that ran through her was not from a chill.

  When he reached for her, she moved closer, raising her face for his kiss. As his mouth claimed hers, she pressed herself against him, feeling all the hard small buttons that ran down the front of his waistcoat.

  He was entirely too clothed compared to her. It wasn't fair. Maybe she should do something about that. But that would mean drawing away and perhaps even breaking their kiss, which was making her head swim in the most lovely manner.

  She sighed into his mouth as he ran his hands over her back, learning her body through her chemise. Her skin prickled pleasurably everywhere he touched. When his hands drifted lower, skimming her bottom, it took everything she had not to squirm in response. His fingers molded themselves to her rounded curves, cupping to pull her closer—

  And froze.

  "Tris?" she murmured against his mouth.

  "Holy Christ." His voice a husky whisper, he moved his hands experimentally. "Sweetheart, what happened to your drawers?"

  THIRTY-THREE

  OBVIOUSLY SURPRISED at the question, Alexandra pulled away. "Drawers would ruin the lines of my dresses. I never wear them."

  "Never?" Tristan imagined all the times they'd been together the last few months, going all the way back to their first kiss up on Cainewood's wall walk. Had she not being wearing drawers then? He remembered all the meals when she'd sat beside him, bare bottomed and mere inches away. That time in the library when he'd reached around her, her backside against his front. Walking alone together after the picnic, teaching her to waltz, dancing with her and reaching to kiss her in the minstrel's gallery…

  Had she never been wearing drawers?

  His body reacted to that thought with such violence, it took all he had not to throw her on the bed then and there.

  "How about your sisters? Your cousins? The other women of your acquaintance? Do they never wear drawers, either?" He raked a hand through his hair. "Never mind. I don't think I want to know."

  The last thing he needed now, when he'd promised to take things slowly, was visions of being surrounded by women who went without drawers.

  No, forget being surrounded—the thought of Alexandra alone was enough. More than enough. Forget the recollections of the past—how about all the times they'd be together in the future? Would he ever be able to think straight again in her presence?

  "A lot of ladies don't wear drawers," she said. "Current fashion being as it is, they would show. And they're still rather new, you know. Some women consider them scandalous. And—"

  He stopped her with a kiss. He couldn't stand hearing any more about drawers. Not without finishing this evening a lot sooner than he'd expected.

  Her mouth, warm and willing, soon claimed his attention. He'd never known anyone who put as much of herself into a kiss as Alexandra. When she was kissing him, he was convinced she was thinking of nothing and no one else. She matched his every move and made some bold moves of her own. Recalling her shocked hesitation the first time they kissed, he found it hard to reconcile that innocence with the way she was kissing him now.

  His pulse quickened as he wondered whether she'd take to lovemaking as rapidly.

  He trailed his lips to her delicate chin and continued down the slim column of her throat, lingering in that sensitive place where neck met shoulder. He smiled when he sensed her shiver, then pulled back when he felt her fingers go to the line of tiny buttons on his white waistcoat.

  By God, she was learning fast. "You're undressing me now?"

  Her fingers fumbled. "It seems so." When she finally got the waistcoat open, she slid her hands underneath and up. The white garment fell down his back to join her frock on the floor. "Shall I fetch you a dressing gown?" she asked, watching avidly as he divested himself of his braces.

  "Hmm?"

  She skimmed her hands over his thin cambric shirt, making his muscles twitch underneath. "Griffin said you would put on a dressing gown."

  "For what, five minutes? I would only take it back off."

  She nodded knowingly. "I told him that."

  He wasn't at all sure he liked his friend discussing his love life. He did, however, like his friend's sister running her hands all over his torso, even when she grazed bruises that still hurt.

  "You feel good," she said, her eyes filled with wonder.

  He ran his own hands down her sides. "You feel good, too," he told her, his gaze dropping from her intent expression to the swell of her cleavage beneath the plain, low-cut chemise.

  The rosy tips of her lovely breasts tightened under his perusal, and her cheeks turned a delicate pink. "I suppose you're not going to lift my nightgown then, either?"

  "Pardon?"

  "He said when you were ready, you would lift my nightgown."

  "What nightgown?" he asked, gesturing at her half-clad form.

  "Never mind."

  Alexandra swallowed tightly. This wasn't going at all the way Griffin had led her to expect. Despite what she'd said earlier, she was starting to feel a bit nervous. Her legs were trembling. She was grateful when Tris led her to a chair—until he pulled her sideways onto his lap.

  She hadn't sat on anyone's lap since she was about four years old. Tris's fragrance surrounded her, filling her head with the scents of soap and starch and warm man. He began plucking the pins from her hair. "Do you know," he said, "how long I've dreamed of doing this?"

  "How long?" she whispered.

  "Too long." He lowered the heavy mass, finger-combing the curls down her back to her waist. "It's beautiful."

  "It's terribly unruly."

  "I like it."

  Somehow he got her shoes and stockings off, and when he rose with her in his arms, cradled against his chest, she was glad of it. For surely she couldn't have walked to the bed, considering her knees had dissolved.

  He laid her gently on the sheets, then straightened to remove the rest of his clothes. As he pulled his shirt over his head, she gasped and reached to touch him, her fingertips brushing the bruises. "Do they hurt?"

  He flashed her a wicked grin. "I think you need to kiss them to make them better."

  She nodded, thinking that sounded like an excellent plan. In fact, now that he'd given her the idea, she was dying to kiss him all over. Just as soon as he joined her in the bed—

  He pushed down his trousers and short drawers, and she lost her train of thought. She also lost her breath. Her heart stuttered in alarm.

  She stared.

  Griffin had said that part of Tris would get hard so he could slide it into her, but he'd neglected to say it would also get big.

  "Sweet heaven," she started—and Tris jumped into bed, pulled the covers over them both, and cut off her sentence with a kiss.

  It was a lovely kiss, but it failed to erase her trepidation.

  "You're nervous now, aren't you?" he said.

  "No. Well, maybe. A little."

  "It will fit, sweetheart." He ran a hand down her side and back up. "And remember, I promised to stop if you hurt."

  "Yes, you did. Thank you."

  He continued slowly stroking her all over through her chemise, which she found rather soothing. Her brother would have warned her if there were a chance of it not working, wouldn't he? And she trusted Tris. Now that she couldn't see that part of his body, she was certain it wasn't as large as she'd thought.

  It simply couldn't be.

  She'd been surprised, that was all. She'd exaggerated its size in her mind. Everything would be fine.

  Sh
e released a shaky breath. "Are you going to ask me to open my legs now?"

  His hand stilled. "What?"

  "Griffin said that after you kissed me and touched me, you would ask me to open my legs."

  "Would you leave Griffin out of this? I really must have a talk with him. He is singularly unimaginative." Heaving a giant sigh, he reached for the hem of her chemise. "Let's get rid of this, shall we?"

  "I told him you'd take it off," she said smugly, raising her arms to cooperate.

  He dropped the chemise to the floor beside the bed. "Told who?"

  "Griffin."

  "Enough with Griffin," he demanded, snuggling closer beside her.

  "All right." She really couldn't think straight when Tris was this close, anyway. Especially when he was running his hands all over her naked body, leaving a trail of warm goosebumps in their wake. Especially when he licked his way down to her breasts and swirled his tongue all over them and fastened his mouth on an aching peak. Especially when he suckled and nipped and made her wonder if anyone had ever died of too much pleasure.

  She wasn't thinking of Griffin then. Nor could she think of him long minutes later, when Tris abandoned her tingling breasts and recaptured her lips with his. Just then, it seemed she couldn't think at all.

  Especially when he was brushing his fingers up and down her legs.

  Especially when he found a sensitive spot behind her knee.

  Especially when he was drawing circles on the insides of her thighs, tiny circles that moved ever closer to that place between them where she felt a hot, growing ache.

  He didn't have to ask her to open her legs, because somehow they opened all by themselves. And his hand slid between them, to cup her like he had the night he'd sleepwalked. She gasped, feeling such an exquisite need, she found herself straining against his hand in hope of easing it.

  And then he moved his hand, stroking her. The pleasure grew, and the urgency grew along with it, until she heard little mewling moans and realized they were hers. For long, languid minutes he played her body, slick slides of his fingers that brought forth bursts of sensation.

  Then he slipped a finger inside her. "Tris!" she cried.