His lips travelled lower, nibbling at the column of her throat and then tracing a line down to her lace fichu. Grazing her skin. A wave of molten heat washed over her.
The lace fell to the ground unheeded as his mouth traced the neckline of her gown. Her breasts grew full and strained against the confines of her stays. He cupped them with his hands, gently rubbed his knuckles over the cloth and smiled as the nipples puckered. Her back arched, seeking his touch. Wave after wave of sensation racked her, leaving her knees weak. Her hands came up and buried them selves in his thick crisp hair. She held on for support. Her fingers traced the outline of his ear.
‘May I?’ he whispered. ‘Please?’
Beyond speech, she inclined her head, wondering what she had agreed to. She only knew that she wanted him to continue. She could not bear it if he stopped. His hands slipped beneath the cloth, stroking her fevered skin. A feather light touch. And the already tight nipples hardened further.
A gasp came from her throat and she teetered on the brink of an abyss. Teetered and then fell as his fingers explored the outlines of her breasts. Her hands clutched his shoulder for support. Her body sought the comfort of his.
‘Do you like this?’ She could only nod in agreement as her eyes watched how his hands moved over and under her breasts. He leant forwards. His breath fanned her ear. ‘You will like this more. I promise.’
She wet her lips with her tongue and tried to think of a sensible answer as his fingers found her nipples again. Catching them between his thumb and fore finger, he rolled them. Pleasure thrummed through her. And she knew she was powerless to stop. She needed this. Everything. Here. Now.
‘Yes,’ she breathed and then her body convulsed.
‘Shall I stop?’ He deliberately withdrew his hands, held them hovering over her breast. Tantalisingly close. If she breathed deeply, they would rise, and graze his palm. She tried and his hands moved upwards. ‘To touch or not to touch.’
She shook her head. ‘Are you planning on tormenting me?’
‘For as long as possible.’ His lips traced a line down her throat, stopping where her bodice kissed her skin. They slipped under the cloth and touched her naked flesh. Warm. Hot. Sensuous touches. Slowly he repeated the manoeuvre. Her hands reached up and buried them selves in his crisp hair. Each tiny movement sent shooting sparks through her body.
‘I…’
‘Hush.’
With one swift movement, he pulled her bodice down and freed one breast from its confines. Nestled it in his palm. ‘Perfect.’
His hot breath touched her tightly furled nipple and then his cool tongue traced its edges, sampling. Finally his mouth sucked, taking the whole of the dusky rose areola inside. Her whole body became infused with heat. Her knees gave way and she knew the only thing keeping her upright was his hands on her waist. The ache that had been growing inside her opened into a throb, became insistent and she knew she needed something more than this. And all the while his tongue swirled and suckled at her breast.
An inarticulate noise sounded in the back of her throat. He lifted his head. One hand smoothed an errant curl off her now bare shoulder. ‘This is only the first course.’
‘There is more than one course?’
‘There is always more than one.’ He scooped her up and deposited her on the linen cloth that had covered the table and now lay in the crisp grass. He knelt beside her. She lifted her hands and loosened his neck cloth. Her fingers fumbled slightly, but he allowed her to take it off.
‘I want to give you pleasure. Always.’ He kissed the side of her neck.
She tried not to think that always was a debatable term. ‘I can’t think beyond the next breath.’
His hands stroked down her side and caught the hem of her gown, revealing her white stockings and lace drawers. She was exposed to the cool afternoon sun. His eyes roamed down her body. ‘Very prettily arranged. Remain still. I want to savour the feast.’
‘Aren’t you over dressed?’ She hardly recognised her own voice.
‘Only if my lady thinks so.’ He shrugged out of his coat. The white ness of his shirt contrasted with the darkness of his hair. He himself propped up on an elbow, regarding her with an amused expression. ‘Anything else?’
Giving into instinct, she pressed her lips to the triangle at the base of his throat. Felt the tempo of his heart beat with her tongue. She withdrew and then tasted again, sampling the sultry smooth skin.
Her hands pulled at his shirt, freeing it from his breeches. She lifted it and ran her fingers along his smooth skin and felt the power of his muscles tremble beneath her fingertips.
He rolled over, on top of her. It felt right, and she could feel the strength of his arousal moving against her hips. She lifted her body to meet the welcome weight of him. His lips re claimed hers and her body rose to meet the force of his arousal as it hit the apex of her thighs. He nuzzled and suckled until her body was racked with need. Her head thrashed and her hands sought him, but he thrust them away.
‘Patience has its own reward.’
His fingers continued inexorably down wards, pushing aside the thin folds of her drawers, weaving between the gap in the material and burying them selves in her nest of curls. She gasped as his finger slid inside her. He stroked one shuddering stroke. Withdrew. Returned again, deeper this time. Her hips lifted.
‘Tight. You are so tight,’ he murmured. ‘I dreamt of this. You, innocent beneath me.’
‘Brett…’ Her hands pressed against his chest, in tending to push him away, but she found her arms had not the strength. A sudden dark panic filled her. He would discover her secret. She should tell him first, but she couldn’t bear the look in his eyes when he knew. And she wanted this. This was so very different from… She summoned all her courage. ‘I…’
His fingers stilled, lifted. ‘Shall I stop? Or do we go on to the next course.’
She wet her lips and tried once more. ‘Brett…’
‘Hush,’ he whispered and his mouth returned to hers. His tongue mimicked the play of his fingers and she felt the hot need grow within her. Consume her.
Her hands slipped under his shirt and found the smooth muscles of his chest. She rubbed her fingers across his nipples and heard his breathing become ragged. He reached down, guided her hand to his erection. Instinctively she curled her hand around it. Hot. Hard but smooth. ‘See what you are doing to me? I want to be inside you.’
Desire flooded through her. Was it so wrong of her to want this? She reached up and cradled his face between her hands, looking him directly in the eye. ‘Yes.’
He raised his body up and positioned himself between her thighs. She felt a nudge and he slid in a little way. He stopped and his eyes flew to hers. He started to pull away, but she raised her hips, keeping him inside her. Slowly he went further. Then suddenly as if he could bear it no longer, he fully entered her.
She stiffened, remembering the previous horridness. The dark hole of her memory opened up and threatened to swallowed her. She waited for the pain, then noticed he had stopped moving.
‘Did I hurt you?’
Silently she shook her head, hating the sudden rush of shame. He must have guessed. Did he know what she was? What had been done to her? She breathed again.
‘It will get better. Relax, sweet heart.’
‘I am trying.’ Her laugh sounded halfway between a sob and a cry.
His lips brushed her temple. Softly. Beguilingly. Flooding her with warmth at his unexpected tenderness. ‘All will be well. I want you too much to stop.’
He began to move within her and she forgot every thing as the waves of pleasure in creased. Increased and then crested. Her hips began to move in time with his. Inside her, she felt him slide, and knew she had to move faster. A cry was torn from her throat and she heard his answer.
Much later, Brett looked down at Diana. Her long lashes lay dark against the cream of her skin. She had fallen asleep in his arms. He had not known what to expect, but she had exceeded
all his expectations.
He made a wry face. From her kisses, he’d expected a virgin, but her response showed she had been in expertly taken. He could well imagine the lies she had been told. And her reaction to the truth. She had not worn the caps and the awful gowns to mourn the man, but to hide from men. Somehow, he had succeeded in breaking through her defences and un wrap ping the passionate woman underneath.
His insides twisted and he hated the way he had seduced her. When she had kissed him by the grotto, his earlier plan of a light romance had vanished, buried beneath the overwhelming need to touch her and to possess her fully. Luckily, she had responded with passion. He wanted to think the passion was for him and him alone.
She would forget other men. He might not have been the first, but he would be the last.
Mentally, he rehearsed his speech. He had never been tempted to say the words before and he wanted them to be right. He imagined her joy when she discovered he was prepared to give up the habit of a lifetime to marry her. He would ask, but properly. He wanted her to know that his decision was not spur of the moment, that he had not sought to irrevocably bind her to him. Everything was going to be done properly. He would show her the absolute respect she deserved. He needed her in his life with an intensity that scared him. Earlier, when he planned this picnic, he had convinced himself that if this did happen, it would be enough to break the spell. He knew now that it would never be enough.
He stood up, dressed, planned every move, every word and then placed a kiss on her temple. ‘Time to stir, sweetheart.’
Her eyes flew open. She stretched her arms above her head. The temp tress personified. His body leapt in response. And he knew he wanted her again, that he would never tire of her.
‘I thought perhaps it was a dream.’
‘No dream. Reality. Very much a reality.’
‘But it remains our secret. Never to be mentioned again.’ She brought her knees up to her chest and peeped at him through a curtain of hair. Her voice held a faint wobble of sadness. Her eyes showed a bruised vulnerability, a wariness that had not been there before. They became wild with some emotion that he could not recognise. ‘You must promise me that. Swear it, Brett! Swear on your horses and all your carriages!’
‘I shall not be telling anyone. I would never treat you like that.’ Brett looked at her, perplexed. She gave a sigh and her eyes turned to ice. He ran a hand through his hair. This was not how the conversation was supposed go. He swallowed hard and tried a different tack. ‘That is to say, it should remain between us. A happy memory. Something to be cherished.’
‘Good.’ She scram bled up and began to re arrange her clothes. Rapidly she covered her long limbs, and retrieved her bonnet, tying it with expert fingers. ‘No one interrupted us. No one knows. There is no need for anyone to know. We go on as before.’
Brett stared at her. He resisted the urge to run his hand through his hair. He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected. Tears, maybe. Recriminations. But not this matter-of-fact attitude. He had no wish to go on as before. What had passed between them had changed every thing. She had to understand. They had no choice. They would marry. She would be his wife.
‘We shared something more than friend ship. I am not adverse to this happening again.’ He gave a half-smile and willed her to understand.
‘And I agreed.’ Her hands stilled on the ribbons of her bonnet. ‘I am no green girl, Brett. We are both adults. You are past thirty and I gave up any expectation of marriage long ago. What is between us lasts for as long as it lasts.’
The gods must be laughing at him. For the first time in his life, he was prepared to do the decent thing and she had refused him even before he’d said the words. He narrowed his lips and silently cursed. To say anything now would be churlish. It would sound ungracious.
‘What shall we tell the servants? The food is un touched.’
‘It is none of their business.’ She walked swiftly over to the picnic. With a few deft movements, she had scattered food. ‘They will assume we had a pleasant repast. Now, shall we go? I have no wish to worry Rose.’
Brett resisted the impulse to sweep her into his arms. Patience. ‘As you wish.’
‘I do.’
‘And, Diana, next time, it will be in a bed with white linen sheets. Properly and with all the time in the world.’
Myriad emotions crossed her face. Her mouth opened and closed several times. ‘I sincerely doubt that.’
‘Diana, wait. We need to talk. To plan.’
‘To get the details of the story right? As you said, you are an expert at these sorts of picnics. You need not worry. I too know the value of silence and discretion.’
He watched her skirts swish as she walked quickly away, pain fully aware that somehow, some where, he had lost control of the situation.
Chapter Twelve
What had she done? What had she done? Coward. Coward. Coward. With each turn of the wheel, the gig seemed to speak the words over and over. She had lied to Brett. Diana knew that. She did not want a hole-in-the-corner affair. She wanted something more, but, above that, she wanted him. She wanted him to look at her with favour.
Did that make her wicked and wanton?
She feared it did. But the alternative was too frightening—forcing Brett to marry her, even presuming he could be forced. She could not bear to think of his eyes looking at her with disgust.
She had tried to outrun her fate. She had made promises. She had confined her life to a set of rules, but it had not been life. Merely an existence. And she wanted to live. There was joy in being alive.
Diana laid her cheek against the cool leather and watched the changing leaves of the trees roll by.
‘Are you going to tell me about the picnic Lord Coltonby had prepared for you?’ Rose asked, settling her basket more firmly in her lap. ‘Cook told me of the splendid delicacies she had prepared. Enough to tempt the most delicate appetite. I told her that my lady has a hardy appetite.’
Diana struggled to sit up, every nerve instantly alert. She had managed to keep her secret from Rose before. ‘The picnic was wonderful. The cook excelled herself.’
‘And you still want to deny that he is courting you?’
‘He wanted advice on painting the grotto.’ Diana kept her eyes on the passing landscape. The gig had reached the relative safety of the drive and she could see the tops of the chimneys. What happened back at Ladywell Park seemed remote and unconnected to the safety that her house always represented.
‘The grotto? Why would he want that tumbled-down heap of rocks painted?’ Rose made a tutting noise in the back of her throat. ‘The ways of the gentry are a mystery to me.’
‘Lord Coltonby wants to restore the pleasure garden. He plans on having Ladywell Park as his principal seat. He believes it perfect for a stud farm.’
‘It sounds like a man whose thoughts have turned towards marriage and responsibility. I should wager that he has more on his mind than breeding horses.’
Diana delicately covered her mouth with her hand, deliberately hiding her expression. She did not even want to think about breeding. She had to assume that all would be well. And if there should be any consequences, then she would deal with them sensibly. She knew that coupling did not result in a child every time. She knew that from experience.
‘Or perhaps he is simply a man tired for a brief time of London’s delights.’
‘And London’s delights are not so great that they hold everyone. You returned to Northumberland. I remain here with you even though I was born with the sound of the great bell of Bow ringing in my ears.’
‘No doubt the lure of London’s flesh pots will re-exert their pull. He is a man, and has no family responsibilities.’
‘You are being cynical, Miss Diana.’
‘Am I?’ Diana forced her lips to smile. She was not going to think about what had happened before. She wanted to believe that Brett was different from all the other rakes. Her heart whispered that he was, but she did not
dare hope. ‘Sir Cuthbert could not bear to be away from London.’
‘Lord Coltonby is cut from a different cloth. I said as much to Mr Hunt earlier, I did. He should be grateful for such a good master, instead of grumbling about the extra work.’
‘Sweet Rose. You are always quick to defend your favourites, even though I am not sure what Lord Coltonby has done to deserve your regard.’ Diana reached out and clutched Rose’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
Rose patted her hand. ‘You were gone a long while. It stands to reason that Lord Coltonby is not simply wanting advice on where to put his bedding plants. Or painting.’
‘We enjoyed the many dishes. Lord Coltonby swears by seed cake.’ Diana forced a light ness into her voice. Prevarication would become easier in time.
‘I had wondered what was keeping you. Lord Coltonby’s valet kept me engaged in conversation. Every time I mentioned you, he had some little quip to tell, or told me that I had to try a little bit more of the seed cake.’ Rose patted her stomach. ‘He even gave me a glass of the port, the one Lord Coltonby saves for best. Mr Hunt did glower at us, but it was ever so pleasant.’
A trembling overtook Diana. The valet had clearly known what Brett was about. So Brett had enlisted his aid. The whole seduction had been planned down to the last detail! It was five years ago all over again.
She stared determinedly out the window, willing the carriage to arrive at the stables so she did not have to endure Rose’s chatter. Then she paused and drew a deep calming breath. She refused to give way to panic. She would never again be the pathetic creature she had once turned into.
‘Are you cold, Miss Diana? Perhaps having an outdoor picnic in the autumn was not the wisest of ideas. I will draw you a hot bath when we get to the house. That will soon put you to right.’
A bath. Diana glanced quickly at Rose and then back out at the parkland. A bath. Five years ago, it had been what she had needed. Scrubbing her skin until it was raw. She had felt soiled—inside and out.
This time, it was very different. That great unyielding emptiness that had been part of her for such a long time had gone and in its place was a steady light, growing with each breath she took. For the first time since she had returned to Northumberland, the world appeared to be bathed in a radiant glow. Or was she simply looking at it with new eyes?
A Question of Impropriety Page 16
