He mimicked her movements, slowing their pace to let the horses cool, then dismounting to lead them into the stable yard, delay heightening anticipation.
She motioned for him to bring Ailainn to a stall in the barn where he’d first met her—was it just yesterday?—then went to swiftly unsaddle and corral her mare.
Once finished, she hesitated at the paddock rail, her back to him, as if marshaling her courage. With a sigh that shook her slender frame, she turned and walked toward him, high color in her heart-shaped face.
He kept motionless, barely breathing, for she looked as if even now she might change her mind and flee. As she neared with hesitant steps, he slowly reached out his hand, wanting to lure her closer, ease for her the moment of first contact.
Trust me, he silently urged.
Lips trembling too much for the smile she tried to form them into, she raised her hand to his. Pure energy crackled between them as their fingers touched.
She gasped, moved as if to back away. He tightened his grip, pulling her gently toward him, then raising her gloved hand to his lips and holding it there until her resistance faded. Once again, her eyelids fluttered shut.
Teagan battled a fierce desire to seize her in his arms, free right now from its chains of uncertainty the passion simmering in her body. With vivid clarity he could picture her writhing beside him, under him, and knew he could guide them both to release more intense than they’d ever before experienced.
“Shall we go into the house?” he asked.
With a flutter of lashes, her eyes opened, panic once again in their depths. “No, I cannot! My maid…the butler…No, it must be here.” She pulled her hand free and pointed to the hayloft. “Th-there.”
As if having suddenly reached an irrevocable decision, she strode quickly to the ladder leading up to the loft, shedding her bonnet as she walked.
He followed, grinning, ambushed once more by tenderness. His sweet Lady Mystery, hiding out not from a jealous husband but from her household staff.
He wanted better for their first loving than a rapid tumble in a haybarn—fine linen sheets, champagne, hours of the slow teasing build to ecstasy. But he sensed for right now, this was all she’d allow. More, longer, later, he silently promised as he followed her up.
When her booted foot slipped on the ladder, he caught her against him, her deliciously rounded derriere pressed against the aching fullness at his groin. For a moment neither could move. Teagan’s hands were shaking almost as much as hers by the time they reached the hayloft.
She scooted across the loft to stand facing him, back against a fragrant stack of hay bales, hands fluttering nervously at her sides.
Lady Mystery had no idea what to do next.
Though he knew each second of delay must be stretching her overwrought nerves to the breaking point, he simply had to take a moment to drink in the sight of her. Thick, dark brown hair, a froth of curls escaping the pins at her nape and temples. Pale face that was all huge brown eyes over a straight little nose and trembling, plum-plump lips. High pert breasts made to fit into his hands; rounded hips made to fit against his body.
“What’s your given name?”
She started. “V-Valeria.”
Though she had nowhere to run now, he approached slowly. “By the blessed saints, you are beautiful, Valeria.”
Her gaze never left him, yet still she jumped when he gently cupped her face in his hands.
And nearly destroyed his control by reaching up to clutch his fingers and whisper, “Please.”
Only a direct hit by a lightning bolt could have stopped him then. He meant to merely brush her lips, as he had before, but when she opened her mouth at his touch, sparks of fire danced through him. He responded in kind, trapping the fullness of her lower lip and tongue against his teeth. His arms whipped around her shoulders to pull her close, while he nibbled the sweetness of her mouth, then delved deeper to explore the velvet wonders within.
He wanted to proceed slowly, but he absolutely had to feel the weight and softness of her bare breasts in his hands. Feverishly he unbuttoned her spencer and cast it aside, then worked at loosening the fastenings of her gown.
She tried to help, her hands bumping into his in equal haste, until at last he pulled the gown free to run his fingertips across the tightened nubs of nipple and around the warm, satin globes.
He caught her gasp on his tongue and drank deeply as his hands plied her breasts, her body shuddering at each stroke. Her flailing fingers snagged his shirtfront, then, awkward, tentative, began to insinuate their way inside.
He nearly lost control when one slim finger found bare skin. Gasping in turn, he had to pull back. And he froze as, with awe in her eyes, Valeria carefully unfastened the shirt buttons and bared his chest.
She glanced up, as if seeking permission, and he gave a curt nod. Reverently, as if he were a precious object, she placed both palms against his flesh, then traced her fingers over the muscles of his arms, his shoulders and down to the nipples.
“Beautiful,” she whispered.
His chest tightened with emotion almost as powerful as the desire thrumming in his blood—the unique sensation of being cherished.
“B-beautiful,” he repeated, watching her.
With a hunger stronger than any he could ever remember, he craved complete union, the feeling of his body sheathed in hers, the total possession of her whimsical, greedy honesty.
Swiftly he spread a nearby saddle blanket, urged her down upon it, stripping off her chemise and skirts as he went, then shucking his own garments. Her eyes closed and her head lolled back when, with lips and teeth and tongue, he paid homage to the perfection of her breasts.
At first she stiffened when he slid his hand up the smoothness of her inner thigh, until he soothed her with more drugging kisses. Her nails bit into his shoulders when he lowered his mouth to suck hard at the taut nipples, while inch by inch his fingers crept up her thigh. And she cried out when he at last delved inside, to find her wet and ready.
But though his need was now so acute that delay was almost pain, he first wanted more. And so, crooning encouragement, he suckled harder, licked the moisture in the valley of her breasts and moved his thumb around and over her hidden pearl, deepening the pressure until she reached her peak. With triumphant tenderness he watched a burst of ecstasy light her eyes before robbing her of sense and sight.
After a few moments, when her crazed breathing steadied, he nudged her legs apart. Though he craved a taste of her, he knew with the small nugget of brain still functioning that he couldn’t last much longer. Still he staved off completion a bit longer, to rally her with kisses on her pleasure-bruised mouth, until her breathing quickened and her passion-rosy nipples once again stiffened.
Only then did he position himself over her. But a maelstrom of mind-melting sensation began swirling within him as soon as he eased his needy member into her. The final shreds of control dissolved and he drove hard, unable to stop or even slow the explosion he’d staved off so long.
Even so, after the smooth glide of entry he noted unexpected tightness. His last conscious thought, before a wave of pleasure carried him into the nearest thing to heaven on earth, was the incredible realization that he was indeed Valeria’s first lover. Her very first.
Drenched in sweat, her breath still coming in gasps, Valeria slowly struggled to consciousness.
She was lying in her hayloft. Naked. With a handsome man half reclining on her chest, a man who had just transported her on what had been, except for the last painful bit, the most excruciatingly intense, unforgettable adventure of her life.
A ferocious gladness filled her. Whatever happened now, she’d never regret this. Even the shameful knowledge that yesterday she’d almost dismissed her maid for the same indiscretion she’d just committed couldn’t overshadow her joy.
She was smiling at the thought, heat still simmering in her veins, when the man who’d tenderly initiated her into the wonders of love play hauled her t
o her feet.
And stood, magnificently proud and naked, arms crossed, glaring down at her.
Eyes shocked wide open, she goggled at him.
Before she could even begin to figure out what made him suddenly so angry, he gestured toward the blanket.
A blanket, she discovered to her dismay, that was liberally stained with blood.
“Now, madam, might you do me the gracious favor of explaining just how it is you came to be a widow without having ever been a wife?”
“It must be my courses—” she began.
“Nay, don’t think to fob me off. I’ve experience enough to know you had none, even though I’ve never before taken an untried lass.”
Numbly she felt at the stickiness on her legs. “I’m b-bleeding?”
Some of the panicky surprise in her voice must have penetrated his rage, for his grim look lightened. “’Tis not uncommon the first time, I’m told, and ’twill likely stop soon.” The momentary respite quickly ended, though. “So what were you about, woman? Surely you didn’t think to catch yourself a husband!”
“Certainly not!” she exclaimed, aghast. “Even did I want one, I cannot imagine a less likely candidate for matrimony than you!”
The undisguised horror in her tone might have been taken as an insult, but instead Teagan’s face cleared. “Saints be praised, you recognize that truth! Here, then.” He fished a handkerchief out of his coat pocket.
Suddenly recalling her own nakedness, she snatched the handkerchief with one hand and her discarded chemise with the other. Wrapping the latter around herself, she rummaged at the periphery of the rumpled blanket for the rest of her garments.
A touch at her shoulder made her jump. She looked over at Teagan, clothed now in his breeches. “Let me,” he said, gently tugging on the chemise. “It’s a fine lady’s maid I make.”
She allowed him to help her into the chemise, her nervousness returning now that the fire of passion had cooled. Embarrassment threatened as well, and she blessed her wisdom in choosing as a lover someone she’d need never see again.
But as he turned her around to face him, she couldn’t help reaching once more to touch the satin steel of his chest, slowly stroking with the pads of her fingers each sculpted muscle.
He caught up her hand and kissed it. Then, when she reached for the gown he still held, he moved it beyond her reach. “Nay, I’m not leaving until you tell me why. Why me, today. And how any man breathing could have left so lovely a bride untouched. Unless you were wed by proxy?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He pinned her with that piercing, cat-eyed stare. Still too rattled to manufacture a lie, she blurted out the truth. “He never wanted me. Hugh was my brother’s best friend. When he returned from Spain to tell me my brother had died, he asked me to marry him. I didn’t figure out until later he did so only out of duty.”
“When he left you on your wedding night?”
All the disappointment, humiliation and heartache of that night swelled up from memory, nearly choking her.
“Y-yes.”
“But the story goes that he died in your arms. Was that a lie?”
“Nay.”
“Then he must have come to—”
“Don’t!” she cried, not wanting Teagan to probe into truths still too painful to be borne. And then, suddenly, she was furious with him for stripping her naked, not just to the skin, but to the soul.
“Oh yes,” she spat out, “Hugh died in my arms. But not because he’d come to love his friend’s poor orphaned sister. He died too delirious with fever to know in whose arms he lay. Aye, died with a woman’s name on his lips—but it wasn’t mine.”
She closed her eyes and put shaking fingers to her temples, as if to squeeze shut the floodgates of memory.
After a few moments of silence, during which she recovered a modicum of control, Mr. Fitzwilliams said quietly, “He was a cad, then.”
“Nay, you mustn’t think that! He never betrayed me. The lady he loved had refused him some months before he married me, I later discovered. Hugh rejoined the army the day after our wedding and did not return until he was sent back gravely wounded.”
She faced Teagan squarely. “So I was never a wife. But I longed to experience passion, to know what force it is that can drive men and women to such extremes of courage and folly. Situated as I am here, with little hope of ever moving in larger society, I thought you might be the perfect gentleman to show me. With, of course, no further obligation on either part.”
He considered her. “You chose me as your tutor?”
She blushed. “I hoped you might be.”
To her relief, for she half expected a revival of his anger, he made her a deep bow. “’Tis fair honored I am at your confidence in my…abilities. However, I fear I’ve not nearly lived up to that trust. Yet.”
“Yet?” she echoed, her eyes widening. “There’s…more?” Valeria couldn’t imagine how those sweet sensations could possibly intensify without stopping her heart entirely.
He chuckled. “Many and wondrous are the ways to heaven, my lady.”
Already the potent promise in his eyes, the smile dancing at his lips sent coils of anticipation spiraling to her now-quiescent core. She ought to finish dressing, send him on his way, and yet…“Show me.”
He made a sweeping gesture. “Here? Now?”
“Neither Cook nor the butler ever venture to the barn, and I told my maid Mercy I’d ride long today. ’Tis the groom’s day off and I sent Sukey Mae to town.” Valeria hesitated, still shy of expressing her desires. “I’ve time, if…if you have.”
“All the time in the universe,” he whispered, and pulled her back to the blanket.
Then, at teasing length, he proceeded to reveal to her the full shattering beauty of ecstasy untarnished by pain.
Much later, as she lay in his arms, damp and sated, her mind floating in a sensual haze, the sharp bark of a dog warning of intruders jerked her alert.
“Heavens, that might be Sukey Mae returning. I must go.”
She sat up, but as she reached for her chemise, he stopped her, bending to capture one nipple and worry it between his teeth.
The now-familiar warmth pooled at her center and coiled in her belly. She arched her neck, indulging herself one final moment in delightful torment. Then she gently pulled his head up to meet her lips.
She used her tongue as he’d taught her, wanting to convey not just her new knowledge but her thanks. A soul-deep thanks for this gift of pleasure he’d brought her—which mere words were hopelessly inadequate to convey.
Nonetheless, she would speak them. “Mr. Fitzwilliams.”
“Teagan,” he corrected. “Sure, and ‘mister’ is a bit too formal now.”
She had to smile. It was ludicrous to fall back into the convention that did not allow the use of given names until after a formal, third-party introduction.
“Teagan. I must go, but first I would thank—”
“Nay.” He stopped her with a finger to her lips.
“Should I not thank you?” She smiled slightly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what one—”
His hands flashed up to grip her arms so tightly she fell silent. “God forbid you should ever know,” he said fiercely, and kissed her.
She’d feared it would be awkward, going about the business of dressing, tidying her hair. But once again, Teagan made it easy for her, commanding her to button up his shirt, alternating between straightforward lacing of her garments and teasing touches that let the sensual spell linger and slowly, slowly dissolve.
Ah, how swiftly she could come to crave his touch.
She dare not permit that. “When does your party expect to depart?”
“In a few days.” He stopped fastening his waistcoat to study her face. “Will you ride tomorrow?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “To fulfill a dream is splendid. But to try to live it again and again would be…dangerous.” She swallowed hard. “It
might then be very difficult to let it go at all.”
He remained silent a long moment, his face unreadable, then nodded. “’Tis rare to find a lady as wise as she is beautiful.”
A ridiculous hurt pierced her. What had she expected? That this handsome man, who probably had to turn away eager women wherever he went, would seek to persuade her?
Trying to reassemble the shattered bits of who she used to be, Valeria descended the ladder, then watched, already lost in bittersweet anguish, as Teagan prepared to ride away.
Before mounting the stallion, he walked over to give her one last kiss.
“Having plucked about as much as I can from the pigeons at Rafe’s, I shall probably head back to London. If—if there should be some unexpected…consequence to this morning’s pleasure, you will let me know?”
She gave her head a negative shake. “There won’t be.” She didn’t wish to wound him by adding she could think of no one less qualified to assume the duties of fatherhood.
Nonetheless, he seemed to guess her thoughts. “Of course not. Whist, and what finer papa could a lad wish for than a shiftless Irish gambler?”
Before she could reply, he had hoisted himself into the saddle and swept her a bow. “Goodbye, Lady Arnold. God be with you.”
“Mr. Fitzwilliams.”
Wheeling the stallion, he set off across the stable yard toward the orchard. And did not look back.
A sinking feeling invaded her chest, as if her heart were a small pebble that had just been tossed into a very deep pond.
It was imperative that he ride away, she reminded herself.
A far greater danger than discovery stalked her. Were the fascinating Mr. Fitzwilliams to remain in the neighborhood, she was not at all sure she could prevent herself from attempting to seek him out. Her senses, awakened to delights of which she’d formerly had only the haziest conception, already clamored for more.
More of what the supremely skilled Mr. Fitzwilliams had given her. What, she forced herself to acknowledge, he would in future give, with equal skill and thoroughness, to other ladies. She dare not read into their interlude, searing as it had been for her, any more than that.
My Lady's Pleasure Page 4
