Tempting a Proper Lady

by Debra Mullins

  “I don’t think so. I was very fond of Annabelle, but the people I came from were not very loving. I don’t consider myself a romantic man, and I’ve never ‘fallen in love’ as they say. I don’t think it’s in me.”

  She listened to him say this, his voice completely steady and his expression serious. He truly did not believe himself capable of love.

  “For myself, I’m beginning to believe love does not exist,” she said, and drained her wineglass.

  He frowned at her. “Come now, Cilla. Of course you believe it exists. You married for love, didn’t you?”

  “I did.” She reached for the bottle, but he grabbed it before she could. She almost protested—until he tipped some wine into her glass. “I married for love. Embarrassed my family, left my friends and the only life I ever knew behind, all because I fell in love.” She leaned forward and fixed him with a fierce stare. “I was stupid.”

  “Don’t say that, Cilla. All women know how to love—at least what they think love is. There are many women who do the same thing you did, every day.”

  “Then we’re all stupid to believe a man’s lies. All Edward wanted was the money he thought I had. But he didn’t expect my father to disown me, did he? All I had when we ran off together were the jewels I had inherited from my grandmother. And he took them, every one, and sold them for cash that he lost at the gaming tables.” She leaned back in her chair, suddenly exhausted. “That was my love, Samuel.”

  “Is that why you don’t want to marry again? Certainly a romantic woman like you longs for a lover.”

  “Ha! A lover? Who would fill the position, Samuel? You?”

  “I believe you have had enough wine.” He took her glass away and placed it on his other side, beyond her reach, then moved a goblet of water in front of her. “Drink this. It will steady you.”

  She took up the glass and drank, then set it down and looked at him with her mouth set in defiance.

  “As for me being your lover—” he began.

  “I was not suggesting that!”

  “Weren’t you?” He fixed her with a knowing stare that made her heart skip beats. “I admit, the thought has crossed my mind. You are a very attractive woman. I’ve been tempted since the first moment I saw you.”

  The breath left her lungs. “What—”

  “And I do know how to make love to a woman. To take her breath away with a kiss. Melt her knees with a touch.” He raised her fingers to his lips. “To bring her pleasure that will make her scream my name.”

  “Then why—”

  “I think you want a lover, Cilla, but it can’t be me. Not if we’re going to work together.”

  Stung, she snatched her tingling hand away. “Nonsense. I do not want a lover. Why would I? Women were created to endure men’s lusts, not enjoy them.”

  “Surely you don’t believe that.”

  “Surely I do.”

  “That’s a pity, Cilla. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I’m sorry your husband did not properly see to your needs.”

  “My needs? I do not know what you are talking about.”

  “My, my. Do realize the challenge you pose with those words? I’m almost tempted to show you myself.”

  “I doubt you could show me anything new, Captain.”

  He chuckled. “Well then, how about a wager?”

  The gleam in his eye made him appear a little too pleased with himself. She regarded him with suspicion. “What type of woman do you take me for?”

  “The type to engage in a harmless wager between friends.”

  “And are we friends?”

  “We’re certainly not enemies.”

  “True.” She nibbled her lower lip. “What type of wager?”

  “I will wager that I can make you cry out my name in pleasure—without me removing a single piece of your clothing.”

  Her common sense urged her to deny his claim, to slap his face in outrage, but she hesitated. Part of her was intrigued by his boast. Certainly it was impossible. How could a man do such a thing if she remained fully clothed? But his seductive words of moments before had sent her blood thundering to unmentionable places, and she found herself ensnared by the idea that he just might be able to do what he claimed. “Are you mad?”

  “Not mad,” he said. “Confident.”

  Oh, she wanted to wipe the smirk right off his face. “What would we wager?”

  “A guinea,” he said.

  “How can you have a guinea when the highwayman stole your purse?”

  “I have John’s purse. How else did you think I was paying for the inn?” He produced the purse and took out a guinea, laying it on the table. “If you win, you get the guinea.”

  “And if you win? What do you get, Captain?”

  “A kiss,” he decided. “And not one of those little pecks on the cheek. A real woman’s kiss.”

  The thought of kissing him left her breathless. “This is probably not a good idea.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  She eyed him for a long moment. She did not truly believe he could do as he claimed, however exciting the fantasy, but she did have to admit to a certain curiosity. Her attraction to him had bubbled steadily from the moment she had first seen him.

  Dear God, how long had it been since anyone had touched her?

  “I accept your wager,” she said. “And I will be pleased to accept your guinea when you lose.”

  He gave her a slow smile that sent a streak of heat straight to her woman’s parts. “I have no intention of losing.”

  “So what happens now? Do you mesmerize me with your wicked stare? Recite poetry designed to incite me to such a state that I disrobe of my own volition? Tell me, Captain, how to you intend to accomplish this miracle?”

  “Hardly a miracle, my dear. And I told you to call me Samuel.”

  “Samuel,” she said, wrapping her tongue around his name as if it were hot taffy.

  He sent her a sizzling look that made her toes curl. “Do you taunt me, Priscilla?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I dislike my proper name, Samuel. It always seemed so prim and uninteresting.”

  “I don’t know about that. It rolls off the tongue with a rhythm that pleases me. Priscilla.” He pushed his chair back from the table. “Perhaps we should do something about the way you feel about your name.”

  Anticipation shot straight to her loins. “What are you doing?”

  “You certainly don’t expect me to pleasure you from a distance, do you?” He rose and removed his coat, which he draped over the back of his chair. Then he stepped behind her chair. Her skin rippled with goose bumps at his nearness. What was he doing? Why had she accepted the wager?

  “Perhaps this was not such a good idea,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder. She could see the lean line of his waist and part of his hip from the corner of her eye. “I am a bit worse for the wine.”

  “You’re far from intoxicated, my dear. I would never approach a lady who was not in control of her faculties. And you’ve already accepted the wager. You cannot refuse now.” He pulled her chair away from the table and turned it so she faced him. When he crouched down in front of her, their faces were level with each other. “It’s a matter of honor, Priscilla. Are you afraid your resolve will not withstand my persuasion?”

  Yes, she thought. “No,” she said.

  “Don’t fear me, sweet one. I only want to make you feel good.” He traced a finger down her cheek. “Soft as satin. You’re a very beautiful woman, Priscilla.”

  “I am plain. Brown eyes, brown hair, a tad plump—”

  He placed his finger on her lips. “Hush. You are far from plain. And you are certainly not plump. You are shaped like a woman, an enticement to any male. Your brown eyes are so soft a man could drown in them. And your hair is beautiful. See the way it curls at the nape of your neck?” He touched one of the curls, tugged at it. Or was he wrapping it around his finger? She couldn’t see. Didn’t dare ask. Her heart pounded.

  “It
is a terrible bother,” she murmured. “It is so curly that I have a hard time making it behave properly.”

  “So you tame it into this sober knot every day? How terrible.” He touched her coiled hair.

  Was he going to remove the pins? Her breath nearly stopped at the thought. One part of her wanted him to do it, to pull the pins from her hair and release her…it…from its fetters. Would he think her beautiful then?

  He found one pin, started to tug it loose.

  “No.” She covered his hand with hers to halt him. Dear heaven, his skin was warm. “I consider my hairpins part of my clothing.”

  “Come now, Priscilla—”

  She lifted her chin. “Will you lose the wager so easily, Samuel?”

  He studied her face for a long moment, then gave her a slow smile that sent warmth flooding through her body. “I won’t let you win so easily, Priscilla.”

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. “I know.”

  His gaze narrowed on her mouth, and he slid his hand from the back of her head to the back of her neck, urging her forward. Dear God, he was going to kiss her!

  “Hold.” She halted him with a hand on his chest when he would have tugged her closer. “I thought the kiss was to be your reward, Captain.”

  “Samuel.”

  “Samuel. How can it be your reward if it is part of your seduction?”

  He sat back on his heels. “You are intent on making this a challenge, aren’t you? Are you so afraid of feeling again that you would deny yourself pleasure?”

  His comment struck home, but she had come this far. “Are you so lacking in confidence that you would take the prize before you have won it?”

  “I am not lacking, my dear—not in any way that would matter to a woman.”

  Heat seared her cheeks. Wicked man! Was he referring to…“No hairpins. No kisses. Are we agreed?”

  “No hairpins. And no kisses on the mouth.”

  She gave a little laugh. “Of course. Where else would one kiss?”

  A gleam lit his eyes that made butterflies explode in her stomach. “Ask me that again afterwards.”

  He rose to his knees and curled his hand around the nape of her neck again.

  “Samuel—”

  “Hush.” He bent his head and pressed his mouth to the side of her neck above the collar of her dress.

  A quick burst of heat shot through her, and her eyes nearly rolled back in her head. When his teeth scraped her sensitive flesh, she nearly jumped out of her chair.

  “Easy,” he murmured against her throat. He nibbled his way up from the high collar of her dress to her ear, tiny nips that didn’t hurt but sent tremors along her nerve endings. Without stopping what he was doing, he took her hand and began toying with her fingers.

  What was he doing to her? She stopped the moan before it left her lips, but she didn’t fight the need to let her head fall to the side to give him better access. She kept her eyes closed, enjoying his touch way too much. Craving it.

  He reached her ear and breathed gently across the sensitive lobe. She shivered and tried to move away, but his hand at the back of her head was relentless. He tangled the fingers of his other hand with hers. “Relax, Priscilla. Enjoy what’s happening to you.”

  “I do not know what is happening to me.” She clamped her lips shut. Goodness, had she actually said that?

  “Don’t be afraid of your feelings.” His tongue touched the rim of her ear, and she jerked away. He pulled back to look into her eyes. “If you don’t want this, simply say so. We can forget the wager.” He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the palm. “Or you can trust me to show you a true taste of a woman’s pleasure.”

  She nearly told him to stop. The part of her who had been raised as a London debutante wanted to default on the wager and run away, no matter how cowardly it seemed. But the part of her who had married the wrong man and been forced to rebuild her life hesitated. She really wanted to know—finally—what every other woman her age seemed to know.

  “I have never felt anything like this,” she murmured.

  “You were married. Did your husband never touch you like this?” He brushed the tip of his tongue against the palm of her hand.

  She gasped and fought the impulse to close her fingers around the now highly sensitized area. “No,” she managed. “Never like this.”

  “He was a fool. You are so responsive. How could any man resist?” He slowly took her pinky into his mouth.

  She whimpered. There was no other word for it. His mouth was hot and moist, and he tickled the pad of her finger with his tongue before releasing it. Then he took her hand and placed it against his cheek. “Touch me, Priscilla. I know you are as curious about me as I am about you.”

  His skin was hot, the slight roughness of a late day beard brushing the heel of her palm. His hand remained at the base of her neck, his thumb gliding gently up and down the sensitive flesh.

  She raised her other hand, cupping his face between her hands. Good Lord, she was curious. Edward hadn’t liked being touched—except in one particular place. Never had he offered to let her explore him. He had usually groped her breasts and buttocks, thrust his tongue in her mouth in a semblance of a kiss, and then thrust his manhood into her body with little or no warning. Occasionally he had come home too intoxicated to even do that much and made her fondle him until his rod stiffened before he took her. She had learned to lie still and wait for him to finish. Never had she felt the urge to discover his body.

  But she felt the urge to discover Samuel’s.

  “Let me help you.” He sat back on his heels again, out of her reach, and dropped his hands from her flesh to the fastenings of his waistcoat. She wanted to cry out at the loss, but then her curiosity was caught as he opened the waistcoat and then the panel of buttons on the shirt beneath to reveal part of his bare chest, sun-kissed and lightly sprinkled with dark hair. He shrugged off the waistcoat and tugged the shirt out of his trousers, then leaned up again, taking her hand and pressing it against the expanse of male muscle exposed by the open buttons. “Indulge your curiosity,” he murmured.

  She should have pulled away. But the heat of his skin surprised her—that and the way the curling hair tickled her palm. She trailed her fingers along his flesh, lured by his warmth, the solidity of his form. She leaned forward, pushing farther beneath his shirt, brushing his male nipple in her exploration. He hissed, and she pulled away.

  “No.” He grabbed her hand and flattened it against his chest again. “It feels good. Don’t stop.”

  “It sounded like I hurt you.”

  He gave her a tender smile. “No. Let me show you.” He cupped her breast right through her dress and rubbed his thumb across her nipple.

  Pleasure sliced through her body, centered on her womb, and squeezed. Her eyes closed as she gasped for breath.

  “It works both ways,” he said. “You touch me. I touch you. We set each other on fire.”

  “Please.” She opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on his face. “Please show me.”

  “Ah, my sweet Priscilla. That’s exactly what I intend to do.” He leaned in and licked her throat, never removing his hand from her breast.

  She slid her hands up around his shoulders, pulling him closer as he licked and nibbled his way from her throat to her other ear. When he took the lobe between his teeth, she let out a soft cry.

  “Yes, that’s it,” he murmured. “Let it happen. Let go.” He slid down her body, rubbing his cheek against one breast as he fondled the other with his hand. “I liked your evening gown better. It seems a crime to hide such beauty beneath so much cloth. If only I could taste this sweet flesh.” He closed his mouth around one nipple and teased it with his tongue. Her body reacted even through layers of clothing, and she, too, wished she were wearing anything but her high-necked traveling dress.

  She let her head fall back, surrendered to the heaviness sweeping into her limbs, and opened herself up to his touch. She clung to his shirt as the only
safe harbor to be found in this wild storm of sensation. He continued to savor her nipples as if the layers of cloth were not even there, sending streaks of pure fire straight to her loins. When he reached for the hem of her skirt, she had given up pretending that she wanted him to stop.

  “Shall I kiss you?” he whispered, lifting her skirts until her stockinged calf was bared to him.

  “Yes, kiss me.” Anything to ease this growing ache.

  He brushed his fingers along the underside of her knee, teasing the sensitive flesh. She trembled, her breath coming in short pants as he slid his both hands beneath her skirts, easing his fingers beneath the edges of her drawers to toy with the ties to her garters.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, though it came out as more a plaintive wail.

  “Touching you. Learning you. Making you feel good.” He leaned forward, gently squeezing her cotton-clad thighs. “Trust me.”

  His fingers trailed up and down her thighs, each time coming closer and closer to the heat between her legs. Dear God, was he going to touch her there? He wouldn’t—would he? Did she want him to?

  God, yes.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “What, sweet Priscilla? What is it you want?”

  “Please touch me.”

  “I am touching you.” He drew circles on the very tops of her thighs with his fingers. So close.

  “More. Please, Samuel. Please.”

  “What do you want, Priscilla? This?” He traced her inner thighs right up to her center…

  …then stopped. A whimper escaped her lips. So close. Right there. Right there. “Right there.”

  She hadn’t realized she had spoken until he said, “Right here?” And pressed his palm against the ache between her legs.

  “Yes. Dear God, yes.” She bent her knees, digging her heels into the seat of the chair as she raised up to better feel his touch. “More. Please, Samuel. More.”

  “All right, beautiful Priscilla. I know what you need.” He took her ankles and hooked her bent knees over his shoulders.

  “What…what are you doing?” She gripped the arms of the chair, fearing she would fall off the seat.