Tempting a Proper Lady

by Debra Mullins

  She lingered in the foyer at noontime awaiting the carriage Samuel was going to send, grateful that the Baileys had left earlier with Lord Raventhorpe to attend a boat race some distance away. The last thing she wanted was questions about her plans for the day. She had never been the type of woman for secret assignations; even her late husband’s courtship had been common knowledge, if not accepted by her family. But this…this was something out of one of the romantic novels that Annabelle was always reading, the young widow preparing to meet her lover on a lazy afternoon.

  Her lover. Heat crept into her cheeks despite her efforts to remain calm. Samuel Breedlove would become her lover this afternoon. He would teach her about men and intimacy, the sorts of things most widows already knew. The sorts of things that would help her to choose a well-suited husband. It was business.

  Though business rarely included removing one’s clothing.

  Once the thought had entered her mind, there was no stopping the images that flowed in its wake. Memories of the inn burst to life, and she could clearly see Samuel’s bare, hair-roughened chest in her mind. Edward had not been a particularly hairy man, and she found herself wondering if that hair was all over Samuel and how it would feel against her naked flesh. And another question—how large would his rod become when he was aroused? She had heard enough talk from other women that the size differed based on the man. What if he was too big to fit? Edward had not been particularly large, and he had hurt her more than once.

  The carriage came down the drive, and she realized she was twisting her fingers together like a green girl. She had been married. She had seen a naked man. Samuel had touched her intimately and not hurt her. Quite the contrary, in fact. She had never felt such pleasure in her life.

  He had indicated there would be more, so she should cease fretting about the unknown like an empty-headed fool. She trusted Samuel. He would teach her what she needed to know, show her the secrets of sexual pleasure, and remain discreet. No would know of their bargain, but they both would benefit from it.

  The carriage stopped in front of the house. She opened the door and stepped out just as the coachman climbed down from the box.

  “John!” She smiled, pleased to see him up and about. “You look well. I had not realized you had recovered so completely.”

  “It takes more than a bullet to fell John Ready.” He opened the carriage door for her and held out a hand.

  She took his hand and allowed him to assist her into the vehicle. “I am pleased you are doing so well.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Burke.” With a warm smile, he shut the door.

  Cilla sat back in the seat, trying to control her skittering nerves. The coach rocked as John climbed back to the coachman’s seat. With a shouted command and a crack of the whip, he set the team in motion.

  The adventure had begun.

  The simple, unassuming cottage stood on a grassy knoll on the edge of the woods. A crumbling stone wall encircled the house with a gap where a gate must have hung at one time. A well-worn path led to the front door, and a curl of smoke drifted from the chimney. Samuel was already here.

  He opened the door as the coach stopped in front of the gateway.

  Her heart leaped into her throat as she saw him standing there, the afternoon breeze ruffling his dark hair. He wore no coat or waistcoat, only his shirt and trousers, as if he were just a man relaxing at home while waiting for the return of his wife. He smiled when he saw her, and her pulse went wild. What was she doing? Did she really intend to become intimate with this man who was essentially a stranger?

  John hopped down from the box and opened the door. “Mrs. Burke,” he invited, extending a hand.

  She hesitated. “What will you do while we…while we are visiting?”

  His dark eyes softened with compassion. “I have to go back to town and see about getting the horses reshod. I believe it will take all afternoon.”

  “Oh. I see.” She reached out her hand.

  “I’ve got it, John.” Samuel appeared behind the coachman, his gaze steady on her. John moved aside, and Samuel took her hand. Even through her gloves she noticed the heat of his skin. Good Lord, what was she doing?

  “It’s all right, Priscilla,” Samuel murmured. “Come out of the coach. I have a nice luncheon waiting for us.”

  Food. So he would not leap on her and ravage her like a beast? As soon as the thought went through her mind, she dismissed it. Of course he would not. He had had every opportunity to do such a thing with her at the inn, and he had not acted on it.

  “It sounds lovely,” she said, and allowed him to help her descend.

  He closed the door and, still holding her hand, glanced up at John in the coachman’s seat.

  “I expect to be back at about six o’clock,” John said.

  “Understood.” Samuel gave a nod and turned toward the house.

  “Good-bye, John,” Cilla called. The coachman tipped his hat and then cracked his whip. The team took off at a brisk trot.

  She and Samuel were completely alone.

  The notion sank in with a hint of panic to it. At the inn they had been alone in the dining room, but she had always known there were other people about. That if she called for help someone would probably hear her. Here at this isolated cabin, the only ones who would hear her would be the woodland creatures.

  “Have you changed your mind?” he murmured as he led her up the path to the open door. “We can simply have a nice lunch, and you can go back with John later. I do not want you to feel forced into anything.”

  “This was my idea.” The words were as much a reminder for her as for him. “I keep my promises, Captain.”

  “I have asked that you call me Samuel. Captain seems so formal.”

  “I am sorry. I was taught to be formal as a child.”

  “Sweet Priscilla.” He paused just before the threshold, still holding her hand. “I intend to give you nothing but pleasure today. If I say or do something that makes you uncomfortable, you must tell me immediately.”

  “I am certain you will not—”

  He laid the forefinger of his other hand on her lips, then let it drop away. “Honesty between us, Cilla. That is the only way this can work. You tell me if you are uncomfortable. Everyone has different tastes, and this afternoon is about discovering what yours are.”

  “I thought it was so I could learn about men.”

  “That, too. But first you must learn about yourself. And I intend to help you.” He held up their joined hands. “Are you ready?”

  She glanced at the open doorway, then back to him. “I am.”

  “Then come with me, Priscilla Burke, and allow me to introduce you to the world of pleasure.”

  He stepped across the threshold, and she followed without hesitation. As he closed the door behind them, she got a sudden feeling of finality, as if she had indeed bid good-bye to one world and entered another.

  A low fire burned in the grate, a steel cooking pot hanging over it with steam drifting from it. The savory scent of stew reached her even as she noticed the fresh bread on the table and the bottle of wine.

  “I do not expect I will need the wine this time,” she said with a laugh.

  “Perhaps not.” He looked down at her hand in his. “Will you remove your gloves?”

  The rough timbre of his voice sent ripples along her flesh. Keeping her gaze on his, she began to remove her gloves, one finger at a time.

  “And your hat,” he added. “We might as well be comfortable while we eat.”

  He held out his hand for her gloves, and she gave them to him, then removed her hat. He took that, too, and went to hang it on a peg near the door, then placed her gloves on a small table near it, which stood beneath a mirror. As he came back, a ripple of excitement curled low in her stomach. Already she had willingly discarded her hat and gloves. How much longer before the rest of her garments followed?

  “The first thing you should learn about a man,” he said, taking her bare hand in his, “is
whether or not he treats you like the treasure you are. If he does not, you should reject his suit and look elsewhere.”

  “How will I know?”

  He led her to the table, then pulled out her chair. “He should treat you like royalty. Put your needs before his own.”

  “That is how all gentlemen are raised,” she said, sitting down.

  He leaned down and murmured, “They are all taught, but many do not practice. If a man does not treat you like a princess before you are wed, how can you expect him to do so afterwards?”

  His breath tickled her ear. Her body responded with a quiver that surprised her, and even as she turned toward him, he drew away and sat down in his own seat to her right. “If you do not care for wine today,” he said, “there is water for tea, though I will have to heat it.”

  “A little wine would not be amiss.” She could not help but watch his hands as he uncorked the bottle and poured some into her glass, then poured his own.

  “Is something wrong?”

  She jerked her gaze up, realizing she had been staring. “I was looking at your hands.”

  “They are rough, I know. I will apologize now. The life of a seaman tends to leave nicks and calluses behind.” He set down the bottle.

  “No, that is not what I meant.” She reached for his hand before she thought to stop herself and turned it over so she could run her fingers along his strong, smooth palm. “Your hands are so much bigger than mine, see?” She laid her palm against his, noting how much longer his fingers were than hers. “For some reason I find the differences between us fascinating.”

  “Your hands are little and soft.” He closed his fingers around hers. “I remember how they felt against my skin.”

  Her mouth fell open even as heat flooded her face. “I…I remember, too.”

  “Before this afternoon is through, I want to feel them on me again.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Are you hungry?”

  The truth slipped out before she could stop it. “Not really.”

  “I had hoped to seduce you gently, to ease you into bed with wine and food and civilized conversation.” He licked between her knuckles. The shimmer of sensation nearly sent her jerking out of her chair. “Now I wonder if perhaps you are as curious as I am.”

  “You are curious?” Was that husky whisper really her voice?

  “I’ve been curious about you ever since I first saw you.” He turned her hand over and nipped the pad of her finger. “You are so sensual—I don’t think you even realize it. It’s completely unconscious, which makes it all the more tantalizing.”

  “I do not know what you mean.”

  He nipped another finger and soothed this one with a quick lick of his tongue. “The way you move. Your figure—so lush and inviting. Your big brown eyes and those gorgeous, soft-looking lips. A man gets ideas from a mouth like that.”

  “I do not intend…I…” He touched the tip of his tongue to her palm, challenging her comprehension of the English language. “Surely men do not see me like that,” she managed.

  “We do. There’s something you should understand about the male of the species, Mrs. Burke.” He leaned forward. “A man is always stimulated to bed women. Even if he has no intention of actually doing so, he is always distracted by the urge. Tempted. And you, Priscilla, are quite tempting indeed.”

  “I never—” She cleared her throat, though her voice still came out huskier than normal. “I never thought of myself that way.”

  “That’s part of what is so fascinating about you. Here you are with the body of a goddess, yet the innocence of a virgin. An irresistible lure to any man with blood in his veins.”

  “Is that how you feel?” She squeezed her eyes shut as she realized what she had blurted out.

  “Haven’t I just told you so? Or perhaps you don’t believe me.” He stood up, his chair scraping backward across the wooden floor. “Here. Undeniable proof.” He pressed her hand against his groin.

  She nearly snatched it away again. His rod was big all right, bigger than Edward’s, it seemed. How could this possibly work? Yet even as she contemplated snatching back her hand, her fingers seemed to move on their own, stroking with curiosity over the turgid flesh straining against the cloth of his trousers.

  He let out a breath on a hiss and closed his eyes. “Priscilla, you are going to make me embarrass myself if you keep doing that.” He took her hand by the wrist and took a step backward.

  “I am sorry. I do not know what came over me!” She snatched her hand back.

  “You did nothing wrong, love. When a man goes a long time without bedding a woman, his control falters.”

  “Do not call me your love, Samuel.” When he met her gaze with surprise in his, she held it fast, needing to emphasize the seriousness of what she was saying. “Never call me your love unless you mean it.”

  “Very well. May I call you sweetheart?”

  “You may.”

  “What about darling?” She nodded. “Sweetness?” Again she nodded. “So anything but love.”

  “Not unless you truly mean it.”

  “All right.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, his brows furrowed as if he were puzzled.

  “So you have been too long without bedding a woman?” she asked.

  He gave a short laugh. “Sweetheart, I was nearly two years alone on an island.”

  “I would have thought that after you were rescued—”

  “No. I’ve never had a taste for whores, and I considered myself betrothed. I thought I would wait.”

  “That is unusual for a man, is it not?”

  “Not for me. I like to feel something for my partner, even if it’s just respect. Frankly no woman has really tempted me since I came back, until you.”

  The breath left her lungs. “Oh.”

  “Have I offended you? That wasn’t my intention.”

  “No, no. It’s just that…well, to be the first woman you have…well, two years…” She bit her lip. “I have never been very good at intimacy. What if I disappoint you?”

  He chuckled. “You won’t.”

  “You do not know that.”

  “Actually I do.” He paused. “After our encounter at the inn, I was incredibly aroused. Hard as a rock.”

  Her mouth fell open at his candor. “What…How does a man…Oh, I do not even know what I am asking.”

  “A man can take care of these things. But it’s not the same thing as having a woman.”

  “I see.” She didn’t, but she figured he would explain at some point.

  “You get my blood hot, Priscilla, with that combination of siren’s body and angel’s face. If you’re really not hungry, I’d like to take you to the bedchamber and start teaching you what you came here to learn.”

  “Now?”

  “Right now,”

  “But John will not be back for hours. What will we do afterwards?”

  A slow grin spread across his face that hinted at a secret she did not share. “It’s going to take more than one lesson.”

  “More than one time?”

  “More than one time, more than one afternoon.”

  “Heavens!”

  “I’m leaving it in your hands, Priscilla. We can eat first if you want to wait, or you can come with me now to the bedchamber.”

  She eyed her wineglass, the loaf of bread, the savory stew simmering on the hearth. “You had best take the stew off the fire.”

  “Done.” He swung the arm that held the stew pot so the food no longer hung over the flames.

  Cilla stood and smoothed her skirts. She could hardly believe she was doing this, but she wanted to know. She wanted to see and hear and taste and feel everything she had missed over the years of her marriage. She held out her hand to him. “You will need to show me what to do.”

  He took her hand and led her away from the table toward the tiny hallway at the rear of the cottage. “I will. Have no fear.”

  “I do not want to disappoint you.” She sto
pped so he would look at her. “If I am not pleasing you, you must tell me at once.”

  “Stop worrying.” He cupped her face in his palm and pressed a kiss to her mouth.

  Her body remembered him. Heat flooded her limbs as he nibbled at her, tangling his tongue with hers. Her knees softened into pudding, and she tightened her grip around their entwined fingers. He gave a low groan, dropped her hand, and deepened the kiss, dragging her full against him as he devoured her mouth.

  Sweet God in heaven! Her body exploded with sensation, and she could only cling to him as he worked his magic on her. One of his hands clenched in her skirts and the other gripped her back, fingers clenching and unclenching. He fell backward against the wall of the hallway, taking her with him, and ripped his mouth from hers, leaning his head back as he sucked in great gulps of air.

  “We need to slow down,” he said in between harsh breaths. “I’m too hungry and you’re too innocent. We need to take this more slowly.”

  Her entire body vibrated like a plucked harp string. She stared up at him, distracted by the sun-darkened flesh of his throat. When had she ever seen a man’s throat so exposed before? It was because he wasn’t wearing a neck cloth, that was it. He was half naked. That expanse of male flesh beckoned her, and she leaned up to touch her tongue to it.

  “Christ in heaven.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and moved her away, though he did not let her go. “I thought you said you were inexperienced.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “So you didn’t mean to…God help us both.” He closed his eyes. “We may just burn each other up once I finally get you naked.”

  “Get me naked?” She had no idea where this strange playfulness came from, but it seemed right. Felt right. “What about you?”

  He opened his eyes. There was a gleam there that made her nervous and excited all at once. “Saucy, aren’t you?”