Moments passed while he stroked her hair. His heart beat in steady rhythm beneath her ear. Warm in his embrace, she nearly dozed. Then he gently disengaged their bodies and eased her to the side.
She startled back to full consciousness. “What…?”
“Hush, it’s all right.” He kissed the top of her head. “You can sleep if you want.”
She lifted her head to look first at his groin, then at his face. “You did not…what’s the word? Climax?”
“No. I nearly did because watching you explode like that was too captivating for words. But I don’t want to get you with child, and the best way to avoid that for now is to not spill my seed in you.”
“I certainly appreciate that. Though it seems unfair that I took my pleasure but you did not get yours.”
He chuckled. “That is easily remedied, sweetheart. I’m very close, so if you will help me, the score will be even once more.”
She eyed his erection. “How?”
“Just take your hand like this…” He guided her fingers around his shaft. “And stroke it like this.”
She ran her fingers up and down as he had shown her. “Like this?”
He let out a hiss of pleasure and closed his eyes. “Just like that.”
“You must tell me if I do it wrong.” Curious now, she stroked him, watching his flesh respond, listening to his whispers of encouragement that quickly gave way to mutters of barely intelligible words. Beneath her fascinated gaze, his cock hardened even more, responding to her slightest touch. Then he closed his hand over hers, jerking once, twice. A long, low moan escaped him as he arched his hips and his seed exploded out of him, splattering over her hand, his chest, and his belly. His hand stilled, and she went to stroke him again, but his grip tightened, halting her.
“No,” he muttered.
She would have to ask him to explain that later, she thought as she looked at his now peaceful features. But she had to admit that it had been an education watching him reach his climax. Was that how she looked?
She took her hand away, and he opened his eyes. “There should be a towel on the bed somewhere.”
She glanced around and found it amid the sheets, then wiped off her hand and turned her attention to him, gently cleaning off his belly and chest. When she was finished, she got up from the bed and set the towel on the bureau, then opened the top drawer and found more towels. She poured some water from the pitcher into the basin and washed her hands, drying them with the clean towel.
She turned back toward the bed. A flash of movement caught her eye, and she glanced over, then stood stock-still, arrested by the sight of herself in the mirror across the room.
She looked like the veriest wanton. She was stark naked except for her stockings and garters. Her hair was tangled about her shoulders and her lips were slightly swollen from his kisses. A gentle flush lingered in her face.
She looked soft and relaxed and extremely satisfied.
“You look incredibly wicked, Priscilla,” Samuel said. When she glanced at him, his lazy smile of approval warmed her from top to toes.
“I cannot believe I made love with my shoes on the first time.”
“Can you not?” he teased.
The smile spread across her lips before she could help it. “I suppose I forgot about them quickly enough.”
“I suppose you did.” He gave a great sigh and stretched, his lithe body rippling with muscle like some kind of jungle cat. “If you are finished with me for now, my lusty wench, I find that I am starving. Do you suppose we might salvage the stew?”
She propped her hand on her hip, that strange playfulness sweeping over her once again. When had she become such a flirt? “So now that I have eased your lusts, sir, you are demanding I cook for you as well?”
“You haven’t eased my lusts completely.” The flash of desire in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat. “That was only the beginning. And I’m a passable cook myself, so don’t assume that just because you are the woman that you will be forced to prepare the meals.”
“That’s a woman’s usual role, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps.” His wicked grin spurred heat back into her cheeks. “But there’s another ‘usual woman’s role’ I have in mind for you, and I prefer you save your energies for that.”
“Samuel!” She picked up her chemise from the floor.
“Oh, no.” He jumped off the bed and took the garment from her hand. “No clothing for you, my lovely.”
“But I thought we were going to eat?”
“You don’t need clothes for that.” He took her by the hand and turned toward the door.
She dug in her heels. “I cannot sit at the dinner table naked!”
“You’re not naked. You’re wearing your stockings.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Why the shyness? Who’s going to see you besides me?”
Well—” She stopped herself, realizing he was right. “There are no servants here, are there?”
“No.” He lifted his hand to her lips and brushed a kiss against her fingers.
“And John will not return in the middle of dinner?”
“No.” He tugged her close and dropped a kiss on her mouth. “He knows better.”
“Thank heavens for that.” Her blush burned her face from forehead to throat.
“Now, don’t be embarrassed.”
“I cannot help it.”
“That’s something we can work on.” He squeezed her fingers. “You must not be ashamed of your body, Priscilla. You’re beautiful.”
“No one has seen me without at least my shift since I was a babe.”
“Not even your husband?”
“Especially not him.” She shook her head. “I always wore my nightdress.”
“Oh, sweetheart, no wonder you came to me.” Samuel pulled her into his arms. “Don’t you like it?” he murmured. “How our bodies fit together?”
“Yes.” Her whisper came so softly she barely heard it herself. “Does that make me a whore?”
“Good God, no!” He pulled back enough to look into her eyes. “There is a vast difference between a passionate woman who simply enjoys sex and a woman who sells it for money. There’s no shame in liking what we do together, sweetheart.”
She bit her lip, doubt and guilt nipping at the memory of the pleasure he had brought her. “I will try to remember that.”
He let out a sigh. “You, my dear Priscilla, are thinking too much. I can see it is time for another lesson.” He went back to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. “I would like you to take off your stockings.”
“But—”
“And do it slowly. A man likes to watch a woman disrobe for him.” His steady gaze brooked no argument.
“All right.” She bent over to unfasten one garter.
“No, not like that. Turn sideways so I can see more of you than the top of your head. In fact, prop your foot on the bed just here and slowly roll off your stocking.”
She propped her hands on her hips. “I am not a performing animal, Captain!”
“No, you’re a beautiful woman who can seduce me with the simple act of removing your stockings.”
She blinked at him. “I can?”
“Of course. Men like to look at naked women. And you peeling off any of your clothing for me…well, it’s damned arousing.”
His passionate words stoked the fire still simmering within her, and she realized she was curious. Was that true? Did a woman have some kind of power over a man where the mere baring of flesh could affect him so strongly?
He chuckled. “I see that sly gleam in your eyes, sweetheart. Go ahead. Indulge yourself. Drive me mad with desire.”
She came over to the bed and propped her foot up on the edge of the mattress just inches from his hip. His gaze skimmed along her stocking-clad limb, then dropped lower between her legs before he looked away. But that brief glance had seared like a touch. Her blood warmed and embarrassment faded. She unfastened the gart
er and slowly slid it down her leg.
He followed it with his eyes. She tugged it off and dangled it from her finger like a prize she had won before boldly dropping it on the floor. He grinned, but the expression faded to something much more intent as she began to peel off the stocking.
His cock stirred, fascinating her as it grew harder of its own volition. She had never witnessed the process before and could not tear her eyes away. Her absorption both aroused and embarrassed her. When she had completely removed the stocking, she teasingly draped it across his lap, covering the proof of his interest. Then she switched legs, resting the other foot on the bed.
In this position she was much more open to him. He reached out and fondled one of her breasts as she removed the garter and worked the stocking down her leg. Then he dipped his hand lower to stroke between her thighs. She let out a squeak of surprise and almost fell over. He grabbed her by the waist and steadied her. They remained that way for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes.
“I think we’d better eat,” he said finally, tugging off her stocking the rest of the way. “I have a feeling I will need my strength later.” He tossed both discarded stockings on the bed, then ran his hand down her calf.
“I think I might need my strength, too,” she murmured. “Heaven help me.”
He laughed at that, then stood. “I suppose we had best see if we can salvage the stew.”
Slowly she lowered her leg, a bit dazed by his utter lack of embarrassment about walking about naked, especially with his arousal so exposed. And a bit astonished at herself and the ease with which she had accepted this introduction to the world of sensuality.
She didn’t dare think too much about the things that had happened in this bedchamber, or about the fact that she so docilely allowed him to lead her bare as the day she was born into the main room of the cottage, where dinner still awaited them.
He went to the hearth and swung the stew pot back over the fire. “Just a few moments to heat this, I think.”
She winced. “Be careful, Samuel.” She waved a hand at his groin. “You do not want to get burned.”
“I think we both already did.” Grinning, he came over and kissed her mouth, then reached for the wine bottle. “I think it’s safe to have a bit of this now, don’t you think?”
“My head is already spinning. I think I might prefer tea.”
“You just want me to go back to the fire,” he teased.
“No! That is…oh, bother.” She clasped her hands over her warming cheeks. “Will I never have the upper hand with you, Samuel Breedlove?”
“Is that what you want?” He moved to his own seat and poured himself a glass of wine. “To be in control?”
“I do not know. I am confused and embarrassed and oh, so many things.”
“Did you like being with me, Cilla?”
She looked up in surprise. “Of course.”
“Did you enjoy what we did together?”
“Yes, heaven help me.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re a young, passionate woman and I am a healthy man. What happened in there was perfectly natural. We did not harm anyone.”
“I suppose you are right.”
He went to stir the stew, then looked back over his shoulder toward her. “Are you pleased with our bargain so far?”
“I was not certain what to expect, but I have no complaints.”
“Good.” He seemed as if he would say something else, but then he turned his attention back to their meal.
She indulged herself with a leisurely study of his muscled back and buttocks, even as she wondered what he had intended to say, but hadn’t. She thought about bringing up the subject of when their relationship would end, but decided she did not want to spoil the moment. “Are you pleased with the bargain?”
He tasted the stew, then took the pot off the fire. “More than pleased. I have wanted you almost from the very first moment I saw you.”
A thrill shot through her, and she tried to maintain a calm demeanor. “A very romantic statement from a man who claims he is not capable of love.”
“Because I have never felt the way the poems and songs say I should. If the state of love exists, I remain unconvinced.” He scooped stew into her bowl.
“Why, Samuel? You seem to like women well enough. That is, you do not strike me as a man who hates females and thinks they are beneath him.”
He flashed her a wicked grin. “Not that I have any objection to females beneath me, you understand…”
“Samuel!”
“…but no, I do not think women are inferior. Weaker than men, physically that is, and more emotional, which in itself can be considered weakness by some.”
“By you?”
He shrugged and ladled some of the steaming fare into his own bowl, then turned and set the pot near the hearth. “I certainly understand the drive of passion. The bond of loyalty. The warmth of friendship. I simply don’t see the need to romanticize every relationship the way women do.”
“So then where does marriage fit into your world?” She reached for the wine bottle, but he grabbed it first and poured her a glass.
“Marriage is a partnership. A man and woman decide to spend their lives together as partners. They take risks together, raise children together, grow old together. I can like and respect a wife and even lust after her without being in love with her.”
“You have never known real love, have you?” She traced the stem of her wineglass as she contemplated his face. “How very sad.”
“I had the Baileys. I thought that was real.” He sat down and reached for his napkin to spread on his naked lap. “As I recall, Mrs. Burke, you cannot claim a grand romance yourself.”
“No, but I believed I had.” She dipped her spoon into the stew, rather astonished at how easily she had accepted dining naked. “Edward said all the right things and made me think he loved me. He could not have done that if I had not believed in a love that lasts forever.”
“You still believe that, don’t you? In an everlasting love? Despite that nonsense you tried to tell me at the inn?”
“Yes,” she admitted, and kept her eyes on her meal, not wanting to see the derision or, God help her, pity in his eyes.
“Then why do you need me? If all you want is romance?”
She risked a glance at him. No pity. No derision. Just curiosity. “Because clearly I cannot trust my own judgment when it comes to understanding the male of the species. I was young and naïve when I met Edward, and I knew nothing of men and women other than what I had learned from my parents.”
“Which was?”
“That a man and woman can be happy in a marriage. It is not easy being married to a naval man. My mother had to become strong to manage everything while he was away at sea. When he came home, she knew he did not want to hear about any troubles that had occurred while he was gone. He wanted to bask in the love of his family. We wanted that, too.” She smiled, bittersweet memories coming to the fore. “Mama always played the stalwart seaman’s wife, able to tackle any problem, able to keep her emotions under control when it came time for him to leave again. He knew that under that serene expression she was already mourning him, but it served both of them to pretend.”
“How did he know she was pretending?”
She glanced up at the strange note in his voice. A stillness had come over him that brought a hint of concern, but the glint of warning she saw in his eyes told her he did not want her to pry. Like her mother, she carried on as if nothing were amiss. “Papa always whispered in my ear to take care of Mama because she was not as strong as she thought she was. He always knew.”
“So you have used your parents’ marriage as a model for what you hope to achieve.”
“I think most people look to their parents as a model for what they should be as adults. Even you, I would expect.”
“No, not me.” He began to eat his stew.
She waited, but he did not elaborate. “Why not?�
��
“I told you, my mother never married. But there were men in her life.”
The edge in his voice told her this was a sore subject, but her curiosity about the man with whom she had just shared her body made her probe deeper. “Men? Like…”
“Men. Lovers. She had a child to provide for, and this was all she knew.”
“Oh, Samuel.”
“Some of them were all right. They tolerated me, brought me sweets. One of them taught me how to whittle.”
“Thank heavens for that.”
“But not all of them were like that. Some saw me as an inconvenience. Those didn’t usually last long. For all that she needed the money they gave her, she didn’t want to see me mistreated. But she always cried so much after they left.” He curled his lip. “Because she was in love.”
“I see now why you do not seek love for yourself.” Cilla reached for a slice of bread and tore it in half.
“Is that right?”
“Of course. For the same reason I did not seek another husband. Edward had ruined the fairy tale for me.”
“So you’re saying my mother ruined my fairy tale?” He gave a harsh laugh. “My dear lady, clearly you have no concept of the misery of growing up a bastard.”
“Of course I do.”
“Bollocks to that. You know who your parents are. I bet you could name your ancestors all the way back to the Conqueror.”
“Good Lord, yes.” She rolled her eyes. “My father keeps the family Bible on a table in his study. When we were small, he used to lecture Genny and me about the great deeds of our forefathers. I believe he was terribly disappointed neither of us had been born a son.”
“Then how can you think you know what it is like to be born a bastard?”
“Because you and I are the same, I think.”
“Oh, really.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “How so?”
“I know what it feels like to be looked down upon by others. After Edward died, I had to make my own way. He left me penniless, nearly starving. I even had to beg for food once or twice. All I could think about was coming back here. Back home.” She let out a derisive laugh. “Here in England, my choice of husband is looked upon as a liability. ‘Poor Cilla, married to a scoundrel without a sou to his name. Whatever will become of her?’”
Tempting a Proper Lady Page 19
