by Heather Boyd
“Of course.” She appeared nervous but nodded. “Let me escort Jessica, and then I will return in half an hour.”
“To my study, if you please.” Nicolas turned away, pulse jumping with nervousness and excitement. Avoiding each other could become tedious. They could not go on this way. “I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter 6
Gillian’s heart beat wildly as she stood alone in Stapleton’s quiet study, toying with the braiding on one of the two visitors’ chairs placed before his desk. She had always spoken to her employer at night, long after his inquisitive daughter had retired to her bed, and she felt incredibly guilty for failing to meet with him last night. She’d been afraid to come lest he test her resolve to ignore his appeal.
She still wasn’t sure she could. Ignoring Stapleton had been difficult enough seated beside him on the pianoforte, even with Jessica in the room. She knew what he wanted when he smiled at her so warmly. More kisses and other things.
Gillian was afraid and a fool. She might not be able to deny him when she wanted to be held in his arms again. It had been wrong but heavenly. She hoped she could get through this meeting without stammering or blushing.
“Forgive me for not being here when you arrived, Mrs. Thorpe,” Stapleton began as he strode into the room. “Guests chatter incessantly. Please sit.”
Gillian sank into a chair opposite his desk, expecting, hoping, he’d sit in his usual place behind it so she could calm her racing heart.
He chose the other chair, the one at her side before the desk, but clenched his hands together between his spread knees. His face was so serious that she felt weak with dread. “I wonder if I owe you an apology,” he whispered.
She swallowed. “For what?”
“I don’t ordinarily respond to dares, but for my behavior, I can offer no other explanation or excuse. It is embarrassing to me now that you might have felt pressured to let me have my way.”
His apology pained her because it was so unnecessary. “I could easily have stopped you.”
He stared, and then a corner of his lips lifted in a slow smile. “And you did quite the opposite.”
Gillian frowned, turning away from him a little. “What does that say about me?”
“What does that say about us both? We were two people kissing.”
“Indeed.”
“And quite well, too, I must say.” He laughed softly, and the familiar sound put her at ease. “So well it seemed to me we had kissed each other before.”
Was he attempting to tease her? She stared at him, at his hesitant smile. “But we most certainly have never done so, or thought about it.”
“Until now.” His eyes glowed with a new warmth when he looked at her. “Perhaps it felt so easy since we have been acquainted for so long.”
“A mere nine months since we first met at your daughter Fanny’s house, and since my employment here began, most of those days and weeks were spent with your daughter between us,” she whispered, feeling as hot and bothered as when his lips had been pressed to hers.
He pursed his lips, and then grinned. “Jessica has made an excellent chaperone up until now, wouldn’t you say?”
“Usually, yes.” Gillian glanced at him, wondering what he thought of her. “You owe me no apology, your grace,” she assured him. “I am not offended, if you were not by my forwardness in allowing it.”
“I thought your kiss sweet. Very exciting. I have not been able to stop thinking of you in my arms, and I do apologize if that admission makes you uncomfortable.”
She met his gaze and saw the uncertainty she felt in his eyes, too. “I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you, either.”
He grinned. “What shall we do about it? Jessica is not here. It is just us two alone in a private room. Two widows with no other romantic entanglements to get in the way. Should we explore this or go back to how things used to be?”
“You want me to decide?” Gillian’s pulsed raced that he would give her a choice. However, it wasn’t a fair question. She knew she wanted him. They were in a room with three chairs, a desk, and chaise and a fireplace rug. Was there a way for a man and woman to comfortably make love in such a setting? She became warm from just thinking about the possibility. “Is it private enough?”
“The staff are busy elsewhere, and my guests are occupied on the other side of the house with Jessica and Rebecca,” he whispered huskily. “I made sure there were no idlers in the hall as I came in to speak to you.”
Gillian glanced at him sharply. “So you have plans for me?”
“No plans.” The quick smile he flashed made him seem so much younger than he was. “But should you have felt the need to scold me for my earlier impertinence, I wanted to be sure no one else would hear about it.”
“Impertinence?”
He bit his lower lip and winced. “Flirtatiousness?”
Blinding heat covered her skin. “That kiss went far beyond flirtatious, your grace.”
“Nicolas,” he suggested. “If you don’t object to me saying so, I’d like to kiss you like that again right now.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Nicolas. His very name sent a thrill through her. Her pulse raced. He was offering her a chance to be his lover or turn him aside if the idea displeased her. Gillian wanted him, but she was afraid of how things might change if she admitted it.
“Perhaps we should discuss my daughter now,” he said as his smile dimmed. “Tell me of yesterday, as you always do.”
He leaned back casually and crossed his legs at the ankle. The pose suggested he was in no rush to resume flirting with her anytime soon.
Gillian gathered her wits. “Jessica enjoyed herself very much. Early that morning we walked along the lane for exercise with Lord James, and had Mr. Whitfield join us for the return trip. After luncheon, a lively game of charades was played, and although Lord James tried very hard, it was Mr. Whitfield who won the day, guessing most of Jessica’s characters.”
“She hasn’t been able to fool him since she was nine,” the duke said dryly, following it with a rare soft chuckle that caused gooseflesh to rise all over her skin. Stapleton had the warmest laugh of anyone she knew. The sound drew her closer, but she was always wary of overstepping with her personal opinion that Whitfield had more than a passing interest in her charge.
“They do seem well matched.”
Stapleton merely smiled. “And after dinner, what topic was discussed most amongst the ladies?”
“The coming season.” She watched his face carefully now. “Gowns, entertainments, dressmakers—bachelors in want of a wife.”
As she’d anticipated, Lord Stapleton physically withdrew. As much as he might express his enthusiasm over his daughter’s coming out with everyone else, in private with Gillian, she’d noticed he was less than enthusiastic about the idea. Neither father nor daughter seemed ready for the specter of looming separation a marriage would bring.
“I suppose Mrs. Warner led that discussion.”
“She did, but Mrs. Hawthorne held her ground on the subject of necklines during a first season.”
“Necklines?”
Gillian waved her hand before her chest. “How much cleavage a young woman should show to avoid appearing fast in her first season.”
“Is that the usual sort of conversation you must endure every night?” He winced. “It is times like this I despair of being a man.”
“Why is that?”
“As a man, I enjoy a lower neckline. But as a father, I feel quite the opposite.”
Gillian chuckled, and then realized that despite kissing Stapleton, they were still the same people. There was no awkwardness between them anymore. “I am certain most fathers grapple with that dilemma.”
“What is your advice, Mrs. Thorpe?”
“For necklines? That you leave those decisions to her current dressmaker. The woman has excellent taste.”
“No doubt you are right, as you have been in so many things.” His smile returned. “Well, if there
is nothing else, I should not keep you.”
He stood, and held out his hand to assist her up, something he’d never done before. When Gillian slipped her palm over his, he gripped her hand gently. She could leave, and he would not mind that she’d denied him.
Or she could stay and discover if he did everything as well as he kissed.
She stood and kept hold of his hand, but her heart thudded loudly in her ears.
Nicolas paused, and then dipped his head slowly toward hers. Their lips brushed, a fleeting touch, but it was enough to light a fire inside her. Gillian slid her hands up his forearms until he embraced her.
“Ah, Gillian,” he whispered between kisses. “You honor me.”
Gillian wound her arms about his neck and gave herself up to Nicolas’ passion. His grip was strong around her body, his hands slow in exploring her curves. She could not get close enough, and when his lips left hers, and his breath came hot against her throat, she moaned.
“Shh,” he whispered. But his kisses grew bolder, the flick of his tongue teasing into her mouth more insistent, until Gillian could barely hold two thoughts together.
His hands cupped her breasts, and she gasped as he removed her shawl.
He lowered her into a chair gently and knelt before her on the rug. Then he buried his face between her breasts. “Necklines,” he whispered, then laughed as he grasped her gown at the shoulders and tugged gently to lower hers.
His breath was hot and panting against the upper swells of her breasts. Gillian curled her fingers into his hair as he revealed one nipple. When he blew over the rosy peak, she almost launched herself into him. Wallace had only ever held them in his dry hands, and only in their bed at night. She was already well out of her depth with Nicolas but loving every moment.
“Patience,” he whispered just before he took her nipple into his mouth. When he sucked, she swallowed a moan, astonished with how utterly good it felt to be made love to.
Nicolas made her wish that her marriage had been different. Her husband had merely lifted her night clothes, and quickly thrust into her a few times before groaning and rolling off to fall asleep immediately after. Her whole experience of the marriage bed had lasted mere minutes each time.
Seventeen times, to be precise.
She would not mind Nicolas’ haste. She wasn’t a wife but a lover, and as impatient as Nicolas appeared to be, too. She assisted him in removing his coat when he began to struggle out of it but became trapped by the tight sleeves.
Once he was free, Gillian grasped his shoulders again as he sank lower. His lips were on her knee, his hands skimming her thighs when sanity briefly returned. “The door.”
“Locked.” He pulled her forward until she perched at the very edge of the chair. His fingers teased between her legs until she was gasping in shock and anticipation.
Nicolas bit his lip again before murmuring, “Do you mind if I indulge you first?”
Gillian shook her head quickly without really knowing what he was suggesting. He could touch her anywhere he wanted, or she’d have to imagine him doing so later when she was alone in her room.
His head dropped, and his lips caressed her inner thighs, and then…
“Sweet mercy,” she whispered as he lapped at her sex with his tongue.
He pushed her legs wider, until she was completely open and exposed to him. Despite the shock, it was wonderful. He was wonderful. A rush of pure sensation and wickedness filled her body and made her squirm. Gillian watched Nicolas taste and tease her through hooded eyes, never daring to close them completely in case he stopped.
But what he did to her was incredible. She felt too large for her skin, too far away from his. She pulled on him just as he did something that drove her body wild. She thrashed and cried out, muffling her mouth with her arm.
Gasping for breath, she collapsed back in the chair, boneless and overwhelmed by the Duke of Stapleton’s lovemaking.
Nicolas held Gillian’s legs up at the knees, and she felt no shame in that. She had never enjoyed intimacy until now. She’d also never known what her marriage had lacked before.
Releasing one leg, Nicolas unbuttoned his trousers, tucked his shirt up beneath his brocade waistcoat, and then slowly pressed inside her.
It took her overly sensitive body a moment to adjust, and then she reveled in his powerful thrusts, in his tight grip on her thighs, and the bright, lust-filled expression in his beautiful eyes as he took his pleasure.
This was not the duty she’d endured for her husband. This was something else, beyond her experience.
He caught her head and held her cheek in his palm when he finally slowed. He grinned. “So very good and easy. Are you sure we’ve not lain together before?”
Gillian took the question as it was meant—as a jest to prolong his passion. She laughed softly, and brushed her lips against his palm. “I would have remembered how very good you were if that were true.”
He grinned, closed his eyes and exhaled, as if he were in heaven making love to her. He found a new rhythm, hard enough to move her backward with each stroke, deep enough that her own desire was suddenly rekindled.
She stretched to touch his face, craving more from him. “So very good, Nicolas.”
He must have seen something in her expression, for he touched her quim once more, teasing the little bud at the apex of her slit with skill and persistence. “Again?”
Gillian twisted her hips, gaining new sensations from the slight change of position. Exciting ones that would bring her to that moment of intense pleasure again. How did he do that when her own husband had left her feeling only empty and sore? “Yes, I think so!”
They drew closer, grinding together. She held his gaze, and then her body curled in upon itself, and she soared again, crying out in surprise the next moment.
Nicolas caught her cry with his mouth and stayed with her until she calmed.
He drew back his hips suddenly, then his hands left her skin. “Gillian,” he gasped, panting hard as he spilled his seed away from her.
She remained as he had left her, and then slowly lowered her feet to sit up gingerly. For a change, there was no discomfort but a pleasant ache where this man had been joined to her.
Nicolas turned aside, straightened himself, then sat back on his heels. “Now we’ve done it.”
She grinned, basking in his warm smile and presence. She should feel guilty, wanton, decidedly wicked. But she felt none of those, only pleased with herself for being brave. “We have. And very well done it was, too.”
He swooped in to kiss her quickly. “A pleasure.”
Gillian cupped his face a moment, feelings she should not experience growing for the man holding her. However talented he was in the arts of the bedroom, it was imperative that she not mistake this moment. He was a duke and she the paid companion. They could have no future together besides the carnal. It was just lust and loneliness drawing them together. “If there is nothing else, your grace, I should return to my duties.”
He nodded, his grin dimming. “So we will say nothing of this?”
“Indeed. It will be our secret forever.”
He stood, groaning and rubbing at his knees. But he held out his hand to help her up, repeating the moment that had led them into their dalliance. Gillian was grateful for his support and clung to his hand a moment longer than strictly necessary. Her legs felt decidedly weak. It had been a very long time since she had lain with her husband, never mind having found pleasure in the experience—climaxing twice in so short a span of time appeared to be an exhausting experience.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers. “Until this evening.”
“Yes.”
Nicolas turned her hand over and kissed her palm softly. Gillian’s body quivered anew as he glanced up and licked across her palm. There was a devilish look in his eyes that she couldn’t resist. Would they talk tonight or would he want to make love again? Once tasted, Gillian was certain she couldn’t refuse a
second invitation to pleasure.
She brushed her body against his deliberately as they parted, reveling in his warm, tortured groan. He swatted her backside lightly and she laughed with him, feeling the happiest she’d ever felt in her life. She could spend another sinful interlude in his arms. In fact, she was most eager for it. She blew him a kiss and sauntered out, feeling very good about herself, and beautiful too.
Chapter 7
Everyone would say he should be ashamed of himself. Seducing the paid companion. Making love to her on a chair, in the broad daylight no less.
Nicolas hid his grin behind his scarf as he inspected the frozen lake bordering his property with his steward. It was a good day, and he was quite proud of himself. He was happy. “Are you sure it is safe?”
His steward, Fenton, had grown up on the estate and could be trusted to know if they should skate or not. “You’ll all be fine as long as you don’t host a ball out there.”
“No chance of that.” Ten skaters hardly made for a ball, and most likely few would gather together in one place or for long. Nicolas judged the outing could go ahead and gestured to his guests that they could begin.
Jessica and Whitfield were first out and made a quick circle around each other before being joined by the slower Miss Hawthorne and Lord James.
Nicolas found rum in a hamper and held it out. “To warm your heart on a cold day.”
“My thanks, your grace.” The man took a swift pull. “Colder than a widow’s tit out here.”
The remark made him think of Gillian, whose tits were hardly cold when they were under his lips. He glanced her way and noted how slow she was in buckling her skates. He felt a touch of urgency to see her on the ice and have her on his arm.
“A fair one, she is,” Fenton remarked. “Outlasted the others by a wide margin. Cost me a pretty penny, too.”
