The door to the chamber closed and she dared raise her gaze. With an expression like granite, he offered her his hand.
****
Sunny stood at the washstand, taking another swipe at her hair with her silver-backed brush. Her belly full of porridge and milk, she was feeling better by the moment. A small dose of laudanum in tea eased her even more. At the rhythmic strokes to her scalp, a pleasant sleepiness had begun to lull away her earlier tension. Her eyelids became heavy.
She only wished James’ mood would lighten. In the reflection of the looking glass, she saw him sitting in a rustic wood chair by the fire, sipping his coffee and glowering into the flames.
All right. She must admit it. He frightened her tonight.
He had always seemed so even in his temperment. Serious, grim at times, but calm. Black moods were unlike him.
Now she could sense the emotions within him, simmering like a storm brewing on the horizon.
Peculiar tingling raced through her belly. She set the brush on the washstand then went to the bed, pulled back the coverlet and crawled halfway under the covers, but remained sitting to braid her hair.
“Sunny, we must talk.”
She went still, all her sleepiness washed away by sudden alarm. That peculiar tingling became outright chills. Did he wish to chastise her over her shameful behavior with the ginger-haired young man?
“I was tired.”
It was the best defense she could muster.
James’ expression hardened with a fierce frown. “What?”
“In the dining chamber. I was tired. I forgot I was only wearing my shift under my wrap. When the young man stared at me so intently, I was—”
James held up a forestalling hand, his expression so fierce that her tongue froze and her heart’s beat raced away.
She gulped and lowered her gaze to the coverlet. It was dark green, with a faded gold braid that was a bit tattered.
“That was nothing, Sunny. A minor oversight on both our parts. Put it from your mind.”
How confident he could sound. How reassuring. She could almost believe the incident downstairs was nothing to worry over.
She picked up her tresses to braid them. But her hands began to slip. “I wish to discuss a matter with you. It is serious and I wish to have your full attention.” His tone held a slightly censuring note.
She dropped the half-finished braid. “Yes?”
“This business Dr. Meeker told you about needing to—” His mouth twisted. “—fix you. About you needing to be under the authority of some man. It’s not true.”
“Yes, you said this in the carriage.”
“So, you were actually listening?”
“Yes,” she said with a gasping rush of breath. Why must he press her like this?
“Well, let’s discuss it again. And again, until you really hear it with your whole being. You are a widow of means.”
She caught her breath. The way he said that. It made her a little afraid for there was something there, a distance in his voice. As though he were trying to distance himself from her. Perhaps he was. Suddenly, she felt more tired than ever.
“You’ll always have a home with the Blaynes. Eventually, your investments will grow and you’ll have a measure of financial independence.”
“You said that will take years and years.”
“Yes, but until then, you have a place as a Blayne dowager baroness. You needn’t answer to anyone for the remainder of your life, if that is your wish.”
Oh, that was fine for him to say. He didn’t know what it had been like to have to feel grateful and beholden to the Blaynes all these years.
And to continually feel unworthy of their largess.
She nodded slowly, more certain than ever that he was really trying to tell her, once more, that he would not give her the guidance that she had asked for. The structure of a formal, well-understood, protector-mistress relationship. A measure of her own power to choose to be his mistress, to play her role and feel less guilty, less hopelessly obligated because she was being supported by the Blaynes’ good graces. She’d rather be supported for pleasing James, for serving him in this most personal way.
She didn’t even know why, but that would satisfy a great need within her. A need to be needed, truly, for something she could give from her real self. To live honestly as a real flesh and blood mistress and not some false lady, some dowager baroness who had never been a baroness in any real sense of the word, except legally.
Well, he needn’t bother to keep explaining, she had heard his rejection clearly enough the first time.
She spoke over him. “All women submit to the authority of men. Be it with their papas or their husbands.” She took a deep breath. “Some women submit to the authority of a protector.”
“That’s true. Some women have no choices. You have a choice. It should be your free choice when or if you decide to ever give yourself over to a man like that again.”
“Dr. Meeker says that for a woman to have no male authority to answer to, well, it makes her unbalanced in her emotions, in her—well, it makes her unbalanced in all ways.”
“That’s not true.”
“How could it be untrue? He showed me books, written by highly esteemed doctors. Learned men who are the forerunners in their field. The enlightened wayshowers. I think that—”
“I have known such independent women,” James cut in. “They showed no sign of any imbalance, be it emotional, mental or any other way a person can be said to be unbalanced.”
“Maybe they are made of sterner stuff than me.” Her breathing came quicker now. It was always so upsetting to speak of this. “I am broken.”
The sound of his boots on the floorboards seemed to echo with each hard thud of her heart as he approached the bed. The mattress rocked with his weight as he sat beside her. He took her hand.
Her heart beat louder than ever.
“Sunny, look at me.”
Alarm raced through her. “Please…I am tired now.”
“I know, but please just look at me.”
Slowly, she raised her eyes to his.
“What do you mean when you say you are broken?”
“I-I just mean I am broken.”
“You don’t seem broken.”
“Don’t I?”
“You seem a little shaky on your pins at times, but not broken.”
“It is an intimate matter.” Her stomach twisted with the confession.
“So Meeker assured me.” His words, uttered so soft and gentle, made her try to jerk her head down. He leaned to close the distance between them then took hold of her chin. “Stop running from me. I am trying to understand. I want to help.”
She closed her eyes. “Wh-what did he tell you?”
“I don’t trust him. I’d rather hear it from you.” He released her.
How would she ever tell him of her dependence on self-pleasure, something no lady should ever, ever do? She wanted to tell him. She wanted to unburden her shame. Would he accept her, even knowing exactly how base, how perverse she truly was? Her heart launched into a series of skipped beats that sent a wave of queasiness through her. Oh, God! She just couldn’t risk telling him all. She scrambled for a way to change the subject.
“You say you do no’ trust Dr. Meeker.”
“Did his actions today inspire trust?”
“No, but you must understand. He believed he was doing the best for me. So did Aunt Frances and Mrs. Tibbs. They aren’t bad people.”
“I agree, Aunt Frances means well. As to Mrs. Tibbs, I don’t know her. But this Meeker, he’s evil incarnate.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Oh, no, no, he’s not evil. He’s really quite selfless at times.”
“He has destroyed your confidence in yourself, caused you to be fixated on things that do not matter greatly, and he has convinced you that things which are natural are actually unnatural and wicked.”
Chills raced over scalp. He was getting far too close to an open discus
sion of the delicate matter. She rushed to change the topic again. “He saved me when I would have destroyed myself. Any sanity I show today, is because he helped put me back together.”
James’ loud sort made her start.
“Bloody hell, Sunny. Bloody hell. What did he do to you?”
“He helped me! How many times must I say it?”
“You ran from him.”
“Because I could no’ bear the torment of the treatments! ’Twas me! My weakness. Mine alone!”
“Today, in the carriage, you said it was because he was simply the wrong man.”
She stared at him. Her thoughts swirled in confusion. Meeker had listened to her and taken her concerns seriously when others had dismissed her distress as mere grief. He had taken charge over her and pulled her up from the edge of despair.
He had also frightened her, and hurt her. Over and over again.
“Sunny?” James prodded gently.
“I-I…I don’t know!” Her thoughts swirled faster, dizzying her with confusion. “I try to sort it all out, but I cannot!”
“He hasn’t helped you. He’s damaged you. Damaged you so deeply.”
“No, I was broken before him.”
“You were hurting. Grieving. Lonely. Not broken. He’s damaged you. But you’re strong. You can overcome it.”
“Oh, but I am not strong!” She felt frustration welling up within her. Soon it would overtake her. James would see her worst side! “I have no self-control.”
“You once applied great, albeit misguided, control over yourself.”
“I am that girl no more. I am weak now, did you no’ see what happened tonight, at our supper?”
“What happened?” He held up his palms. “Your wrap gaped open and a servant saw the tops of your breasts. I daresay he shall probably take the memory through the remainder of his life, but no real harm was done.”
“You were angry with me.”
With her sad voice still ringing in his ears, James stared down at her drooping shoulders. Her hair had come loose from the braid she had started and had begun to curl. Her closed lashes were golden brown crescents on cheeks that glowed with heightened color. She was a picture of feminine submission, tempting him to want things he had no right to take.
She was too vulnerable.
“I was not angry with you.”
“I saw your eyes.”
A sudden memory of the rage he’d felt towards the young servant sprang to life within him. He’d never come closer to planting his fist in an underling’s stomach. The intensity with which the urge had come over him earlier still thrummed in his blood.
“My anger was for the boy. He should have known better than to stare at a lady.”
“That’s just the point. I did notice him, though I had no wish to.”
James’ anger rushed to the fore once more. Unhinging his ability to control it. Boiling over. Yes, he remembered the tops of her breasts, bare and gleaming like polished ivory in the firelight. Yes, he remembered how transfixed the young man had been by the sight. Yes, he had noted how well-favored the servant had been. He could certainly recognize when another man would be pleasing to a woman’s eyes. But God help him, hearing her confession about having noticed it as well was not something he’d been prepared to hear.
He forced his tone to be calm. “And it was such a sin to have noticed him?”
“He saw my notice and it made him aware that I am no true lady.”
Now his anger shifted, turned to those who had put these insane ideas into her head. “Did he make you wet?”
She jerked her gaze back to his, her eyes gone wide. “What?”
“I asked, did he make you wet?”
She dropped her lids over her eyes, a red flush rapidly spreading over her cheeks.
“Answer me, Catriona.”
“Such things are not easy for a woman to discern.”
“It is a yes or no question. Either you did or did not get wet.”
She dropped her head and her hair fell over her face.
He swept a lock back, baring one ear. An ear that was flaming crimson. He fancied he could feel the heat coming off of her. “It is yes or no.”
“No, but is no’ that simple. I-I mean a woman is always a bit damp there. How can one be sure that—”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake! Listen to yourself, Catriona! Listen to what Meeker has done to you.”
“Well, I can no’ be sure…not exactly sure if I was wet or not.”
He grasped her hair, jerked her head up, put his mouth to hers, forced his tongue inside and ravished hers.
The taste of her mouth, honey sweet, only spurred him on. He cupped her breast, running his thumb over the fast hardening peak. He tightened his hold on her hair, kissing and kissing her until she began to tremble in his arms.
Until she moaned deep in her throat.
He tore his mouth from hers.
She gaped at him, open mouthed.
He reached for the hem of her nightdress and jerked it up, baring her full, ivory-hued thighs. He forced his hand between them.
“Open for me, Catriona.”
Her eyes widened even more.
“Open,” he said, more harshly.
She went limp, her legs parted.
He inserted his hand between them, exploring the folds with his fingers and found her dripping. He withdrew his hand and held it up to her face. Honey-thick fluid glistened on his fingers. “Now tell me true, did the servant tonight make you wet like this?”
She stared at him with those wide eyes then dropped her gaze.
“Did he?” he demanded.
She shook her head.
“Tell me.”
“N-no.”
“Did Robert?”
“No, goodness no.”
“Well, then you couldn’t have taken much notice of either of them, could you?”
“I suppose not.” Her voice shook.
“So, we’ll hear no more of how wicked you were or how their disrespect towards you was any of your fault.”
Her lower lip quivered. “Well, there is some reason why men stare at me the way they do. The way they forget themselves. It happens all the time. Even when I was wed to Freddy. When I gave in to sensual pleasures, when I began to eat and drink more greedily, it showed in my eyes. My wicked self-indulgence shows in my every gesture and men know.”
“Have you never looked in a mirror?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you are goddamned beautiful. That’s why men cannot take their eyes from you.”
Why I cannot take my eyes from you.
She gaped at him, her mouth slightly parted.
Lust pulsed through him. A savage, vicious wave. His cock throbbed painfully, a small surge of seed gushing from the tip.
God.
He bent down and reclaimed her mouth, crushing her soft lips with his.
He slid his fingers back into the folds of her sex with one solitary thought. One driving urge. He was going to make her come for him. No matter if he burned in hell for taking advantage of her, she would cry out his name before the end of this night.
She tensed.
He carefully thrust a finger into her. Her tight, virgin sheath clenched. A fresh gush of wetness eased the way and he gently thrust the digit back and forth.
She whimpered.
He lifted his mouth from hers. “Shh…Easy, love, I won’t hurt you.”
He could hear her ragged breathing. But she made no protest. He ran his thumb over the little nub at the crest of her slit, rubbing it softly. It grew firmer, a little larger. He increased his strokes until it throbbed against the pad of his thumb.
She grasped his shoulders, convulsively, her breathing rasping in his ear.
Her body relaxed and her inner walls clenched his finger.
“James, James!” she whispered.
He could feel her urgency, a painful, strident sort of urgency. He wondered if he should insert another finger. May
be at this point, it would hurt her. Virgins were not his specialty. Aside from Sunny, he had steadfastly avoided them.
He lowered his head and took one of her straining nipples into his mouth, wetting it through the thin cloth of her nightdress. The soft-firm feeling against his tongue drove him to new heights of madness.
It was as though he could touch her spirit, deep inside. Her nub grew so erect and throbbed so insistently against his thumb, her slick, hot inner walls clenched on his fingers tighter and tighter. Her moans grew convulsive. And yet he needed none of that to know her climax was fast approaching. The sense of her rising arousal was a pulse that beat within his own heart. Never before had he experienced so intense a connection with a woman.
And then he felt all that building heat and fire turn to ashes. Disappointment.
“Stop…stop.” Her voice was soft, breathless. But it held a desperate urgency. It was not a plea made in vain or meant to be coy. It was anguish.
That anguish in her voice shocked him out of his lustful determination. He withdrew his hand then smoothed the hair off of her face. “What happened, love?”
“Just stop.” She panted. “Stop. It’s over. Just over.”
The frustration in her voice cut into him.
“What happened?” he asked again, more gently.
“It always happens like that.” She moved away from him and flung herself upon the featherbed and rolled onto her side. “I am broken.”
Those last three words resonated with more pain than he’d believed a person’s voice could.
Ah, so that was what she meant by being broken. And somehow, Meeker had convinced her it was a sign of moral failing? He frowned. There would be time later to ask her about Meeker.
“Can you come by yourself when you’re alone?”
“No.” Her voice resonated such frustration. Such agony. He could feel that tension coil within his own gut.
“When was the last time?”
“Before Freddy di…” She caught her breath sharply. “Before he left me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Before Freddy…Before he left me.
Sunny’s words echoed in James’ mind. He stroked her hair off of her forehead, lingering over the silken, sweat-damped strands at the crown of her head. God, the depth of her grief—he had not guessed at it. That Freddy’s death could devastate her so deeply that it prevented her from taking her pleasure. He had not imagined.
The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (Intimate Secrets Book 1) Page 18
