by Lauren Smith
Still, Horatia’s quick breaths would not ease. She struggled to stay focused on his face and not the fact that she was bound to a bed. Never before had she felt so helpless, so exposed. It was a risk like no other, to trust him now, like this.
“If I trust you, will you take care of me? I haven’t…” She couldn’t finish that sentence.
Understanding softened the intensity of the eyes behind his mask. “I promise you will be cared for. If anything hurts, tell me at once. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.” How desperately she longed to breathe his name but she couldn’t reveal herself and ruin the magic of this night.
“When we are done tonight, you will be well educated in the ways of passion,” Lucien assured her, and with that he moved forward to undress her.
Chapter Six
Lucien began with her silver slippers, sliding them off and setting them on the floor. His palms slid up the length of her calves and along her thighs to unfasten her stockings and unhook her garters. He removed her stockings with ease and kissed the sensitive skin behind each ankle. He could feel every tremble, every shiver as his hands explored her body.
He forced himself to focus solely on Horatia and not his own arousal. Her pleasure had to come before his because he could not have her fully. He would push her to her limits, but he would not take her innocence. Not in the way that mattered for dowries and weddings at any rate.
Kneeling between her parted legs, he coaxed her to bend her knees up and widen. He needed to have her open for his tasting. He slowly slid his hands under her gown up to her hips and assessed her undergarments. Usually women in the Garden did not bother with much in the way of underclothes, but Horatia had enough petticoats on underneath to decorate a castle’s battlements.
“A little overdressed for the occasion, aren’t we?”
Horatia blushed. “I’m wearing what a proper lady should…”
“A proper lady? I have no interest in that. Not tonight, my dear. These petticoats must go.” He slid off the bed and retrieved the small paring knife from the loveseat and returned to her. Her eyes widened and her chest began to rise and fall with frightened breaths. Her gaze narrowed in on the knife.
“Are you…” she began.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t wish to remove your gown, so I am going to cut the petticoats open.” He brushed a hand along her waist. With quick precision, he split her petticoats up the middle until they fell open onto either side, but he didn’t remove them. He dug his hands into the fabric and ripped them a little higher. Finally she was bare to his gaze, her gown pooling around her hips in a shimmering haze.
Lucien settled his hands at the top of her raised knees, gazing down at her sex. She was wet, swollen, and perfect. He enjoyed looking upon a woman’s body, but never had there been such a strange sense of euphoria accompanying it. It made him hurt deep in his chest, to know she wanted him like this. This was perhaps the only time he could be with her, and he would savor every moment of pleasure he intended to give her, no matter how it agonized him later.
He began a slow trail of kisses along her inner left thigh. Her breasts jerked up against her bodice. He almost smiled, enjoying the jolt of panic he’d caused. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, yet she was excited and anxious as to what he might do. That was where the pleasure in bondage lay. He could do wonderful things to her and she had to accept it, couldn’t rush it or demand it, merely accept it as it came. Though begging was always welcomed.
“What are you doing?” The bravado of her question weakened against the trembling of her voice.
“Why, you surprise me! Have you never been tasted?” He knew the answer full well, but he enjoyed the game of ignorance they played.
“T-tasted?” She jerked beneath his grasp, trying to dislodge his hands now holding her spread open beneath him.
In answer, he flicked out his tongue against the sensitive skin mere inches from her core. She trembled and tried again to push him away, but his shoulders were level with her knees, stopping her.
“But you can’t!”
He used his hands to open her folds and took his first sweet lick. A strangled cry of shock ripped from Horatia and her head flung back. Her hands fisted in the sheets at the corners of the bed. Lucien licked again, swirled his tongue, her taste like a drug to his senses. The pain in his loins only intensified with the sensual moan of encouragement from Horatia.
“Again?” he asked, his warm breath teasing her inner thigh.
“Yes.” Her hesitant reply was tinged with a need neither could deny.
He bent his head again, this time determined not to stop for any reason. He began to lick her, tonguing her sensitive spots, sucking on the swollen bundle of nerves until Horatia was shifting restlessly beneath him.
“I feel…I feel unwell,” she said.
Startled, Lucien paused and looked up. Her eyes were closed and the silver sparkles of her mask glinted like a smattering of stars across her nose and cheeks as she panted for breath. A woman undone and on the verge of ecstasy. Never had he seen anything more beautiful.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, concerned.
“There’s a…tightness in my stomach. It feels as though my heartbeat is there and not in my chest,” she confessed.
She was so innocent she did not even recognize the arousal she felt.
“That’s not sickness, my dear, but desire. It will not make you unwell. Be brave and I will show you how wonderful it can be.” Lucien felt her muscles go taut beneath his hands. He would have to coax her into relaxing. He slid up her body, settled his hips into the cradle of her legs and kissed his way up from the swell of her breasts to her mouth. After a deep, rich kiss she melted again, once more languid in his arms.
“There now. Feeling better?” He breathed in her ear as he licked it and then nipped the lobe softly.
“Yes,” she admitted, her hips rising into his.
“Good girl.” Lucien slid one finger deep into her wetness. She tensed again.
“Relax.” He distracted her with the play of his tongue in her mouth and began a gentle rhythm with his finger. She settled into it beautifully. Her tongue became more demanding and he smiled against her lips while working a second finger into her tight sheath. Her hips tilted in response and her back arched, pressing her body tighter to his. Lucien increased his rhythm, enjoying Horatia’s quickening breath as she began that delicious climb towards satisfaction.
The heavy and sharp ache in Horatia’s womb built all over again. She was dying, her body burning, exploding, building up to a terrifying moment. She was climbing higher, her breath faint, her heart racing, her vision spinning out of control. She couldn’t remember who or where she was. The only thing that kept her grounded was the red-haired devil on top of her. The fallen angel with the black mask who seduced her into delicious sin.
“So close. I can feel you trying to hold me inside you.” He bit down on the skin between her shoulder and neck. His fingers plunged into her, faster, harder, unforgiving in their pace. It was more than Horatia could bear. Her last shreds of control slipped away and she cried out as she fell off a cliff and into nothing but a weightless sensation. Pure thrill. Why couldn’t she hold Lucien, cling to him, to save herself by anchoring her life on those broad shoulders above her? Instead she was perishing beneath him. But maybe that was his intent all along. She was dying in splashes of pain and pleasure as a tingling heat spread through her wilting body.
For a brief moment Lucien almost believed he’d killed the woman with pleasure. Horatia had shaken so violently, had cried out so loudly, he’d regretted every action that led to it. He’d seen the fear in her soft brown eyes, yet he’d felt no rush of pleasure at having caused it. Instead, he’d been too frantic to free himself from his pants and sate his own aching pleasure with his free hand.
He shouted something unintellig
ible as he came and had to fight with all his might not to collapse on top of her as she finished coming. Somewhere along their journey he’d bitten her neck, the reddening bruise evidence of his possession. It sent a wave of primal pride through him, quickly replaced with worry as Horatia’s eyelashes fluttered open. Their chocolate depths were hazy with the aftermath of their passion.
“I’m not dead?”
He tried to stifle a laugh before he kissed her quivering lips. Never before had he kissed to ease a woman’s fears. He’d never had to. All of the women he’d been with before had been unafraid of him and were willing to explore their passions. Horatia was so new to this side of herself and to lovemaking that it must have frightened her. He didn’t want her to be afraid, only excited. It was strange to yearn so deeply to please her, to comfort her, yet it felt so right. He could no sooner deny that the sun rose in the east than he could deny Horatia the comfort she so desperately needed after her first climax.
“Perhaps a little. The French call that la petite mort for a reason. But I assure you, you are very much alive,” he said between comforting kisses.
Horatia let out a long sigh of relief rather than contentment. She looked like she had a thousand questions to ask him but not one made it past her lips.
“Still feeling unwell?” he asked after he’d removed his hand from between her legs and fixed his breeches.
“No. Quite the opposite in fact.”
Lucien almost smiled but instead he reached around her to unfasten her hands from the bedposts, suddenly worried she might have hurt herself in her struggles. He checked her wrists, searching for bruises, but there weren’t any.
An odd flutter blossomed within him. She had been the first woman to truly trust him like this, to surrender her body to his full control. The one woman he could never possess was the first woman he’d ever felt uninhibited with, completely and totally free with. Others had agreed to be bound, but none had reacted as Horatia had, as though the surrender to him was an act of pleasure for her as well. Her need to trust, his need to be trusted. She was a perfect match to him. Fate was a cruel and punishing mistress, Lucien decided.
“Did you find pleasure too?” The silver half-mask did little to hide the red blush over her face.
“Yes,” he answered, offering her a smile.
She took stock of her destroyed petticoats bunched above her waist and raised her eyes to his.
“What am I supposed to do? I can’t very well leave here with them like this.” The torn under clothes hung loose and visible from beneath her gown.
Lucien studied her gown and then waved at her legs. “Lift your skirts, quickly, love. I’m going to cut as much of them off of you as I can to free up your skirts.”
Horatia gripped her gown and hoisted it up as Lucien grabbed the knife, taking care to cut away parts of the ruined petticoats that hung too low. It was a messy fix, but surely she wouldn’t be seen by anyone who would recognize her.
Once finished, he set the knife down and caught her hand.
“Care to take a stroll in the gardens? I know it may be cold, but I promise to keep you warm.” Lucien didn’t know why he was offering. It was far too romantic and would send the wrong message. He’d done what he’d meant to do, but in the hopes it would scare her away from him. Instead, she was glowing—damn her!
Horatia pulled her stockings back on and then her slippers while Lucien dressed. They proceeded out through the terrace door, stepping over patches of snow that had settled in clumps along the cobblestone walkway. Above them, the night sky was clear of clouds and the luminescent stars glittered. It never ceased to amaze Horatia how beautiful the sky was in winter. In the summer, one could see the countless stars, but the glow was fickle and undefined. Winter stars burned with a crystalline sharpness in the thick velvet sky. They reminded her of herself, stalwart in the light of eternal solitude. Horatia was pulled from her inner musings when she realized Lucien’s attention was fixed upon her.
“Do you like the stars?” he asked, twining a lazy arm about her hips and tucking her into his side. She blushed. The simple gesture sent ripples of pleasure through her. At that moment being with him seemed so unlike her tortured dreams or the harsh reality of their strained relationship. His black mask melded with the night sky so well that only his hazel eyes and his seductive smile shone through the darkness.
“I adore the stars in winter. They seem brighter somehow. Stronger, yet so very alone.” She traced the constellations above in her mind.
“Have you ever studied them?” he asked, his gaze flicking from her to the heavens above.
“Oh yes. Astronomy is one of my guilty pleasures. Aud…that is to say, my little sister often made me feel quite silly for loving them, but she doesn’t understand. Studying the stars is like studying the expanse of forever. I feel that when I look at the sky I am gazing into the mirror of creation and seeing the divine patterns that were formed long before I existed, and will continue to exist long after I am gone. It is humbling.”
“But beautiful.” Lucien’s tone was so smooth that she shivered. Did he understand what she meant? Too often she’d been told by irritated suitors she tended to converse philosophically. It was perhaps why she’d been relegated to the shelf on the Marriage Mart, but she didn’t care. Such opinions didn’t matter, and those who held them were not worth her interest.
He grinned rakishly. “Would you be willing to tutor me, oh lovely stargazer?”
She returned his grin with a teasing smile. “I thought I was your little dove?”
He tugged her towards him so that her back was pressed against his chest. He nuzzled her neck, his lips dancing against her skin.
“You’ve quite surprised me tonight. I had not expected a scholarly philosopher. I find I like the depth of your mind. A change in your term of endearment was certainly required. Henceforth, you are my lovely stargazer.”
“A bit romantic, but I shan’t complain.” She turned her head back towards his, letting him steal a deep kiss before she added, “Shan’t complain at all.”
She knew she was entirely a romantic creature. Lucien had helped make her so through those novels he gave her every Christmas. Each one was a love story.
“Well then, guide me through the heavens.”
Horatia reached up a hand to point to the sky. “Do you see the trio of stars in a row?” She pointed just over the city’s rooftops. “Just there?”
“Yes,” he whispered, his breath warming her neck.
“That is Orion’s belt. And the far northeastern star is his sword.”
“Beautiful,” he replied. She turned herself around in his arms to agree with him, but her nose brushed against his. He wasn’t looking at the stars at all.
“You, my lord, are not looking.”
“I am. I see the stars in your eyes.”
The words were too wonderful, too perfect. Horatia, starved for his love, drank them in, knowing how foolish she was to do so. She’d waited half of her life for Lucien to see her as a woman, and even if he thought her to be a high paid doxy, it didn’t matter. She could pretend he knew the truth, that he knew it was her. His arms tightened about her waist as she moved towards him for a kiss. Horatia was ready to indulge in her new guilty pleasure, Lucien’s lips, but a pair of voices nearby startled her.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Lucien’s mouth grazed her neck, distracting her as they dragged along her silky skin.
She elbowed him as the faint cold breeze in the garden carried the echo of the voices again. “That!”
Lucien stilled against her back. “I recognize one of the voices. Come this way. Do not make a sound.” He took her hand and led her through the maze of hedges until they were much closer to those speaking. Horatia did not recognize either man but their words cut her to the bone.
“I expect the Sheridan problem t
o be dealt with in a timely fashion.” The man’s voice was refined, but cold.
Dealt with? Horatia’s mouth opened but Lucien clamped a hand over her lips.
“Aye sir, of course,” the other man said, as though they were discussing a routine chore. “Everything is arranged, all that’s lacking is opportunity. That requires patience. Fortunately, I have no lack of that commodity.”
“Good. I appreciate a man who understands these things. There must be no mistakes. I have a bank draft here for the first part owed to you.”
The second man growled low. “I told you no bank drafts. Coin only. My business cannot be traced back to either of us.”
“I assure you this is not from that kind of account.” The gentleman huffed as it became clear that was besides the point. “Very well. I see caution is also something you don’t lack. I don’t have enough in coin on me tonight. Let us meet back here tomorrow morning; the garden will be empty of tonight’s visitors and no one will have arrived for the evening’s activities that early.”
“I shall be waiting. And the rest of the payment?”
“Not a penny until the conditions are met, and there is dirt falling upon a grave.”
Chapter Seven
Audrey Sheridan was alone with Lord Lonsdale at last. Lady Lonsdale, Charles’s mother, had turned in for the evening, thinking Audrey had already returned home. But Audrey had returned under the guise of forgetting a glove, and she’d beseeched Charles to let her stay a while longer. It gave her more time to accomplish her mission. Namely, becoming compromised so that she might finally be married. It was a risk however, because she had no real interest in Charles.
She wished to marry Jonathan, the Duke of Essex’s younger half-brother. But since finding a moment alone with him was next to impossible she had to settle on a more cunning strategy. If she managed to get Charles to compromise her, then she might convince her brother that she must marry soon. He’d never let her marry Charles, of that she was certain. Her plan was to persuade him Jonathan was a safer choice.
