“R-Rupert, what are you—I can’t,” she protested softly.
“Of course you can.” He stroked her deeply, deeper than before. “You will.”
Her hips arched against his touch, her movements forcing him even farther inside. She groaned and shuddered, her eyelids falling closed again.
Bending down without slowing the movement of his fingers, he resumed his earlier attention to her breasts. She had beautiful breasts, plump and round without being overly large. They filled his palms as if made for just that purpose.
He played on her, teasing her erect nipples that had ripened to the color of raspberries. Then he leaned closer and took them once more into his mouth, rolling the turgid nubs against his tongue. She tasted sweet, like lilacs and honey. He suckled harder.
She went wild, one leg bending upward at the knee so that he could sink his fingers in as deeply as they would go—a service he was more than happy to provide. He bit one nipple gently, then the other before flicking her little spot below, over and around and around again.
Long moments later, he pressed hard on the spot with his thumb and felt her begin to crest. Rising up on his elbow, he watched as she climaxed, her whole body shaking with the force of her bliss.
Smiling, he slid his hand behind her head and claimed her mouth with a rapacious kiss, thrusting his tongue inside the way he wished he could thrust his shaft inside her. He’d nearly climaxed just from watching her take her pleasure. And this was only their first time together. He could hardly wait for the next.
At length, he released her, knowing they needed to be on their way home. His fingers glistened with her fragrant juices. Rather than immediately wiping them dry on his handkerchief, he held her gaze and put one in his mouth, enjoying the shock in her eyes as he sampled her flavor like a candy stick.
“Hmm,” he said, slowly withdrawing the digit. “Delicious. I have to say, Ariadne, that I like picnicking with you. We must be sure to do this again.”
• • •
Later that afternoon, Ariadne luxuriated in a tub of steaming water, letting the heat seep into her muscles and bones.
She’d sent her maid away, needing to be alone. Her body was still too alive with remembered sensation, her mind still too full of everything she’d experienced in Rupert’s arms to abide the idea of company.
In fact, she had been distinctly relieved when she’d arrived at the town house and discovered that Emma and Nick had not yet returned from their excursion. Honestly, had they been home, she was sure that Emma would have taken one look at her and known something new was in the wind.
How could she not have? One look at herself in the mirror had confirmed her worst suspicions—her eyes were too bright, her skin was too flushed, and most condemning of all was the naughty little grin she couldn’t quite keep off her mouth.
Saints above, Rupert is dangerous—his touch is absolutely combustive.
As much as she might tell herself, it wasn’t the heat of her bath that was making her heart race right now; instead it was the memories of their afternoon together.
Oh, but it had been divine.
She’d craved pleasure, and that’s exactly what he’d given her. So when, she wondered, would she be alone with him again?
He’d been quiet on the drive back, wisely taking the reins. Despite the earlier success of her driving lesson, she wouldn’t have been capable of keeping her mind on the task long enough not to send them into a ditch. She supposed she’d been quiet as well. After all, what did one say to one’s new lover after being so thoroughly and exquisitely satisfied?
Yet as she considered it now, she realized that he had not taken the same ease. Was that why he’d seemed distant? Because he had enjoyed no release of his own? She would have been quite willing to let him, to see to his needs as well. He had only to instruct her on the best ways to do so.
Next time, she promised herself, she wouldn’t lose control so completely. Next time she would take care not to be so centered on her own needs and think nothing of his.
She let out a little laugh and leaned her head back against the rim of the bathtub.
How quickly things changed. If someone had asked her even a week ago if she would be lying here concerned for Rupert’s pleasure, she would have scoffed and told them they were a fool. But strangely enough, she did care.
And she shouldn’t.
Then again, such impulses meant nothing. She liked what he did to her body and only wanted to be fair. He was her lover now, after all. He had a right to enjoy their affair as much as she now knew she was going to.
Sighing, she reached for the soap, her muscles reminding her again of exactly how she’d spent the afternoon. Perhaps when she rinsed off, she would use the pitcher of cold water, just to make sure she had her emotions under strict control for dinner and tonight’s entertainment later on.
• • •
“Heavens, what a crush,” Emma declared that evening, as she unfurled a painted silk fan and waved it back and forth in front of her face.
Ariadne enjoyed the slight residual breeze that drifted off her friend’s fan where the two of them had found seats in a relatively quiet corner of the ballroom.
Emma was right, though. It was far too warm, and far too crowded, but then their hostess was well known for inviting more people than her house could comfortably hold. The Society pages loved to remark on her overflowing entertainments, and she loved reading about them. From what Ariadne had heard, the woman actually pressed the clippings in a book.
“I’m surprised you aren’t still dancing,” Emma remarked. “You’ve scarcely been without a partner all evening.”
Emma was right again. Ariadne had been popular tonight, dancing with one gentleman after another—every man, it seemed, but Rupert.
She frowned at the thought, but knowing that Emma was watching, she forced herself to smile instead. “Yes, I’ve all but worn a hole in my slippers. It’s a relief to sit down for a few minutes.”
“I feel exactly the same. In fact, I’m tempted to take my slippers off, but I suppose if I do I’ll get caught. Maybe at supper. Nick is taking me in and he won’t tattle.”
Emma sent her an impish grin, which she returned.
“He and I got in so late this afternoon,” Emma continued, “that I never did have a chance to ask. How was the driving lesson? Did you and Rupert have fun?”
Ariadne blinked, then lowered her gaze, using the excuse of opening her fan to conceal her reaction. She hid behind its silk-covered staves for a long moment while she worked to slow the rapid pounding of her pulse.
“Yes, it was quite entertaining,” she said, striving for a casual air, “though a great deal more effort than one might imagine. The horses do tug at one’s arms. Once I started getting the gist of it, though, it was rather exhilarating.”
And it had been. She might even have given the adventure some thought tonight had it not been for everything that had followed afterward. Truth be known, she’d completely forgotten about that first part of the day.
“So where did he take you? Where did the two of you do it?”
She stared at Emma, alarm racing through her. Could Emma have possibly guessed that she and Rupert had spent the afternoon alone in a secluded garden? That she’d lain nearly naked and utterly at his mercy while he did the most intimate, exquisite things to her body? Things of which the mere memory made her burn?
“He . . . um . . . took me to the park. Green Park. It’s far less crowded at that time of day, so I was in no danger of getting in anyone’s way while I practiced.”
Emma’s pale eyebrows crinkled. “Did anything else happen? You seem . . . discomposed. Not at all like your usual self.”
“No, of course not,” she replied quickly.
Emma’s crinkles turned into a scowl. “Is there something you’re not telling me? You and Rupert didn’t get into a fight, did you?”
“No. Well, we may have had a few words.” And quite a few kisses and caresses and
loud moans of delight.
“Oh, Arie, I’m sorry. I had hoped this truce between the two of you would last longer than one day. Though I must say I am not surprised.”
“We’re going out again,” she blurted. “He’s promised to keep teaching me.” Although she wasn’t sure how much actual carriage driving would be involved. But it wouldn’t do for Emma to believe that she and Rupert were on the outs, not after they had gone to so much trouble to create a good excuse to be together.
“You know how Rupert and I like to snipe,” she went on. “It’s nothing.”
“Oh.” Emma gave her another considering look. Then her expression cleared. “Oh, well, I suppose you’re both used to it. If you don’t mind being at each other’s throats, then why should I?”
Ariadne laughed, hoping Emma didn’t catch the slightly maniacal edge to the sound. She fanned herself again, suddenly glad for the uncomfortable warmth of the room, which provided an excuse for her flushed cheeks—propensity to blush or no.
“Don’t look now,” Emma said, “but I believe my brother is coming this way. He must have realized we were talking about him.”
“Well, you know what they say about the devil.”
Emma shot her a glance and laughed, not the least bit offended.
He came to a halt and made them an elegant bow. “Emma. Princess Ariadne.”
She regarded him over the edge of her fan, struck by what a fine figure of a man he was.
In a word, he was beautiful. There was no other way to describe him. His golden hair lay neatly brushed back from his patrician forehead, his simple black coat and evening breeches a perfect foil for his smooth ivory skin. His eyes gleamed a vivid blue, as deep and unfathomable as gemstones.
She waited for him to acknowledge her further, perhaps give her a smile, a small something that she would know was meant only for her.
Instead he turned back to Emma, with no hint of the afternoon they’d shared anywhere in his gaze.
She frowned.
“So, this is where you’ve hidden yourself, is it?” he said, addressing his sister. “Taking refuge among the matrons and the wallflowers.”
Emma laughed. “Ariadne and I are hardly hidden, seated so near the dance floor. If you consider the crowd, though, I suppose it does offer some measure of concealment.”
He glanced around at the guests, many crammed shoulder to shoulder along the room’s periphery. The only real space was on the dance floor itself. “A deuced annoyance, this party. I don’t know why I let you talk me into attending.”
“I had nothing to do with it,” Emma stated. “As I recall, you agreed only because the Swiss ambassador is here tonight and you wanted to have a word.”
“I should have made him attend me at Lyndhurst House, but I know how you hate it when diplomats and functionaries start congregating in your hallways.”
“You’re here visiting family, not conducting affairs of state. You’ll have plenty of time for all of that once you’re back in Rosewald.”
A mocking glint showed in his eye. “The work of a nation doesn’t cease simply because its ruler is out of the country, you know.”
“True,” Emma admitted, “but with the assistance of your ministers, your private secretary, your military guard, and that bulging satchel of correspondence that arrives each morning, you appear to be managing quite well.”
His lips twitched. “I am kept satisfactorily informed. I would have the heads of everyone in the palace and the parliament were I not.”
“Yes, well, for the time being, why do you not attempt to enjoy the festivities, however crowded it may be in here? There is dancing, for instance. I am sure there are any number of ladies who would be more than delighted to accompany you for the next set.”
His gaze slid over to Ariadne.
Her pulse picked up speed as she waited. Surely now he would speak to her and ask her to dance so they could go in to supper together afterward, as etiquette prescribed. Actually, she had saved the next dance specifically for him, refusing several offers from other gentlemen who were only too eager to share her company. But she didn’t want to spend the supper hour with any of those men. She wanted to be with Rupert.
Her heart kicked and she held her breath.
Then he glanced away. “As it happens, I am already promised for the next dance to Lady Sudcliffe.”
Ariadne’s heart stopped—or at least that was how it felt.
Lady Sudcliffe! He was promised to that notorious, overly endowed widow with her limpet blue eyes and her caramel brown lashes that she fluttered invitingly at every male who passed within twenty feet? The brazen temptress with her low drawl and throaty laugh that men apparently found irresistible? Ariadne had scarcely paid her any heed in the past; the woman was too ill-bred to warrant her consideration.
Now Rupert was dancing with the creature, was he? Sharing supper as well? Apparently being lovers with her meant nothing. And why should it? she reminded herself. After all, her arrangement with him required no emotional connection; it was an affair driven by mutual desire, no more, no less.
She smiled, seemingly unconcerned. If he could pretend there was nothing between them, then so could she. Of course, now she would be put to the bother of finding another gentleman to take her in to supper. Surely not all of the ones she’d refused had found other partners. A bit of light flirting should give her the information she required.
She snapped her fan closed. “Since you mention it, Emma, I believe I see my next partner. I think I’ll go over and surprise him.” She stood, refusing to look at Rupert. “If you will both excuse me.”
Emma’s crinkly frown returned. “Of course. There’s nothing amiss, is there, Arie? You seem . . . uneasy of a sudden.”
“Not at all. It’s only this heat. Our hostess ought to open a window or two—or doesn’t she know it is summer?”
“I believe she thinks it adds atmosphere to the crush.”
“If you like perspiring men and swooning women. Good thing I am not given to such unbecoming weaknesses.” She paused, unable to resist turning to Rupert. “You might want to check to make sure Lady Jane has her hartshorn, Your Royal Highness. I hear she has been known to drop at the slightest provocation. The bark of a tiny dog in the park apparently shocked her unconscious only last week.”
“I shall bear that in mind,” he replied in a grave tone, not rising to her provocation in any way. “Ladies.” He bowed, then turned away, disappearing quickly into the milling crowd.
Inwardly, she sighed, weary all at once and not at all in the mood for the party. If only she could go home.
She was buoying up her smile when Emma straightened abruptly in her seat.
“Only look,” Emma said. “Here comes Nick.”
They both watched as he approached, love brimming like a beacon in Emma’s eyes; it was an expression that was unmistakably returned by Nick.
What must it be like to be so truly loved?
“My dance partner must be stranded somewhere,” she murmured, after taking a moment to greet Nick. “I shall go rescue him. See you both after a while.”
“Yes, dear,” Emma said, her arm already linked through her husband’s. “Have fun.”
Ariadne nodded and moved away, knowing that the only kind of fun she had tonight would be for show.
Chapter Thirteen
Ariadne rearranged the mound of feather pillows behind her, then snuggled back against them, smoothing the sheets neatly at her waist. Picking up her book, she opened it to the marked page and began to read by way of a small branch of candles on her bedside table. The house stood quiet around her, everyone retired for the night.
After returning from the ball, she’d found her maid waiting. The sleepy girl had stayed long enough to help her out of her ball gown before seeking her own bed, with orders to sleep later in the morning.
Wide awake despite the late hour, she’d decided to read, hoping it would lull her into a state of relaxation. But the printed words hel
d little sway, her mind returning again and again to the disappointing evening just past.
But I am not going to think about it. Just as I am not going to think about Rupert.
A low sound of displeasure rumbled under her breath. Her jaw tight, she returned to her book.
Ten minutes later she closed the volume with a snap and tossed it aside, deciding that the exercise was useless. She might as well try going to sleep. Maybe if she snuffed out the candles the darkness would be able to do what the book had not.
Leaning over, she reached out to extinguish the small flames. As she did, she heard a light scrape at the door, so faint that for a moment she wondered if she had imagined it.
She froze, listening.
Then the doorknob turned and Rupert walked in, closing and locking the door silently at his back.
He was attired in a dark blue robe, belted at the waist, the royal crest of Rosewald embroidered in gold on the breast. He wore slippers, but the feet inside them were bare, as were his muscled calves. His hair was damp but neatly combed, and his cheeks recently shaven, if she wasn’t mistaken.
He strolled toward her as if he were in the habit of doing so every night, his quiet arrogance remarkable to behold.
Briefly, her lips parted on a stunned inhalation before she recovered herself. “And just what do you think you’re doing here?”
He continued forward, stopping only when he reached the bed. “The answer to that should be obvious. I thought we would enjoy another lesson.”
After ignoring me all evening? Hah!
She crossed her arms. “Well, you thought wrong. I was about to go to bed.”
His lips curved, showing his teeth to devastating effect. “But you are already in bed. Why have you braided your hair?”
“I always braid my hair to sleep.”
“You’ll have to stop. I want it left loose from now on.”
“I really don’t care what you want. I am tired and wish to sleep. Go away, Your Royal Highness.”
The Trouble With Princesses Page 12
