She made a shooing motion with her hand.
He ignored her and reached for the tie on his robe. With a smooth, economical shrug, he removed it and went to drape the garment over a nearby chair.
She stared, unable to look away from the magnificence of his wide shoulders, sculpted chest, long arms, and flat stomach—every inch of which was bare. She’d never seen a man’s naked torso before—although she’d spent plenty of time studying them in paintings and sculptures. The real thing was by far superior to the facsimile.
Saliva pooled in her mouth and she swallowed hard, her breath hitching as her eyes moved lower.
A pair of fine cotton men’s drawers rode low on his narrow hips, clinging in a way that only enhanced his bold sexuality. A light sheen of golden hair dusted his chest and extremities, giving him a burnished quality in the mellow candlelight. He was, as always, nothing short of beautiful.
He caught her arrested expression and smiled. “Since you showed me your drawers earlier, I thought it only fair to return the favor. You’re not still wearing yours, are you?” he added hopefully.
Heat spread into her cheeks.
It’s just anger, she told herself. Simple irritation at his effrontery.
“No,” she said as coldly as she could manage. “Now put your robe back on and leave. I am not in the mood.”
“Are you sure about that?” His gaze dropped to the bodice of her nightgown. “Your nipples don’t seem to agree.”
Only sheer willpower kept her from folding her arms over her traitorous breasts. She donned her haughtiest expression. “I’m cold.”
He tossed his head back on a laugh. “You’re delightful, is what you are, Ariadne. I don’t know why I didn’t realize that sooner.”
“Oh, so I’m delightful now, am I?” she said sarcastically. “You certainly didn’t seem to think so earlier this evening at the ball.”
“Is that what has you miffed? Because I didn’t ask you to dance?”
“Hardly,” she scoffed untruthfully. “If you’re in the mood to play tonight, why don’t you see if Lady Sudcliffe will accommodate you?”
He regarded her for a long moment. “So you don’t mind if I seek out other women while we’re”—he waggled a pair of fingers meaningfully—“involved?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Why should I care if you keep a mistress so long as you fulfill your bargain with me? It’s only sex, after all.”
A brief silence fell. “You’re very understanding. Most women wouldn’t be.”
She shrugged and gazed down at the sheets. “I am nothing if not practical.” A terrible exhaustion settled over her of a sudden. “I really am tired, Your Highness. Perhaps we could resume this tomorrow?”
She plucked distractedly at the sheets, waiting for him to leave.
Instead he came forward and sat on the bed next to her. Reaching out, he gathered her long braid into his hands and slid off the bow. Laying the ribbon aside, he began freeing her hair, the skeins falling loose in a fiery mantle.
“Jane Sudcliffe means nothing to me,” he told her softly.
“So she’s Jane, is she? I suppose the two of you had a cozy chat over supper tonight.”
They’d certainly looked cozy. She’d been unable to keep herself from watching them surreptitiously from where she and her partner had sat across the room.
“We talked. Well, actually she did. She’s the sort who likes to hear the sound of her own voice. Sadly, much of what she says is nonsense. She has a great deal to say on the subject of clothes.”
“Oh. I’d heard rumors that she has quite a clever tongue. Or is that only in bed?”
He laughed. “Leave it to you to be aware of something like that.”
Angry again, she tried tugging her hair out of his grasp, but he wouldn’t let go. Tears stung her eyes. Realizing there was no point in resisting, she dropped her hands into her lap again.
He resumed his unbraiding, sliding his fingers through the heavy mass from scalp to the ends once the tresses were completely free.
She shivered, wishing she didn’t like the way his touch felt.
“She is not my mistress, Ariadne. I have never been, nor do have I any interest in being, intimate with her.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, oh.”
“Then why would you not dance with me tonight? Why were you so distant?”
“Because, my foolish girl, I didn’t want to give the game away to everyone in the room. If I start paying special attention to you, there is bound to be speculation, or worse. It seemed prudent to go on as we’ve always done. You might recall that I’ve never been much in the habit of dancing with you, let alone taking you in to supper.”
When he put it that way, she had to admit that he was right. In the past, they never had spent much time together at balls and entertainments. Were they suddenly to be seen spending far more time together than usual, the rumor mill would begin churning as if its blades were caught in a windstorm. People were always looking for secret trysts and budding scandals. He was wise not to want to give the gossip mavens extra fodder.
“I thought,” he mused as he combed his fingers through her loose mass of hair, “that escorting a notorious widow like Jane Sudcliffe in to supper might throw people off the scent. Apparently it worked rather better than I might have wished, since it deceived you as well.”
“So you want Society to think she is your mistress?”
He shrugged. “Or someone like her. It will keep them busy guessing, and I had rather their speculation not be about you.”
She took a moment to consider his words. “Is that what I am now, then? Your mistress?”
“That’s an interesting question.” His thumb glided softly across her lower lip. “I’m not sure what I ought to call you.”
She trembled, tendrils of pleasure stealing through her.
“I suppose we’d do well to stick with lover, since it serves better than anything else at present.”
He cradled her cheek with his wide palm and bent to kiss her temple.
“So, do you?” she ventured at length.
“Do I what?” He brushed his lips over her throat.
“Have a mistress? A real one?”
Do I really want to know that? And if he does, will it matter? Suddenly, she very much feared that it might.
Pausing, he leaned away so he could look into her eyes. “I ought to be flattered that you think me capable of servicing more than one woman at a time, particularly given the logistics of visiting another house across Town, managing to maintain my usual schedule, and still finding time to eat and sleep in between.”
Looking at him, feeling his heat and his strength, seeing his magnificent body, she knew he was more than capable. She steeled herself, waiting for his answer.
“But even if I could manage it, I wouldn’t want to,” he told her with grave sincerity. “You are all the woman I want right now. All the woman I need. There is no one but you, Ariadne.”
She exhaled a pent-up breath that she hadn’t even known she’d been holding, more relieved and, yes, happier, than she had any business being.
“Actually,” he continued, his fingers moving to the buttons on her thin lawn nightgown, “I can tell that you’re going to be a real handful. I’m certain you’ll be monopolizing all of my time with our lessons.”
Peeling the material from her shoulders, he cupped one of her breasts in his hand. “But enough talk. Let’s continue what we started this afternoon.”
She laughed and looped her arms around his neck. “Yes, let’s.”
Then his mouth was on hers, her fingers burrowing into his hair to caress him as she’d longed to do earlier that day. He kissed her slowly at first, with a leisurely thoroughness that set her whole body aflame. Eager to test out her nascent skills, she slid her tongue into his mouth and traced the silky contours she discovered there. He growled his approval and kissed her harder, his next kiss more ardent than the one before. She lost he
rself to the pleasure, her thoughts turning hot and hazy.
She slid her hand along the back of his neck, tracing the warm skin and tensile strength that she discovered there before moving on to the corded muscles on his shoulders and back.
He quaked beneath her untutored hands, his own hands busy fondling her breasts, which grew heavy and aching with need. Her nipples budded into taut points that seemed even more sensitive than the first time he’d touched them, as if they now knew what to expect and wanted more.
She cried out when he bent to take her in his mouth, her fingers sliding over the smooth skin on his back, seeking purchase. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the rush of sensations, basking in the sweet suction of his lips and tongue as they moved over her.
Suddenly, without quite knowing how, she found herself on her back, her nightgown pushed to her waist. Then it disappeared altogether, tossed haphazardly aside. She lay completely naked, vulnerable and absolutely at his mercy.
He leaned above her, large and imposing, but she wasn’t the least bit afraid. Rather than trying to hide herself from his gaze, she stretched against the sheets with sinuous pleasure, enjoying the flash of liquid heat that ignited in his eyes. A slow grin spread over his face; clearly he was appreciative of her daring response.
Her body throbbed deep within, her nipples beading even tighter under his attentive examination. Reaching out, he laid his palm against her throat, then stroked downward, across her breastbone and over the flat plane of her stomach. He paused, then slipped a finger into the dip of her belly button.
She sucked in a ragged breath, her stomach muscles flexing under his hand. Biting her lip, she waited for him to continue his exploration as he had earlier that afternoon.
Instead, he leaned over and took her mouth, kissing her with a dark intensity that plumbed the depths of her own yearning. She ran her hands over him, wanting to learn the shape and temperature and texture of his body.
But he was a big man and she couldn’t reach as far as she might have liked. She contented herself with his chest, threading her fingers in and out of the thatch of curling hair that grew across its firm surface. And then around to trace the smooth contours of his back, and down the long limber curve of his spine.
Her mind muddled with pleasure, she kissed him wildly, unable to get enough, each new kiss a revelation, every touch as sweet as a prayer.
He seemed to feel the same, urging her to follow where he led, to give in to the raging desire that threatened to turn her blood to smoke. She strove to match him, moaning as she rose to meet his increasing demands. The sound that came from her was low and raw, filled with the strength of her ardor.
“Shh,” he cautioned softly. “We don’t want anyone to hear us.”
She struggled to make sense of his words, her brain distinctly fuzzy. “E-everyone is asleep,” she panted, trying to keep her voice low. “Th-the room next door is empty. No one will hear.”
He kissed her again, hard and long. “Still, if you think you might scream, use one of the pillows.”
Scream?
Why on earth would she do that?
But then she had no more time to think, as he began touching her again, his palms ranging over her in long, devastating sweeps that began at her shoulders, then moved on to her arms and breasts, and down across her stomach to her hips and thighs and calves. When he reached her ankles, he wrapped his hands around them and pulled her legs apart.
Kneeling between them, he began kissing her, slowly making his way up one leg, then down the other. As he went, he licked her, tasting her in a way that left behind small damp patches that tingled, shockingly sensitive to each faint movement of the air.
He kissed and laved her everywhere, so that she felt as if there was no inch of skin left untouched. But then he showed her that he’d only just begun.
Her eyes flew open when his mouth touched her in a place where she hadn’t imagined she would ever be kissed.
She ought to be mortified, she supposed. Maybe even repulsed.
Instead, her body gave a deep, all-over tremor, as a violent need rose up inside her that was almost frightening. Giving in, she spread her legs wider, then reached down to sink her fingers into his hair to urge him on.
He gave a growl of satisfaction that reverberated through her most tender parts. Then he deepened his intimate kiss, using his tongue to lap at her slick heat.
A whimper slid from her throat, then a moan. Another followed, longer and louder.
Suddenly she remembered his words about the pillow and understood. If he kept this up, she was going to need to silence herself.
Then he was driving her higher, doing things with his tongue that surely had to be illegal in certain parts of the world, if not here in England. She rolled her head, her fingers clutching desperately at the sheets, her hips arching as if they had a will of their own. He grasped her and held her still, forcing her to accept an even deeper caress.
She shook, fearing she was going to break apart and splinter into a thousand pieces. With her last ounce of rational thought, she grabbed the pillow and covered her mouth with it.
Then he slid his fingers into her and sucked against her harder.
She screamed, exactly as he’d warned she might, the sound muffled against the mound of feathers and cloth pressed tightly to her lips. Rapture spread through her like a molten river, so fierce it threatened to melt her very bones. She rode the current, adrift on a golden sea that spread around her, sweet as honey.
Slowly, she set the pillow aside and found him watching her from where he knelt between her legs. “Good?” he asked knowingly.
“Better,” she sighed blissfully once she could find her voice again.
He displayed his most evil grin. “Now it’s my turn.”
She waited, expecting him to rise up and angle himself over her.
Instead, he sat her up and placed her palms on the waistband of his drawers. “Undress me,” he commanded. “I want to feel your hands on me.”
She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the unmistakable bulge jutting insistently beneath the cloth. “So you don’t want to—you know . . .” She let the words trail off, hoping her meaning was clear.
He arched a single golden brow. “Ready to surrender your innocence so soon, then?”
“Well,” she said, glancing this time at her own naked body, “you seem to be doing quite a good job of corrupting me, so why not finish the task? Besides, after today, you can hardly say I’m innocent.”
He laughed softly, then picked up a long skein of her hair and coiled it around his finger. “And yet you still are, in more ways than you can possibly realize. Be patient, my dear, and trust me in this. There are many paths to pleasure that don’t require your complete ruin. Let’s explore a few more of those before we go down a path from which there can be no return.”
“But I’ve already told you I don’t care if you ruin me.” She ran a hand over his naked chest. “I’m ready. I want to know it all.”
“Do you?” He took her hand again and pressed her fingers over his substantial erection. “Why don’t we begin with this and see how it goes?”
Her heart jumped, pounding furiously as she touched him. His flesh was vibrantly warm and astonishingly hard, even through the material of his drawers. In spite of her bold assurances that she was ready, she made no move to unfasten the small ivory buttons.
He sighed indulgently. “Maybe I should do it.”
“No, no, I will!”
“If you’re uncomfortable, we can try this again later.”
“Later? But you’re . . . well, it doesn’t seem like something that will keep for later.”
A laugh escaped him, a reaction that caused his arousal to move against her hand. Without any conscious thought on her part, her fingers flexed.
He groaned. “Now you’re trying to torture me, are you?”
“No.” Her fingers flexed again, and she jumped slightly when his shaft flexed in response. “Oh!”
“Oh, indeed,” he said on a low rumble. “Why don’t I show you instead?”
Without waiting for her agreement, he laid his hand on top of hers and positioned her fingers so she was holding him. He felt even larger and more solid that way, his shaft throbbing through the thin cloth barrier. Slowly, he began sliding her hand up and down along his length.
To her surprise, he seemed to swell even more under her touch. She hazarded a glance up and became instantly mesmerized, his face rendered even more beautiful by the look of profound pleasure he wore. His eyes were half closed, his lips parted on a silent inhalation.
Suddenly her nerves melted away, empowered by the knowledge that it was her touch, her closeness, that had made him look that way. An all-over quiver ran through him, strong enough for her to feel it through their connection.
With her usual confidence restored, she slid her other palm over his firm, hair-roughened chest. “Why don’t you lie down,” she urged with an ineffectual little push that didn’t budge him at all. “Let me take care of you.”
His eyes opened fully again, their blue depths dark and hazy with passion. “Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. Actually I’m rather curious.”
“Oh? About what?”
“Everything. I’ve never seen a man’s naked member before, at least not in person.”
His mouth twisted. “And you’ve seen one otherwise?”
“Only the artistic kind that haven’t been covered up by strategically placed fig leaves. You’ve no idea how frustrating that is. Paintings and sculptures are rife with women’s breasts, which I have no interest in seeing at all, but want to look at a man’s . . . you know . . .”
“Cock?” he suggested helpfully, his own giving another flex under her palm.
Warmth spread through her. “Yes—cock—,” she repeated, rather liking the impolite word, “and you’d think the world would cease to spin.”
“Yet now, as luck would have it, you find yourself in the position of not only seeing one but of touching it too.”
Her skin grew even warmer, especially her palms. “Exactly, Your Highness.”
Determined not to lose her confidence, she stroked him again, relishing his quickly indrawn breath as she traced his rigid length.
The Trouble With Princesses Page 13
