by Bonnie Dee
As his cock nudged at her entrance, she broke off the kiss and pushed him away with a hand to his chest. “I must take a moment first.”
She rolled off the bed and stood gloriously nude beside it, her hair tumbling down her back. She looked wanton, wild and utterly desirable as she glanced over her shoulder at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “I’ll return in a moment.”
His gaze riveted on her buttocks, which swayed gently as she walked across the room. He watched until the door of her boudoir closed behind her then sank onto the bed and stared at the canopy of pale blue silk overhead.
His life had taken the most unexpected twist imaginable. He felt like a wild thistle seed that had sprouted in a flowerbed. This wasn’t his place. He clearly didn’t belong in this beautiful bower, but damned if he wouldn’t cling to the soil with every ounce of strength he possessed until someone uprooted him.
While Meredith was gone, he took care of his own morning needs, pissing in the chamber pot and washing up in the basin. By the time she returned, wearing an embroidered floral robe in the style of a Japanese kimono, Chris was back in bed, waiting for her. He lay with his arms behind his head, trying to look casual and relaxed as if he lay in a woman’s bed every morning of his life.
“I’ve rung for breakfast. Hope you like crème brochette and black coffee. The only thing I enjoyed about my years in France was the food.”
She sat facing him on the bed, her legs drawn beneath the spreading folds of her colorful robe.
He fingered the silk embroidered feathers of a bird near the hem. “Is this from Japan?”
“Yes. Do you like it?”
Chris nodded. “It’s very vibrant—like you.” He felt silly offering the compliment, even if it was sincere. He hadn’t had enough practice to be comfortable chatting with a woman.
“Thank you. And this”—she swept a hand over his naked torso—“suits you perfectly. You should consider wearing it all the time. I’m sure the style would go over well at society events.”
He laughed at her teasing and blushed because he couldn’t help it. Having a lovely woman admire his body was brand new for him. He couldn’t imagine ever tiring of it.
“Now, you must tell me about yourself as a boy.” She pulled the folds of her robe out from under her and arranged herself on her stomach, chin propped on her folded arms. “I can imagine you were the kind of child who studied anthills and floated leaf boats on puddles.”
“I was. How did you know?”
“Because I was the kind of girl who wanted to be that kind of boy, but mother wouldn’t let me get my clothes dirty.” Beneath the light tone, her voice was wistful. “I would have been building forts with rocks and sticks and mud if I had a chance. Instead, I had to spend long hours at the piano or stitching embroidery or painting bone china—indoors. I was like a prisoner, allowed outside only an hour a day, and then merely to stroll the garden paths, never to actually dig in the dirt.”
“Then you’ll enjoy working in your greenhouse,” he promised. “I’ll insist you get your hands dirty. There’s plenty of work for you to do.”
She smiled and her eyes twinkled again. “Sounds perfect. Do you know, I’ve never once played the piano, painted china or embroidered so much as a handkerchief since I left my mother’s house? And I never will.”
“Did your parents know about…what you had to put up with in your husband’s house? Did you ever write to them and ask for help?” Chris knew it wasn’t proper to ask such a personal question, but considering all they’d done together and the fact that he was lying naked in front of her, convention no longer seemed important.
For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer. The pain that shadowed her features made him wish he hadn’t asked.
“I tried,” she said. “I wrote letters to my mother asking for advice. Of course, I wasn’t explicit about what was happening to me, but the suggestion was there. I told her I was very unhappy and asked to come home for a visit. I told her the marriage had been a terrible mistake. I did everything short of begging for rescue, but her response was what you’d expect. She said I must make the best of my marriage. Women are taught it’s a wife’s duty to create a happy home. If she can’t do that, the fault must be in her.”
His heart clenched at the bitterness in her voice. Her words made him think about his own mother, a woman completely caught up in society’s expectations. Was she happy? Did she love his father? Did she ever dream of a different life, one in which she could build something useful with stones instead of playing countless hands of whist?
He’d never before thought about women wanting to be other than what they were. Since he’d always had to struggle simply to be left alone to pursue his own interests, he could certainly understand the kind of pressure they suffered.
“I’m sorry your life has been so hard.” He reached out to touch her soft forearm where it rested on the bed.
She raised her shoulders and shook her head. “This is simply too deep a discussion for so early in the morning. I must have at least two cups of coffee first and I believe I hear Maddie coming now, so you’d better cover yourself before you make her drop our breakfast tray.”
Chris scrambled to get off the covers and beneath them at the same time. He’d only just managed to throw the blanket across his waist when the door opened.
A uniformed serving maid entered, walking slowly with a heavily laden silver tray in her hands.
Meredith pushed herself to a sitting position and smoothed the covers. “You may set that right here, Maddie. Thank you.”
Chris felt a flush creeping from his neck up to his face at his half-nude display. But if his bare torso embarrassed the maid, she gave no sign, although her eyes did dart to his chest and back to the tray before she set it on the bed.
“Have a lovely morning, and thank you again.” Meredith dismissed her.
“Now, you must try Genevieve’s pastry. It is a taste of heaven.” She lifted a flaky bun dripping with cream to his mouth, and Chris took a bite.
The confection melted on his tongue like a dollop of pure sugar. Next Meredith pressed a cup of coffee into his hand, explaining that the contrast of the bitter brew with the sweet pastry was a perfect combination.
“I rarely drink tea. Coffee is my vice,” she confided as she picked up a strawberry and held it to his lips. He bit into the tangy fruit and swallowed the burst of juice.
“I could get used to being hand-fed by an angel. It’s a lovely way to start the day.” The compliment slipped more easily from his lips this time, and he didn’t feel quite so foolish saying it.
Meredith smiled. “You’re very sweet, but just wait until you learn the other ways I can serve you strawberries and cream. They’re much more interesting than this.”
Chris wasn’t quite sure what she meant, although her suggestive tone told him it was something he’d enjoy very much.
As they shared the food, she asked about his childhood again. “You never really answered my question. What was your life like growing up?”
“As an only child, I spent a lot of time alone, but I preferred it that way. I could spend hours out in nature just looking at things.” He sipped the strong coffee then set the cup aside on the nightstand. “You don’t want to hear about this.”
“Yes, I do.” A drop of cream lingered on her upper lip and he longed to lean in and lick it clean. “Tell me more.”
“As a child, I was left to my own devices to play in the woods on our country estate or read my botany books. It was only when I was older my father realized I was a sore disappointment. At boarding school, I didn’t play on any teams. Father tried to interest me in hunting when I was home on holiday, but I couldn’t see the point in chasing down a fox just to watch the hounds tear it apart. I don’t shoot, play cards or drink. I’m not the son he’d hoped for.”
“No. I’m sure he doesn’t feel that way.”
He smiled. “You’re kind, but there’s no need to sympathize. I know what my father th
inks of me, but I don’t need his approval and intend to continue pursuing my own ambition.”
“Which is to travel to foreign places and collect samples of the local flora?”
“Precisely.” He leaned over and offered Meredith another strawberry dipped in cream.
“But that’s enough of my life history for now. I’m sure there are more interesting things to talk about. Or we could stop talking entirely for a while and you could show me exactly how you plan to serve me these berries.”
Her seductive smile set a warm glow burning in his groin. “You’ll have to move the breakfast tray then.”
Chapter Six
“Dancing is a form of communication between men and women,” Meredith instructed him as she took his hand in hers. “There’s so much more going on than formal movements. What passes between people on the dance floor is a suggestion of what happens in the bedroom.”
Her eyes bored into his as she stepped toward him. Although only their hands touched and inches of space separated their bodies, he felt as if she was touching him all over. Her eyes were like fire, sucking all the oxygen from the drawing room as they burned hotter and hotter.
Chris immediately forgot the intricate steps of the quadrille she’d taught him and stood rooted to the spot.
She laughed and pushed his arm. “No. You have to keep moving. But you see what a single glance can do? Now, let’s begin again.”
She nodded to the fiddle player she’d hired from the village and he started the tune over. Taking Chris’s hand, she guided him through the beginning steps of the set—heel, toe, point and turn.
“Why are we doing this?” His hand touched hers, palm to palm as they rotated in a circle.
“Because, sir, you need to learn how to conduct yourself in the ballroom. Did your dancing master give you any instruction at all?”
“He tried. I wasn’t an apt pupil.”
Chris had lost count of the number of steps to the right and tried to turn too soon. He bumped into Meredith, breaking the rhythm and stopping the dance once more. He stood stock still as she continued to move gracefully around him.
“This is impossible. How can we practice a dance intended for an entire line of people?”
“If you can remember all of those Latin names for plants, I’m sure you can learn these steps, even practicing with invisible partners. But the most important lesson here is confidence. A woman responds to a man who looks her in the eye as though he’d like to devour her right there on the dance floor.”
She looked so luscious in her silver-spangled gown he had a hard time keeping his focus on her face instead of her body. The fabric hugged every curve and her décolletage was so deep her breasts threatened to spill free of the satin. It was easy to imagine devouring that soft, rosy flesh. Chris took a step forward and reached out for her.
“Yes. That’s the look. Now if you can only remember to move while doing it,” she said.
“I can move.” He slipped a hand around her waist and lowered his head to the swell of cleavage. He nuzzled his mouth between the plump mounds without a care for making a spectacle in front of the old violinist. Likely the gaffer had pressed his lips to a woman’s breast many times in his life and wouldn’t be shocked.
Meredith laughed and pushed his head away. “No distractions. This is a dance lesson. We’ll have time for that later.”
He heaved a sigh, but straightened.
“I simply don’t see the point when I never intend to woo a woman on the dance floor. Balls are never going to be a part of my life.”
“One never knows what the future might bring or what skills might be required. Anyway, I’ve hired this fine musician for the afternoon and I want to dance so please, do me the favor.”
She pouted and, like a tail-wagging dog, Chris was eager to please her. “Very well. I’ll behave.”
Meredith turned to the violinist. “Can you play a waltz, please, Mr. Sanderson?”
“Aye, missus.” The liver-spotted hand bowed the string with amazing dexterity considering how swollen the man’s knuckles were. Notes trilled like bird song, filling the drawing room where they’d cleared the floor to make a practice space.
“Maybe you’d fare better with the new waltz,” Meredith said. “There are fewer steps to remember and it’s considerably more intimate than the quadrille or cotillion. Now that it’s come into favor, I predict we’ll not see much more of the old country dances.”
She took his hand and placed it on her waist then raised his other hand and cupped hers around it. “Of course, your partner will be wearing gloves so you must signal your desire with the pressure of your hands alone. The strength of a man’s palm at a woman’s back, his grip on her hand and a piercing stare are enough to make many a young lady swoon.”
“Or maybe it’s the ridiculous corsets they wear.”
“One-two-three, one-two-three. Do you hear it? No, don’t look down at your feet. Look into my eyes. And don’t think so hard. Don’t count. Just feel the rhythm and move to it.”
He glared at her. “Stop shouting instructions at me and I might be able to hear the music.”
A quiet chuckle blended with the sweet trill of the fiddle. Chris glanced at the ancient musician. A smile twisted one corner of his mouth and he began to play faster.
Chris fell into step with his partner and found she was right. The waltz was much easier than the quadrille, and it was rather fun, whirling around the room with her in his arms. Her body was so light and responded to his slightest touch, the pressure of his hand letting her know if they were about to glide left or right.
It occurred to him that dancing required quite a bit of trust on the woman’s part since she was basically moving backward, blind. If her partner didn’t pay attention, he might run his lady into another couple on the floor. Chris felt he did pretty well in guiding Meredith around the cleared space in the center of the drawing room. He didn’t trip once although he did kick over a small ottoman that got in the way.
By the time the song was over, both were sweating and winded. Meredith released his hand and pulled away from his embrace to collapse on a divan.
Chris flopped into a chair, legs sprawled in front of him. He blew out a long breath, feeling like a dark horse which had miraculously crossed a finish line.
The fiddler had taken his instrument from beneath his chin and laid it aside. He flexed his arthritic hands and reached for the glass of port on the side table, which Meredith had poured for him.
“You see? Dancing is also very good for the constitution. Doesn’t your blood feel afire and full of energy?” She pushed the curling tendrils from her forehead and fanned her face with her hand.
“Absolutely. And I plan to act on that energy just as soon as I can stand again.” He gave her a lascivious grin, pleased with himself and his increasing proficiency at flirting.
“A few more dances and I’ll take you up on that offer. But first let’s have another go at that quadrille.”
He groaned and leaned his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. “Infuriating woman. I’m trying to tell you that this is as pointless as teaching a donkey to jig. I will never make use of this lesson.”
“Perhaps not.” She rose and poured them each a glass of wine from the decanter and handed one to Chris. “But simply knowing you could dance if you wanted to will give you a boost of confidence. Extra confidence is always a good thing.”
He shook his head at her logic, and drank deeply of the wine. If it was important to Meredith to teach him to dance, the least he could do was try harder and with less complaining. God knew, she’d done so much for him in just a few days time, turning him from an introverted shadow into a man who could tease and flirt, make love and, apparently, dance.
“All right then. I’ll attempt to put my best foot forward instead of tripping on it.” He rose and offered her his hand. “Let’s dance.”
• • •
Christopher Whitby was blossoming before her very eyes. No
t just from day to day, but minute by minute. She’d taken him in hand only four days ago and what a fine figure of a man he’d already become. A little coaxing was all he’d needed to bring him out of his shell and set him on the path to the full potential of his manhood.
Not that Meredith hadn’t found Chris sweetly endearing from the first moment she’d seen him standing amidst his roses. His enthusiasm for his flowers was charming and a refreshing change from the ennui that plagued most society men. But his newfound confidence in his sexual prowess added an undeniable element of charisma. If the ladies of the ton and their prissy daughters could see him now, they wouldn’t recognize the withdrawn scholar who’d once lurked at the fringes of their card parties, dances and soirées.
He exuded masculine assurance. His mere glance set Meredith burning, his slow smile teased and titillated, the husky timbre of his voice promised pleasures in the bedroom. Perhaps she’d done her job too well. All his father had requested was that she sexually awaken him, priming him to secure a bride. But now he was far too sultry to unleash on those priggish society misses. They wouldn’t know what to do with such a man.
Or maybe it was only in her eyes that he was the epitome of a male. As days slipped past, she found herself increasingly enthralled with the young man under her tutelage and had to keep reminding herself their involvement was only temporary.
“Do you like that?” His voice brought her back from her musing to the bed where they reclined, naked, against the pillows. For a moment, she thought he was talking about his hand absently stroking her bare leg.
“Yes.” The warmth and weight of his touch made her skin tingle and her nipples harden. Then she realized he was talking about the pen and ink sketch of the greenhouse interior on the paper in front of him. “Oh, yes. Lovely.”
She studied the drawing of trees, shrubs and flowers that would bring the abandoned conservatory back to life. A fountain gushed in the center of converging pathways and wicker seats nestled in a grove of palm fronds. She could imagine curling up there, sipping a cup of coffee or dozing in the sun. “Perfect. There’s only one thing missing.”
