In a Reckless Moment

by Emma Wildes

  When he sat up, she willingly helped tug his unbuttoned shirt free from his breeches, and he shrugged out of it. His fingers went to the fastening of his pants, and he held her gaze as he slid each button free, then stood up briefly to strip completely. Mesmerized, Cassandra stared at his erection, which looked huge, high and stiff against his stomach. She’d never seen a naked man before, much less one fully aroused, and had no idea he would be so large.

  Not even offering a protest, she let him take her night dress off completely, past her hips and the length of her legs, watching through half-closed eyes as he tossed it carelessly on the floor.

  There was no going back to her room, she knew that as he slid back on top of her nude body and she parted her lips for another hot, tantalizing kiss. Stroking her hip first, his fingers moved between her thighs, touching the most private part of her body, the invasion intimate and startling. Trying to clamp her legs together didn’t work, for his knees kept them open, allowing him access to do whatever he wished. Cassandra swallowed, closing her eyes as a sudden jolt of pure pleasure centered in her sex. Parting her sex, he caressed tender hidden flesh, rubbing lightly and making her moan out loud.

  “That’s it, sweetheart. You’re getting beautifully wet and ready. You feel like heaven, so smooth and hot.”

  Her hips moved instinctively against the manipulation of his fingers, and her breath came in short, uneven pants. Cassandra felt a tension build she never imagined existed, a mixture of acute need and exquisite pleasure. As he continued to stroke that wonderful spot, Ross whispered words of encouragement in her ear. His speech was erotically outrageous, and what he was doing to her body even more shocking. His hot, stiff cock rubbed her hip in a slow tantalizing motion that matched his skillful, arousing fingers. It felt slick, and unbelievably hard, the press of that ridge of unyielding flesh a stark carnal promise.

  The rush, when it overcame her, was sudden, glorious and unexpected. The release was a rapturous centering of peaking sensation between her legs, and a small cry tore from her throat as she trembled and arched. When it subsided, her body felt lax, almost weak, and she very slowly opened her eyes.

  Ross’s gaze was intense, his tall body shifting so he settled between her open thighs. His mouth brushed hers. “You’re even more beautiful when you climax,” he told her in that low, sexy whisper, the pressure of the tip of his swollen shaft at her vaginal opening as he began to penetrate her body. “I can’t wait to see you come again.”

  Aside from a small stinging moment of pain, her virginity was lost without much regret. Her passage still pulsed from what had just happened and he filled it completely, his erect cock pushing inexorably inside her. Arms braced beside her shoulders, almost immediately he began to move in slow in and out strokes, his lean hips flexing.

  The decadent rhythm was not exactly what she expected of sexual intercourse, Cassandra decided. With blissful enjoyment she caught the pace and began to move with him, lifting her hips for each measured thrust. Her aunt had once told her that it would be her duty to let her husband bed her once she was married, completely leaving out the details of how intimate and pleasurable that joining would be. Or perhaps if the lover in question was the intensely masculine, handsome Lord Winterton, that is what made the difference.

  Either way, she felt a unique excitement spiral inside her again with each hard stroke and withdrawal of his shaft. She was stretched, possessed, and captivated. Ross’s vivid blue eyes were half-closed, veiled by long thick lashes, and dark hair brushed his strong neck as he moved in and out, his erotic pace increasing as he thrust between her open legs.

  “Jesus,” Ross muttered, a slow bead of sweat running along his lean jaw. “It’s too good. I’m not going to last. My apologies.”

  Not exactly certain what he meant, a moment later Cassandra felt him go rigid, the pulse of his sex deep inside her a revelation, releasing a warm flood deep against her womb. He made a low sound, a groan of either pain or pleasure or both, and his eyes shut. His breath whistled from his lungs and he shuddered, his tall body tense. Finally he went still, his next breath a long ragged exhale against her neck. Rolling to his side, he pulled her with him. “Give me a few minutes,” he said in a breathless murmur, cradling her in his arms. “I have no intention of leaving you wanting. Rest assured, I haven’t spent myself so quickly since I was fifteen.”

  A little amused at that chagrined apology from such a worldly man, Cassandra wasn’t particularly surprised to see his dark lashes drop a fraction, then rest against the elegant plane of his cheekbones. His slide into slumber was quick, his chest settling into the regular lift and fall of a deep, contented sleep. Not certain whether to be offended or to laugh, she stayed for a few minutes, relishing the loose clasp of his arms and the strong sound of his heart beating under her ear.

  However, she decided pragmatically, while there was nothing she wanted more than to stay nestled beside his rangy body, things were already bad enough without being discovered in bed with him. Gently she lifted his arm and eased away.

  She slid off the bed and reached for her discarded nightdress, wondering if, in the morning, he would even remember the glorious thing that had just happened between them.

  Chapter 2

  “Good morning, my lord.”

  The cheerful voice jarred his aching head, and Ross Benson opened only one eye, seeing bright October sunshine beating against the drawn drapes with a small wince. “What,” he asked his valet in a sardonic drawl, “is good about it?”

  Williams was good-natured and young, with a guileless expression that belied his quick wit and cynical sense of humor. Red-haired and freckled, he was meticulous about his job, and Ross never found himself without neatly pressed attire, polished boots, his favorite tobacco, or the brandy he favored…

  Brandy.

  Bloody hell, no wonder my head hurts.

  When was the last time he’d gotten that intoxicated?

  “I’ve coffee and breakfast, sir.” Williams plunked a tray down on the bedside table, taking note of the clothes strewn on the floor next to the bed. “Unless you feel too unwell to eat. I know you were out quite late.”

  That was true enough, though he and Timothy Rollins had not set out to get foxed, they’d both overindulged. Giving the young man a sardonic look, he said, “Coffee actually sounds wonderful. Please hand me my dressing gown and I will be right back to enjoy it—”

  In the act of the tossing back the sheet and coverlet, Ross froze. On the stark white linen of the fine sheets, there were several dark spots, and a small smear of the same dried substance on his thigh.

  Memory flooded back in small flashes of recollection. Smooth flawless skin, full firm breasts with delicious pink nipples in his mouth and hands, lustrous golden hair spread across his bed as he moved between soft, ivory thighs…

  “Shit,” he said involuntarily, staring at those damning stains.

  “Perhaps you cut yourself sometime in the evening, my lord,” Williams suggested, registering his consternation. “It isn’t much and you look unharmed, so I wouldn’t worry.”

  Not worry? Unless he’d had one hell of a wickedly satisfying dream, there wasn’t much doubt—considering the evidence before him—that he’d very completely ruined the innocent sister of his best friend in the world. Trying to clear his foggy mind, he fought to remember exactly what had happened. Dragging his hand over his face, Ross swallowed and took a steadying breath.

  They had woken her. Yes, he remembered how she had looked, so slender and ethereally beautiful in her thin nightdress, coming into the hall, her shining hair tumbled in disarray, and her eyes still sleepy.

  Cassandra, so blond and lovely…but also so quiet and reclusive, preferring her books and music to London and fancy balls. It just wasn’t possible he’d coaxed her into his bed…was it?

  “Shit,” he repeated, struggling to think clearly.

  “My lord?” Williams looked at him curiously, holding out the dressing gown. “Are you quite
all right?”

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted darkly, his emotions in complete turmoil as he took the offered garment and put it on. First and foremost, he was appalled with himself, for he usually could hold his liquor quite well, and certainly had never—in twenty-nine years— seduced an innocent, proper young lady while in his cups. Or seduced an innocent young lady at any other time, for that matter. Yes, Cassandra had turned into a very lovely woman. He’d always suspected she would, though she had been rather plain as a child. Thin, gawky, and shy, there had still been the promise in the delicate bone structure of her face, and that girlish body had most certainly changed in a very noticeable and pleasing way. There seemed little doubt that he’d noticed and been pleased. So pleased he couldn’t keep his lascivious hands off her apparently. He thought he was well past the age where he reasoned with his stiff cock, but that evidently was not the case.

  The throbbing at his temples did not help the situation. He accepted a cup of coffee, and sank into a low sprawl in one of the chairs by the fireplace. Ross stared at the empty hearth, the steaming cup in his hand. Explaining this…this debacle to Timothy might spell the end of a friendship he valued highly. Not that he would blame his old friend if he wanted his head on a platter, for while Ross didn’t have a beautiful younger sister, he understood Timothy’s protective feelings for Cassie. Since the death of their parents in a tragic accident years ago, Cassandra and Timothy were quite close.

  Her aunt also, Ross thought with an inward groan, was a dragon of the first order, and he knew Gloria Rollins had high hopes for her gorgeous niece to make an aristocratic marriage.

  That, of course, he realized with a fateful sense of unwanted responsibility, was a distinct possibility, for beyond a doubt he was going to have to offer for her. As a gentleman, he had little choice.

  The most mysterious part of this all was why Cassandra, so reserved and ladylike, hadn’t resisted. Yes, he remembered a few murmured protests, but he also recalled the warm willingness of her soft body in his arms, and the way she had responded to his kisses with tentative but open passion.

  Before he explained to Timothy what happened, he wanted to talk to her.

  “Williams, please bring me hot water,” he said with grim resignation. “I think I will skip breakfast.”

  * * * *

  Mrs. Abbington lifted her cup of tea. “I, for one, find the new fashions flattering to the…er…more abundant figures of older ladies.”

  Abundant, thought Cassandra as she nibbled on a small morsel of scone, certainly described the local squire’s wife very well. More than a little plump, her tremendous bosom was barely contained by the ruffled and beribboned bodice of her gown and each breath she took threatened the material.

  Aunt Gloria murmured in agreement. “I suppose we cannot all be slender and shapely like Cassandra forever, my dear Cordelia.”

  The small group sat in the formal parlor, sharing a small, late morning repast of tea and cakes, and to Cassandra’s chagrin, all of the four older ladies present turned to look at her. The sudden assessment of her person was perhaps worse than her utter and complete boredom with the banal conversation. Mrs. Trenel, the vicar’s wife, said to her, “I like that shade of rose on you, my dear child. You do have the most delightful figure.”

  Before Cassandra could even murmur her thanks, Aunt Gloria announced, “We’re getting a whole new wardrobe before we are off to London for the Season, of course.”

  “I don’t need one,” Cassandra muttered in protest, since her interest in being on display before the haute ton was negligible. In fact, the city itself was repugnant to her, and having potential suitors eye her like farmers sizing up a piece of livestock was about as much fun as the measuring looks of interfering old ladies.

  “Nonsense, you are nineteen. It’s beyond time.” Waving away her protest, Aunt Gloria smiled with obvious anticipation at their guests. “She’ll be a sensation, don’t you think? Blonds are all the rage. Last year, of course, we could not go because of the passing of her dear grandmother on her mother’s side. This year, however—”

  “Excuse me, ladies.”

  The sound of the deep voice made Cassandra start, her cup wobbling in her suddenly unsteady hand. A small thrill—unwanted but nevertheless present—twisted in her stomach as she glanced up at the doorway.

  Immaculate in a buff tailored coat, snowy perfectly tied cravat, and snug black breeches, Ross Benson showed no sign of his recent debauch except maybe the faintest pallor under his tanned skin. Glossy dark hair combed, freshly shaven and his boots polished to a formidable shine, he was every inch the elegant, handsome young lord. He bowed gracefully to the room at large. “I am interrupting, for which you have my sincere apologies.” An engaging smile curved his mouth, rueful and managing to be slightly boyish, despite his height and the imposing width of his shoulders. “But I think someone might have forgotten me.”

  His gaze went pointedly to where Cassandra sat in her chair by the window. Since she had no idea what to say in front of such a crowd, she simply sat there and stared back.

  “You promised me a walk in the garden at eleven, Cassandra, and I believe it is now half-past.” One dark brow raised a fraction as he elaborated on his abrupt arrival, his tone smooth and unruffled.

  She had done no such thing, of course, but the lie was so well-done and glib, that she almost stammered a real apology.

  Apparently he remembered at least part of what happened between them the night before. It was there, a hint of something unidentifiable in his azure eyes.

  To her dismay, her cheeks flamed, and when she set aside her cup on the small cherry table next to her chair, it rattled loudly in the saucer. “My apologies, my lord,” she said with what she hoped was credible composure. “I must have forgotten the time.”

  It was obvious her aunt wasn’t sure whether to object or not. A small frown creased her brow at the unprecedented show of interest from a man who paid little attention to unmarried young ladies. Since Lord Winterton was not only a guest, but Timothy’s good friend, this was probably a dilemma in her mind. His reputation wasn’t pristine, but he and Cassandra had known each other for years. In the end, apparently good manners won out. Aunt Gloria cleared her throat and said, “I am sure it is not polite to keep the Viscount waiting, Cassandra. You may be excused.”

  Hoping she didn’t look as flustered as she felt, she rose woodenly and walked across the room under the intense scrutiny of four pairs of eyes, and put her hand on his proffered arm. Neither of them said a word, but the sheer tension in the muscles under the fine cloth of shirt and jacket told her this was not going to be an easy conversation, and Cassandra stifled an inner sigh.

  Outside the day was fine, with blue skies and wispy white clouds. Once they walked to the back of the house and went out the French doors onto the terrace, the breeze was pleasant, carrying the scent of hundreds of late blooming roses and warm earth. Without preamble, Ross asked tersely, “Where can we go that’s private?”

  There was certainly no trace of the gracious courtier in that abrupt question, and she bit back a tart reply. Cassandra decided on discretion being the best course, and answered simply. “The gazebo, I suppose.”

  “All right. That will do.” He nodded briefly.

  She led him to the right path, hurrying to keep up with his long, impatient strides, until he noticed her skirts clutched in her hands and slowed the pace, murmuring a small apology.

  The gazebo was a small folly built almost a century before, a bow to the architecture of the Greeks in the graceful round cupola and stone pillars. Inside it was small, but the shutters were open to the warm breeze, and behind it there was a pond with lily pads and a statue of Pan in the middle. Upholstered seats ran around the inside and Cassandra seated herself, fussily arranging her skirts until she could no longer keep from looking up and meeting his eyes.

  The only consolation was that out of the watchful observance of four elderly ladies, he looked as disconcerted as
she felt. Not choosing to take a seat, he leaned a shoulder against one intricately carved pillar, briefly closed his eyes, and said hoarsely, “At the risk of being more ungentlemanly than I suspect I have been already, can you please tell me what exactly happened last night?”

  Clasping her hands together, Cassandra tried to look as bland as possible. “What do you remember?”

  His lashes lifted and his gaze flickered downward for a moment, to the swell of her breasts beneath the modest neckline of her muslin gown. “Enough,” he said with a ragged sigh, “to assume I owe you at the least an apology, and I have a feeling a good deal more than that.”

  The acute pleasure of his touch and kiss was a vivid memory, and she shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “I beg to differ. My only excuse is I was definitely drunk.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “Tim didn’t make it to bed, that I recall.”

  Cassandra smiled wryly. “How you managed to get him there, I am not certain. You told me you couldn’t even remember which room we’d given you.”

  “That’s a clever ploy. I’m surprised I was sober enough to think of it.” The edge of bitter self-recrimination in his voice was echoed by the twist of his mouth. “What happened next?”

  “I assisted you inside because you weren’t all that steady,” Cassandra admitted, grateful for the small breeze cooling her hot cheeks. “And when I went to leave, you were rather insistent on a good night kiss.”

  “There were drops of blood on my sheets this morning, and from what I do remember, things went well beyond a simple kiss.”

  There was little use in pretending otherwise, so she nodded.

  “We had sexual intercourse?” It was a flat question, and a muscle twitched in his lean jaw.

  She preferred to think of it in less blunt of terms, but he was apparently not in the mood to exert his normal easy, compelling charm. She gave another brief nod.

  Ross looked a little sick, and he swallowed audibly. “Please tell me I did not force you in any way.”