On These Silken Sheets

by Sabrina Darby

  Just as in his fantasy, he parted her plump lips, revealing the hard, pink little nub within. He blew hot air over her clit. When she writhed under him, he held her thighs more firmly. Finally, he lowered his tongue to her.

  She moaned—a long sound of yearning.

  He knew exactly how she felt. Her pretty flesh pulsed and creamed under his ministrations and he lapped the sweetness up as if he’d never eat again.

  He looked at her face. Her eyes were closed and her neck arched back. Her hands massaged her own breasts through the chemise.

  He slid his tongue up into her, twisting it inside her, enjoying Carolina’s ragged gasp. Then he changed his tactics, bringing his fingers to take his tongue’s place, and as he thrust his fingers, he sucked her clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue across it in short, hard strokes.

  It didn’t take very long. Carolina’s body went rigid, her hands dropping to her sides, her thighs clenching around his face as her legs stretched out. And as she did, he felt her inner muscles convulsing around him, her juices dripping from her and onto his waiting tongue, onto his hand.

  She let out a soft keening sound and he knew she was struggling not to scream.

  Finally, she bucked against his mouth again and again, and then fell back against the wall.

  He scrambled quickly up, taking her face in his hands, plunging his tongue into her mouth, kissing her deeply.

  He kissed her until her breathing evened out and then he moved away, smiling at the sated glaze of her eyes.

  “Thank you,” Henry whispered and then he stood. He peeked through the curtains. The room was clear. With a final hot look at Carolina, he slipped back through the curtains.

  He stopped for a moment to look at himself in the mirror. He straightened his coat and attempted to fix the limp frill of his cravat.

  “No, girl, I don’t want to see another one, I want to see how my niece looks in that blue silk.” Agathe’s voice rang clearly from the other side of the thin door that led to the shop. “Let me by.”

  He stared as the knob of the door began to turn. He was tempted to stay there. Hell, he was tempted to go back to Carolina and give Agathe something to find.

  Instead, he pushed his way into the second curtained changing area, which he found, thankfully, empty. He made his way halfway through before Agathe entered the room.

  “Stanton!” she cried, “You naughty man! Whom do you have in there?”

  Reluctantly, Henry came back out, keeping the curtains tightly closed behind him.

  “A gentleman never tells, ma’am.” He managed a smirk. “I must protect her identity.”

  Agathe laughed.

  Henry didn’t wait for her to grow more curious. He bolted from the room through the other draperies that led into the workroom. From there he made a rapid escape into the street.

  Agathe stood there a moment, eyeing the tightly drawn curtains. She loved gossip and it would be delicious to know who Stanton’s latest paramour was.

  She stripped off one glove and then let it fall to the floor.

  With a heavy, exaggerated sigh, she bent down to pick it up. And while down on the floor, she picked up a tiny bit of the curtain to look under. And then she raised it more. And then she stood up and yanked the curtains open.

  The area was completely empty. No blushingly guilty woman. No woman, period.

  Agathe turned around with an angry, growing suspicion. She threw open the other set of drapes to the room in which Carolina was changing.

  Carolina, in the middle of the room struggling with her dress, stopped and stared at her. A startled fear was caught on her face—a revealingly flushed face, above a revealingly rumpled dress.

  “He was with you, wasn’t he?” Agathe accused, and Carolina couldn’t find the strength to deny it. A lazy smile curved her lips and her aunt gaped.

  “Finish getting dressed, we’re leaving,” Agathe ordered, and then yanked the curtains open again.

  Carolina watched her leave with a sigh. The game was finally up.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The day was hot for early June, but as the open carriage rumbled along the London streets, Carolina was covered in a cold sweat.

  “I don’t know how it escaped my notice.” Agathe curled her lip in disgust. “I suppose the fact that Stanton has paid you particular attention, dancing with you frequently, should have triggered my suspicions, but I thought he was merely lusting after something he couldn’t have.”

  Carolina said nothing, staring out the side of the barouche.

  “Don’t hide your face from me,” Agathe complained, pulling on Carolina’s bonnet, forcing her to turn her head. “I’m not the one who has ruined herself. And with Stanton!”

  Then Agathe fell silent. A moment later she sighed lustily.

  “Well, I suppose if it would be with anyone, it would be Henry.” Agathe’s full lips finally relaxed into an amused smile. “It was worth it, wasn’t it?”

  Relieved at the change in her aunt’s demeanor and eager to share after months of holding back her secret, Carolina nodded, grinning wickedly.

  “He was worth every minute, Auntie,” she admitted. “He’s the most magnificent man I’ve ever met.”

  “Come, dear, you haven’t met many men,” Agathe chided. “But that’s not far off from the truth. And at least he knows what he’s about. He was always meticulous about protection.”

  At Carolina’s blank look, Agathe’s jaw dropped and her eyes narrowed.

  “Protection, dear,” she prodded, “you know, vinegar-soaked sponges or those clever little sheaths?”

  Carolina bit her lip and then slowly shook her head. “We never used any of that.”

  Agathe’s small, gloved hand flew to her chest and she let out a deep, shuddering sigh. “All right, I won’t get hysterical. Tell me, dear, does he pull out before he…” She made a small gesture with her other hand.

  Carolina shook her head.

  “Are you a complete idiot?” Agathe gaped at her. “You do know how babies are made, do you not?”

  Carolina nodded again, and then the blood fled from her face. “I do know, but I never! I never thought about it. I was entirely caught up.”

  “Clearly,” Agathe said reprovingly, cutting her off.

  They rode in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Agathe reached out and took Carolina’s shaking hand.

  “I suppose that is what comes of not having a mother.” She sighed again. “Tell me, when did you last have your courses?”

  Carolina thought about it. She’d been in town just over two months. Henry had been to her bed almost every night. She hadn’t considered, had never wondered why her courses didn’t come.

  “Just before London,” Carolina admitted, understanding now just what situation she was in.

  “And you are normally irregular?” Agathe pressed.

  “No,” Carolina shook her head. “I’m like a well-wound clock.”

  “All right then,” Agathe clapped her hands together, serious and determined. “We’ll just have to move the wedding up. We won’t tell your father, or the young man, we’ll simply say…we’ll say that you wish to be married while everyone is still in town for the season, so they may see your triumph.”

  “We won’t tell?” Carolina whispered.

  “That should appeal to the men’s vanities as well,” Agathe continued. “No, of course we can’t tell! You’d be ruined. Just like you would never say you weren’t a virgin. And we’ll take care of that as well with a little trick.” Her lips settled into a determined line as she nodded. “Yes, this is the course we’ll take. Leave it to me, dear. And by all means, Carolina, do not tell Stanton.”

  Don’t tell Stanton? How could she not tell Henry that he was going to be a father? That she was going to be a mother?

  Agathe must have seen something on her face because, much more gently and with a sad smile, she addressed her niece.

  “You must not tell him, dear. It was his careless
ness that has put you in this situation and his intentions were never honorable. You owe him nothing!” Agathe emphasized. “Nothing.”

  Then Agathe turned away, muttering to herself. Carolina thought she could just make out the words.

  “Even I was never so stupid…”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Agathe insisted on still attending the ball at the Vadebakers’ home that evening. Carolina protested. She didn’t want to see anyone, but she especially didn’t want to see Henry. She didn’t think she could face him after realizing that she was carrying his child.

  But when Agathe arrived a few minutes before Oakley, Carolina was waiting in the sitting room, dressed in the pale blue silk gown she had originally planned to wear. She couldn’t quite believe that she was actually with child as the dress fit as perfectly as always.

  “Well, child, you may thank your aunt for her hard work this afternoon on your behalf,” Agathe whispered, perched far too close to Carolina on the blue sofa.

  Carolina looked at her blankly.

  “I have wrought magic, my dear,” Agathe explained. “I have convinced both your father and Oakley that the sooner a wedding can be had, the better. At the very height of the season, before it begins to wane and all society leaves for the summer. The wedding will be next week.” Agathe stared at her expectantly, a pleased smile on her lips.

  Carolina found it difficult to breathe. She knew she should be grateful, but it was all too much. The pressure on her chest increased and she struggled to take deep, calming breaths.

  “Thank you, Auntie,” she managed, finally.

  Agathe nodded in acknowledgment and then continued on, “I will take care of all the details, of course. It won’t be easy to pull such an affair together, but I will manage.”

  Her aunt continued to ramble on about all the arrangements that needed to be made, but Carolina heard none of it. In just a week, she would be a wife. But she would be wife to the wrong man—to Oakley.

  She should be marrying the father of her child.

  Oakley arrived, in all his gentlemanly perfection and she didn’t have to fake the blush that filled her cheeks. She felt like a fraud, committing such a hideous deception on this man. It was no way to begin a life together.

  The Vadebakers’ large house was set back from the street in a small park, and and even from outside, the windows glowed with the light of myriad candles.

  Her family and soon to be family were there in their entirety that night, a united front. Everyone except for Mr. Mustlewhaithe, and he was expected to arrive in town in a few days.

  Carolina felt smothered by the attention. Her father had never been so kind to her. Oakley was overly attentive, whispering in her ear that he was so very glad she had wanted to move the wedding up, that he was eager as well.

  Agathe had obviously said a few other things to the man to get him to expedite the wedding.

  Oakley’s mother, as well, clung to her side, introducing her to all her matronly friends. Carolina smiled till her cheeks hurt.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Henry circled the ballroom. There was never a moment when Carolina was alone, she was always surrounded by people, and there was Oakley, by her side or just a step away.

  He could ask for a dance but that wasn’t what he wanted.

  A firm hand touched his arm and Henry looked to his side to find Agathe staring daggers at him, her small hand like a claw.

  “You’ll stay away from her from now on,” Agathe hissed through a plastered smile.

  So she knew. He carefully extracted his arm from her grip, studiously fixing the now wrinkled sleeve. He’d wondered, it was why he’d stayed away so far this evening, waiting for some sign from Carolina.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Henry drawled. Nobody told him what to do.

  “You will, Stanton,” Agathe persisted. “We’ve moved the wedding up to next week. And Alistair has worked far too hard for you to mess this up now. You’ve already done too much damage.”

  Next week? Henry struggled not to show how shocked he was by the expedited wedding.

  “She’s not married yet, Agathe. I’ll do as I like,” he murmured, pulling his hand away.

  “Not unless you intend to marry her and we both know how likely that is,” Agathe said scathingly. “You have no trouble stealing other men’s wives, but when it comes to your own vows you’re quite a romantic: you believe a man and woman should honor the words they speak.”

  “True,” Henry admitted, “but as you said, I have no trouble stealing other men’s wives.”

  He walked away from her, continuing his perambulation of the dance floor, always keeping a clear view of Carolina. Aggressively, he put himself in her line of sight.

  Her gaze flew to him and her eyes widened as they met his. She shook her head just slightly but he ignored the warning.

  With a slow smile and a subtle jut of his chin, he indicated for her to follow him. He left the room then, unsure if she would actually come to him.

  He chose a room down the hallway at random. The room was lit as if in expectation for later entertainment, but it was currently empty. He paced anxiously, counting the seconds, placing bets against himself. Calling himself a fool for caring.

  Chapter Thirty

  As she slipped from the ballroom, Carolina told herself she was only meeting him in order to tell him she could no longer do this.

  She would say good-bye. That was all.

  She strolled down the hallway, aware that there were others near her. She had no idea where Henry had gone, but by now she knew his habits.

  She headed to the rear of the house, away from the sound of the orchestra and the signs of other guests. She turned a corner. There was one door in this hallway slightly ajar. She pushed it open further.

  It wasn’t a large room, and the wood paneling and forest-green upholstery made it seem even smaller. The large billiard table in the center of the room took up the most space.

  And Henry was bent over that table, a long wooden cue between his hands, setting up a shot.

  “Close the door and lock it,” he said, though he didn’t look up.

  She did as he said, hearing the clink of wood against wood and the rolling sound of the ball across the table. She turned around and leaned against the door.

  Henry had straightened.

  Dear Lord, the fashions fit him so well and he wore them with the perfect level of insouciance.

  All her best intentions fled.

  She wanted to taste him. She wanted to taste him the way just hours ago he’d tasted her. She wanted to see his face grow boyish with pleasure and hear his low moans.

  She would tell him that it was over. But not yet.

  Carolina closed the short distance between them and slowly descended to her knees before him, her eyes trained on his.

  She ran her hands over the front of his breeches and found him already hard. She unbuttoned the flap of cloth and took him in her gloved hands.

  A small drop of pearly liquid rested at the tip of his cock; she licked at it with her tongue, moaning at the salty taste of him. She took him hungrily in her mouth, savoring his hot, velvet skin, swirling her tongue around him. Her hands came up to hold his buttocks, pulling him further into her mouth.

  He stopped her, pushed her away and lifted her up from the floor. Her mouth felt empty, but as he laid her on the billiard table, pushing her dress up to her waist, she was eager for what he had to give.

  He parted her thighs as he had hours ago, but now he leaned over her, sliding his tongue into her mouth just as he slid his cock inside her.

  Exquisite, she thought. Her inner walls were stretched to their limit, but she wanted him in her even deeper, even harder.

  Then he pushed her down to the table, tugged at her dress to free her breasts. He ran his hands over the soft globes and then moved on to her hips. He leaned back, pulling her down toward him.

  She felt him pressed up into the very center of her, balls deep, a
nd she sighed with the pure pleasure of it.

  “Touch yourself,” he whispered. She did as he said, one hand stealing down to her clit, hard and stretched above the pumping column of his cock.

  With two fingers she rubbed little circles over the small muscle. Her flesh was slick and her fingers kept slipping, but she kept them there, the sensation building too quickly.

  He felt impossibly hard within her and the little swivels he made with his hips hit her in places inside that shot straight to her nipples.

  Suddenly she tensed and arched her back, coming up off the table in her climax as her cries filled the room.

  He slid out and turned her over. Still shaking from her orgasm, she rested on her forearms, her hips pressed against the wood of the table, and Henry thrust back into her.

  She felt him everywhere inside her, as if there was nothing left of Carolina and she was only the relentless thrusting of his cock. Each movement pushed her overstimulated clit hard against the table and kept her convulsing around him with pleasure.

  His cock grew harder, larger within her as he neared his climax, and the feel of him triggered her own. She exploded even as she felt him release himself into her, pumping hard, again and again, until he had nothing left to give.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Agathe is right. We can’t do this again,” Carolina whispered, struggling to hold back the tears. “You aren’t the only one who believes their word should mean something. I’m pledging myself to Oakley.”

  “But not yet, not till next week,” Henry said firmly. He wouldn’t let her go just yet. Not until he was ready. Not because Agathe manipulated them.

  “No, Henry,” Carolina shook her head, disengaging from his embrace, studiously rearranging her dress. “Starting now. We will never happen again.”

  She didn’t look at him, not the whole time she walked toward the door. He watched her swaying stride in disbelief. She was leaving him there without a backward glance.