The Regency Season

by Ann Lethbridge

  He stood with her in his arms, found his centre of balance and headed for his bedroom, where he’d closed the curtains and lit the candles after dressing for dinner.

  A pang of regret twisted in his chest. Tonight his aim was to make her admit the inevitability of their marriage.

  ‘Oh,’ she said softly, as he pushed open his chamber door. ‘How unexpected.’

  He looked around. Tried to see what she saw. The pile of books on the nightstand. His cricket bat, unused for years in the corner. A bow and arrow next to his shotgun on the wall. The rapiers with which he and Reggie had practised swordplay in the Long Gallery above the mantel. The things he and his brother had collected—birds’ eggs, rocks, an old flint arrowhead on the desk in front of the window. It was the bedroom that belonged to the boy, not the man. ‘I don’t spend much time here to be bothered to change it.’ In truth, he had never found the heart.

  He lowered her feet to the floor, enjoying the friction of her soft body down the length of his, and nuzzled at her throat, licking and nipping until she turned her head and bit him hard on the jaw and lifted her face, offering her lips.

  His body hardened to granite.

  He took her mouth softly, wooing her with lips and tongue, nudging her backwards in the direction of his bed. She broke free with an awkward laugh. Had he read her wrong? Had the promise of passion he’d sensed in her, the blatant sensuality of a woman ready for more than play, been driven by hope?

  The hunger raking at his body did not want to be denied, but forcing her was not an option.

  She turned in a slow circle, her face full of puzzlement. ‘You aren’t the person I thought.’

  A cold hand fisted in his gut. It was the sort of thing Mother would say. ‘Your meaning?’

  ‘There is a lot of affection in this room, when you often seem so cold and withdrawn. I like it.’

  Not quite the comment he’d expected. Mother always complained about the clutter. He was certainly far from cold at the moment.

  She opened her arms.

  He stepped into them, gazing into her smiling, welcoming face, and felt something shift deep inside him. A change that was both tender and painful, as if something had broken and been formed anew from the pieces, yet they didn’t fit perfectly.

  Odd thoughts. Why question what was being offered with such generosity of spirit?

  He glanced down at the rise of her breasts, slowly caressed the curve beneath with one hand while the other explored the dip of her waist. The full swell filled his palm and rose in creamy magnificence above the neckline of her gown. Such exquisitely generous flesh and so bounteously exposed to his feasting gaze. So temptingly displayed, yet their full glory hidden from his view. Leisurely, despite the urgings pounding in his veins, he paid them homage with his hands and then his lips and then his tongue. They tasted of honey and cream and delicious woman.

  Her fingers threaded through his hair, and his skin sprang to life beneath her touch. His own body ached for the same gentle exploration.

  He slid one hand down her leg and drew her skirt upwards, stroking the underside of her knee and the soft silken skin above her garter, sensing her shivers of pleasure in the little catches in her breathing.

  She cupped the sides of his face in her small hands and rose up on tiptoe to brush her lips against his, pressing up against him, her hips arching into him. ‘Freddy,’ she murmured, her hands wandering down to clutch at his shoulders, her breathing increasing until she was panting, her hands fumbling at the buttons of his coat.

  The longing in her voice required no explanation.

  His heartbeat quickened. Naked. He wanted her naked.

  He tore off both his jacket and waistcoat. Spun her round. Her head fell forward. Vulnerable. He pressed a hot open-mouthed kiss to her nape, inhaling the scent of jasmine and summer, then made short work of her fastenings, pressing small kisses to each inch of her back as he worked the gown down her hips until it slid to the floor. The corset went next, leaving her in nothing but her sheer chemise and stockings, the swell of her hips and buttocks so tempting beneath the filmy veil as she lifted one foot, using the bedpost for balance.

  He prowled around her, admiring every inch of that sweetly tempting female body, high, full breasts, long, slender legs with the dark triangle at the apex of her thighs.

  He went down on one knee, removing first one slipper then the other, the scent of her arousal making him so hard it hurt. Lifting the hem of her slip, he untied a garter, peeling her stockings down over her calf and off before massaging her small, perfectly formed ankle and foot. He kissed her knee and the inside of her thigh above the remaining garter. She gave a soft moan. Pleasure. Longing. Want.

  His hands shook as he removed her other stocking while she balanced with her hands on his shoulders. He pressed a quick kiss between her thighs, feeling the heat and the dampness against his lips and shuddering at her gasp of shock.

  Slowly. He had to go slowly.

  He lurched to his feet, relieved when she didn’t react to his clumsiness.

  To his surprise and delight, she hopped up the steps, arms held out like a tightrope walker, and leaped into the middle of the bed. The bed creaked as it accommodated her weight. She cast him a look from beneath her lashes that was pure wickedness. ‘Care to join me?’

  With an answering growl, he leaped from the floor to the bed, kneeling beside her, taking her tempting mouth in a searing kiss.

  Her hands fluttered over his chest and shoulders, sending delicious hot chills down his spine.

  Slowly, she yielded to his weight and sank back against the pillows. Their lips clung in a long, lingering moment then he lifted his head and looked down at her, so lovely, flushed with desire, lips full and rosy from their kisses, eyes dreamy with sensual longing.

  He had never desired a woman as much as he did Minette. The knowledge she also desired him and yet insisted that she would leave him once their quest was over drove him to the edge of madness. Instead of the respect she deserved, he was going to engage in seduction.

  A pang of guilt. Easily vanquished.

  It was for her own good after all.

  Taking his weight on his knees, he gazed down at her and removed his shirt.

  Her gaze roamed his upper body then lifted to his face. ‘Magnifique.’

  * * *

  She had always thought of him as lean. Elegant. She hadn’t expected his musculature to be so well defined. His lithe figure and grace belied his now clearly revealed strength. The masculinity of the dark patch of crisp hair on his chest, the ridges of muscle across his abdomen awoke her darkest desires, the longing to taste, to bite. She raised herself up on her elbows and licked at the closest nipple. Rough hair rasped across her tongue.

  His hiss of indrawn breath tightened a chord deep inside her with a pleasurable pulse.

  She suckled at the beaded nub.

  A groan vibrated through his chest.

  She released the suction and blew across the damp peak.

  His hips involuntarily rocked against her core.

  Cold on the outside, this man was molten heat within.

  Surprise bloomed in his eyes, warning her she’d been too forward, shown too much knowledge for the innocent he’d no doubt expected. She had no wish to scare him away quite yet. He’d discover the truth soon enough.

  Next time, if there was one, she would use her powers of seduction to make him writhe and moan and perhaps even beg. She sank back against the pillow and languidly raised her hands above her head, offering him access to her body, handing over the reins, at least this time.

  Eyes hooded, his lips curved in a sensual smile, his hot gaze roved the length of her with hunger. The heat of him washed over her body in waves. He pushed up the hem of her chemise until all but the apex of her thighs were exposed to his gaze. ‘Lovely.’ He stroked her inner thigh with unbearable tenderness, sending sparks of heat all the way to her core. Of their own accord her thighs parted and he shifted one knee between
her legs, looking down at her, raking every inch of her with his gaze, his hands following the path in slow, gentle strokes, down her side, over her breasts, traversing the plain of her belly.

  He cupped his hand over her mound and pressed its heel against her sensitive bud. So sweetly painful. She arched into his hand, seeking more of the pleasure just out of reach.

  He groaned softly and took her mouth, stretching out beside her, one thigh encased in fine wool over hers. The fabric was silky smooth against her skin and his thighs pressed against the juncture of her thigh, while his hand moved to her breast, gently weighing and softly squeezing, his thumb teasing at her nipple. Heat darted along her veins, the muscles in her core tightened until they hurt.

  She moaned into his mouth. Writhed beneath his weight, seeking more of the pleasure he gave. He kissed his way from her mouth to her chin to the pulse at the base of her throat. Hot kisses, his tongue laving, his mouth sucking, promising... Ah, yes. He took her nipple in his mouth, toyed with it with his tongue and then suckled.

  The arrow of pleasure streaking to her core almost undid her. She arched her back, rocked her hips against his thigh. He broke away, kneeling over her, his breathing ragged.

  ‘I need this off,’ he said roughly. He tugged at the hem of her chemise. ‘I need to feel every inch of your luscious skin against me.’

  She lifted her bottom so he could push it up over her hips, then sat up to help him take it off over her head. ‘And these,’ she said, pulling at the waistband of his pantaloons.

  Never taking his gaze from her face, he leaped down from the bed and snuffed the candles.

  The light of a not-quite-full moon filled the room with shadows and patches of soft light. She sensed, rather than saw, him remove his shoes, strip his nether garment down his legs and step out of them. A glimpse of his arousal. The flash of bare flanks as he climbed onto the bed again and his face caught in a stray moonbeam as he leaned over her once more. The shadows sculpted the muscles of his chest into gleaming planes and shadowed curves. He looked otherworldly, dark as sin, handsome as the devil, and unbelievably sensual.

  But she had wanted to see him. All of him.

  He had quite deliberately made sure she could not. Was it so bad, then? His leg? That he must hide it in the shadows? She wanted to ask but did not quite have the courage. ‘Why leave us in the dark?’ she said instead.

  He stilled. Stroked her hair back from her face in so tender a motion her heart gave a painful twinge. ‘I thought you might be more comfortable.’

  Protecting her maidenly fears? Or worried about his appearance? She reached up and pulled his head down for a kiss. No sense in hurting his manly pride. The little she had seen of his body had not disappointed, and there would be other occasions on which to see and explore before they finally parted. Hopefully.

  He kissed her back, first palming her breasts and then dipping down to kiss and lick and suckle until she thought she might go mad with wanting—no, needing—fulfilment. The evidence of his own arousal pressed against her hip, so hard and so hot she wanted to take him in her hand, but she had already surprised him with her boldness once so she wasn’t going to risk shocking him again and having him stop to question what it meant. Instead, she satisfied her need for touch by caressing the solid muscle across his back and the curve of his buttocks, trying not to score his back with her nails as he drove the pitch of her wanting ever higher with his mouth at her breasts.

  Unable to bear it any longer, she could not stop from saying his name. ‘Freddy,’ she pleaded. It had been so long since she’d had a man inside her.

  He lifted his head, his gaze searching her face, but she could not make out his expression. Shock? Surprise?

  ‘Impatient, are we?’ he said, his voice teasing, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

  He was pleased.

  He petted her breast, her stomach, and then moved lower, his fingers stroking through her curls. One finger slipped into her. He made a sound of pleasure. ‘You are wet for me.’

  Her insides were molten heat. ‘Freddy, please.’

  He worked one finger inside her, gently stroking. Intrusion. Pleasurable friction. But not nearly enough.

  ‘So tight,’ he murmured. ‘So ready.’

  Another finger parted her folds and slowly pushed deeper, while his thumb pressed against her perle. She fell apart, shattered into bliss.

  He pressed the blunt head of his shaft against her entrance as the sensations rippled through her body.

  Mon Dieu, the man knew his way around a woman’s body.

  ‘This will hurt,’ he murmured, ‘but not for long.’

  She winced, not in pain but chagrin in anticipation of his disappointment.

  He pushed into her swiftly and stilled, staring down at her, and despite the shadows she saw him realise the truth. And then he was moving. Slowly at first, but as she found the counterpoint to his thrust by lifting her hips, he increased the tempo and the depth. He drove into her hard, building the tension, pushing her back up to the crest of desire, watching her face, easing back when she was sure she was going to shatter, holding her there, punishing her with intense, unfulfilled pleasure and need until she clawed at his back to raise herself up, bit his earlobe and thrust her tongue in his ear. He shuddered and rotated his hips to bring pressure to bear against her perle. So wickedly sensitive. She toppled over the edge, her vision turned black, pinpricks of light dancing across the dark.

  He rode the wave and gave one last powerful thrust, withdrawing from her body at the moment before he, too, reached his climax. A needless protection but a gesture so heartbreakingly sweet it made her want to cry.

  Bones melting, limbs useless, heart pounding at the surge of bliss, she lay beneath his hot, heavy weight. Her hard breathing melded with his so precisely she was not sure that he wasn’t breathing for her and her heart wasn’t beating for his.

  Never had la petite mort taken her so completely. It really had felt like a moment of death.

  With a groan, he rolled off her and pulled her tight to his side, one hand resting on her breast, one thigh pinning her to the bed.

  His warmth, his weight made her feel safe. Treasured.

  Since when had she started dreaming of such foolishness?

  She couldn’t hold the thought and drifted into darkness.

  * * *

  Not a virgin. He wasn’t surprised. His body was lax, sated, immovable, but his mind, no longer enslaved by lust, calculated and reasoned with swift efficiency. It made perfect sense. Her boldness. Her comfort with her own sensuality. Her lovely kisses. Somewhere in her past there was a lover. And he found he didn’t mind. Much. It had made for a very pleasurable, intimate encounter, one that might not have gone so well if she was inexperienced.

  Only one question caused him concern. Why would such an intelligent woman allow him to make the discovery prior to their marriage?

  Because she didn’t still want to marry him. His gut dipped. With the ease of long practice he quelled the pain of loss. There was no emotion in their bargain. It had always been a convenient arrangement, to save her reputation and keep his honour intact. Keep his friend Gabe from repudiating their friendship.

  She might well be surprised to discover it changed nothing. They would still marry. And one thing he knew without a doubt, they were compatible where it counted most.

  A quiet sense of joy filled him at the thought of a future of such pleasurable intimate encounters. After the knot was tied. Hopefully it would be enough for her, because they would not be having children.

  The small fingers, flat on his chest, flexed briefly. A telltale sign she was awake, along with the slight change in her breathing. Awake and pretending.

  ‘Who was he?’ he asked.

  The fingers tightened into a fist. She pushed away. He refused to let her go, held her firmly, but not to cause hurt. After a second or two she gave up the struggle.

  ‘It is a fair question,’ he said.

  ‘Tiens. Was
n’t it enough that I tell you I do not wish to marry?’

  Upset. She sounded upset when he’d expected defiance. Or wheedling. Or excuses. But, no, she was upset, as if it was somehow his fault. Mentally, he sighed. When it came to women, it was always his fault.

  ‘Fine. I don’t need to know,’ he said evenly. He hoped he didn’t. He hoped like hell the man was in her past and not her present.

  This time when she pushed away he released his hold.

  She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees beneath the sheets, giving him a glorious view of her delicate back, the dip of her waist, the dimple above each rounded swell of her buttocks. He rolled onto his side and bit lightly on that firm, silky flesh. More to bring her attention back to him than as punishment, though there was an element of that, too, a primal need to mark her as his.

  ‘Ouch.’ She turned and gazed down at him, a crease in her brow.

  He hoisted himself up, lit the candle on the nightstand and rested his back against the pillows and headboard. He pulled her back to rest against his shoulder. Her body remained rigid, unyielding, but she did not pull away. He nuzzled her neck. ‘Does your sister know?’

  ‘No.’

  He waited. Sometimes it was better to say nothing.

  ‘He was a mistake. A very stupid mistake.’

  The pain in her voice tore at his heart like a serrated blade. Whoever this man was, he had hurt her badly. And was likely the reason she found it difficult to trust. He wanted to call the man out. ‘You met him here or in France?’

  ‘France. In Challans.’ She sounded ashamed.

  His heart wrenched for how young she must have been. Alone, without family. It was hardly surprising she’d sought protection. ‘I’m sorry.’

  The words sounded trite, and yet she relaxed against him, giving him her full weight.

  Trust. More than any she’d given him before. He kissed the point of her shoulder.

  ‘After you escaped the fire the soldiers set at your house,’ he murmured. He knew the story of her escape from the house burned to the ground by Napoleon’s troops in an attempt to root out loyalists. He knew that the sisters had been separated by the event, Nicky making her way to England and in the process meeting Gabe. Minette had been taken by a group of nuns. She had been little more than a child. He could only imagine how fearful she must have been. How brave.