Lady Disdain

by Michelle Morrison

  She remained still as a statue for several moments and then her lips began to move under his, tasting, caressing, exploring. He drew her more tightly to his body, feeling the length of her against him, fusing them together with heat.

  Slowly, oh so slowly, he drew his tongue along the seam of her lips, dipping in to sip her sweetness. Her hands slid around his waist, and up his back while he cradled her head in his hands, his thumbs stroking along her jaw.

  He tasted of brandy and wet warmth, the hot press of his mouth stimulating and comforting at the same time. One kiss melted into the next in a slow, languorous dance. Eventually, inexorably, the fire grew, stealing their breaths so that they had to pause, panting, between kisses.

  Sarah felt her heart racing in time with her labored breath. She felt overwhelmed with sensation, as if suddenly the very weight of her clothes was too much to bear, the air too thick to inhale. She opened her eyes and studied his beautiful face: broad brow, spiky golden lashes, laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, full, firm mouth still damp from her kisses.

  As if feeling the weight of her gaze upon him, he opened his eyes and she was lost. It was as if time froze. There was no world outside the connection between them. His eyes were dark blue, faceted with lighter shards, sensuous beneath heavy lids. But there was more—she felt like she saw her very own soul in the depths of his eyes. The connection was so powerful and so startling that it brought tears to her eyes.

  So this is love, she thought. It was so much more than the infatuation she’d felt for Peter Greene. It was based on a connection so much deeper than what she could do for him. It made her feel as if she knew everything about him, as if she could read what was at the core of him and knew that it fit the core of who she was like a puzzle piece. She knew that their bodies would fit perfectly also. She realized suddenly that the physical and emotional craving she was experiencing need not be denied.

  She drew back from him slightly and began to undo the long row of buttons that ran from her neck to waist. She heard his breath catch, saw his lips part as he watched, transfixed as she reached the last button.

  His gaze sought hers and he whispered, “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. She had never been more sure of anything in her life.

  Chapter Ten

  Sam froze when she pulled back from their embrace, cursing himself for moving too quickly when she clearly needed space after her heart-wrenching confession. But then she started unbuttoning her gown and he stopped breathing. His eyes were transfixed as each tiny button slipped free of its moorings. She reached the last button and her fingers parted the placket slightly. He gasped. Or perhaps he sucked in a breath. He wasn’t sure. He looked up into her beautiful dark eyes and said, “Do you mean—No, Sarah. I won’t risk you—I mean, you needn’t—” he stammered.

  She smiled, a tiny smile, really, but one filled with power and knowledge and a hundred other emotions he hoped he was reading correctly. “I know,” she said, and turned to rummage in her medical case. She withdrew a small sponge and a dark brown bottle, the contents of which looked like an oil of some sort as she applied it to the sponge.

  “Turn around,” she whispered and he complied. He heard the rustling of skirts behind him. “Is that—”

  “It should prevent a babe. I learned of it from an old midwife who had, I believe, been a prostitute in her youth.”

  “Do you dispense it to many women here?”

  She touched his shoulder and he turned around.

  “Not as many as you would think. Preventing pregnancy is seen as wrong as having a baby out of wedlock. It is judged more of a sin than having a dozen children who will starve for want of adequate food. But since I’m already as damned as a soul can be—”

  “You’re not—” he began, but then saw she was smiling.

  “Are you sure?” he asked again.

  She nodded and he was lost.

  He closed the small gap between them and drew a finger delicately down the gap of her gown, feeling her shiver deliciously. There were only a few inches of bare skin before he encountered her threadbare chemise and he brought his other hand up to spread the fabric of her gown apart, gently nudging it off her shoulders. She wriggled a little bit and the dress puddled to the ground.

  They’d not lit a candle or lamp, but a stray shaft of setting sun cut through the gloom outside to bathe her in its golden glow. It had been cloudy for days and the soot of Southwark ensured a haze even on sunny days. Sam took the radiant beam as a clear message that he was meant for this woman.

  She pulled the pins from her hair and thriftily set them on the table.

  “I can’t afford to lose any,” she said with a wry grin. “I have just enough to keep my hair in place. If I lose anymore, I’ll have to wear braids like a little girl.”

  She shook her hair down around her shoulders in a dark cascade of silk. Sam ran his hands through the strands, letting the thick locks spill from his fingers like water. If he had his wish, she would never put this wealth of hair up again, but since that wasn’t possible, he made a mental note to buy her a dozen racks of hairpins so she wouldn’t have to worry about losing one again.

  “You are so incredibly beautiful,” he murmured, mesmerized by the sight of her flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. She looked so different than when she was in her somber gowns, dispensing aid around The Mint or even when she was bedecked in satin at a ton event. And yet she was still those women as well as this tempting seductress and Sam loved every single facet.

  She started to say something but hesitated.

  “What is it?” he urged, tracing the soft wings of her brows with one finger.

  She licked her lips and he felt his body’s response in every muscle.

  “When you look at me like that…I feel beautiful.”

  “I will never let you doubt that feeling,” he said before he kissed her again. With each touch of his lips against hers, he better learned the contours of hers, more quickly discovered what brought her pleasure. Sarah turned her head after a moment to whisper huskily, “I fear you may be overdressed.”

  “I fear you may be right,” he agreed with a grin.

  Stripping his jacket off so energetically his arms got stuck, he flapped about like an overlarge bird and she giggled while she unbuttoned his waistcoat.

  “Here, let me help,” she said, straightening his sleeves and freeing his arms.

  He slowed down while unwinding his stock—no sense in choking himself, but tore his shirt off so rapidly he split a seam.

  The shirt had not even hit the floor before her hands were on him, tracing the muscles of his chest, caressing the hard contours of his shoulders and upper arms.

  The slow sensuous spell that had captivated them just moments before was suddenly eclipsed by a fiery need to touch and kiss and consume.

  He took her lips in a desperate open-mouthed kiss while her hands gripped his back and tugged at his waist, pulling him closer against her.

  He grabbed the strap of her chemise too roughly and the shoulder seam split.

  “I’ll replace that,” he said against her mouth as he pulled the torn garment from her body. But then all thought fled his mind as his hands found the satin skin of her breasts.

  She tore at his breeches, shoving them to the floor, then pulled him to the low bed. He followed her down, his lips never leaving hers.

  He felt a shiver of pure delight at the skin-to-skin contact and paused for just a moment to savor the exquisite sensation. But then she ran her tongue along the rim of his ear and he lost control. He’d never experienced that before in any of his previous sexual encounters, but suddenly his hands were shaking as he ran them down the length of her body and he could not kiss her deeply enough. He needed more of her. He needed all of her. He shifted so he was atop her and felt her legs part in welcome.

  She must have been in the same feverish grip for her hands traced the muscles of his back and buttocks frantically, her fingernails scratching him in a sen
sation that was a bit pain and even more pleasure. Her lips kissed every part of him they could reach, her teeth grazing his shoulder and neck with a sting that made him shudder with desire.

  He could wait no longer. He surged forward, but in their passionate slipperiness, he missed. And missed a second time. He felt like a green lad with his first woman, but when she smiled at him and took him in hand, he laughed softly and waited while she guided him home.

  That was different too.

  Never had he enjoyed laughter amidst passion and never had he experienced the sensation that he was home, seated deep inside the woman he loved. He stared at her and she too must have felt the intense connection, for her eyes glistened and she reached up to caress his cheek.

  He could wait no longer at that. He surged forward again and again and she met his every thrust. Their bodies were new to each other and they hadn’t yet learned the nuances of moving together, of most efficiently finding pleasure, but there was an intensity to their union, a pure, passionate joining that far outweighed any awkwardness.

  Within minutes he felt her body tense, her face a beautiful mask of ecstasy before she convulsed with pleasure, a keening cry that was his name escaping her lips. With a guttural groan, he pulled out, spilling himself in the most soul-wrenching release he’d ever experienced.

  “Just in case,” he murmured into her hair and he felt her nod.

  He collapsed against her and she wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him. A moment later he started to move. She hugged him tighter.

  “I don’t want to crush you,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Stay,” she murmured. And he did.

  “Very well, move,” she laughed a minute later.

  He chuckled as he rolled to the side and gathered her close to him. “I told you I was heavy,” he murmured into the silken hairs at her temple. She snuggled up against him, her head resting on his shoulder and her arm around his waist. She draped a leg over his hip and sighed in obvious contentment.

  He felt a silly grin curve his mouth, but he couldn’t contain it. Everything about her just felt so right. He’d never encountered such a feeling before and he wanted to savor every moment. But it had also been a rather intense day, what with helping deliver a baby followed by amazingly passionate lovemaking, and as Sarah’s breathing slowed and deepened, he felt his own eyelids droop. Funny that, he thought, he was usually never able to sleep with an empty stomach, but what with helping deliver a baby and some amazingly passionate lovemaking, they’d never got around to actually eating anything…and in spite of his hunger he fell asleep.

  It was his stomach that woke them several hours later. Or rather, it woke Sarah.

  “What was that?” she asked, lifting her head and straining to listen.

  “Wha—“ he mumbled, still mostly asleep. Then his stomach grumbled again. Loudly. “Oh, that.”

  She giggled and he smiled, pleased to have been the reason for her mirth. Somehow he didn’t think she’d had much reason to laugh over the last six years.

  Another rumble of complaint renewed her laughter and she said, “Very well, we can’t have you starving to death.” She crawled over him to get out of bed and at the feel of her naked limbs sliding over his, Sam was tempted to ignore his hunger pangs for a few more minutes. But then she was out of bed and he could only listen for her movements in the pitch black of the room.

  He heard her light a candle and the room was bathed in a pale glow. Not enough to read by, but just enough to admire her naked form as she rummaged through the cupboards for food. Her skin was golden in the feeble candlelight, her only covering the dark silk of her hair. He felt his body respond to her, and it was all he could do not to cast aside the plate she brought back to the bed.

  “There’s not much,” she said apologetically. “I usually eat at the kitchen.”

  “It’s perfect,” he said, and again he did not refer to the food she offered.

  She crawled back in bed and Sam was delighted that she appeared unselfconscious of her nakedness, though her long hair cloaked her breasts and sitting amidst the rumpled bedclothes, the rest of her was lost to sight as well.

  They split a small meat pasty, a bit of cheese, and an apple.

  “Here, I’ll eat that,” he said when she moved to put the core back on the plate.

  She laughed as he devoured the last of the apple. “What are you, a horse?”

  “My sister claims my preference for apple cores is because I’m an ass, not a horse.”

  She laughed again and he felt his heart swell with the sound.

  He reached to brush a crumb from the corner of her mouth, but thought better of it and used his tongue instead.

  She caught her breath, then turned her head to match her lips against his.

  She tasted of apple and he couldn’t get enough. The metal plate clattered unheeded to the floor as they joined together in a union of heat and desire.

  It was the early light of pre-dawn when next Sam awoke. Sarah was tucked against him, her hands curled under her cheek, a stray tendril of hair obscuring her eyes. He gently smoothed the hair back and marveled at the spiky dark crescents of her lashes as they lay against her cheeks.

  He would never tire of staring at her, he decided. The smooth oval of her face, the faint scattering of freckles on her nose, the silky straight slashes of her eyebrows, the delicate pout of her lips; he was mesmerized by all of it and he wanted a lifetime to study it.

  A lifetime, he thought again, his caressing hand stopping abruptly. Did that mean—he waited a moment, holding his breath, listening for the answer.

  Yes, his heart said. Then again more loudly in case he hadn’t heard it the first time. Yes!

  His hand as it resumed stroking her hair trembled a bit, but he’d never felt steadier.

  Another hour passed during which time he watched her sleep, holding still so he wouldn’t disturb her, even as his right arm went to sleep under her head.

  His mind whirled with plans and ideas, his heart full of thoughts for the future.

  He flexed his hand, trying to restore the feeling to his arm and the bunching of his muscles caused her to stir. He froze, watching as her eyebrows lifted just before her lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes.

  “Good morning,” he murmured.

  She smiled a slow sleepy smile that made his heart contract.

  “Good morning,” she replied, her voice husky and warm.

  He kissed her slowly then pulled back to watch her finish waking. She yawned and stretched, her breast popping up over the street. And he just couldn’t help it. He had to have her one more time. He caught the errant breast in his hand and she squeaked as he lightly pinched her nipple. The eyes she turned on him were dark with need, her pupils dilated pools of black in the dark brown of her irises.

  She grabbed his head and directed it down. He obliged, laving her breast and nibbling the tender underside. She gasped at that and pushed him onto his back, climbing atop him

  He was willingly at her mercy and gave himself over as she took the lead and rode him. With her atop him, it was harder to pull out in time. He had to physically lift her when all he wanted to do was bury more deeply inside her and stay there forever. Nonetheless their culmination was intense and sweaty, and afterwards, Sarah collapsed against him, panting as heavily as he was.

  They dozed a few more minutes before Sarah stirred, lifting herself up to gaze down at him. She dropped a final kiss on his nose before reluctantly sliding off him. She poured water from a pitcher into a shallow basin and began washing.

  “I’ve got to get to the kitchen. We received a big food donation from one of the Quaker groups in the city and I’ve got to see that none of it goes to waste.”

  He watched her gather up her torn chemise and fetch a needle and thread.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said, sitting up. He had assumed she had a spare and felt bad he wasn’t able to replace it before she needed to wear it.

  “You needn
’t be. It’s not the first time it has torn. At least this was in the pursuit of something enjoyable.” Despite her worldly statement, she was blushing and didn’t meet his eye as she quickly repaired the garment.

  “Nonetheless, I intend to replace it. With silk, I believe.”

  “Silk? That won’t last me a month!” she said, finishing her stitching. She bit the thread off and pulled on the chemise, which was nearly transparent it was worn so thin.

  “I’ll buy you a dozen then. Two dozen! And a crate of hairpins,” he continued as she retrieved her carefully stored pins and bound up her long locks.

  “That’s really not necessary,” she said shortly.

  “Oh but it is,” he replied, pulling on his own clothes and envisioning an entire wardrobe that would best suit her coloring. Perhaps all those hours accompanying his sister for her trousseau fittings were going to pay off. “I’ve unwittingly become quite the expert on ladies’ fashion thanks to Caroline.”

  “I don’t want you to buy me anything!” she snapped.

  He looked up from his failed attempts to tie his cravat. “What? Why not?”

  “Despite my actions, I’m not a—a prostitute whose favors need to be bought,” she said, her voice hoarse with suppressed tears.

  He dropped the cravat and looked up at her in shock. “What do you mean? Of course you’re not. That never even—I would never think—oh, blast it!”

  He stared at her and she looked down, fingering the worn folds of her chemise.

  “I apologize,” she said in a low voice. “I—I’m a bit sensitive about such things.”

  He crossed the few steps to her and took her hands in his.

  “You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he said. “I just want to take care of you. I won’t buy you hairpins or chemises if you don’t want me to.”

  She glanced up with a wry quirk to her full lips and it was all he could do not to kiss her. “I never said anything about not buying me hairpins.”

  He laughed and then gave into temptation, kissing her thoroughly.