by Jade Lee
She arched, the ripples now becoming waves that pulsed inside her. She felt him move again and then there was his tongue. He used it in quick motions, pushing, stroking, exploring. It seemed random at first, but she didn’t care. The waves were growing, expanding, and pulling her entire body in.
“Come on, Scher,” he said against her skin. “Surrender. To me.”
There was no thought except for yes. Her hands fell away from her body. She had nothing to hold on to as she undulated beneath his tongue. Then he began to suck. He kept his fingers inside her, moving as best he could. But it was his lips that absorbed her as he alternated between sucking and tonguing. The pull was incredible. Then a push, followed by a pull. Push. Pull. Not fast enough. Not fast enough!
She moved beneath him, her mind and body gone from her. She was the wave, powerful and complete.
Flick! Flickflickflick!
Bliss!
God, she was the most amazing woman! She had barely touched him, but he had exploded like a boy just from the sight of her pleasure. She had writhed against him and the look of shock and awe on her face had tipped him over the edge. He was a mess, but damn if he cared.
“Have I killed you?” he asked, half in jest. She lay so still, her eyes shut, her body languid and still open.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she mumbled. Then she frowned and her eyes popped open. “Are you hurt?”
“Not in the least,” he lied. “Though I would appreciate a cloth or something.” In his own home, he would have used the sheets to clean himself, then ordered a fresh set. But he was not at home, and so he was forced to be neat.
She pushed herself upright, scanning his body and his mess. He felt his face heat, not to mention his neck and chest and God only knew what else. But the pain was lapping at the edge of his consciousness now. He was holding it back by sheer force of will, but his every breath brought it closer. He knew better than to try to stretch even to reach the far side of the bed, much less his washing cloth.
She smiled in understanding—and no small amount of embarrassment of her own—before rolling off the bed. It was not a graceful movement. She was still too boneless, though she regained her balance and a sense of purpose quickly enough. Still, it was a joy to watch her move, her breasts bobbing in front of her, her legs wobbly from what he had done.
“When I am better, I will teach you such things.”
She looked at him a long time at that. He saw her expression slowly shift from languid to shuttered. It probably took only a second or two, but it felt like eternity. An eternity when he saw her slip away from him and yet he could do nothing to prevent it.
“It will be better next time,” he said, trying to will her to look at him.
“It was wonderful,” she said softly. There was a wash-bowl nearby and a cloth, which she wet then wrung out. Her eyes remained focused on her task, her body unnaturally stiff.
Fear trembled in his mind, but he refused to heed it. She was simply shy, he told himself. This was obviously so new to her. She returned to the bed, and when she would have cleaned him, he stopped her.
“I can manage,” he said gently as he took the cloth from her. He did what was needed, and all the while he wondered what she was thinking. “I should be doing this for you. If I had done the proper thing, I would be drawing you a bath right now and feeding you sweetmeats.”
She took the soiled cloth from him, then returned to the basin. Then with an apologetic smile, she grabbed her clothing and ducked behind the privacy screen. He heard her perform her own ablutions and then dress, and the sounds of fabric rustling brought his imagination to life. Damn these wounds! If he weren’t an invalid, she wouldn’t be dressed for days. Weeks!
“I know that this is new to you, Scher. I know you will take your time thinking about it. And I must soon return to my life. I have missed the last session of the House of Lords, but there are still people I need to talk to, if only to be scorned and ridiculed.”
“Surely they are not so cruel,” she said from behind the screen. Her voice was higher than usual, a little bit louder too.
“Oh, they are that and a great deal more,” he said, his mind not on politics but her. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? “Nothing beats a British gentleman in that arena. Mockery is taught with our very first breath.”
“Yes, I suppose that is true,” she said in her polite voice. It was Lady Scher’s voice from the Green Room, and the sound gave him chills. Were they back to polite banter? He huffed in disgust as he fought the panic. She could not draw away from him now!
“Scher . . .” he began, even though he had no idea what he wanted to say.
She stepped out from behind the screen, and he noted high flags of color in her cheeks. She was holding her dress on from the front, though it showed no signs of drooping.
“I’m afraid I need some help. Could you please . . .” She turned around and showed him her back and the four undone buttons. Truly, he was amazed that she could manage all the others.
“Of course,” he said as he pushed himself farther upright. The pain made him grit his teeth, but he kept his hands as steady as possible as he caressed the pale flesh still exposed. How he wanted to be undoing her gown, not tidying her up.
He felt her shoulders tense at his stroke, and he was sure he felt a tremble. “The buttons, if you please,” she said, her voice slightly strangled.
His fingers froze, fears clamoring inside his head. But what could he say? Where were his pretty phrases now? He buttoned her dress, then fell backward, utterly exhausted.
“I am doing this badly, Scher. I want to woo you.”
She turned and looked at him. Her eyes were dark and troubled, her expression frozen somewhere between terror and total civility. She didn’t know what to say to him any more than he knew what to say to her. What was wrong with them?
He reached out and grabbed her hand. She allowed him to, though her skin was cool to the touch and her hand lay limply in his. She spoke before he did.
“You are looking very pale. You should rest.”
“What do you want Scher? Name it and you shall have it! A home with a garden. Done. A carriage to take you wherever you wish. Certainly. Servants, jewels—”
“A ring, Brandon.”
He swallowed, his bandage cutting painfully into his breath. “You have my heart.”
“A wedding ring,” she said as if he had not understood her the first time.
His gaze dropped to their intertwined fingers. How did he explain? “I can’t, Scher.” He felt her flinch, but he gripped her hand before she could flee. “It’s not what you think. It has nothing to do with your birth or your background or any other such nonsense.”
She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t release her. She had to understand!
“Listen to me!” he said, though she hadn’t interrupted him. “It’s not what you think!”
She stilled, but he still couldn’t speak. He felt her breath shudder in and out of her, knew the tension in her hand was echoed throughout her entire body.
“I will give you anything you want, Scher. Anything, but I can’t . . . It’s not . . .”
“No,” she said quietly. “No, no, no!” The word grew in force until it was an angry hiss. She whipped her hand out of his. “God, I am such a fool!”
“I’m married. Scher, I’m already married.”
Chapter 16
Scher didn’t go down to the Green Room that night. She didn’t even speak to anyone, not that they didn’t try. They were an hour away from opening the doors, and Kit had been meddling again. If the problem had been anything but Kit, she might have softened. She might have bowed to her responsibilities with ticket sales or costume repair. But it was Kit, and she had no interest in discussing men right then. Any man. So she waved them off as she grabbed her favorite bottle of wine and a glass. Then she climbed the stairs to her room and slammed the door.
She was halfway through her second glass when Seth ca
me to her door. She recognized his heavy tread and his soft knock. As he couldn’t speak to her, she condescended to open the door, though it was a near thing. But of all people, Seth didn’t deserve her sharp tongue. So she kept silent as she hauled open her door.
He stood there holding a tray of cheese and bread. He peered at her, quickly taking in the glass of wine in her hand and the wadded blue dress in the corner. She wore her men’s clothing merely because it was comfortable. And because she intended to get blind drunk just like any man.
His face tightened into a frown, but she simply lifted her chin in defiance. Then, to add to her pose, she drained the rest of her glass. A murderous darkness came into his eyes. She blinked, wondering if the wine had already started dulling her senses. But when she opened her eyes again, Seth was still standing there with fury on his face. She hadn’t seen that look often, but she knew to step back when it appeared.
She did, and he stomped in, dropping the tray on the table. Then he hauled over a second chair and planted himself in it. She heard the wood creak under his weight, but it didn’t break.
She blinked again, but there he sat, arms folded, expression mutinous. And when she didn’t move, he arched a brow at her. Good God, he looked aristocratic when he did that. The man was huge, had a craggy face and calloused hands. He was everything that was hulking and brutally strong. But at that moment, he absolutely reminded her of Brandon with his arched eyebrows and his firm belief in his own power.
“Oh, Seth,” she said more to herself than to him. “You deserve so much better than this life.”
His second brow went up to match the height of the first. He sighed, and he slowly shook his head. She knew what he meant. Of all the people in the company, he was the absolute most grateful, most content with his lot. He may be mute, but he supervised an army of boys, was paid better than anyone else in the company, and at night, he graced Delilah’s bed. They were married, though few knew it. She only pretended to act the whore, bringing a favored few into her bedchamber, where she entertained, but didn’t whore. It was a bizarre situation, but one that seemed to work for her. The more she appeared to take favored lovers, the more the men dallied after her, hoping to become her next patron. It increased her attraction and the draw to the playhouse. But in the end, it was Seth who had her heart. God willing, one day they would be blessed with beautiful children.
Scher shut her door—without slamming it—then poured Seth his own glass of wine. He wouldn’t drink it. As far as she knew, he never drank, but it was the polite thing for her to do. Then she sat down across from him and reached for a piece of cheese. She chewed it slowly, then grabbed the next one more quickly. She hadn’t eaten anything beyond this morning’s tea and found herself abruptly starving.
Down below she could hear the commotion of the troupe preparing for another show. The dressing chambers were on the floor right beneath her and excited chatter always filtered up through the floorboards. She wondered if they were discussing her, then nearly laughed. Of course they were discussing her. Everybody tonight would be discussing her and that disastrous tea. Was it only a few hours ago? It seemed like a lifetime.
She was chewing on the bread when Seth handed her his handkerchief. She wasn’t even sure why at first. Then she realized she was crying. Tears leaked from her eyes and her nose was clogging up even as she chewed.
“What a mess I am,” she said as she wiped her face. “What a mess everything is.”
He didn’t respond, but she knew he was listening. And bit by bit, everything came out. She began with the tea. Charles. Kit. The countess witch, and Miss Deidre Sampson, another witch. Seth frowned at that, probably at her language, but Scher poured herself another glass of wine, silently daring him to admonish her. He couldn’t, of course, so he leaned back in his chair and continued to look at her.
Damn. He knew there was more. She looked away, but he didn’t move. She had seen this technique before when he disciplined the boys. He locked them in a room with him and just sat there. All day, if necessary. She never understood it, but eventually the children couldn’t stand the silence and confessed everything. And if they didn’t, then they were tossed out unemployed.
He didn’t have that threat with her, and yet the truth came pouring out anyway. He knew that she had been caring for Brandon anyway. Between Hank and Joey, he probably knew more than she did.
“He has a wife, Seth,” she said to her wineglass. “Brandon has a wife.”
He sat bolt upright at that, a grunt of fury filling the room. She didn’t have to look at him to see that his hands were fisted or that her furniture was in danger. Seth didn’t throw things often, but when he did, everyone ducked.
“He met her in India. The details don’t matter. In truth, I didn’t listen. I just left.” She was starting to cry again, so she reached for the wine. Then decided against more drink, contemplated throwing the bottle. Then decided against that as well. She set it down beside her chair instead. It was too much work to throw the thing, especially since she’d be the one cleaning up the shards.
“He has offered me carte blanche.” She glanced over at Seth and wasn’t surprised when the man didn’t react. For every woman in the troupe, mistress to a titled peer was the ultimate prize. Especially if that peer was rich and a good lover. And God help her, she was considering it.
“He listens to me, Seth. He talks to me.” Conversation—real conversation—was the rarest thing in her world. Banter she had aplenty. Gossip and opinions, too. But no one listened to Lady Scher. She was there to listen to them. “No one listens like he does.” She flashed a smile at Seth. “Except you, of course. But you’re Delilah’s, not mine.”
She grabbed the last piece of cheese and offered it to him. He refused with a shake of his head, and so she began to nibble on it.
“I’d say yes if I thought it would continue. But you know what happens with a mistress. She’s there to serve you. She takes your money and gives you attention in return. That’s not what happens with a wife. You’re bound to her no matter what. You have to pay her bills. If you have a home, she has a home. Her children are your children. I know there are marriages that become nightmares, but it wouldn’t be like that with him.”
She popped the last bite of cheese into her mouth and chewed with ferocity.
“Forget him. I got money. I got my own home. What need have I of more?”
Even as she said the words, she knew it was a lie. Her bed was lonely, and after today, she finally understood what was possible between lovers. And hadn’t she been restless before this all began too? Before Kit’s proposal? What of children and a home?
“I want a dog,” she said firmly. “And green grass where he can run and piddle on my flowers.”
Seth didn’t even arch an eyebrow in response. And in the silence, she heard the opening fanfare as the playhouse doors opened. The musicians would continue playing as gentlemen filed in. The rumble of conversation wouldn’t reach her all the way up on the third floor, but her mind filled in the noise anyway. She ought to go down. In her whole adult life, she had only missed a week or more of playhouse nights. But she couldn’t stir herself to stand, much less clean up and face the gossip.
So she sat in her chair and stared sullenly at the bottle of wine. A moment later, she heard Seth stand. He picked up the empty tray in one hand and pulled the bottle out of her grip with the other. Then he stood there looking down at her, his expression filled with sympathy. She lifted the side of her mouth in a half smile, half grimace.
“You know, Seth, I’d have set my cap for you years ago if it weren’t for Delilah.” Or for the fact that he treated her as a sister. “You’re a better man than all of them put together.”
He grinned then nudged her head with his elbow. His hands were full or he’d have tugged on her hair. Then he pointed sternly at the wash basin before leaving.
She did as he bid and cleaned her face. It took her fifteen minutes to bestir herself, but in the end, she washed and br
ushed out her hair. The routine movements felt good, but she was exhausted by the time she’d taken out all the knots. She stared for a moment at the beautiful blue gown in the corner, but couldn’t decide whether to shake it out or burn it. In the end, lassitude set her back to her chair where she stared out the window and brooded.
Hours passed without her even noticing. One of the boys came up to light the fire in her grate and bring clean water for her washbasin. He first chatted nervously about the light crowd tonight. Apparently, her declaration that Lady Scher would no longer tolerate discussions of politics or her wedding had taken effect. She wasn’t even there to see it, but apparently Brandon had been right. Lady Scher had spoken and without the attraction of more brawls, the audience stayed away. She didn’t know whether to celebrate or spit in disgust. She did nothing but stare morosely out her window.
And then, some time later as she sat drowsing in her chair, the door opened to another bottle of wine. It was held by a well-dressed arm, which extended the bottle into the room like an offering. The bottle waved back and forth in the air, and soon Kit’s head popped in behind it.
“I come bearing gifts,” he said. “May I enter my lady’s chamber?”
She straightened and wiped the sleep from her eyes. She ran her hands over her hair, trying to smooth it, but there really was no point. She was a mess and there was no time to fix it.
Meanwhile, Kit stepped in, his expression sobering as he looked at her. “Ah, Scher, what have I done to you?”
She frowned, her mind still foggy. “Sir?”
He gasped as he pulled out the cork on the wine. “Are we back to that then? I was once Kit to you.”
She pushed up again in her chair, wondering why she couldn’t think. “Of course you are Kit. Oh, bloody hell, I’ve had too much to drink.”
He laughed at that, the sound almost musical. But in her state, she didn’t like the noise. He poured her a glass, but she waved it away. She was muddle-headed, thick-tongued, and out of sorts. And he was dropping down into Seth’s chair and drinking the wine he had just brought for her.
