by Eliza Lloyd
“Nonsense. If you wish your sons to become men, you will embrace the idea and begin packing their bags.”
“Sergei and Claud have never spent more than a day from under the protection of my home. They are not ready to travel such a distance and be gone such a time.”
“You mean you’re not ready. Lud, Katrina, would you have them faint at the sight of blood? Swoon when they cannot embrace their mother before bedtime? Samuel would be disappointed that they’ve done nothing this past year except hide beneath your skirts.”
Theirs was an age-old argument. He thought she smothered them. She had known it was a natural overprotective urge rooted in Samuel’s untimely death. For young boys who admired their father, a year was not so much time to grieve while they healed.
Anyway, Peter was wrong. They had been to Brighton two months ago. She’d given them free rein to wonder the piers and rocky beaches, fishing and exploring as they would so long as they were home by nightfall. And during the winter, she had gone to a weekend house party, leaving them to their studies and secrets.
She was not smothering them—she was making herself available to them should they need her, yet allowing them time to be on their own.
And Peter was being deceitful. A four-week trip could easily turn into eight weeks if the weather was bad or, heaven forbid, something went wrong.
“Why not a less arduous first trip? Perhaps the hunting is plentiful in Derbyshire?”
“We are going to Scotland.”
“There is plenty of time to decide,” she said.
“Speaking of decisions, I would have your answer, Katrina, about the other matter we discussed.”
“We are not marrying. I have made this clear.”
“You are out of mourning. Do you not think it time to take on the mantle of wife? Samuel would not have wanted you to pine.”
“And you are his brother. I cannot bring myself to marry in such a fashion, regardless of your admiration,” she said with care.
She watched as his jaw clenched. He reached for his watch. “I should enjoy dining with my nephews this evening,” he said.
“Naturally. The table will be set at eight.”
She was thankful this small home was hers—the doors were hers to open and close. Peter was well aware that she required him to write before he arrived.
“And will you be attending the Stanhope’s ball this evening?”
Of course, that was why he was in London. As friendship went—sometimes unexplainable, sometimes inconvenient—Samuel had been fast friends with the Stanhopes. Should it surprise her they would extend that friendship to his brother?
“Certainly.”
“I shall accompany you. The countess was good enough to invite me.”
“My plans were to go alone.”
“Katrina,” he said with a weary demeanor, as if he corrected an errant child. “An escort is always preferable to being unaccompanied.”
Missing her time with Mark was a huge disappointment. Spending that same time with Peter watching her all evening was a misfortune indeed.
Dinner went smoothly, the children enjoying their uncle’s company. She’d never spoken ill of him, nor would she, but she was wary of his motivation. Instinctively, she knew to stay away from him. He wasn’t of the same character as Samuel.
By ten, they were in the carriage.
“You’ve done a fine job with them, Katrina. I did not mean to criticize.”
“When you have children, you will understand protectiveness.”
“I’m sure I will. Have you thought anymore about your return to Russia? Ivan says you talk of it more and more.”
“In time. When the boys are ready.”
“As their guardian, you realize I will not allow the boys to depart until they are of an age. Ivan is the baron now. He will need to run the estate and he will have other responsibilities.”
“Two farms can be managed from St. Petersburg.”
“Nevertheless.”
She toed a fine line. If he didn’t hold such sway over their finances and such influence in the direction their lives took, she would bundle them up and depart tomorrow.
Mark would find another mistress. She was not sure she would be lucky enough to find such an uncomplicated, giving lover.
Once the carriage rolled to a stop, Peter reached for her as she stepped from the carriage. The line into the house was at least ten couples in length. She had to introduce him, as many of those in attendance did not know the second son of a minor baron or the brother of a deceased one.
He kept to her side as they made their way around the room. Katrina had already finished a glass of wine and several men had asked her to dance. Peter had reserved the first set with her, which she felt obliged to give since she had arrived with him.
At eleven, she yearned to escape to her lover’s arms.
At midnight, she yearned for her bed.
At one, she stood in the supper line examining a tray of familiar hors d’oeuvres.
“Beluga caviar.” The words were whispered near her ear and she tingled with anticipation. “The second-best export from Russia.”
Mark.
“Oh? And what is the best export from Russia?”
He stood beside her, not touching her and pretending an interest in the fare spread out before them. “Their women. Is your dance card full?”
“No, but—”
“We haven’t been seen together in two weeks,” he said quietly. “No one will know I will be seeing you naked in my arms while we dance.”
“You mustn’t.”
“I missed you. The day was nearly beyond my endurance. All is well, Baroness?”
He glanced at her then, a dark look, melting her from the inside out. Desire coursed through her. In her chest, a painful pressure built.
“Yes. Thank you for asking.”
“And that dance?”
She lifted her card, held it for his inspection, and they made arrangements.
He bowed then. “Until later.”
Anyone who had seen their interaction would have thought it all quite proper, for which she was thankful. But his closeness made her body come to life and her imagination take flight.
He crossed the room, engaging a small group of men while she took a seat next to Lady Stanhope to chat before the next set began.
Then she danced with a viscount, a marquess and finally the earl, for whom she was waiting. Ah, to be held in his arms.
Mark swept her onto the dance floor with little more than a word.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you tonight,” she said.
“I’ve no doubt you will make it up to me.”
“Oh, I will.”
He smiled and squeezed her hand lightly. “I envied every man with whom you danced.”
“None of them mattered.”
“Peter Klee seems to think you are his betrothed.”
She stumbled, but Mark covered for her, holding her securely. “Betrothed?”
“To hear him tell it, and I did hear him tell it, he has painted himself as your savior.”
“I have my own set of family problems. Peter seems to think I’m desperate to be married and he is my only option.”
“Is he the reason you couldn’t join me?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve told him no?”
“Several times. My husband appointed Peter the guardian of my children. Let me just say it has been inconvenient.”
“He does not trouble you, does he?” Mark’s brow furrowed as he asked the question.
Such a protective gesture was welcome. As a widow, one could flaunt convention to a certain degree. She knew she tread a fine line. Having Mark hold her hand while she did so provided a sense of balance.
“You must smile, Lord Compton. I would not have people question my ability to dance.”
He did then—nothing overdone, just a quick hint that all was well. “No one would believe such a thing. I feel as though I am holding
a cloud.”
She laughed lightly. “A cloud? I’ve never been thusly compared.”
“So, if I have inferred correctly, your Mr. Klee might frown upon activities unbecoming of a baroness?”
“Most assuredly.”
“Then we shall have to keep him in the dark.”
“I’m happy you are here,” she said. Composure was more difficult when one felt the need to hide enthusiasm and keep secrets.
“But in keeping with our agreement, I will be most circumspect about showing up announced. Now, before this waltz ends, tell me what you will do for me the next time you are naked in my arms. I must have some morsel of encouragement for when I might next expect my ladybird to perch in my bedchamber.”
She leaned closer. “So the cock crows. Let us just be adventurous and see where the night takes us.”
The orchestra was drawing the music to a close. “I am kissing you now.”
“And I am kissing you back.”
Katrina curtsied and Lord Compton bowed most severely. He held out his arm and she placed her fingers on his sleeve before he led her from the crowded floor. Katrina turned her back to him and made her way toward a group of women with whom she walked.
For the rest of the evening, she gave all of her attention to whomever she spoke, unwilling to be distracted by the thought that Mark was across the room, or beside her or watching her. Or thinking about her as she was him.
Only when she was again upon Peter’s arm being escorted from the ball did she seek Mark out, and then only with a circumspect glance.
His gaze met hers, heated and direct.
She might as well have burst into flames in front of the entire gathering.
Chapter Four
Katrina arrived before Mark and hurried to their bedroom, anxious to be with him again and not just dancing for a few minutes at a stuffy ball.
When she stepped into the room, Mark was already there.
“You’re early,” he said.
He was already in his robe, standing at the single window. He had been looking down into the darkened street. Waiting for her arrival, she suspected.
She rushed to him and flung herself in his arms. “Has it only been a few days?”
“Only.”
“You must strip me of these clothes and ravish me. I demand it.” She tore at the bindings of her cape.
He turned her quickly and worked at the buttons. “One ravishment, coming up.” Her dress and underclothing came off piece by piece only to be flung aside as they worked their way toward the bed.
She pushed the lapels of his robe aside and stared at the beautiful, sculpted lines of his body. Katrina would never have described the physical act of sex as joyous, but that is what she felt. Giddy. As if laughter were about to burst from her in an uncontrollable and embarrassing display.
“Don’t be gentle.”
He sat on the bed and grabbed her by the wrist before pulling her toward him. Her body slammed into his as he fell backward. She clawed his chest before she bent down and bit at his neck. He rolled with her, his feet braced against the floor before he hooked his arms about her knees and opened her wide.
“Lud, don’t wait. I need you now,” she said.
He bent his knees, allowing his cock to trail along the wet seam leading to her lady’s chamber. The tip of his cock caught and he pushed hard and deep.
They both gasped at the taking.
“Yes. More. More. More,” she said. She ran her hands down his arms, then dug her nails into his shoulders.
He fixed her legs higher, wrapping them about his neck before he fell forward, braced on his hands, and began pumping into her. His gaze was upon her and she couldn’t help but stare deep into his eyes. She couldn’t stop the smile on her lips either, since her position allowed her little freedom of movement and demonstrated a strange flexibility she didn’t know she had.
“I’d never…known…what…shagging…was. Before now,” she said, but with an effort to draw air.
“And do you like it?” He pushed hard before he moved one hand low on her belly and shoved into her again. The blissful pleasure had her grabbing the sheets for purchase. She flexed her legs, pulling him closer. Fire consumed her. Passion had never burned hotter.
“I never…ever…want anything else.”
“And I must agree. Your slice of life is the best I’ve had.”
With a quick movement, he pulled from her and turned her to her stomach. Her knees were barely braced at the edge of the bed. It didn’t matter. When he surged back into her from behind, he nearly knocked her into the middle of the bed.
She joined him, rocking back and forth, meeting his thrusting demands. She clenched her eyes shut as a forceful wave constricted inside. “Ohhhh,” she groaned. “Oh, God, Mark.”
She turned her face into the bed covers and screamed. And screamed again with each pulsing surge that gripped her body.
She was aware that Mark was in the midst of his own climatic throes, jerking and pounding into her, slowing as he released in great moaning heaves.
They crumpled to the bed together, gasping for breath.
She turned to him, her fingers tracing over his chest. She sat up, leaned over him and kissed his distended nipple. “I need more. I need so much more.”
“Baroness, you’ve taken my all.”
She lifted one of her legs, opening for him. Guiding his hand, she used his fingers to trace between her thighs, wet with his release. She directed him to the swollen nub hidden by the soft folds of her sex.
“A woman who knows what she wants,” he said.
When he took to the task, she went to her back, allowing her legs to fall open. He took the opportunity to lean over her and suck at her breast.
“Yes,” she said with moaning repetition. “Yes.”
He circled slowly, tugged occasionally and slid fingers into her at surprising intervals that caused her to gasp.
“You have wonderful hands,” she said.
He kissed the soft flesh around her nipples. “Just what a man wants to hear after having swived a woman to madness.”
“And you have a nice cock too.” She reached for him, barely able to move in her current state. Cupping him, she found he was firming up nicely.
When she started moaning under his ministrations, she gave up any need to touch him. She could enjoy this state of blissful repose as long as Mark kept her wet.
Her second release was gentle and lengthy, her hips rocking into his hands with each pulsing contraction.
They rested side-by-side, not bothering with words. Katrina didn’t have any. There were only so many words to describe utter contentment.
“Baroness?”
“I fear we are well beyond proprieties, Mark. You must call me Katrina. And I will be your complete slave if you promise always, always to use your mouth in such a way upon my breasts.”
“My slave?”
“Complete.”
“Let me make sure I’m doing this right. That is, if I am to keep you as a slave.”
He bent over her again and gazed at her breasts. With one hand, he cupped her. His tongue flicked over the hard nub.
“Like that?”
“You know what I want.”
“I’m fast learning.” He set his mouth over her, taking in her nipple and sucking gently on her flesh.
She arched upward, then ran her fingers through his hair. She fisted a handful of it and forced him to her will. “Now here,” she said. She guided him to her other breast and sighed as he laved with the same attention.
“You make me insane with want,” she said. “How is that possible?”
“And I’m barely man enough to keep up.”
“Oh, you are,” she said. “I just need to be satiated with you, drowned. Completely filled.”
“I think I know what you really want.” He reached over her, toward her nightstand drawer. The crisp hairs of his chest rasped over her body.
Katrina felt her face heat. “
Don’t.” She clutched his hand.
“It’s private, I know. But is anything between us private?”
“Am I wanton?” she asked as he pulled one of the diletto from the drawer. He held the thick one—the one she’d used the night she had decided to become his mistress.
“No. You are everything a man wants in a mistress.”
She scrambled to her knees as Mark leaned into a pile of pillows, his back against the headboard. “Would you—”
“Katrina, I might weep if you told me I couldn’t.”
She flung her arms about his neck again and rained kisses on his face. “This…you… It is all too perfect.”
“I want to watch you,” he said.
She backed away, settling on her haunches. Biting at her lip, she reached for the diletto. “And then you will…?”
“Yes.”
She went to her knees, near Mark’s thighs as they stretched out beside her. His gaze had settled on her, low, where she held the crafted phallus.
With a slow, practiced hand, she swiped the head of the glass phallus between her legs. She was wet with desire and Mark’s semen.
“What do you think about?” he asked. His voice had lowered. His gaze remained fixed on the activity between her legs.
The truth was a potent aphrodisiac. He wanted her.
“When I used this last, I was thinking about you.”
She placed the tip of it at the entrance of her sheath. She pushed in slowly. Mark’s jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as the faux erection disappeared into her body.
“I dreamt you were inside me. All long and hard and vigorous.” She mimicked the act of lovemaking. The slow thrusting was arousing but not so stimulating as watching Mark’s reaction and his need flame to life.
His cock swelled while she watched him.
“It was the first time I’d thought about being with you intimately.”
“The night I asked you to be my mistress?”
“Yes.”
“Did it make you wet?”
“Not at first. Not until I started thinking about what you would be like. My imagination wasn’t as good as reality.”
“On your back, Katrina.”
She removed the instrument and eased downward. He swung one leg over her and then grabbed her thighs, bringing her closer. She lay between his legs, her knees crooked and her feet braced on the outside of his thighs.
