A Lascivious Lady

by Jillian Eaton

  “Kiss me,” she repeated softly. Standing on her tiptoes she grazed her lips across the curve of his jaw, delighting in the rough feel of his beard. Traverson had not shaved since coming to Kensington, and she found the shadow that covered his chin to be quite…

  arousing. “When a woman asks you to kiss her, ‘tis best not to spend too much time contemplating your answer,” she murmured against his ear.

  Traverson hissed out a breath between his teeth, his body fairly vibrating with tension. “Josephine…” he said, the warning note in his tone unmistakable.

  “What?” All innocence, she hooked one finger inside of her collar and trailed the edge of her nail against his skin, leaving a path of goose bumps behind. “No one can see us. We are all alone, just you and I. Have you not dreamed of this moment?”

  “A thousand times,” he replied raggedly.

  Josephine arched one eyebrow. “Just a thousand? Well, we will have to change that, will we not? Kiss me, Traverson. Kiss me as if you never want to let me go.” She offered him her body, pushing against him until they were perfectly aligned, chest to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh. Tipping up her chin she closed her eyes and waited.

  “This is a terrible idea,” he said.

  “I know,” she whispered. “But let’s do it anyway.”

  On a savage oath, he pressed his lips to hers.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It felt like he was sinking. Sinking into dark, tumultuous waters. Sinking into Josephine. She curved around him, her slender body sinuous as a serpent’s as her arms wound up on either side of his neck and her fingers tangled in the ends of his hair.

  She smelled of honeysuckle and something darker. Something dangerous. He breathed her in as they came together, her lips against his lips, her tongue against his tongue. She whimpered low in her throat, and every inch of him grew hard.

  There was no gentleness as Traverson skimmed his hands through her tightly wound coiffure and scattered the pins across the grass. No soft wooing as he wound his fingers through her tangled waterfall of golden mane and pulled, forcing her mouth to slant against his at a new angle that allowed him to plunder and punish.

  Undaunted by his aggressiveness she met him stroke for stroke, her nails digging into his back through the thin linen of his shirt.

  There was a fire within him, burning from the inside out. The flames licked away his inhibitions. Scorched his doubts. There were no what ifs. There were no questions. There was only lust and love and Josephine.

  “Take me,” she pleaded, breaking free to nip at his neck where his pulse fluttered. “Take me, Traverson. Here. Now.”

  Together they sank down to the earth. Wildflowers were Josephine’s pillow, Traverson’s long, lean body her blanket. She smiled coyly at him, her violet eyes glowing with a hungry passion that stole the very breath from his lungs. Suddenly he was hesitant, doubt growing as he realized his experience with women was a mere pittance compared to Josephine’s with men. Would she find him terribly lacking? Could he satisfy her? Did he even know how to satisfy her?

  As if she could sense his pending withdrawal, Josephine grasped his shoulders, her slender fingers wrapping around the hardened muscle, and pulled him slowly, insistently down. “Do not think,” she whispered, nuzzling the sensitive flesh that lay between his neck and collarbone. “Love me, Traverson. Love me as you have always wanted to.”

  Her hips bucked suggestively, arching up into his arousal, and he gritted his teeth against the sheer, intoxicating pleasure of it all.

  Pushing his doubts aside he fell upon her, tearing the sheer fabric of her gown away to expose the thin chemise that lay beneath. Her dusky nipples were clearly visible and, gently guided by her knowing hands, he lowered his head to suckle first one and then the other until Josephine cried out his name.

  With a growl Traverson reared up and ripped her chemise open, tearing the delicate stays until her breasts spilled forth, her nipples already damp and glistening in the afternoon sun. She writhed beneath him, her clever fingers reaching down, down, down until she was able to slip beneath the waistband of his trousers and stroke along his hardened length.

  He trembled, his palms splaying flat across the ground as he braced himself against the heat that clutched greedily at him, threatening to spill his seed before his cock ever felt the silken wetness of Josephine’s sex.

  “Do you like that?” she cooed, the suggestive gleam in her eye telling him she knew exactly how close he was to coming as her hand worked up and down his arousal.

  “Stop,” he groaned, reaching between them to catch her wrist in an iron clad grip that left her pouting. Lifting her arm above her head, he captured her other hand with ease and, holding her pinned beneath him, slipped his own fingers beneath her skirts, pushing them up until they bunched around her thighs. “You are not wearing any undergarments,” he said, the shock on his face mirroring the shock in his voice as his fingertips trailed up against one bare thigh, the feel of her skin like the smoothest of silk.

  “Oh dear,” she said, not looking apologetic in the least. “I must have forgotten to put on my drawers this morning. You shall simply have to – oh,” she gasped as he found the core of her and easily slipped one finger inside to stroke, “oh Traverson… Yes…

  Keeping doing… Yes, just like that.”

  He joined another finger with the first, thrusting back and forth until Josephine writhed beneath him, tossing her head from side to side in mindless pleasure. She strained against his hold on her wrists, frustration showing in the set of her mouth and the little line that creased her forehead. Suddenly she stiffened, her eyes slanting closed, her lips parting…

  Traverson felt the heart of her sex clenching as she teetered on the edge, but he denied her release with a low chuckle as his fingers withdrew. The power of controlling the uncontrollable surged through him like a lightening strike, and even when Josephine’s eyes widened in distress and she begged him to touch her, to take her, to ravish her, he took dark delight in bringing her to the brink again and again, only to deny what she craved at the last second.

  Only when she had been reduced to mewling little pants of breath and her body was a quivering mass of unsatisfied arousal did he remove his pants and release her wrists. She was on him in an instant, her nails clawing down his back to his buttocks as her teeth found his ear and nipped painfully.

  “I will make you pay for that,” she hissed, and Traverson barely suppressed his smile. Make him pay for keeping her from coming again and again? He was counting on it.

  He allowed her to roll them over until she straddled his hips, her wild mane raining down like a golden curtain as she lowered her mouth to tease his nipples. Using her tongue, she began to trace a path down his body, licking and nibbling as she went until his breathing was ragged and every muscle in his body was tensed well before she took him into her mouth.

  “Bloody hell,” he gasped, letting his head fall back. He buried his fingers in her hair, coaxing her on even as he readied himself to tear her away. With a cat licking the cream little smile she slithered up his body and the naughty things she whispered in his ear as she positioned her sex over his aching cock caused his jaw to clench and his hands to curl into fists.

  Rearing back she plunged herself upon him, her breasts bouncing as she rode him up and down. He cupped her hips, urging her on, and when she cried out and he felt her wetness clench tight around his cock he came with a shout, thrusting into her again and again, until lightening truly did seem to strike the sky and thunder rumbled in the distance.

  Josephine lay sprawled across Traverson’s chest, eyes closed, limbs heavy, simply listening to his heart beat. His chest rose and fell in time with his breaths, and she absently traced a pattern around one exposed nipple.

  They had not, she realized with a deep sense of satisfaction, even bothered to take off all of their clothes. Her chemise was in tatters beside her, but she still wore her dress and Traverson his shirt.

  “Do
you know,” she murmured as she nestled into the curve of his shoulder, “I have never made love outside before.”

  Even before Traverson stiffened and rolled to the side, she knew it had been a foolish thing to say. Sitting up on one elbow, she reached towards him.

  “Do not,” Traverson said, his tone sharp as the fine edge of a knife. Standing, he searched for his trousers and, finding them discarded in a flock of yellow wildflowers, dressed quickly.

  Bewildered by his cold demeanor, Josephine’s brow furrowed. “Whatever is the matter?”

  “Cover yourself,” Traverson spat, ignoring her question as his eyes dropped to her naked breasts. “Is this how you draw the men back to your bed? By displaying your wares like a common trollop?”

  Josephine’s hiss of indignation was muffled by a sudden surge of crows that swooped low overhead, their dark wings casting shadows upon the meadow as they cackled amidst each other, their beady eyes shining bright. Clumsily pulling up her gown she sprang to her feet and just managed to avoid falling when her bare foot caught on the hem of her skirt. Not accustomed to being so graceless, she was out of breath by the time she managed to put herself to rights. Sweeping her unbound hair over one shoulder, she narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin.

  “Insults do not become you Traverson,” she said softly and without malice, refusing to be drawn into an argument. For once in her life she would face her problems as an adult, with no sarcasm or biting remarks to steal the attention from the actual topic at hand.

  “Yet they become you so well,” he returned. A muscle above his jaw she had never noticed before ticked wildly, indicating his anger ran well below the surface.

  Bewildered as to the source of his fury, she ventured a hesitant guess. “Are you… unsatisfied? Because I thought… That is to say what occurred was… Well, simply put…” Heavens. When was the last time she had been incapable of forming a complete sentence? Around Traverson , she thought. Only around Traverson.

  “Only as satisfied as I imagine the rest of the men you have slept with are,” he said bitingly, eyes flashing a stormy gray.

  So that was it. Josephine’s shoulders nearly sagged with relief. She could handle a bit of jealousy. Traverson had forgiven her before; he would do so again. She could not say in all honesty that she regretted her liaisons with the small handful of other men she had known intimately besides her husband, for in a roundabout way they had served to bring her here, to this very moment.

  Stepping forward, she went to wrap her fingers around his forearm. He yanked it away. She tried again. Then same result ensued. “Traverson,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. “You knew I have been… indiscriminate. But that is all in the past. I never expected to—”

  “To what?” he asked coldly. “To sleep with your own husband? How can you expect me to look you in the eye, knowing you have done the same with other men? How can you possibly expect me to believe you would be faithful now?” A frustrated sigh passed between his lips, and with a quiet oath he ran his hand through his hair and turned away, facing her with his back. His muscles knotted and clenched beneath his shirt, showing the tension he held within. “I loved you, Josephine. I loved you blindly, despite all of your faults. I loved you before I met you and I loved you after I married you. Yes, I knew you were with other men and I forgave you, for I also knew you did not marry me willingly. I thought, with time, that you would come to care for me… And I sense, in your own way, that you have. But knowing what I know now… Knowing how it can be between two lovers, and knowing that you have shared that experience with others… It is not enough. It can never be enough.”

  The first trickling of true panic slid uneasily down Josephine’s throat. “What – what do you mean? Traverson, what are you saying?”

  “Love is not enough,” he said flatly. “Love without trust is not enough. What I feel for you – what I felt for you – is not enough.”

  “But you knew!” Josephine cried. “You knew my past mistakes before we came together. I am sorry, Traverson. So sorry for what I have done, for how I have hurt you, but we can look past that now. We can move forward.” She swallowed hard. This was worse than any argument. Worse than any fight. In a fight one could explain away the hurtful things they said, blaming them on anger and spite. But now… Now every word Traverson said was calmly spoken, every word rang with truth, and every word brought her closer and closer to her knees.

  Slowly Traverson pivoted to face her. His hands, she noted dazedly, were clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white. “I am sorry as well,” he said, still not quite meeting her eyes. “I never should have come here. I never should have let this happen.”

  “I do not regret it. What we did, we happened between us… It was wonderful. More wonderful than I ever could – ever could have dreamed.” Something was burning the back of her eyelids. The unexpected pain made her voice crack, and when she tried to swallow the lump in her throat stopped her.

  “I do regret it and I am sorry it happened,” he said, finally lifting his gaze to stare straight at her.

  If Traverson had stabbed her a thousand times he could not have wounded her as deeply as speaking those ten words. Her mouth opened. Closed. No sound came out, and now she recognized the burning for what it was. Tears. She was about to shed tears, something she had not done since she was fifteen. Still, Josephine was not without her pride. Traverson could make her cry all he wanted, but she would be damned before she allowed the tears to fall in his presence.

  “Yes, well,” she began, using every ounce of strength she possessed to bring lightness to her tone. “If that is how you feel than that is how you feel. I would never dream of changing your mind. You had to lose your virginity sometime, Traverson. It might as well have been with me. I believe I will return to the estate now. I – I forgot I am attending the opera tomorrow evening and I will have to leave this afternoon if I am to return in time. Do be a dear and escort me back, will you not?”

  “I am sorry, but I cannot do that,” he said.

  Josephine blinked, then blinked again. She would not cry in front of Traverson. She would rather die first. Or be beset upon by a thousand snakes. Or writhe in a pit of boiling lava for all eternity. Anything was better than showing the man she loved how deeply he had wounded her. The worse part was she could not blame him – surely she would have done the same thing in his position. Why, the mere thought of him with another woman was enough to make her nauseous.

  Pasting a smile on her face, she dipped into a mocking curtsy, mumbled a few spare words of farewell, and fled.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You are leaving? But you only just got here.” Staring incredulously at her friend, Catherine perched her hands on her hips and shook her head vigorously from side to side. She had been doing much of the same since Josephine had marched down the stairs half an hour ago, bag in hand, and announced her departure. Since then the two women had been enclosed in the front parlor while Catherine did her best to change her friend’s mind and Josephine stared silently out the window.

  “Absolutely not,” Catherine continued, her eyes flashing a dangerous shade of blue. “If you and Traverson had a tiff then by all means go to your room until you feel better, but you cannot just leave! Why, more guests are arriving right before dinner and I —

  Josephine, are you even listening?”

  From across the parlor Josephine nodded slightly, indicating she heard everything that Catherine had said, but she still refused to say a single word.

  Three lines of worry appeared on Catherine’s forehead as her brow creased. She had never seen her friend at a loss of words before… Why, Josephine without anything to say was as uncanny as the sun refusing to rise. She looked ill as well, her normally bright cheeks washed of all color, her eyes devoid of their usual mischievous sparkle, and her erect bearing ruined by slumping shoulders.

  Catherine’s sturdy boots – she had been out on a ride with Marcus when a livery boy told her of Josephine’s su
dden desire to leave – sank into the thick gold and red floral carpet as she crossed the room and curved her arm around Josephine’s back. “Has something happened with Traverson?” she asked gently.

  Josephine nodded.

  “Was it something… bad?” Catherine ventured.

  Another nod.

  “Do you wish to talk about it?

  “No,” Josephine sighed. “Although I suppose I should.”

  Her face oddly blank and her voice devoid of any emotion, she went on to tell Catherine in no uncertain terms exactly what had transpired between her and Traverson. When she was finished she returned to staring out the window while Catherine struggled to understand why a man would hurt the woman he professed to love so dearly.

  Certainly she knew Josephine was no saint, nor was she hardly the innocent party, but Traverson could have washed his hands of her long ago. Instead he had chosen to ignore her indiscretions as only a hopeless romantic could. Once Catherine had commended him for his blind eye; now she was not so certain.

  How much different would it have been between them, she mused silently, if Traverson had taken a stand at the very beginning?

  If he had demanded Josephine stay faithful and true? Unfortunately, knowing Josephine as well as she did, the honest answer was that in doing so he would have certainly driven an irreparable wedge between himself his headstrong wife. Josephine was like a wild horse testing the boundaries of her new captivity. Snap the lead back too hard and you risked breaking her neck, or, in this case, any possibility of a future.

  Yet for the first time Josephine had gone to Traverson, not the other way around, and if everything she said was true – which Catherine had no reason to doubt – then she had offered herself to her husband with no holds barred… and he had turned her away.

  Men. Catherine rolled her eyes. They were complete bumbling fools when it came to women and Josephine’s husband was certainly no exception. Still, she liked the man, and still being of the opinion that he was a perfect match for her friend, decided then and there that she would do her best to help salvage their marriage.