Richard slid down into position beside Laura, a small smile hovering around his mouth. If he had to be in this predicament, there was no one he’d prefer tending to him. Her skills as a home-healer were remarkable and he’d trust her with his life. Or in this case, his sight.
He heard cloth ripping and turned his head. “If my ears aren’t playing me false, you ripped your linen.”
“Just a frill from my petticoat. For a bandage.”
He tensed, forced himself to remain still. “Damnation. Of all the times to not to be able to see. To ease an injured man’s troubled mind, you might at least show mercy and describe your actions.”
She chuckled, then began to dribble water over his left eye.
“Describe how you tore your petticoat. Slowly. How high did you lift it? Were your ankles exposed?”
“Did I mention you’re incorrigible?”
“Several times. Now, continue with your trim ankles… encased in red silk stockings… with matching garters…” Her tinkle of laughter soothed him as much as the cool water she applied to his burning eyes.
“Your imagination, sir, does you credit.”
After her washing duties were complete, he felt a damp cloth placed over his closed eyelids, a gentle pacification to the increasing sting which had begun to worry him. Permanent damage was unthinkable, and he’d no time to even consider the dreadful possibility in their present circumstances.
He issued instructions, and listened as she investigated the circumference of their dusty prison. As she worked her way around, foot by dusty foot, searching for a door and testing windows, she called back to him. A constant stream of typical Laura dialogue that he welcomed with open ears and a thankful heart. With her own fear of the dark, she’d understand better than anyone how this grated on his nature. How much he loathed being blocked from the light, forced to sit still for fear of stumbling into fallen debris and worsening his injury.
“Keep talking, please, so I know you’ve come to no harm.”
“The windows seem to be crisscrossed with bars. Barricaded from the outside. More than likely rusted.”
“Don’t try climbing too high and hurt yourself. Even we could shift one, it would be a long drop to the road outside.”
“Whoever owns this warehouse,” she called in an indignant voice, “should be ashamed. It’s falling to rack and ruin.”
His laughter rumbled up. “Should I point out the irony in that? Several blasts were set here not half an hour ago, my love. The most likely culprit being the owner. I don’t think upkeep weighs heavily on his mind.”
“Hers.”
He considered in silence, before calling back, “I assume you’re referring to Lady Hetherington.”
“Richard, tell me you’re not moving.”
“Goodness, what acute hearing. And yes, I shifted a crate directly behind me because I heard water. Perhaps there’s a pipe running into that barrel.”
“A pipe?”
He listened to the clatter of rubbish as she clambered over rubble to return to him and held his breath, waiting for a cry of distress, ready to go to her if she fell. Christ, sometimes he wished his Laura wasn’t quite so fearless. It literally robbed him of breath when she did things like that, things that put her life in danger.
Not until she touched his arm did he breathe easily, reassured when she knelt beside him on the floor. She took his fingers and directed them to the pipe she’d uncovered; a solid metal pipe.
“You’re wonderful,” she cried, and he felt her lips brush past his cheek in a quick salute of gratitude. “I didn’t think to follow the water source. What sort of scientist am I?”
“A beautiful and courageous one,” he replied automatically.
No reply from Laura. He cursed at not being able to see her face. Not being able to read her expression after his slip of the tongue.
Had he given too much away?
“Ah…the…ah…pipe,” she announced, her voice fading as she moved away from him, “runs into a barrel and water fills the wash basin from a side tap.”
He sighed. Had he ruined their friendship by saying too much? He’d long ago decided nothing could come of his never-ending infatuation with this woman, but he’d always hoped they could retain their camaraderie long into the future. Long after they were both wed to the type of spouses they’d pronounced many a time they desired.
“…and it disappears here, I think into the wall. Stay back while I climb in and look.”
By instinct, he moved in her direction, drawn to her voice like a child following the pied piper. “I smell water.”
“Yes, and close by, I think. In this wall, there’s a door. Disused, but a door nevertheless. I’ll clear a path in front of it. These crates look undamaged.”
“Come, guide me to you. I’ll shift the crates.”
She led him, with great care, to the back wall and placed his hands on crates so that, between them, they tugged and pushed and exposed the door.
“I can unpick the lock, I think.”
At her words, he put his ear flush against the wood and relayed any movement. “Yes. I can hear it starting to move. Keep turning the drop piece to the left. You’re doing beautifully, my sweet. A little more to the right. Slowly. Yes, it’s moving.”
He placed his hand over hers on the knob. “Please be careful, sweetheart.”
Another fleeting brush of her lips over his cheek before the door scraped. He reached for her hand, waited. But the only sound was the scratch of rodents’ claws on hard ground.
“I can smell produce. Vegetables. Perhaps wine. I can’t see much. Oh, barrels along each side of what looks like a tunnel. My nose tells me there’s air, fresh air, somewhere at the end.”
“If we’re going to escape that way, we need light. Dawn.”
“Yes. “He heard her deep sigh. “The tunnel’s dank and dark. And I don’t fancy rats nibbling on me.”
“No. Better to make our way out at first light.”
She tugged out his pocket watch and he imagined her squinting in the pale moonlight to read it. “Good. Still working.”
“Do you have your spectacles?”
“Yes. We’re fortunate. Your watch and my spectacles remained intact. “Another deep sigh from her. “If only your eyes hadn’t been hit.”
He reached for her hand, squeezed. I’m sure it’s only temporary. Besides, it didn’t prevent you from venting your spleen on me for not informing you.”
“Nothing will prevent me from informing you when you make mistakes, my lord. Nothing.” He chuckled as she took his hand and led him into their nest, and fussed around to make him comfortable.
“I found a couple of coarse rugs we can sleep on.”
“So, four or five hours until we can see to escape.”
“Here.” She pushed an apple into his hand. “Our gourmet meal is served, my lord. And I’ve a bottle of wine, if you’ve your knife to uncork it?
“Of course, dear lady,” he replied formally, happy to join her game if it would ease her fear and pass the time. “Always happy to serve a gentlewoman her wine.” He extracted his knife from his boot and opened the bottle. “After you, little one.”
He listened to her long swallows, squirmed when she slurped on the mouth of the bottle, and imagined those same strong throat muscles performing the same motions on him. On his mouth. On his body. He squirmed even more and blessed the lack of light; blessed the dark hiding that body from her inquisitive eyes.
“Ah, yes.” She touched his hand to push the bottle into his fingers and he jumped. “One of the best vintages I’ve ever tasted.”
Like her, he drew long and strong on the bottle’s neck, until she reached back again and tugged the wine from his grip.
He listened to her take several more swallows over the next five or ten minutes. She interspersed her drinking with short lectures on his stupidity in thinking she was the sort who would panic under this sort of pressure. For believing she wasn’t as capable as him. She stopped only when she hiccoughed, loudly.
He chuckled. “I think, little love, that may be plenty for you for now.”
A slight tug of war ensued, until, not wanting to hurt her fingers, he released it. More gulps, more rapid swallows, sounding very loud in the peace of their temporary haven. Once again, he covered her hand and used more force to retrieve the bottle.
“Oh, no. No, it’s wonderful. I want more.”
“Sweetheart, drinking more wine won’t magically make your surroundings light. But I’m here, with you, and I swear I’ll keep you safe from everything terrifying about the darkness.”
“Even rats?” She hiccoughed again.
“No rodents will dare come near us, I promise.”
He moved his courageous accomplice closer, tucked her under his shoulder and wrapped his hand around his arm. Her fears hung between them, unspoken, but hopefully his presence would be enough to damp down her anxieties until daylight. Her body rocked as hiccoughs popped up, several times in succession, and then her body slumped heavily into his side. Wine, fright, and exhaustion had taken their toll.
Her murmured words were almost too low, too slurred, for him to catch. “…wanted my own knight in shining armor… Cayle… to Becca.” She sighed, a deep inhalation that lifted her shoulder under his arm.
“… never thought I’d have …strong …”
Her words faded as she drifted deeper into slumber, though it’d surely be an uneasy one. Hard ground and two prickly rugs laid between crates didn’t make for a comfortable sleeping chamber. By using his jacket, he created a makeshift pillow for their heads and then, with her in his arms, he slid down to a full recline. They needed to snatch a couple of hours’ sleep, so they’d have their wits about them if they encountered anyone on their escape route.
When he woke, he estimated an hour or two had passed, and her even breathing indicated she’d fallen into a deeper sleep than his. Her hair tickled his nostrils. Her curves molded, flush against his side, and despite the boy’s clothes she wore, every rounded arch reminded him she was pure woman. A very desirable woman.
Beneath the blanket, she wiggled her bottom, shifting backwards in search of warmth, and pressing into his groin. His erection jumped into full awareness, long before his mind caught up.
He groaned. Bloody hell. Recite something; poetry, something long-winded. Anything to shift his mind from the unbridled lust he felt, the ache of unacknowledged and unacceptable want always lurking just below his senses when he was in her presence. Each and every time her delectable rear end, those soft pillows of flesh, pushed against him, he was forced to grit his teeth.
If not for the regular in-out motion of her chest beneath his taut arm, he’d swear the minx was wide awake and deliberately tormenting him. Punishing him, driving him insane.
Under his breath, he started to hum the first ditty springing to mind.
There once was a barmaid named…
No! Sailors’ songs about prostitutes and whoring would make it far worse. Though now his mind had fixed on women with pendulous breasts, women with figures ripe to be used as models for ships’ mastheads, plus all the things drunken sailors sang about. The pleasurable things they did with these women.
Not helping.
He eased back his thighs, retracted the muscles in his groin, desperate to ease the throbbing pressure. But Laura, following his most heated part, kept backing into him. She wriggled, circled and nearly sent him screaming. He clenched his jaw. Surely she would awaken soon. Surely he could allow her a little more warm repose.
Listing his stock portfolio distracted him briefly, long enough for his tense body to relax, for the cramps in his muscles to ease. She moaned, and in her sleepy state moved one hand arm. Without sight, he was helpless to see what troubled her, and he wasn’t fast enough to soothe her back to sleep. If she awoke now, with him as randy as a paddock bull, her quick mind was likely to recognize his predicament. She had two brothers and two scientifically astute sisters. Not to mention a great-aunt whom, he was certain, neglected nothing in educating her extremely inquiringly-minded girls about marital relations.
“Sore shoulder,” she muttered.
After an inward sigh of relief, he reached across and walked his fingers up her arm until he reached the spot to rub, the spot her hand lingering hand indicated.
“Ummm. Nice,” she purred in a pampered-kitten voice.
Before he’d registered her intention, she rolled. A complete roll ending face to face, her front pressed tightly into his taut body. He hauled in a breath, stilled, tried to shift back, away from her, as much as possible in the confined space. Her uppermost leg lifted and hooked over his, anchoring him in place.
“Northern Railways. Two hundred and twenty-five shares. East Manchester Mining Company. One hundred and thirty shares. Middleshire Coal–”
“What are you muttering about?”
“Keeping my mind active. Reciting my shares.”
Soft fingers touched his cheek and he flinched. “Is there something I can do to help you relax?”
Her innocent question, accompanied by drifting fingers down his face, to his neck, and coming to rest over his heart, sent a myriad of erotic images on a mad race through his head; a dozen different solutions to relieve his excruciating tension; ideas leapfrogging over one another in the hurtle to the finish line and gain the honor of being acted out by Luscious Laura.
Lord help him! No way could he survive another half-hour of this torment, not without following the lead of this building and exploding from within. A lazy hand drifted across his chest, toyed with his vest buttons, and then breached the defensive wall of heavy brocade to dip beneath. To delve further, to tiptoe under his linen shirt. Every muscle tightened. Despite the chill, beads of sweat broke out across his forehead.
“You…are…the devil incarnate.” He gripped his shirt, held the tails to his trousers, and shoved her hand away from bare skin. He swallowed. “A temptress. Sent to dissolve my vows about not touching you. You, my love, are trying to shatter my promises to the men in your family. Those same chaps who vowed to rip the arms off any rake caught within breathing distance of their sisters.”
With her nose buried in his chest, she giggled.
“Proving my point. Only a girl who is naive–” She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Very well, through your readings of medical and anatomical articles, you consider yourself well-informed about matters of the bedroom. But if you continue trifling with me here, in our very intimate position, which I’ll hasten to explain to your aunt wasn’t of my doing, but something born of necessity–”
A hand covered his mouth. “Richard, you’re babbling. You appear to be rather over-excited.”
“Listen, little she-devil. My nerves aren’t the only part of my anatomy overexcited. You’ve been rubbing up against me, touching me. I’m not made of stone, you know?”
Silence, and he didn’t need light to know she would be frowning, pondering the matter. Head tipped slightly to the right, a tiny pucker between her brows her lips would be pursed in the delightful position which always reminded him of kissing.
“Ooh.”
“Yes, ooh. Now, if you’ve any intention of arriving home with your virtue intact, you’ll roll away from me. ”
“Hmmm. What if I don’t?”
He moaned. “Take pity upon me. I’m barely able to cling to gentlemanly behavior. To not fall upon you in a fit of lust. But I’ll not last–”
Her lips touched his, robbed him of words, and his last remnant of manly resolve. Gently caressing, her mouth rubbed his, allowed him to feel the wet plumpness of her lips, absorb her sweet taste. Without lifting his mouth, he moaned, quieter this time. The moan of a man whose will had been sucked out of him by a tempting mouth, whose surrender was inevitable when a willing woman was kissing any protests away.
More licks and sips, more brushes of petal-soft lips on his mouth, and his body shifted, changed, readied. Flight no longer seemed an option. Fighting impossible. Widening his mouth, he took back control of their kisses, lifted and spread himself until she lay beneath him, pliant, willing, and learning from the master.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
His head pounded, his blood rushed, the beat like jungle drums. A relentless rhythm, over and over. The kiss became hungry. He wanted to devour her, nibble, gobble and eat her every way possible. Taste her every taste, feast from her body as he already adored feeding on snippets of information she hand-fed him from her fast-whirling mind. With his lips, his hands, his senses, he opened himself to her and tried, at least in his humbly physical way, to demonstrate his need for her. A craving that ripped apart his carefully-built defenses, leaving him exposed and raw with wanting.
Their kisses were endless, on and on and on, as they tried to shift even closer, so close they ended wrapped together like clinging vines. Impossible to tell where one started and the other ended.
He ran his hands up and down her body, feverishly, memorizing her dips and valleys, wanting to fix her luxuriously rounded flesh into his senses to be brought out and remembered time and again. For no matter how good this was, they both knew it wouldn’t stand the test of daylight, society, family stresses and their own hard-held notions of marriage. Better to savor the moment, remember it, and be able to recall it later.
His mouth moved to her neck, remembering the swathe of pure white skin he’d glimpsed earlier when he’d collected her in his carriage and she’d bent forward to descend. Her graceful neck, bountiful bosom…oh, hell…he wanted it all. Wanted to declare aloud that same refrain….
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Her warehouse-breaking-into outfit was an eclectic mix of her brother’s out-grown clothing, yet it had looked anything but boyish on her. He tugged away the knotted kerchief she’d worn, pulled aside the two collar pieces. He could recall in exquisite detail the slash of white skin dipping into her ball gowns, and now he ran his tongue down, traced the path he could find unerringly, even blind, and felt the twitch in his groin, the extra hardening in response.
“Your skin is so white, here.” His tongue flicked down the enthralling dip, then licked a path back up each side to nuzzle the underside of her neck. “And here.”
His teeth nipped at one earlobe, and beneath him, she shivered, arched, and made a breathless little sound of arousal prettier than any bird’s song. When he tongued the inner shell of her ear, she lifted from the floor and pressed upwards, pushed against his length, made tiny movements back and forth until he throbbed so hard he was certain she could feel it through their clothing.
Until he moaned aloud, though not attractive sounds, but raw, needful, agonized noises of a highly aroused male. While he busily expressed his adoration for each new part of her anatomy he exposed, she, not being a complacent sort of female, decided to return his attentions. And not in a passive way. Oh, no. His little minx didn’t understand the meaning of passive. Her busy fingers tugged so many times his shirt came loose and, with her normal impatience, her fists gripped the hems and jerked, wrenching his shirt with utter disregard for the cost of fine linen up his chest. Not that he wanted to stop her. Breaking off his work around her neck and head, he lifted and hauled his shirt up and over his head. He tossed it behind him, not caring where it landed. Only caring her sweetly caressing hands returned to touch his bare skin, finished their exploration, put him out of his misery.
“Laura, Laura, Laura.” As her palms slipped up and over his chest, and hesitated at his nipples, he chanted her name and, by flattening his palms over hers, showed her how to circle over his tiny, but tight-pulled, nipples.
“So much smaller than mine.”
He gave a low raw chuckle. “And yours will be even more sensitive when I touch yours. Yet, the feel of your hands on me, there, is exquisite torture.”
Another little hesitation, another pondering silence. “Really. You like it?
He groaned, dipped to kiss the back of her hand where it lay on his heaving chest. “More than like it, love. You can bring me undone with one finger.”
“And will you touching my–mine, have the same effect?”
Using instinct for direction, he bent to her lips. Another long, languid kiss. More sweet little pants, more nails digging his neck, gripping tightly, holding him in place. He almost laughed. He’d lost all will to run. Lost the urge to back away, act in a gentlemanly fashion. Having gone this far, he’d die without at least a taste of her. Without the chance to keep her next to his body for a short time.
“If you enjoy kissing, sweetheart, when I touch your breasts,” he reached between them to lay an open palm over her swollen breast, undone by the sharp pointed- nipple already protruding, already begging for his touch. “When my fingers rub your sensitive nipples, your body will come alive in ways you’ve never imagined. You’ll know what it’s like to want, you’ll begin to crave things the same way I hunger for you.”
She kissed him again, lightly, then leaned back to consider. “But I already do. Want more. Want whatever you can show me.”
An inner battle raged, but fell defeated. Telling himself he’d stop soon, very soon, he vowed to give her a simple taste of passion. No more. Not because she didn’t want it. He knew, had heard, felt, inhaled the signs. The scent of arousal filled the air around them, from him, from her. Inhaling deeply, he drew in her intoxicating odors. To know her acute response was to kisses, or his hands, thrilled him beyond belief.
The drum beats grew louder, stronger: claim her, claim her. She’s yours.
Choice was ripped from his hands when she pushed onto an elbow and pulled her shirt from her trouser waist, using the same frantic action as when she’d stripped him. When she lifted her arms, he grasped the shirt and pulled it skyward, to fling it away in the same uncaring fashion that he’d discarded his clothing. All that mattered was baring their bodies for each other’s enjoyment.
His fingers felt lace, the neck of her chemise, a feminine flimsy garment that would be glaringly at odds with the masculine coverings she’d worn. The disparity struck a boxer’s upper-cut-knockout-blow to his already strained senses.
His fingers curled around the ties of chemise, gripped, argued, “Stop. A gentleman would stop. Because going any further…with you…” A dozen scenarios raced through his head regarding him, with her.
... Most likely an innocent—despite her adopted air of worldliness.
…One whom he…admired—oh, so very, very much.
…The sister of his friends--who’d challenge him to a duel.
…Related through his cousin--who’d kill him, without the duel.
Therefore, a cowardly retreat seemed the sanest option. “Laura, I can’t—”
She covered his shaking hands with her own, shifted his fingers, loosened the ties, laid open the placket, and placed his hands, flat, still trembling, on her warm, soft flesh. “Richard, I’ve no idea the topic of your muttered inner debate, nor, at this particular moment, do I damn well care. Though if it’s some idiotic notion of playing the gentleman, I’ll not stand for…”
“Sweetheart, wait, please wait.”
He pulled his hands away from the temptation of skin and flesh and woman, and groaned. Women, many, many women, if he were to be honest, had tantalized him with glimpses of clothing, various types, from ribald to silk lingerie from French designers. Dozens had discarded those layers of clothing, also in various positions, habitués, or during well-executed plans to impress or entrap him. Some for coin, some with hopes of becoming his countess.
None had struck a chord in the same way as Laura’s contrasting layers.
For something to do with his fists, wavering as if fighting the urge to delve into the snug crevice below her chemise, he grasped his head, forgot his injury and dislodged her bandage with his agitated actions.
“Hell! It’s impossible to think. Not rationally. Not when you’re lying there, half-naked,” he waved one hand towards her and scowled when she giggled, “tempting me, taunting every smidgen of honor I possess.”
“So, I tempt you, do I?” Her voice, husky, close, made him groan again and grip the hand she’d decided to trail up and down his cheek to further distract him. He needed no further distraction, her hot scent drifting towards his nostrils each time she leaned upwards to stroke him, to mock him, was agony enough.
“You know you do. But if I were to continue…if a man shows someone like you…a young lady—”
Her limbs went rigid beside and beneath him. No, no, no, his own body cried. Stay with me. Don’t leave me, don’t reject me. Not yet at least, not until he explained. Not until he delivered The Earl’s Speech of Regret. The one he painstakingly addressed to each and every woman before he flirted with her at a ball, or dallied with her in a garden, considered bedding her or, whatever the case might be.
He caught her hands, imploring her understanding through body language and his carefully chosen words. Not for her would his well-practiced, sincerely-spoken sermon suffice. The one expressing profound regrets that his situation of raising four sisters tied his hands regarding marriage for some considerable years.
Not for her were his usual platitudes that in other circumstances she, whomsoever the female of the month happened to be, would be his preferred bride above all others. For she, his friend, his nemesis, would accept nothing less than authenticity and sincerity. Now, if only she’d listen.
“Richard, if you dare to deliver your infamous putdown to me, of all people, the one you use to warn off every female from sixteen to sixty, the Earl-Of-Winchester-Regrets-He-Cannot-Marry-You thing, you’re so renowned for, I swear I’ll not be responsible for my actions.”
“Good Lord. You mean you’ve heard it?”
“Half the women in London, and ones younger than sixteen and older than sixty, can probably repeat it verbatim. You’ve been quoted, frequently, when un-entangling yourself from some convoluted situation. Women have actually fought over you, incredible as it seems to me, and men copy parts of it to break off their own relationships with women. Please don’t say you weren’t aware of this.”
He chuckled, and she made a strange noise, almost a growl. He wished he could see her face. “Well, perhaps I’ve given advice to the occasional unfortunate man, who has been trapped by an overeager female and he wants to avoid the parson’s noose. Though the bit about women fighting over me is rather flattering, don’t you think? Ouch! You pinched me.”
“Regarding your disputable attractions as a husband, I assure you I’ve no need to hear your regrets before we proceed. As long as you’ve no regrets afterwards, I’ll be happy. You know I feel the same as you about marrying for propriety’s sake. I’d rather live out my days in seclusion on a Scottish mountain, than be forced to marry someone over trivial details.”
‘That trivial detail could become the loss of your innocence, if we let things get out of hand, here, tonight, my love. My control can only be stretched so far, and you’ve always enjoyed pulling my chain, testing me to the limit.”
“Tonight, I don’t care what normally happens between us. Nor what happens after. Nor will I hold you to blame. Not when my body burns hotter than a furnace, my limbs won’t keep still, and my senses are stretched, fit to burst. If I don’t get something…something I can’t even name…something you know about, can give me. Release from this torment. All I know, Richard, is that I need you. Now. Desperately. If necessary, I’ll beg.”
He’d always considered her character as layer upon layer of intriguing traits and quirks, but now, in broken and filthy surroundings, she’d stripped away the last covering with her own hands. Revealed the hidden gem at the center. Offered it to him, openly. A more delicate, more precious layer. Definitely a more enticing one.
“Oh, little one, you’ve no idea how glad I am to be the one you want to show you, to introduce you to new experiences. I’d give half my fortune to see you right now, spread like a feast for a man long starved for the sight before me. Though my eyes are blind, all my other senses are open to every part of you. Every precious inch of you I long to touch, to taste, to lick and to savor.”
Her rising excitement, thankfully a match to his own wildly escalating passion, flooded those senses demonstrated by a sharp catch of breath, a violent vibration of her body, a shudder or shake through her limbs at every caress by his hands, which were now spread widely over her chemise. Over her breasts. Her tightening nipples. He felt them under his fingers.
“Your nipples are calling to me, begging me, wanting me to take them between my teeth and roll them and squeeze them and taste them until your flavor fills my mouth–”
Once more her hand covered his mouth.
“Richard, I never realized how much you talked before. No wonder we fight. But at this moment, I need actions. Not more words.”
He nodded. “I can do that.” He slid his hands under the chemise and hooked his thumbs into the scalloped lace hem to drag it upwards with his hands. As his palms skimmed over the round globes of her breasts on their northward journey, he groaned again.
“Perfect. You’re so perfect. Oh, God, I need light.”
He felt rather than saw her head shake. “No, this is perfect. Being here with you. Here, in the dark, I can be someone else. Someone besides Lady Laura, the odd Jamison sister. Loud, often incoherent, and generally…” He leaned close to catch the softly-spoken word, “…misunderstood.” The saddest word.
“I understand you perfectly,” he said without thinking, busy removing her chemise without tangling her hair.
Her small hesitations, her small catches on words of emotion, were so much easier to read when he could see her eyes, when he could watch as she screwed up kerchief after kerchief into tight balls. Or ripped them to shreds, which is how many of his ended when they argued.
Perhaps he should simply stop offering his perfect squares of perfect linen, about which his valet lamented loudly after they were returned ripped, shredded, or sodden. Although, if he stopped offering when she’d used her supply of linen, she’d be too embarrassed to accept from any other gentleman their proffered personal item. So far as he knew, she’d never considered why, of all people, she didn’t refuse his, her professed nemesis, whenever he pressed his urgently-needed linen into her hand.
Though unable to see the nuances of her emotions this time, he could interpret this one. “It’s easy to notice the more–” A small jab to his ribs. “I was about to say… interesting qualities about you. Your eccentricities,” another jab, “tiny ones to be sure, make you far more fascinating than most young ladies.”
“If I’m so fascinating, why do you–”
“Now who’s talking too much?” He chuckled. “Perhaps we could discuss other fascinating things about you, after. After exploring your, to me, far more intriguing physical side.”
With a sigh, he settled to his task, his extremely pleasurable task. Flattened palms ran in unison over the two tightly squeezed buds pushing out in demand from swollen breasts, equally eager, equally determined to claim his attention. Under his palms, his fingers, her muscles undulated, her chest rose and fell in a faster and faster rhythm, her skin rippled with sudden spasms, as he found and tormented particularly sensitive areas.
And he reveled in every squirm, every wriggle and every moan. This is what he’d waited for all his life, this moment of pure enjoyment, yet an act of unselfish pleasure-giving. Not that he ever left his bed partners unsatisfied. But right now he was content, more than content, to administer every type of sensation and experience to her willing form, and spend the entire night admiring his success, enjoying with her every miniscule of feeling and anticipation.
Sensing her climb, inch by writhing inch, higher and ever higher towards something wondrous, something she trusted him to provide for her, filled him with immense gratitude. Knowing he was the one she’d chosen filled him with pride, and possession. Mentally, he shook his head. It always came back to that with her: that feeling of possession, of wanting to reach out and claim her for his own, even though he’d spent many a night reminding himself why such an outcome would prove disastrous.
He pinched each nipple between two fingers, tugged, rolled, ‘til his she-devil squirmed like a worm on his hook and begged with a mix of grunts, moans and demands for him to stop, yet never stop. When her tormented noises edged towards shrieks, part-pleasure part-tingling-pain, and he judged she’d reached the edge, he took a long slow draw on her elongated nipple, using the sharp edge of his teeth to drag it through a drawn-out release from his mouth.
He shuddered, the pleasure almost killing him. If he hadn’t been reclining, he’d have been brought to his knees. This perfect peak was given all the attention it deserved, his hand cupping her begging breast and finally lifting it fully to his mouth, securing it with his teeth and fingers against her out-of-control wiggles and squirms. Sliding across her chest with a long lick, he located the ignored breast, and at her urging, lavished it with the same concentrated treatment. Eventually, she grasped his head, pulled him away, her breathing jerky, her body twitching uncontrollably.
“Richard, oh, my goodness, Richard! Oh, you need to stop. Oh, my.”
With one hand cupped around a breast and the other tangled in her disarrayed hair, pins holding it under her cap having long since disappeared, he looked up. Held his breath, waited. If she asked him to stop, he would, naturally, despite it being the most arduous task he’d ever faced.
“No, no, not the pleasure. Stop your infernal tormenting and teasing. Do something. I can’t stand it.” She grabbed hold of his wrist with both hands, shaking it, pleading, and begging. “You’ve years of experience. Fix this. Fix me. I’m about to explode. Shatter. Then nothing!” Her voice rose to a fevered chant as she shook his arm. “Do. Something. Now!” The last words screamed in his ear.
He chuckled and she stabbed his chest with a finger, punctuating her angrily-issued instructions. “Do. Not. Laugh. This is serious.”
Try as he might, he couldn’t smother his laughter, knowing the guffaws bubbling up every few seconds would raise her ire, rather than her excitement. He silently thanked the heavens their first adventure into sensuality was in a deserted area, not her bed chamber or an ante room off a crowded ballroom. At least Loud Laura could scream the roof off, or what remained of it, and nobody would hear.
“Shush, shush, sweetheart. I love knowing you’re so eager to learn more about passion with me. But.”
“Damn you! I sense one of your big brother lectures on behavior coming.”
“The last thing I feel is brotherly. I want to be your teacher, your lover, not a family member struggling to do the honorable thing. This is neither the time nor the place to take your innocence, little one. I’ll ease your pain though, relieve your rising pressure. But you must promise not to push me for anything else. The rest of the time we’ll resist excitement. Discuss the weather.”
He felt her nod. Whether she’d keep her word after he’d introduced her to her first taste of pleasure was debatable. He’d laid out variations of these restrictions, alongside reminders of the short duration of his liaisons, numerous times before. With numerous other women. And on many, many occasions he recalled, those women later paid absolutely no heed to his rules. Rules he’d set out before their very first contact, before their first assignation for mutual gratification. Women were not to be trusted in these affairs.
“No, listen to me. On the aspect of our time together, I’m making it clear. This is one occasion, one only. No repeat performances. No demands, no begging, no pleading for another night. No opportunity for your brothers, or Cayle, to discover what happened. No chance of them challenging me to pistols at dawn.”
“Do not dare compare me to any one of your previous mistresses. I’ve nothing in common with the preening empty-headed widows you generally escort about town. And I’ve no desire to monopolize your time. Nor your always-in-demand body. Plus, I’ve no more desire to be trapped into a relationship than you.” He heard her sigh, the softening of her tone. “Give me this one time, one chance to understand what more there may be to marriage. Knowledge to help me choose, at a later date, a husband who’ll suit me in every way. If I’ve never experienced the delights as men are so free to do, how can I make judgments on whether a gentleman, or the next after him, will provide the right stimulation? Excite me to an extent such as you have tonight. If I don’t find a husband, one who meets my requirements in every way, including the bedroom, I’ll happily remain a spinster. Knowing I at least investigated every possibility, examined every avenue.” She huffed. “Now, will you please shut up and move on to the next lesson.”
He chuckled. “Absolutely, my delightfully demanding miss.” He reached down and unbuttoned the flap of her trousers. “Lift up,” he ordered, while tugging the trousers over her bottom and down her legs.
Leaving them tangled in her stockings and boots would thankfully provide another large road block, supposing passion carried him away and he missed the point at which he’d vowed his lesson in seduction must halt. His wandering hand touched warm and arousal-dampened flesh on its northward journey, and he sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of her hidden flesh moving under his.
“No–no drawers,” he said between short gulps for air.
“Impossible to fit them under this clothing. Do you know how difficult it is too keep one of these wretched shirts tucked in? Keep the tails secured?”
“I do have some experience with that problem.”
“And I imagined only women had problems with clothing when–”
His fingers eased through her nest of hair, the curls twining around his fingers, his imagination filling in their color. Raven’s wing dark, with a blue sheen, even down there. A sharp jolt of arousal had his erection jerk, twitch against her thigh, and his fingers unconsciously tightened and pulled.
“Ouch!”
“Oh, damn, sorry,” he muttered, hauling back on the reins of his self-control. Stopped his over-active imagination before it took any giant leaps forward and dived into the wetlands he sensed a fraction out of finger-reach. Seducing Laura, or rather not seducing Laura, was proving infinitely harder than contemplated, and he’d assumed drawing a line, not crossing boundaries, would require every scrap of willpower.
Wiggling one finger between the lowest part of her folds, he tested her response.
“Ooh, ah, ah, ah, ooh.”
While she chanted a barely-comprehensible string of encouragements and audible displays of enjoyment, she arched, bucked and squirmed, although so far, he’d only inserted a forefinger, pushing it ever-so-slowly higher. When he brought her to orgasm, she was so responsive she’d quite possibly leap clear out of their little hidey-hole.
Groaning with a mix of agony yet delight at her response, he battled to ignore the throb and swell in his groin, the hardening and growing length of his arousal as it screamed for the same attention. But no. His vow was to make this night entirely about her, her voyage of discovery. Even if it killed him. Her first experience would be joyous, exciting, leaving her panting for more. Resolutely, he pushed aside the image of another man having the privilege of teaching her the next lesson. For now at least, she was his.
A mere graze of her swollen nub, no longer hidden as the folds became engorged, saw her back arch, made her thrust herself forcefully into his waiting hand. He circled with his palm and with increasing pressure on the outside of her mound, continually dipping further, probing deeper at the same time. Two fingers could now slide inside with ease, twist, probe, retreat. Until she ran wet, the excess of juices dribbling between his fingers and down her thighs.
“Oh, God, you’re so wet. So ready for me.”
Her passage was soft, wide and brimming. Three fingers slipped inside, impaled her, and with the uttermost effort, he focused his other hand’s efforts outside. A repetitive motion, round and round; rub and soothe, caress and pat and reward. Beneath him fully now, for she could stand no less, Laura panted, strained, reached, urged him to faster action.
‘Reach for it, love. That’s it. Now. Let it come. Yes. Come for me. Now, Laura. Show me. Show me how much you want it. How much you want me.”
His thumb swirled in a merciless pace, while his plunging fingers relentlessly drove her, faster and faster, a frantic rhythm her body matched until, on an upwards buck, she screamed. A high-pitched wail of release, and eruption to out-do any one of her favorite island volcanoes.
Moving with lazy circles and caresses, he allowed her to ride out the violent climax, waited until her movements slowed, her breathing eased, and her clutch on his arm and shoulder relaxed. It took several minutes before her breathing returned to normal and she flopped back. Her only noises then were tiny whimpers, reassuring him, because a non- talkative Laura terrified him, alerted him something was awry.
“That was…so…so much more…more than I ever dreamed being with a man could possibly be.”
He snorted, leaned back, a spent man. “That, my innocent, was a teaser, a miniscule taste, of the pleasure to be enjoyed between a man and a woman.”
She pushed up to sit beside him. Her hand touched his face, a gentle caress which undid him as much as any of her explosive screams of appreciation.
“Forgive me, for my selfishness.”
Unable to see her face, and unable to comprehend the meaning behind her words, he frowned. “It’s never selfish to find pleasure at another’s hand, love.”
“No, but you didn’t…you didn’t…”
Her hand touched his chest and trailed downwards, towards his waistband, where it lingered, drumming and touching, a tantalizing inch from his bulging and painful erection.
The witch would assuredly kill him tonight, one way or another.
“Ahem!” He flattened her hand with his, held it motionless while he fought to haul back on those continually slipping reins, and regain his composure. “I didn’t find my own release, is that it?”
“Yes. And don’t laugh at me, Richard. I may be a beginner pupil, but I do know men find it extremely painful. Um, if, ah, they don’t do…you know, what I did.”
“Ah, yes, you’re a quick study, my sweet. Passion runs hot in your Jamison blood.” He placed a tender and lingering kiss in the center of her palm. Cleared his throat. “Although my gratification may have been postponed, I nevertheless gained an enormous amount of satisfaction hearing, and helping, you reach your peak. To know you were so aroused, so eager to experience those things with me, here, for your first time. Well, it swells a man’s head. Makes him feel ten feet tall. And with you, it was special.”
“You mean because we called a truce? Our pretending to be friends instead of arch enemies.”
“Not that, no. Deep down, you and I have always understood our bond, even if no one else has. We know it’s too strong to ever be broken. Our families believe it to be a catastrophe our temperaments clash so often.” Lifting her hand again, he trailed kisses from her wrist upwards along her arm. “For my part, I find our arguments are often the most exciting part of my day.”
“After tonight, I agree.” Her sigh puffed out against his palm. “Our times together can never be called boring.”
Feeling around, he groped for their clothes. Leaning over to help him, one bare breast brushed his cheek. A mistake, a huge mistake, with his nerves so on edge, with his arousal still in full force. He stiffened and groaned. Planted his palms firmly on the blanket and willed himself not to lift them, not to touch the lemon-scented flesh so close to his nose. One long sniff was all he allowed himself before he turned his head, pretended it hadn’t happened, though the memory of a sweet-smelling breast pressed to his cheek would see him toss and turn during many a night to come.
Daylight seemed too far distant.
Too many long tense hours to pass before then. So the moment the sky lightened and the surrounding blackness started to recede, he shook Laura awake, perhaps more roughly than necessary. Better to distance himself now and indicate, in the clear and precise fashion he excelled at in business dealings, how they would proceed when facing the outside world. Reality awaited them and, loathe as he was to step into it, he knew they must, and quickly.
“Wake up. It’s time to go.”
He waited until she stirred and opened her eyes, looked up at him.
Pushing herself into a sitting position, she reached up as if to touch his face. “You can see me this morning.”
He nodded. “A little. My vision is blurred, though I can now distinguish shapes, which is a blessing.”
“Thank goodness. Hopefully, that indicates no lasting damage.”
“Indeed. Though, if I was blind, my sisters would no longer be able to accuse me of burying myself in newspaper stock reports each morning.”
She stared at him, blankly.
He sighed. “I meant it as a jest, Laura. Obviously, there’d be major inconveniences to my being blind. But come now.” He offered his hand to help her stand. “We need to find our way out of this rubble before those men return. If the find no bodies, they may convince themselves, and their employers, that the lights in the office were nothing to be concerned about. A trick of the moonlight.”
“I hope you’re right.”
He sighed, and hoped for that small piece of good fortune as well. Normally, he held an almost arrogant confidence in his own abilities to unravel the intricacies of puzzles. Generally, he could fire his mind in several directions at once, a handy trait when he needed to think like others. Such as the two criminals who’d too soon be unbarring the warehouse’s door.
“Their coarse language,” she was saying, “indicates they live in one of the areas around Cheapside. Perhaps nearer the docks.”
He heard in her voice a frown, knowing she’d puzzle over their inflections until she decided in exactly which area they resided. Her ear for voices was as remarkable as her nose for scents. Many times he’d witnessed her astounding a group of acquaintances by detecting the precise area in which they’d passed their childhood. And after listening to a mere few minutes of their speech.
“Your skill amazes me.”
He pictured her shrug, the one she gave whenever he, or her multitude of persistent admirers, paid her compliments. And again, her sense of inferiority stirred his irritation with her. “Why will you not accept compliments with good grace? Why don’t you ever believe I mean the ones I offer?”
Her trill of laughter annoyed him further, with its obviously false note. “Richard, I’ve listened to you pay compliments of the same ilk to numerous other ladies. Naturally, I assume yours to me are offered in the same vein as all the others. Pretty words spoken to entrance. To lure with your charms. To draw the next conquest to your bed, for another meaningless encounter.”
“Ha! I didn’t speak pretty words last night, yet you succumbed to my charms, quite willingly, as I remember it.” He let his anger deflate. “And, my love, our encounter was far from meaningless. At least, on my part.”
He heard her loud swallow. Waited for a word of agreement, a crumb thrown to a waiting hungry bird.
“Let me bathe your eyes before we leave.”
Ah, his wishes weren’t to be. He tried to catch her hand, but grasped only air. Blast this woman. Another conversation he’d not wanted to start, yet when started, he became obsessed with seeing it through to the end. With hearing a truthful answer from her. And yet another time, when she’d avoided a direct answer with an adroitness born of extensive experience evading rakes and roués and every other sort of unsuitable men her brothers warned her away from.
Yes, yes, especially him. So why, then, did he continue to wait for her to speak a kind word to him, a word of encouragement, and a word of truth?
She bathed his eyes with blessedly cool water and led him by the hand through the maze of upended crates and spilled barrels. Sight came and went in bursts of gray and white, shapes moved and sometimes formed into substance, but without her guidance he’d have turned black and blue from tripping over obstacles. Even so, they banged shins and stubbed toes often enough to cause them both considerable discomfort.
“Now, I’m putting my trust in you to lead us out. Trust in yourself, Laura. Use your remarkable gift and open your senses to the smells around us. I know you can distinguish the scents, separate the smells. Fruits, vegetables–”
“Wine. Barrels of wine along the walls.”
He stayed quiet beside her several times while she did what he’d asked, opened her acute senses, and inhaled the odors swirling around them. Then, when she decided which way they should go, he followed as meekly as a lamb.
Greatly relieved to reach the tunnel’s end, they halted in increasing morning light to haul in lungful after lungful of fresh clean air. They repeated the process several times before righting themselves, and their clothing, and retracing their step down the alley. Luck was on their side, as the narrow streets remained deserted, allowing them to walk, heads down, as if they belonged in a dirty alley in dockside, towards the adjoining street and his still waiting coachman.
Not until Laura was delivered, unharmed, at her kitchen door, and to all intents and purposes unobserved, did he take his first free breath. He’d deliberately kept his farewell brief, unbending and formal, while he’d repeated his familiar mantra.
Better to keep his distance. Better she thought him incapable of sustaining any real emotion. Better she recalled his fondling as a remedy to her fear of the dark. Better she clung to no dreams concerning the future.
He spent the entire carriage ride home, plus the hours remaining of night before he rose from his bed, plus a long breakfast at which his sisters required his presence, berating himself. Convincing himself he’d acted correctly. For both of them. The course he’d chosen, allowing her a sample and then retreating, had been the right one.
A gentleman’s path. The noble road from the one more experienced in such situations. The only route he could travel, and still leave Laura free. Free to make future decisions about a future husband based on her initial taste of seduction. Free to pursue happiness with another man. A man who would be better suited…
Bloody hell!
If he couldn’t even deceive himself into accepting the utter rot he’d been advocating, he’d little, or no, hope of fooling Laura. A woman who saw through all his outer trappings faster than her elder sister calculated a complicated column of mathematical figures. Easier than Lottie attracted men. Quicker than Aunt Aggie’s grab for the plate of cream cakes.
Unfortunately for his peace of mind, Lady Laura Jamison was the singular female capable of peeling away his outer layers and exposing his secret. She was the one woman who attacked every obstacle in her path, including him, with the doggedness of the train engines her brother designed to chug up hills.
He retreated from her, often, through fear. Cold, raw terror of her seeing his entire naked self and not liking what she saw. Rejecting him as no other woman had ever done. To himself he admitted it. He wanted her, needed her. But he’d resolved never to have her, not in that way, not trapped in marriage with him. Not tied forever to a man who could barely read the words on a page by the time he was twenty. To someone as courageous and intelligent as her, he’d never admit his failings.
Her scorn would kill his soul.