WHERE, EXACTLY, WOULD ONE go for a demonstration of stripping?
Elizabeth chewed her lip, staring at James as he gave yet another lecture. She didn’t see him, though. No, instead she saw the whirl of silk and the flash of limbs, golden skin teasingly revealed and then concealed in the next breath. Hard muscles, soft thighs, a decadent version of hide and seek, men and women enticing with the revelation or denial of their flesh, stoking the lust of any who watched to fever pitch.
The attraction of such a display was palpable. Ever since James had described it, she’d wanted to see such a thing for herself. No doubt there were performances in London, but the continent would surely hold more decadent pleasures and, for her first, she should have the best. A trip to Paris, to see the woman James had told her about, or was that in Vienna? No matter, she would visit both, and James could show her all his iniquitous haunts. They would punt the Seine, enjoy the vistas of Florence and dance the nights away in the music halls of Vienna.
She sighed. It was a pleasant fantasy. One day, maybe, she would travel, but never with James. Sadness threatened, though she quickly pushed it away and instead returned to the slow reveal of flesh and skin.
James had said it was an art, but she couldn’t see how the removal of one’s clothes was anything but titillating—especially as, when describing it, he’d had a glint in his eye she knew well. The thought of people removing their clothing, layer by layer, driving the viewer wild with the slow reveal, teasing them, stoking desire and want higher and higher until the atmosphere seethed with its frenzied presence could do nothing but stoke desire.
Elizabeth swallowed, phantoms of these imagined performers turning her blood to flame.
How would it be if, rather than a public performance, it were just they two? Her mind raced, half-formed images tumbling over one another. What if James slowly revealed himself for her pleasure? Her mouth went dry as she pictured his golden flesh slowly unveiled, his throat bared, the muscles on his chest flexing, his hands on the buttons of his trousers and then, lower.
Oh God, what if it were her disrobing for him?
Her mouth closed with an audible snap. James, however, was so occupied with his recitation he’d not noticed.
Descending into fantasy, she imagined James’s eyes hot on her as she removed her gloves, her skin prickling under his intense gaze. Each flick of a button an agony, each tug of cloth a tease. Her fingers trembled as she undid and untucked and untied, as she both hid and revealed her body. She teased and provoked until desire was a heavy presence between them, given life by heated looks and implied promises. Nothing would stop her, not until he stopped her, by kissing her, caressing her. Taking her.
Touching her tongue to the corner of her mouth, she watched as James expounded upon his lecture. How would he react if she did as she wanted, if she removed her clothing piece by piece?
The more she watched him, lecturing steadily with little notice of her, the more she wanted to find out. Her clothing rasped against her skin. She itched to remove it, to watch the dispassion on his face disappear as she rid herself of her gown, her corset, her drawers.
She stood. James paused in his recitation with a slight raise of his brow. With a small smile to placate him, she luxuriated in feeling naughty and knowing and, yes, a little bit wicked. True to his order, she’d worn clothing that was easily removed, and she was about to take advantage of his demand.
Slowly, she undid the buttons at the back of her gown, her gaze wandering around the room as if the action were extremely tedious. Thanking whatever prompted her to wear a low backed gown that evening, she performed a little twist of her torso, the move helping unhook those buttons at the top. Her breasts pushed against the bodice of her gown, swelling temptingly above the neckline. She bit her lip, her flesh suddenly too tight.
James had resumed his lecture, but she could feel his gaze upon her. He was attempting to conceal his interest, but his steady gaze couldn’t quite hide the intensity. She studiously avoided looking at him, pretending she wasn’t desirous of his attention, as if she were undertaking this solely for her own benefit and had absolutely no thought of him.
With a sigh, the panels of her gown parted, the low neckline gaping at the lack of tension. The move displayed her new corset, the creamy silk blending into her skin, the boning pushing her breasts into prominence. She shrugged out of the sleeves and the dress pooled about her feet as it slipped from her body. Every breath she took dragged her nipples against the fabric of the corset, and the feel of her sensitised skin exposed to the room, to his eyes, had desire coursing through her hard and sharp.
Quickly, before she lost focus, she untied her petticoats, let the cloth slither to the floor. Gracefully, she stepped out of the mass of fabric, dressed now only in corset, drawers, and stockings. Bending to pick her garments from the ground, she paused when she heard a smothered groan. Wickedness suffused her, and she remained bent over, taking her time to gather her clothing.
Slowly rising, she turned to the chaise, presenting him with her back as she draped the garments over the arm. Arranging them this way and that, she made sure to bend and twist often, counting her success in the slight intakes of breath, the faint stumble of his words.
Deeming she had tormented him enough, she turned and finally met his gaze. Face impassive, he stared at her as if he were unaffected. The clenched fist resting on his desk, however, made mockery of his expression.
Stepping out of her shoes, she sauntered over to him, hips swaying. Lord, she felt all that was power and female. A wicked grin flitted about her mouth as she placed her foot on the chair between his spread thighs.
He was hard. He could hide many things, but he couldn’t hide that.
Eyes locked on his, she untied her garter, languorously rolling her stocking down her leg, enjoying the feel of her skin beneath her hands. He didn’t touch her, but merely watched as she repeated the action with her other stocking.
“What are you about?” His tone was cool, even. A lie.
“Merely getting a head start on the evening.” Placing her foot back on the floor, she turned, presenting her back. “Loosen me?”
He remained still, and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t respond. He said not a word as he stood, looming over her, so close she could feel his breath stirring the hair at the crown of her head. The backs of his fingers brushed the skin above her corset and she shivered, her throat moving convulsively as the response he always engendered streaked through her. Gently, he loosened the laces of her corset, his knuckles bumping against her skin as he worked silently. Containing her reaction, she pretended an indifference she most certainly didn’t feel.
Once the corset slackened he moved away, taking his place in his chair once more. All was silence now as she turned to face him.
Never taking her eyes from his, she unhooked the busk, holding the corset to her body as she did so. Barely breathing now, she was completely caught by his gaze upon her. She could not falter now. Draping an arm across her breasts, she covered her nipples and then pulled the corset free, letting it dangle, watching as the silk caught the light.
His gaze upon her was like a caress, tracing the line of her neck, the length of her arm, the curve of her breast. Power rushed through her, that she could capture his attention so completely.
Untying the waist of her drawers, she let them drop to the floor. Of a sudden, the reality of the situation hit her. Good Lord, she was completely naked. Taking a deep breath, she fought apprehension. Many times she’d been naked before him, and most like would again.
Ignoring her anxiety, she covered her breasts and mons in false modesty, determined to play this out. Seating herself on the chaise, she dropped her arm from her breasts and clasped her hands demurely in her lap. And then she looked directly at him.
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stared at her. Staring back, she ignored the thump of her heart, the tightness of her nipples, the emptiness of her core.
Then, as if he were unaffected, he began his lecture again.
She had no notion of what he said and less care. The only care she had was that he had not taken his eyes from her, that his voice broke every now and then, and that his hands were still white-knuckled on the desk.
Taking an expansive sigh, she idly played with her left nipple.
Within seconds, he was on her, his mouth crushing hers, his hand jerking hers aside to cup her breast. His attack forced the breath from her lungs, and his body pushed her against the chaise, his hips forcing between her thighs. Recovering her breath, she gave a delighted gasp and surrendered to him, her head falling back as his mouth ravaged hers. He grabbed her thigh, bringing it against his hip, opening her to him.
As she moaned against his mouth, his tongue took advantage and darted inside to play with hers, to fill her with him. Raising her other leg, she cradled him, the cloth of his breeches chaffing her deliciously. She tore frantically at his shirt, wanting his bare flesh under her hands, needing it, and finally, finally, she felt him, his skin hot against her palms.
His grip tightened on her thighs and he forced her further open, his hand between her legs, his knuckles flicking an impatient caress against her. God, he was working at his trousers, pulling them open, the fabric loosening as the closures gave beneath his fingers. She slid her hands over the firm flesh of his buttocks, beneath his trousers and she hauled him against her, her breath escaping on a sharp gasp at the feel of him. He was thick, and he was hard, and he was sliding against her, back and forth, back and forth. Lips brushed her ear as he spoke, the words too guttural to make any sense. There was a scream building inside her, higher and higher and soon it would burst from her and she couldn’t stop it, couldn’t contain it. His cock notched against her, demanding entrance, and she dropped her head back on a silent moan, angling her hips, wanting him inside her, wanting him.
And then, he was gone.
Dazed, she lay where he left her. Harsh breath forced air into her lungs. Unappeased lust shrieked along her body. Her brain refused to work.
Painfully, she struggled to a sitting position. Control. She had to establish control. She focused on breathing. One breath. Two. Instituting a fairly even rhythm, she then focused on her surroundings.
James was on the other side of the room. Why was he over there? He had been here, with her, and then he…wasn’t. Chest heaving, he raised a shaking hand, ploughing through his hair with little care for the style his valet had no doubt carefully arranged.
“James?” She hated the waver in her voice. Clearing her throat, she started again. “James?”
Still he wouldn’t look at her. Cold whispered across her, and suddenly she was all too aware that he was clothed—and she was not. Feeling horribly exposed, she hunched her shoulders and pulled at the garments still hanging on the chaise, draping the cloth to conceal her nakedness as much as she could. “James?”
All was silence and then, “Elizabeth.”
She licked her lips. “What happened?”
Moving suddenly, with precision, he sat himself in his chair, his dishevelled appearance causing him no concern, as if a disordered shirt and rumpled clothes were the height of fashion. “We were discussing the outcome of a voyeuristic interlude during an orgy, I believe. Shall I repeat what has already been stated?”
She pulled the edges of the gown tighter. “James, don’t be obtuse. What just happened? Why did you stop?”
Moments ticked by and still he didn’t answer. The fine hairs on her neck stood on end, but she refused to be intimidated by him. She absolutely refused.
Finally, he spoke. “Do you realise how close we were to penetration?”
She blinked. And again. “Pardon?”
“I was almost inside you, my dear. Ruination was only a moment away.”
“But I don’t understand.” Why couldn’t he just say what he meant? “Why is that bad?”
Ice could not be smoother than his face and would, at the very least, offer a distorted reflection of her own emotion. “Because you are unmarried. Because a child could result. Because coitus was never part of our curriculum. A hundred reasons of which those are but a few. You should thank me, my dear, for remembering myself in time.”
Damnation, she hated feeling stupid, and she hated him for making her feel so. “Do you not achieve penetration with other women?” Only now did she realise it was strange they had not completed the sexual act. Vaguely she remembered him saying something about abstinence at the beginning of their agreement, but it had never been a consideration for her. She had no concern for pregnancy, not with her history, and she had been so caught up in everything else that the lack of penetration had meant nothing. And yet only now it was denied did she realise how much she wanted it. Wanted him.
“Don’t be obtuse.”
She had never understood the appeal of counting to ten, but he was demonstrating most ably why her sisters undertook it with regularity. “Do you have any children?”
“No.”
“So you undertake preventative measures?”
He nodded sharply.
“Then why not me?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, the only indication he felt a degree of agitation. “Why not you? You would do well not to question me. You have placed yourself and your education in my hands, and I will not be second-guessed. You will simply agree to my methods and count yourself lucky I deign to educate you at all. Furthermore, you shall not undertake any activity that deviates from my outline for the evening.” His hands on the arms of his chair were clenched, so tight he had to have done himself an injury. “Your impromptu disrobing has disrupted my plan, and I will not have my curriculum disturbed in such a manner.”
“I have disturbed you.” Calm. How could she be calm when she was so very angry?
He took no notice of her words. “Your lack of respect for my methods is troubling, madam. Should it become necessary, steps will be taken to ensure your compliance.”
Something inside her broke. Anger flared, at him, at the situation, but mostly at him. “You will not talk to me in such a manner. I will suffer much, James, but I will not suffer that.”
That muscle ticked in his jaw.
Refusing to look away, she held firm, her shoulders thrown back even as the gown barely concealed her nakedness. She would not allow him to cow her. He had no call to treat her in such a manner. None.
Stiffly, he inclined his head. “You are correct, madam. I apologise.” Abruptly, he got to his feet. “It would be best if we desist for this evening. I shall leave you to dress.”
Why was he acting so? He seemed of a sudden to place great care in a curriculum she was not fully convinced existed. To go from sublime pleasure to this….
Oh God. Did he wish to end their arrangement?
Panic ran through her. What if she never saw him again? This couldn’t be the last time they would see one another. It couldn’t. “We will see each other Tuesday?”
He paused at the door. Shoulders tense, he nodded.
“And…you will say goodbye?” Heart in her throat, she awaited his answer.
Forever passed before he spoke. “Yes.”
With that muffled reply, he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Pulling the garment tighter around her, Elizabeth saw only the door, the shape of the panels burned into her mind. Goose flesh rose on her skin as the chill in the air invaded her.
She couldn’t exactly say why she started to cry.
***
MALVERN’S STOMACH CHURNED, AT odds with the leaden feeling in his gut. Stumbling into the sitting room, he collapsed into the chaise, and then shot up again, unable to sit on a seat so similar to the one she had sat on. He chose another chair, but the feelings inside him wouldn’t let him still, and he vaulted to his feet to pace and pace and pace.
What the fuck had happened back there? What had he been thinking? Goddamn it, he hadn’t been thinking. He had let his goddamn cock rule him and he’d almost…they’d almost…fuck, he could not come inside her.
Never had he felt thus. He didn’t even know what he felt. It was beyond comprehension. There had to be a reason for it. All of it.
This desperate need to escape—from her, from what they had almost done—never had he felt it so intensely. Previously, he had no restriction for sexual play. The acts he had undertaken, he could not recall them in their entirety. His one restriction, the only thing he’d ever ascertained was should his seed be spilled, no child would result.
Procreation. That had to be it. Calm descended at the thought, some of his usual dispassion returning. Already he’d determined his usual methods would not be employed with the widow. None were failsafe, and it would be best for them to completely avoid that which resulted in pregnancy. If the widow became pregnant, there would be none other who could claim her child. A compromising situation could be explained away, bribes exchanged, threats uttered—a child could not so easily be forgotten. For all his transgressions, he would not leave a child of his unclaimed. To his knowledge, he’d never impregnated a paramour, and he would not start with the mouse—the widow—
Damnation. Exhaling, he rubbed at his temples.
He would not start with Elizabeth.
It had to be that, this apprehension he felt. He did not want to have his hand forced. Breathing easier, tension eased. Yes, that was it. He did not want to burden himself with a child.
One day he knew he would have to produce an heir for the great Malvern line. That day, however, was far in the future, and it would arrive by purchasing some young chit barely out of the schoolroom. It would not arrive with a widow not five years younger than himself, who looked at him with curiosity and mischief and a host of things best left undefined.
For all his justifications, the explanation did nothing to ease the feeling in his gut.
His stomach twisted again and he remembered Elizabeth beneath him, her thighs hugging his hips, her heat luring him and, God, he had wanted inside her so fucking badly.
Raking his hands through his hair, he forced thoughts of her away. No, it was best to remain separate from her. Apart.
Decision made, he re-entered the study. Elizabeth was properly attired once more, every taper tied, every button fastened. Upon seeing him, she pulled her cloak tighter. Regret, an emotion he had little experience with, suffused him. She had been glorious in her nakedness. Now, he had made her feel shame. He knew it, even as she attempted a smile. Bile rose in his throat, and he cursed himself for the bastard he was.
“Good-bye, then.” He would rid himself of this unwarranted emotion. He would.
“Good-bye.” She hesitated. A moment passed, and then she came forward, placing dry lips against his cheek.
Malvern closed his eyes at the touch of her mouth, and his gut twisted again. Fuck. When she would have moved away, he gripped her waist, holding her to him for the briefest of moments. Putting his cheek to her hair, he breathed her in, the scent that was hers alone. With his touch, his embrace, he tried to say all he could not verbalise, could not explain.
She stayed still, allowing him the embrace and then, with a gentle push, she prompted him to release her.
He watched her as she left, and he did not think, let no thoughts cross his mind. None.