An Improper Proposition (A Steamy Regency Romance)

by Georgette Brown

  “How?” she inquired as he unlaced her stays.

  “You shall see soon enough.”

  The stays fell to the floor. Reaching around with both hands, he palmed each breast. The amount of wine she had consumed was sufficient to lower her inhibitions. She leaned back against him and arched herself further into his hands. He kneaded each mound through the chemise and felt her nipples harden. He pulled and pinched the rosy nubs, making her groan, as his own head swam with the possibilities. She had a strong, beautiful body. If she proved tolerant, there was much he could do to her.

  He slid the chemise down her body. Slipping his hand between her thighs, he found her already wet with desire. He stroked her there until she whimpered and ground herself against him. Her arse pressed against his groin, which stretched toward her. To cool the temptation to take her then and there, he stepped away from her and went to undo the tasseled ties from the curtains.

  “Remove the stockings,” he instructed as he rolled up his sleeves.

  With lust shining in her eyes, she did as he bid and slid the silk down her legs. She stood before him completely naked, a little more at ease than before. Once more he swept his gaze appreciatively over her body. His member pulsed, wanting action. He sauntered over to her and looked into her eyes, confirming that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He brushed his fingers gently along her collarbone and kissed her shoulder.

  Then his demeanor changed. Thrusting his hand into her hair, he yanked on the coiffure to force her chin up, then smothered her mouth with his. She yelped but yielded to the assault upon her mouth. He dug deep into the warm, wet crevice with his tongue. Her breathing became heavy against his upper lip and he smelled the wine from dinner. He would taste of her in as many ways possible before they left, he promised himself. Fire consumed his veins and he disengaged himself abruptly for as much his sake as hers.

  “Lie down upon the bed.”

  Still breathless from the kiss, she took a moment but complied with a touch of awkwardness. He stretched her arms overhead and bound her wrists to the bedposts with the ties, then did the same with her ankles till her body formed an ‘X’ with each limb tethered to a bedpost. Stepping back, he admired his handiwork. Damn. He could see the glisten of wetness between her legs.

  She pulled at her bonds, but the ties had little give. He could see that she felt ill at ease being spread and exposed in such a manner.

  “Your penance begins, Miss Herwood.”

  He passed a hand from her toes and up her leg, past her hip and ribcage, and up to the bottom of a breast. He cupped it tenderly. It had a lovely shape to it and large areolas. He leaned down and put his mouth upon the puckered nipple. A tiny purr escaped her. He swirled his tongue over it and gently sucked. Her toes curled in response. He flicked his tongue at the nipple, licked it, pulled it until she twisted in her bonds. He reached a hand to her groin, grazing the hair between her legs and sliding a finger against her clitoris. She emitted a shaky groan. While attending to the nipple, he fingered that other nub and occasionally slipped his finger into her hot, soaking womanhood. Her body arched off the bed.

  Satisfied that he had her sufficiently aroused, he stepped back and cooled his desire. He moved to her again and slapped the side of her breast, careful to avoid the nipple. She cried out, mostly in surprise. He slapped her other breast. The mound of flesh quivered at the impact. She sucked at the air. This time he knew it stung a little. Then he did the same to her inner thighs. Her legs wanted to recoil but were held in place by the bindings. He slapped her there again, and she gasped at how close he had come to striking her most private part.

  “Please,” she murmured.

  “Are you now regretful of flouting my directives? She closed her mouth. He shook his head and continued his assault on her breasts and thighs, alternating with tweaking her nipples and plundering her mouth. The moisture between her legs increased.

  He stepped back again to regain his composure, and, hopefully, complete her lesson. He rubbed her between her legs.

  “Do you think you have learned your lesson, Miss Herwood?”

  “Hmph?” she responded through a haze of arousal and vexation.

  “What have we learned, Miss Herwood?”

  “To heed your orders.”

  “Swiftly and keenly.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He wanted to inform her that she would only take pleasure from him, that she belonged to him. She was his alone to command and gratify and protect. But these were dangerous feelings to have. Voicing them might render them less fleeting.

  “And if you please me, you will find yourself rewarded.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He stroked her between the legs with his thumb. Her body, already near the height, did not require long to go over the precipice. As she spent, she bucked off the bed and writhed violently against the ropes. He did not wait for her to completely descend from her climax and dove once more between her legs.

  Confused, she knew not whether she wanted the continued attention. He suspected her to be exceedingly sensitive. She pulsed hot and wet beneath his mouth. She attempted to move away from him, but he grasped her hips and held her in place. He did not relent and soon had her riding a second wave of ecstasy. Screaming, she succumbed to the stimulation with such forceful spasms that she struck him in the chin. He rubbed her gently until the last of her shivers subsided and she let out a deep sigh. For a while he gazed at her as she recovered herself, drinking in the sight of her stretched across the bed, her breasts still quivering, her body flush from the experience.

  By Jove, he wanted to ravish her.

  Chapter Eleven

  AFTER UNTYING HER,, he pulled the covers over Miss Herwood as sleep overtook her. He gathered his coat and stepped softly to the door. He turned at the threshold to look at her in peaceful slumber, her hair spread over the pillows, one bare arm curled above her head. If he did not leave soon, he might be tempted to wake her to relieve the bulge at his crotch. Forcing himself through the door, he tried not to recall how she had looked stretched to the bedposts in glorious nakedness, her sweet flesh open to him like a blossom to the sun.

  When he had first invited her to Chateau Follet, he had mostly selfish reasons. He wanted another taste of her body. He wanted to satiate his own lust. But ever since her acceptance, her pleasure had become the dominant priority. He derived much enjoyment from seeing her spend and surprised himself that he had not yet ravished her for his own sake.

  And now another woman took him from attending to his own needs.

  He made his way back to the East Wing and headed straight for the ballroom in search of Isabella. The ballroom was the focus of activity for the East Wing. Hearty flames crackled from all four fireplaces and provided much of the light desired by the hostess. The chandeliers above were kept dim, allowing for pockets of darkness throughout the room. Lush sofas lined the walls beneath erotic paintings and golden candelabras. Men and women in various states of dress lounged about, some engaged in kissing and caressing with little care as to who watched.

  Isabella sat upon one of the sofas beside Lord Devon. She had partaken of more wine in the meantime as evidenced by her shining eyes, flush cheeks and constant giggling. Her partner, too, was happily inebriated and attempting to devour her neck. He had her legs across his thighs.

  “Lord Rockwell!” Isabella exclaimed as she tried to right herself without spilling the wine from the glass she held.

  Devon sat up and tried to focus his gaze on Halsten in the darkness. “Rockwell? Where is thy ladybird?”

  “Resting,” Halsten replied, grimly staring at Devon. “One should not extend the abilities of a novice at Chateau Follet.”

  “Is Miss Sherwood the ninny or you?” Isabella teased.

  “Come, have a drink with us,” Devon invited. “Perhaps a good burgundy will provide you the necessary nerve.”

  Biting his tongue, Halsten pulled up a chair as Devon motioned to one of the serving maids
. A young naked waif approached them with a bottle and glasses. She kept her gaze demurely at the floor as she offered Halsten a glass. Devon ogled the maid as she poured more wine into his glass.

  “Lovely is she not?” Devon purred into Isabella’s ear.

  Isabella giggled. “They must get very cold in the winter.”

  “Winter is delightful. Their nipples are constantly erect.”

  He pretended to pinch one of hers. Isabella swatted at his hand and laughed. She seemed to notice the serious look Halsten gave her and stopped

  Devon followed her gaze. “Why so sullen, my good fellow? I urge you, bring that Miss Sherwood of yours here. You’ll be a happier man.”

  Halsten forced his mouth from a frown even as he retorted silently that he would not bring Miss Herwood within an arm’s length of Devon.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I am content to observe.”

  “I’ve no qualms with that.” He raised a glass at Halsten.

  Isabella struck Devon playfully across the chest. “Surely you jest!”

  “Has Lord Devon not shared with you his fancy for exhibitionism?” Halsten asked of her.

  Her eyebrows rose at Lord Devon.

  “I assure you, it is quite thrilling,” Devon told her.

  Hers was a nervous smile.

  “To Chateau Follet and its many thrills,” Halsten said raising his glass.

  “Here, here,” Devon replied, downing his glass of wine.

  Halsten, who had taken the bottle from the serving maid, refilled Devon’s glass. Isabella placed her hand over her mouth as other couples, the night wearing on, had their ways with each other. One man had two women on either side of him as he played with each, kissing one, the other moving toward his groin. Isabella sucked in a breath and watched with widened eyes.

  “Oh, yes,” Devon growled beneath his breath as he imbibed more wine.

  One of the women began to unbutton the man’s fall.

  “I can’t look!” Isabella giggled and hid her face in Devon’s chest.

  “This is quite tame compared to what my lord has witnessed with previous guests of his,” Halsten said. “Have you not had as many as three women at once, Devon?”

  The effects of the wine upon him, Devon hesitated, but conscious of Isabella’s gaze upon him, he waved a dismissive hand. “That be the past. My lady Isabella is certainly worth at least three of her sex.”

  Isabella smiled while Halsten frowned.

  “I must say your company quite surprises me, Halsten,” she said. “Miss Sherwood does not appear of equal quality. I would have thought you capable of better.”

  “She suits my purposes and is far more engaging than meets the eye.”

  “You could have commanded the attentions of a greater beauty.”

  Her remark surprised him. He supposed Miss Herwood did not possess the classic marks of beauty, but while he might have found her plain upon first glance, through observation and better acquaintance, he now found her exceedingly attractive.

  “She has not your blessings, Isabella,” he remarked with irony and held up his glass to her.

  She beamed.

  “To beautiful women,” Lord Devon toasted.

  They finished off their wine. Halsten motioned to the serving maid for another bottle.

  He kept a steady eye upon Devon and Isabella, and ensured Devon’s glass never became empty. The wine made Devon more libidinous but also impaired his motions. Of a thin build, Isabella could not withstand the effects of the alcohol for long and began to fall into a stupor.

  “I need to visit the privy,” Isabella grumbled.

  “Allow me,” Halsten, already upon his feet, told Devon.

  Devon waved his hand, his glassy-eyed gaze fixed across the room on the two women pleasuring the man. Isabella stared at Halsten’s outstretched hand. When she made no further movement, he hoisted her to her feet by her waist. As he assisted her from the room, he motioned to one of the servants.

  “Have her ladyship’s maid sent to her chamber,” he instructed.

  Isabella’s arm slipped from around his shoulder and she sank to the floor.

  “This floor is not accommodating,” she murmured.

  After she struggled to stand, he decided it was simpler to carry her. As she was light, he made it to her chamber with little difficulty. Once inside, he set her down upon the bed.

  “Ohhh, I don’t feel right…” she grimaced and put a hand to her mouth.

  He quickly retrieved the wash basin and held it before her just as she retched and spilled the contents of her stomach. Mortified, she covered her mouth once more.

  “Let’s have all of it,” he instructed her.

  Again she heaved. She gagged but only bile remained. He handed her his handkerchief. With a groan, she lay back. He set aside the wash basin.

  Spotting the maid, he instructed the servant, “That will need cleaning, but first see her ladyship to bed. She is not to leave her chamber tonight.”

  The maid nodded. With a last glance at the groaning Isabella, he shook his head and left the room.

  Damnation. Isabella was worse than Lucille. God help Lucille, if he ever discovered that his sister had behaved as recklessly, he would lock her in a dungeon till she was thirty.

  Isabella, however, was not his sister. Miss Herwood had accused him of assuming roles that were not his. Minding Isabella had certainly cut into his enjoyment of Miss Herwood’s company. Were it not for Isabella, he would have been in bed with Miss Herwood. He imagined his body entwined with hers. He wondered if she was awake.

  He decided to see for himself if she was. Back at the threshold to Miss Herwood’s chambers, he quietly opened the door. The last flickers of the flames in the fireplace provided a sufficient glow for him to see. Miss Herwood lay serenely asleep in her bed beneath the plush covers. He ought not disturb her peaceful slumber, but his shaft had reared its head at the sight of her. Recalling how she had felt in his arms, how soft her skin had felt beneath his hands, he could not move himself to leave.

  As if sensing his presence, she stirred. Her eyes opened half-way. A smile flitted across her lips. She stretched and opened her eyes more.

  “Back for more, your lordship?” she inquired.

  There was no leaving now. He had denied his need long enough. He began to untie his cravat. She sat up against the pillows and watched as he placed the linen at the foot of the bed and shrugged out of his coat. He unbuttoned and shed his waistcoat next. He walked over to the side of the bed and threw the covers off of her. Instinctively, she covered herself with her arms and hands, but she could not hide her beauty, or desire, from him.

  He put one knee on the bed and moved her arm off her bosom. “There is no need to cover such beauty.”

  Grasping her chin, he pulled her to him and pressed his mouth to hers. He inhaled the smell of her as he worked his lips and tongue over her, each taste increasing his appetite and enflaming his body. He had to have her. And possess her he would.

  Circling an arm around her waist, he crushed her body to his. His erection pressed hard against her. He was tempted to take her without ceremony. Feeling between her legs, he found a wetness there that could not have been simply from their prior encounter. Her desire was more than intoxicating. With a groan, he delved his tongue into her mouth. He fondled her clitoris till she panted against his mouth, struggling slightly to keep up with the onslaught.

  His arousal stretched, more than anxious to merge with her wet heat. He had thought to disrobe more fully, but when one of her hands wrapped around his neck and buried itself in his hair, he decided kicking off his shoes was sufficient. Lips still locked, he leaned her back into the bed and lay atop her. He could feel her breasts pushing into his chest and her glorious wetness seeping into his pants. He kissed her harder. As always, she tasted divine.

  He took her nipples next. His ardor would not allow him more delicacy and he sucked them forcefully, making her gasp and writhe beneath him. He was
relieving his impatience and the stress of the evening through her, but if she were not so damned alluring, he might have found it easier to be more gentlemanly. Instead he ground himself into her as if he would penetrate her through his clothes.

  “Take me.”

  At first he barely heard her, but when he looked into her eyes, she repeated her words.

  “Take me.”

  Her gaze seemed to challenge him. He needed no further invitation. He unbuttoned the fall of his trousers, and his member sprang at the ready. He rubbed its head against her folds, so deliciously wet. Her eyelashes fluttered, and a purr escaped her lips. He pushed against her opening, and she tilted her hips for him. With as much forbearance as he could muster, he pushed the head of his shaft into her. She gasped at the intrusion, her muscles pulsed about him. He sank himself further into her. She moaned.

  “My God,” he breathed when he had buried himself to the hilt.

  The heat. The moisture. It had been too long. How had he managed to stay away from this for a year? He should have been inside of her sooner.

  She wrapped her arms about his neck. He began to slide in and out of her, slowly and carefully, for he needed to steel himself against spending too early. She met his every thrust, and they began to build a steady rhythm. Once he felt himself in control, he palmed a breast and brushed his thumb over her nipple. He propped himself up to view her face, her eyelids lowered and her cheeks flushed.

  He speared into her with increasing force while ensuring his angle produced the maximum response from her. Their rhythm quickened, and she grasped his biceps to keep herself in place. Her moans turned into cries as her wave began to build. He pushed against her, wanting to become one with her body. There was nothing finer than being buried inside of her, enveloped in her desire. Despite his clothing, he relished the feel of her naked body. He squeezed the breast he held as the fire in his scrotum threatened to boil over.

  With a wail, she bucked and shuddered violently beneath him. Her fingers dug into him, but he felt only the pressure of desire from his groin. With a low grunt, he pushed himself into her as deep as he could go. His muscles tightened, then released with a series of convulsions as he spilled himself into her. He thrust at her a few more times until the last of the tremors had subsided. Relief washed through him from head to toe.