My God. It felt as magnificent as the first time.
He kissed her below her ear before pulling out of her. Rolling onto his side, he collected her in his arms. She nestled against his chest with a satisfied sigh. He closed his eyes. For the moment he forgot all else, conscious only of how it felt to hold her in his arms.
* * * * *
Deana woke earlier than usual but felt she had slept deeply. She opened her eyes and found herself alone. She had been somewhat aware of his leaving her bed in the middle of the night but had been too tired to pay much attention. As she stretched, memories of last night flooded her immediately. His lordship had untied her bindings with a tenderness that contrasted with the sharpness of his discipline. He had caressed her gently and covered her naked form.. She cupped an orb and felt a tug between her legs. She trailed a hand there, remembering how delightful his attentions had been. She rolled her clitoris between her fingers, amazed at how quickly her arousal had flamed. Would she always find herself in such a heightened state while at the Chateau or in the company of Lord Rockwell?
And then he had returned and taken her at last. She felt satisfied at the soreness between her legs. She had begun to wonder why he had not entered her before. How marvelous it had felt when he did! With her previous lovers, she had not always spent. With Lord Rockwell, she had attained those delightful paroxysms without fail.
With thoughts of his lordship, she fondled herself until she spent. Despite the release, she felt hungry for more. Rather, she felt hungry for him. Throwing back the covers, she decided to start the morning and attempt a normalcy in spite of the setting. She had survived one day and needed to last two more. She rang for Bhadra and went to the wash basin to refresh herself.
Bhadra appeared with a breakfast tray in hand. Deana marveled at the luxury. She supposed she might as well enjoy it for she was not likely to experience it again.
“Is his lordship awake?” Deana asked as she selected a simple muslin for the morning.
“I believe him to be on the veranda overlooking the garden. He asked that I inform him when you are ready to receive his company.”
“He is not to make a habit of entering unannounced?” Deana could not help herself and saw Bhadra suppress a grin. “A man of his station can take great liberties with impunity.”
“But he is a good man.”
Having spoken, perhaps more than intended, Bhadra quickly busied herself with items of the toilette. Deana understood Bhadra’s quick defense of Rockwell and did not press the maid.
After dressing and finishing her breakfast, Deana went downstairs in search of Rockwell. As Bhadra had indicated, his lordship was on the veranda. He sat at a table with quill in hand, his brow furrowed in thought. Treading lightly, she had the opportunity to admire him without his notice. He had allowed his hair to grow since their appointment of a year ago. Today it had a wind-swept appearance and she was tempted to run her fingers through it.
He looked up and the lines about his face eased. “Good morning, Miss, ahem, Sherwood.”
She smiled. “Good morning. I see that you are occupied. Let me not disturb you.”
“Stay.” He gestured to the teapot and cups upon the table. “Coffee or tea?”
She joined him at the table and saw he was composing a letter. It began “Dearest Lucy.”
As if seeing the subject of her gaze, he said, “My sister. She is my junior of nearly ten years and I her guardian.”
Recalling his look of concern earlier, she said, “I hope all is well with her?”
“Yes,” he replied unconvincingly.
“Forgive my prying, but you seem troubled, my lord.”
“She is a willful young woman.”
He shook his head but there was love in his words.
“Better willful than meek,” Deana said.
“That remains to be seen.”
“You would rather she relent to others without question or consideration of self?”
“Where I am concerned, yes. I have her best interests at heart. I have written as much, but I have the sinking suspicion she will pay little heed.”
He rose and cast the letter aside.
“I know a little of willful young women. May I?”
He hesitated at first, but then retrieved the letter for her. Though unfinished, the letter clearly indicated that Lucille had taken a fancy to someone the Baron disapproved of.
“Your tone is didactic and scolding,” she commented after reading.
He seemed taken aback, then waved a dismissive hand. “Merely the result of superior experience and sophistication.”
“I do not know your sister, nor the extent of her willfulness, but it is a delicate matter addressing a woman of her age.”
“She has barely had her come-out. It seems but yesterday she was in leading strings.”
Deana could not help but find his vexation rather charming. “Does she love you?”
Her question baffled him, but he answered, “Yes.”
“And respect you?”
“To an extent.”
“Respect and obedience are not the same.”
“If she had complete respect for me, she would not challenge me on this matter.”
“Perhaps if she feared you, yes. That she does feel comfortable speaking her mind to you is a positive quality.”
“She is not being rational. As I state in the letter, I have been in the world of men far longer than she. My judgment of them is clearly more considerable than hers.”
“Ah, but matters of the heart are rarely rational.”
He weighed her words, then shook his head. “They are irrelevant.”
“Pray, what do you find objectionable in this Wilson fellow?”
“He is a soldier and his family background questionable. Though he is with a good regiment, his future hardly holds much promise.”
“You could purchase a commission for him.”
He glanced sharply at her. “A point Lucille was quick to make as well.”
“Is she quite taken with him?”
“That is what concerns me. They became acquainted whilst I was in India last year. I have been remiss in my duties as guardian, but I intend to redouble my efforts.”
She had not seen him this cross before. The prudent course would be to change the subject, but she was not ready to retreat.
“What sort of man would satisfy you where your sister is concerned?”
“An honorable one, capable of ensuring Lucy’s happiness. One who treats her well, with affection, compassion, and generosity.”
“And this Wilson does not fit these criteria?”
Rockwell was silent.
“As you say, you are a better judge of character. But you may find better results with her if you took a more gentle approach. Prohibiting her from consorting with this young man, as you allude to in your letter, may very well have the unintended consequence of enflaming her affection for him and halt any confidence she may share with you.”
He had his arms crossed and looked at her solemnly. Her intentions had been altruistic, but perhaps she had overstepped her bounds. She decided to pour herself a cup of tea. The beverage was no longer hot, but she drank it nonetheless.
“Do you speak from experience?” he asked.
“Not exactly, but what young person has not rebelled against parent or guardian at some time?”
His features softened, and his posture relaxed. He sat back down at the table but continued to appraise her.
“You are possessed of sense and wisdom.”
His compliment took her by surprise. Coming from a man as confident and worldly as he, it was no small statement.
“If that is so, it is only because I have been through much trial and error.”
When she looked up from her cup, she found him staring at her with an expression she could not place. As with that night in the rain beneath the umbrella, the world seemed to have shrunk to the space between them. Resisting the moment and surge of emot
ion in her bosom, she turned her attention to the wonderful view of the garden, lush with spring blooms and ripe lemon trees.
He followed her gaze. “Would you like to see the garden?”
She nodded. “And, as it seems it shall be another fine day, perhaps we could take the horses again later?”
He paused before saying, “Let us address the garden first.”
She wondered that he did not jump at the chance to ride again. He seemed to enjoy being on horseback.
Rising to his feet, he took the letter and tore it into quarters. He offered his arm, which she accepted. They strolled the garden in comfortable silence. Between the birds chirping overhead and the trellises covered in wisteria, Deana felt as if she were in another world. And the quiet between her and Rockwell was remarkably precious. He kept her arm in his, and she sensed him also to be at ease.
Finding herself enjoying the moment far too much, she broke the silence. “My father took me to Ranelagh Gardens a number of times when I was younger, but I rather prefer the wildness of this garden to the manicured arrangements at Ranelagh.”
They both looked at the violets and primroses mixed with an eruption of bluebells.
“Are there many gardens in India?”
“Depends where in India. The climate is quite diverse there ranging from arid to tropical. The Taj Mahal has one of the more impressive gardens.”
“Yes, I have seen a painting of the Taj Mahal. It must be quite wondrous to behold in person.”
“It is.”
“Did your sister spend many years in India?”
“She was born in India, but my mother returned with her to England when conflict escalated between the Company and the Maratha Empire.”
“How long have you served as her guardian?”
“Six years. After my father died of malaria. My mother died of a broken heart a year later.”
He was looking into the distance, and she could not read his expression.
“They were taken before their time then, but it seems they were blessed with a loving marriage.”
He turned to look at her. “Yes, they were. It is a rarity.”
“Have you no hope for such fortune yourself? Surely a man of your position…”
“Has more opportunities?” he finished.
“Yes.”
“Lucy fancies love a required ingredient for matrimony. I do not.”
“A practical approach,” she agreed.
They walked across a bridge and fell into silence once more. Beyond the shrubs and a bed of rose bushes stood a little pavilion flanked by marble statues. On one side was a nude with his hand upon his very stiff, very long rod. The other side was a female nude stretched upon a pedestal, her mouth open, one hand gripping a sheet draped over half her body.
“Madame Follet has a most brazen collection of art,” Deana commented.
“And what say you of her selection?”
She studied the statue of the man. A familiar sensation stirred in her groin. “Stimulating.”
He grinned at her impudence. She stepped up into the pavilion. When she turned and looked at him, his grin had faded, replaced by a serious expression.
“What is it?” she asked, wondering at first if he was troubled by concerns for his sister.
He sauntered to where she was. She saw then a ravenous look in his eyes, and her body responded immediately, her senses leaping to attention.
He tilted her chin up and ran his thumb against her lower lip. Her heartbeat quickened at his touch. She wondered that his ardor had been stirred so easily and that her own was proving every bit as eager.
Chapter Twelve
BUT HIS EYES ALSO held a different look she could not place. His gaze traversed her physiognomy as if he were a scout surveying the terrain, landing eventually upon her mouth. Lowering his head, he took her lips with his. Her guard melted away. Though they lacked complete privacy, she welcomed the kiss. It felt all too pleasant.
He worked her mouth with an almost tender quality, coaxing all sorts of feelings to stir inside of her, including that familiar longing in her abdomen. She detected the scent of his shaving cream mixed with the coffee he drank, and idly realized that there was little about Lord Rockwell that did not appeal to her. She would have thought herself quite expended after the activities of last night, but she wanted him again.
“Shall—we—return—to—the—house?” she asked in between his kisses.
“Why?” he murmured against her lips.
For privacy, of course. Instead, she replied, “You have a penchant for public displays, my lord.”
His kisses became more adamant, more hungry. He held her head in place with one hand while he took whole mouthfuls of her. Instinctively she put a hand upon his forearm, though he had yet to be exceedingly rough with her. Desire bloomed below her waist. He had taken her last night. Would he go so far as to do that in the gardens?
As if in answer to her question, he abruptly swept her off her feet and laid her across the marble bench. He continued to kiss her, his tongue darting into her mouth only ever so often, teasing her with the possibilities. She grew warm quickly, and not just from the heat of his body over hers. The simple weight of him upon her was enthralling. She was not completely at ease with where they were, but she had learned from her experience yesterday not to protest too much. And in truth her mind was being superseded by the wishes of her body.
The bench was cold and hard, but another discomfort, one that could only be satiated by his lordship, proved more urgent. With every kiss upon her neck, her collar, the tops of her breasts, the yearning grew. She arched her back, allowing him greater access to her neck. His hand was upon one breast, pulling down her décolletage until he could access the nipple, which he sucked and fondled with his tongue. Arrows of desire shot from her bosom to the area below her belly, and she could feel the moisture gathering between her legs.
This was hardly fair. If she were to be publicly exposed in such a manner, the least he could do was to join her. She reached for the buttons of his pants.
“Not yet,” he mumbled as he placed her hands back at her sides.
After easing himself off of her, he pushed her skirts above her knees and spread them apart. Standing between her legs, he appraised her wanton position. She watched curiously as he lowered himself onto a knee. He kissed the inside of a thigh. She shivered at the delicate caress. His kisses trailed upwards. No man had ever had his face so close to that most intimate part of her body. What did he intend? His head was beneath her skirts.
“Bloody damnation,” she swore when his tongue flicked at her clitoris.
Her body jumped at the trespass, but he held her hips firmly in place.
“I cannot submit to this,” she protested, trying to sit up. This was embarrassing and wanton beyond words.
“You will,” he said from beneath her skirts.
She took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut when he licked her once more. Still unaccustomed to the touch, she attempted to squirm from his grasp.
“Relax and enjoy,” he encouraged.
Reluctantly, she tried to settle down. He rubbed his tongue against her flesh.
“Ahhh!” she cried, jerking.
It was a delicious sensation but still too foreign a concept.
“Hold still,” he commanded.
“I can’t.”
Having a shaft between her legs fit a natural order. Having his head there was surely blasphemous? But then, what at Chateau Follet was not improper?
He looked up from under the skirts at her. “Are you defying me, Miss Herwood?”
She groaned, sensing defeat, but made a last attempt to defend herself. “The body has impulses, my lord, not easily controlled.”
“Try harder.”
With a sigh, she lay back, but he slapped the inside of her thigh with his hand, causing her to sit back up.
“What was that for?” she demanded.
“For protesting. Now, you will spend.”
Impossible, she replied silently, but she lay back again. When he nuzzled her with his nose, it took all of her not to recoil. How could he do such a thing? It was wet down there, with a distinctive smell. And she had no idea how it looked.
He fondled her nub with his tongue. It was slick, and the sensation differed from his fingers. Moaning, she dug her nails into her palm. What if she did not spend? Would she be punished? Would she need to pretend to spend?
“Oh!” she exclaimed when his tongue found a particularly sensitive spot.
He worked the area with surprising effect. His tongue was proving rather pleasurable. She concentrated on the sensations, pushing away thoughts of how it was happening. His touch became more forceful. Her resistance began to fade as he stoked her lust. She writhed upon the rigid bench but did not attempt to escape. Her legs, bent and exposed, felt awkward. She knew not what to do with them as the pressure in her built.
“My God,” she breathed when he sucked on her clitoris and tugged it gently with his teeth.
She was going to spend. She should never have doubted him. He quickened his pace in response to her ascent. Tension, jarring and magnificent, mounted and spread into her abdomen and down through her legs. She almost feared the impending climax, wanting and resisting what was to come. He kept a firm grip on her hips and held in her place when at last the unraveling of her desire crashed through her body. Her legs flayed of their own accord, bumping against him, as the most glorious shivers overcame her.
Her cry sent the birds scattering from the tree tops. She felt as if she had been catapulted into the skies. When she sank back down from the heavens, her limbs a little weakened by the spasms, she found Lord Rockwell upon his feet, staring down at her. The area about his mouth and even his chin glistened from her moisture.
“Well done, Miss Herwood,” he said.
She flushed. “I think the praise ought to be placed with your lordship.”
An Improper Proposition (A Steamy Regency Romance) Page 11