by Quinn, Paula
She swallowed. “Goodness.”
After glancing down, Harry laughed. “No chance to hide how much I want you, is there?” He stepped out of the colorful mass of fabric and leather, then came to the bed. “Move over.”
Still fascinated, she did so. His blatant display of desire sent need rocketing though her, jolting her up to a level she hadn’t known before.
If he walked away now, she’d die.
But he showed no sign of wanting to. She breathed a sigh of relief as he slid into bed, not hesitating to mount her, his legs either side of hers. He kneeled up, scanning her. “One more thing, Matilda. Is this your first time?”
Only the truth would do. She shook her head, waiting to see the disappointment on his face. Didn’t all men want to be the first? “No.”
He nodded. “Good. I don’t want to have to add that consideration into this. I want nothing but pleasure for you.”
“And for you.”
“Especially for me.”
During their laughter, they somehow tangled their limbs together and before they knew it, they were kissing again.
His body pressing against hers was the most delicious thing she’d ever felt in her life. She had been a little surprised that he wanted to see her naked, but she wanted to see him, so she’d had no choice. Any embarrassment at her aged body had disappeared with the appreciative gleam she’d seen in his eyes, and his eagerness to touch her.
The idea of anyone, especially someone as magnificent as Harry seeing her naked had twisted her resolve. But Matilda had never been a shrinking violet, and she wasn’t about to start now.
She lay back, feeling like a goddess as he worshiped her body. Which he did, thoroughly.
He covered her breasts with his palms, groaning his approval into her mouth. Breaking the kiss, he opened his eyes. “Don’t hold back. I want to know what you like and what you need. Tell me, Matilda.”
She swallowed, nerves tightening her throat. “I—I don’t know…”
“Then let’s find out, shall we?”
Without further ado, he dropped soft kisses down her neck, while rubbing and tweaking her breasts. Matilda sighed with pleasure. Who knew she was so sensitive? Certainly not her. The waves of sensation flowing through her increased when he took one of her nipples into his mouth. He sucked, gently at first, increasing as she gave him her response. “Glorious,” she murmured.
He lifted his head and grinned. “Yes, it is. Yes, you are.”
But he didn’t stop. He kissed her stomach and the dimple of her navel, touching it as he made his way down and further down.
Matilda wasn’t entirely innocent, but she was discovering that knowing and experiencing were two entirely different things. This lovemaking was like nothing she’d imagined, nothing she could have known. She was in a new country and she loved every minute of it.
He kissed her—the only words she knew were indecent ones and even now she couldn’t bring herself to use them—but the place between her legs.
Goodness, now this she hadn’t even read about.
He caressed her, touched her and opened her up, spreading his fingers until cool air rushed over a place it never usually reached. When modesty drove her to close her legs, he stopped her, putting his free hand on her thigh. “No, don’t do that. Let me see, let me learn how to best please you.”
“I thought I was supposed to do the pleasing.”
“You are. You do.”
Before she could guess what he was at, his head descended and he licked her. Actually licked. While she was still boggling from his actions, he did some more, touched and licked and caressed. Her choked-off protests turned into long moans. The sounds of him doing what he was—doing, enhanced her reactions. They tacitly encouraged her to respond with cries and moans, as the waves became surges. Then a storm broke out.
Matilda lost her mind, her reactions unconsidered and violent. But Harry held her safe. Only when she was dazedly wondering what exactly he’d done did he move up the bed so he was over her once more.
He didn’t have to tell her to leave her legs open this time as he slotted his body between her open thighs. He pressed against her, pushed, and her body gave way. He slid inside her.
She gasped and tilted her head back on the pillows.
Fully inside her, he paused. “Matilda, look at me.”
She hadn’t even been aware of closing her eyes. But she opened them now and gazed up at him. He smiled. “That’s what I wanted to see. Is it still good?”
“Better than that.” She tried to use her usual cool tone, and failed miserably.
“You’re perfect. I’m going to tell you that a few times, so you need to get used to hearing it.”
When he withdrew, he felt good, every slick inch put to good use. And there seemed to be a lot of slick inches.
When he thrust back in, she felt even better. Matilda learned to tilt her hips to receive him deeper. He rewarded her tenfold. When she curled her feet around his calves, he muttered, “Oh, yes, that feels so good.” But he didn’t stop. Harry relentlessly pounded into her until a spot inside her caught and burst into flame.
Matilda shivered and shook in Harry’s arms, crying his name.
“That’s it.” He didn’t sound steady any longer. A few more strokes and he joined her. But at the first throb he pulled out of her body and lay over her, his heat erupting onto her stomach.
“Hmm.” A male grunt, and another followed until he lifted his head and planted a firm, assured kiss on her lips.
By now, she knew how to respond, and she did so, enthusiastically.
*
That was better than any feverish dream he’d had. Better than any skillful mistress he’d employed in the past, better than—but no, he wouldn’t do that. He never compared anyone to his dead wife.
Harry rolled to one side, and lifted up on one elbow, cupping his cheek as he gazed at her. When she tried to pull the covers up, he stopped her, and observed the results of their lovemaking, her flushed body, tight nipples. The aroma of two bodies united in passion wove around them.
“Wait here.” Turning, he swung out of bed and went to the washstand. He found a washcloth and after a brief swipe at his privates, he returned and cleaned her. Discretion meant leaving no trace of what they’d done, sight, sound and scent all accounted for. He tossed the cloth back into the cold water and came back to bed.
This time when she tried to cover herself, he helped her, wrapping the covers around her with care. He made sure to tuck himself in with her.
“Oh,” she said. “Goodness.”
“It was rather good, wasn’t it?” He couldn’t help feeling smug. “How would you feel about doing it again?”
“Now?”
He frowned, assessing. “Maybe not immediately. You haven’t done this for some time, have you?”
Matilda shook her head, her hair clinging to the pillow beneath her, as if reluctant to let go. He knew how it felt. “Not for a very long time.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
Why had this woman shut herself away like this? What, or who, had done that to her?
“Oh, nothing.” She lifted her hand in an elegant gesture of dismissal. Harry caught it and kissed it. He wound his fingers through hers, loving the intimacy of the gesture. “Merely a suitor from my youth. I am considered quite an heiress, or I was back then. My father was doing very well, although Annie has far outpaced him. Then I inherited a little money from my great-aunt, so my portion was a good one. Well, a man approached me, wooed me and seduced me. It took him a month. He promised marriage, and I wanted him. My father was ready to sign a contract. Then he found somebody richer and prettier.”
He raised her hand to his lips. “Richer I might grant you, but not prettier. You’re lovely, Matilda. You must know that.” How could she not, when she saw her reflection in the mirror every day? His heart ached for her, but he knew she wouldn’t appreciate his anger with her long-departed nearly-betrothed.
<
br /> The nameless betrothed had used her badly and forced her to hide herself away all this time. Matilda surrounded herself with protections he was honored to see her drop. For him.
Harry would find out who this man was and ensure he never did it to anyone else.
“Others didn’t think so. But I was so ashamed at what I’d let him do that I turned other men away. And then they stopped coming. My father invested my legacy in the Funds, and so I’m an independent woman.” She laughed. “Don’t look like that. I’m not a martyr, or an old maid. That is, I am, but the notion doesn’t alarm me.”
He was right. Fiercely self-sufficient, Matilda had lived her life the way she wanted to. He couldn’t feel sorry for this vital woman. But he wanted more of her. He wanted to drink from that indomitable spirit, take from her strength and give her his own in response.
“You’re remarkable. Not just because of what we’ve just done. I want more, Matilda. May I come back tomorrow?”
Her mouth flattened in a wry grin. “Oh, yes. Tomorrow. I always send my maid away when she’s undressed me. I don’t like to have people fussing around me or hanging around nearby waiting for my next command. So we’re quite safe, as long as you can get to your room unseen.”
The idea of skulking around playing musical bedrooms didn’t appeal, but he couldn’t think of another way to keep their liaison discreet.
“There are enough berries left on that mistletoe to see us to Twelfth Night.”
“And then we will leave?” she asked, no trace of yearning or longing in her voice. This woman wouldn’t beg him to stay or make matters difficult for him. Even if he wanted her to. For the first time since his wife died, he felt that contact, the pleasure of sharing with somebody else.
“And then you’ll leave,” he said, leaning over to kiss her. “Weather permitting.”
Unless he could persuade her to stay.
Chapter Eight
An hour before dawn, Harry left his lover sleeping and half-dressed before cautiously heading to his room. He didn’t breathe out again until he had closed the door behind him.
Warm wellbeing suffused him. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but he had to protect her, to ensure nobody knew what they were doing. Even though affairs were normal currency in country house parties, he had a strong objection to reducing Matilda to a casual affair. He already knew what he would do if they were caught, but wisely he hadn’t said it aloud. He had work to do.
Matilda was exquisite. Fine, high breasts topped with mouthwateringly large nipples the color of damask roses, perched above a slender waist and hips. He wouldn’t call her fashionably voluptuous, but what there was of Matilda was perfect.
When he’d gone to her room he’d thought of mutual pleasure, a discreet liaison, but tonight it had changed to so much more.
After all, why not? He wanted her, badly, and he couldn’t see that ending soon. If ever.
True, they’d only known each other for a few days, but he was older and he knew what he wanted. And what he didn’t want. A young woman, even one as pretty and intelligent as Delphi would not do for him.
Harry stripped, donned his nightshirt and climbed into bed, more to give the appearance of sleeping than in the expectation of getting any. He lay on his back and tucked his hands under his head, staring sightlessly at the bed canopy.
How to convince her? That was a problem. Maybe being kind to the girls might help. And Delphi longed to go to Rome, so he could concentrate on that.
Rome would be a good place for a honeymoon, even if he had to take several people along, including his daughters. The trip was planned and set. Perfect for his purposes.
Harry drifted off, only to be woken by his valet’s cheery, “Merry Christmas, your grace!”
Yes, it was. A very merry Christmas, indeed.
*
Going into the drawing room later that day, Harry could hardly miss Matilda. She was wearing a gown in a shade of pink that the charitable would call striking.
And yet, she didn’t appear in the least vulgar. He’d heard that epithet applied to her, but he would disagree. She liked bold colors, but she carried them off beautifully. Since they were made from the finest fabrics, and trimmed precisely, there was nothing vulgar about them. Or about her, come to that.
“Upstart”, “parvenu”, “Johnny-come-lately”. He’d heard all that and more applied to the Dersinghams and their shockingly sudden ascent to the earldom. So much that he had decided to judge for himself. Anyone garnering that much attention had to have something interesting about them.
And they had. They intrigued Harry more than any family he’d met for a long time.
The Duke of Richmond had daughters who had interested him. Despite their strict upbringing, they were three intelligent, interesting women who determinedly went their own way, defying their tyrant of a father. He’d nearly offered for the oldest, Georgiana, but she’d eloped with Fox the politician instead. That had been ten years ago. Harry would never stand in the way of true love. He’d never been seriously tempted to remarry since. Well, not until recently.
As he went about his duties for the day, Harry kept the precious memory of last night in his mind. He lingered on it, recalled special moments and looked forward to tonight with the eagerness of a youth embarking on his first affair. When he consulted with his sister, and visited his daughters, Matilda was never far from his thoughts.
This being Christmas Eve, dinner was finally festive. The servants had been busy, and he’d wager that Matilda had found time to help them. Her mistletoe harvest was decorating various nooks, the twigs yet abundant with white berries.
The other guests had arrived, and Harry was not remiss in greeting them. While pleased to see his friends and colleagues, he worried for the Dersinghams, and how they would be accepted.
Not counting the children upstairs in the nursery, they were thirty to dinner, a good number. And three dukes, including himself, among them. Glenbreck was engrossed by his wife, and Blackridge glowered across the table at Lady Dorcas, who was sitting next to Lord Comyn.
Harry had the Duchess of Glenbreck on one side, and Lady Delphi on the other. A blatant display of favoritism, but Harry wasn’t complaining. Much. Although he’d have preferred Matilda, he could not show her such attention.
It had been a close-run thing with his sister earlier. She had come close to guessing the truth—that Harry was powerfully attracted to Matilda, and that she was not indifferent to him.
He retained his habitual cordial hauteur throughout the meal. “What relation is Miss Cathcart to you?” he asked Lady Delphi, after tussling with the question for a moment or two.
“She is the aunt of Annie’s late husband,” she answered. “The great-aunt of Annie’s two boys from her first marriage.” So no blood relation to the triplets.
Lady Delphi laid her knife and fork carefully on her plate. Turning to him directly, she said, “She has the perfect right to be here, even if people say otherwise. She’s a valued member of our family.” Her ladyship glared at him.
If he didn’t explain himself, he might find himself wearing a silver fork.
“I’m sure she is,” he replied. Letting his demeanor slip, he gave her a reassuring smile. “And she is an asset to you all. I find such independence—interesting.”
Lady Delphi picked up her weapon, but only to spear a slice of carrot. “I see. She has a great deal of that. In fact, she is threatening to leave us, and go off on some adventure. To tell you the truth, sir, I’m trying to persuade her to go to Rome. I mean, if she wants to travel, where better? She says she would love to and, with the resources we now have, we could easily employ the outriders and protection that we need. But Gerald still says no.” She shot an exasperated glare at her brother.
“An interesting coincidence,” he said, his frost returning. “I had intended to take my daughters abroad next year. We will be traveling to Rome in the spring.”
Yes, of course Lady Comyn heard. Her head went up, and she di
rected a vague smile at him before going back to her conversation.
Harry cursed to himself. What had he been thinking to let society know his plans? He wasn’t a proud man, he left that to others. But if people knew, the chances of them pursuing him to Rome were fairly good. Or rather, bad. Ambitious mamas knew no bounds, unfortunately.
Ah, well, he might as well continue. “My oldest daughter will be preparing for her come-out in two years’ time, probably making her curtsey at court the year after. I see no reason why ladies should not engage in the Grand Tour, so I plan to travel with them before I lose them to their future husbands, whoever they may be.”
“So, you have not planned husbands for them?” She ate the carrot and went in pursuit of another.
“Certainly not at this stage. Dynastic plans can wait. If they are to attain happiness in life, they should know what truly interests them. So we will spend a year abroad. Or maybe less. Our plans are flexible.”
Delphi drew a deep breath and color tinged her cheeks. “Oh, it is above all things what I wish for most in the world!” She glanced at Matilda, but Harry was interested to know that she was not rag-mannered, as she didn’t attempt to converse across it. “Matilda said she was willing to act as chaperone, should Gerald agree. When we lived in Bunhill Row, I dreamed of such a trip but, now, I can plan it.”
“And does your brother agree?”
If his plans came to fruition, he would see Matilda in Rome. He could imagine them wandering around the ruins of Rome together, dining under the canopy of the stars, and dancing in the opera house—did she dance? He didn’t even know that much.
“No.” Lady Delphi returned her attention to her plate. “He says he wouldn’t dream of us going. We could be waylaid by bandits, he said, and he would never forgive himself. But you could reassure him, could you not?”
Traveling in numbers deterred all but the fiercest bandits. “I could not,” he said firmly, but with regret. “Your brother must decide what is best for you. It’s not my business to interfere with family matters.”