License my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below.
John Donne, c. 1572—1631
Wren would recall that rainy afternoon ride through the forests and across the meadows of Swanslea Park for the rest of her life. It would remain firmly embedded in her heart and on her soul as the day she fell in love for the second time in her life.
Drew pulled her close against his body, enveloping the both of them in the generous folds of his sealskin cape. Their clothing was already soaked through, but the cape kept the worst of the cold and rain at bay as they meandered over the estate.
“I never understood the allure of the hunt or of galloping a horse across the meadows,” she told him. “I didn’t understand the sense of power and freedom being on a horse gives one. Until now.”
“Walking a horse doesn’t compare to the freedom of galloping it across the meadows on your own, but sitting this way should approximate the feel of riding in a ladies’ saddle,” Drew told her.
“A ladies’ saddle doesn’t offer the warmth or the support and protection your body affords,” Wren replied.
“No, it won’t,” he agreed, “but it offers other protection.”
“Such as?”
“Well, there’s no danger of slipping off.” He tightened his arms around her. “Falling backwards, perhaps, but not slipping off.” He smiled at the flash of alarm that lit her gray-green eyes. “And there’s no danger of anyone taking liberties with your person.”
Wren arched her eyebrow in an uncanny imitation of Drew. “I didn’t realize I was in danger of having anyone take liberties with my person.”
Drew leaned forward and nuzzled her ear. “No one but me.”
“Really?” She flirted with him, her voice low and softly seductive. “Tell me, Lord Templeston, if you were to take liberties with my person, what might I expect them to be?”
“If I were to take liberties,” he drawled, “I might begin by slipping my hand beneath the folds of this cape so that I might unbutton your pelisse.”
He followed his words with action. Shifting the rein to his left hand, he bit the fingers of the leather riding glove covering his right hand and pulled it off. He unbuttoned the deep flap pocket on the outside of his cape and shoved the glove into it, then repeated the procedure to remove his other glove. When his hands were bare, Drew carefully eased the right one beneath the folds of the sealskin cape to unbutton Kathryn’s pelisse.
Wren captured her bottom lip with her teeth and barely breathed as she waited for Drew to unbutton the last in the long line of onyx buttons fastening her jacket closed.
“And once I freed the buttons from their buttonholes, I might slip my hand inside your pelisse and continue my exploration of your person.” His voice rumbled in his chest, his words hypnotic and deeply arousing.
Wren turned until she sat between his legs, her bottom wedged against his groin, her back resting heavily against Drew’s chest. Her new position allowed him greater freedom to explore, but her seat was precarious. Wren weighed the impropriety of what she was about to do against the impropriety of what she was allowing him to do.
Sensing her indecision, Drew leaned close and whispered, “There’s no one around for miles in any direction except me and I’ll not be disclosing your breaches of propriety.”
“Bother propriety!” Wren shifted her weight from right hip to left, hiked her skirt as far up as it would go, and maneuvered her right leg over Felicity’s neck until she sat straddling the saddle, her legs resting against Drew’s on either side of the horse.
“My sentiments exactly.” He kissed the back of her neck.
Wren shivered with delight.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Not at all,” she replied. “So tell me, Lord Templeston, if you were granted greater liberty to explore my person, what would you expect to find upon it?”
“I would expect to find two of the most extraordinary things any man could hope to find.” Drew ran his hand over the front of her gown. The damp muslin clung to her body like a second skin, revealing the intriguing curves and bumps along the way. He paused to toy with the ends of the satin ribbon on the bodice of her gown before he gently palmed her left breast. “There’s one.” He whispered the words in her ear while he applied firm pressure in a rhythmic circular motion against the hard nub of her nipple. “Standing his post through rain and chill and deliberate invasion like a good little soldier.” Her clothes created a tantalizing friction as he moved his hand over her. He ran his thumb over her nipple once again, then cupped her breast, plumping it, measuring the weight of it in his hand. Wren groaned her pleasure.
Guiding the horse with his legs, Drew let go of Felicity’s rein, shifted his weight in the saddle, and slipped his left hand inside her jacket. “There’s the other one,” he noted, taking full measure of her other breast. “Just as straightforward and as steadfast in his duty as his mate.” He pressed the flat of his hand against it and began to knead it in the same circular motion he’d used before.
The feeling of pleasure was like nothing she’d ever experienced except the wondrous feel of her baby at her breast. She wondered, suddenly, how it would feel to have Drew suckle at her breasts. The idea released an embarrassing surge of moist heat in her most feminine places. Wren pressed against the saddle in an attempt to assuage the ache.
“So, milady, have you any complaints about the feel of my hands upon your person?” he asked.
“Only one.”
“Indeed?” He flicked his thumbs against the steadfast soldier and his mate, eliciting a series of husky groans from her lips. “And what might that be?”
“Only that my clothing prevents me from feeling your bare flesh upon mine.” She broke off the teasing, flirtatious banter and replied honestly in a soft, shy tone of voice.
Drew’s groan was louder than any of hers. He was rigid with desire at the image her words evoked. Drew shifted in the saddle to relieve the pressure in his groin, but it did no good. Kathryn snuggled closer; the feel of her firm, rounded bottom pressed to him was sheer torture.
She closed her eyes and relaxed against his chest. “May I ask you something, Drew? Something personal?”
“Of course.”
“Will you promise not to laugh or take offense?”
He smiled. “I’ll do my best not to.”
“I’m serious, Drew. You must give me your word.”
“Not to laugh?”
“Not to mention a word of what I’m about to ask you to anyone. Or to laugh at me for asking.”
“All right,” he agreed. “You have my word on it.” Her willingness to trust him took Drew by surprise.
He ceased his exploration of her breasts, but he didn’t remove his hands from her jacket. He simply cupped his hands over her.
“I’ve given birth to a child.” She made the announcement as if Kit’s birth were a revelation to him.
“Yes, I know,” he replied, dryly.
“I carried him in my body and, after he was born, I allowed him to receive nourishment from my breasts.”
That was a revelation. Noblewomen didn’t feed their own children; they hired wet nurses to handle the chore for them. “And…” he prompted.
“I enjoyed it,” she whispered. “It gave me the same feelings of pleasure that you’re giving me. And I thought… I mean… I wondered if other people might feel the same way.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never been acquainted with a lady who nursed her own child, so I’ve never been in a position to ask.”
“Oh.” She was silent for a moment. “Well, what about you?” she asked. “If you had the opportunity, do you think that you might enjoy—that you might find pleasure in…”
“In what? Suckling a child?”
“No, in suckling me.”
He didn’t think it was possible for his member to become more rigid or insistent upon relief, but Kathryn’s question proved him wrong. “God’s nightshirt, Kathryn!
What kind of question is that to ask a man?”
“An honest one,” she said. “I was curious as to whether or not I might be unusual. I know the ton frowns upon women who wet-nurse their children. And I’ve been told that a great many women find it unpleasant, even shocking and revolting. So, I wondered if men… if you…” Embarrassed, she allowed her words to trail off.
“If I what?” The suspense was killing him. “Come on, Kathryn, say what you want to say. Spit it out. Don’t turn missish on me now.”
“You give such incredible pleasure with your hands,” she said, “that I wondered if the same would be true if you used your mouth and tongue and teeth like a baby does. I wondered if there were men who would consent to perform such an intimate task or if they found the prospect as shocking and unpleasant and revolting as the women of my acquaintance seem to.”
Drew didn’t laugh out loud, but the relief he felt was so great that he couldn’t keep from laughing on the inside—or prevent his body from shaking from the effort of holding it in.
“Drew, you promised!”
“I know. And I’m trying, but I can’t believe you don’t know the answer to that question.”
“I’m gratified to know that you find me so amusing,” she snapped.
“I find you desirable,” he corrected. “And I’d consider it an honor and a privilege to suckle you.” So would most every other man in England, but Drew didn’t feel it necessary to reveal that bit of information.
“You would?” Wren heaved a sigh of relief. “You wouldn’t find it disgusting or unnatural?”
“I’d find it the most beautiful and natural thing in the world,” he assured her. “And if we weren’t riding in the rain in plain sight of those tenant cottages”—he nodded toward a row of cottages lining the road that led to the village—“I’d be happy to prove it.”
Wren followed his line of vision. They had ridden across the parkland, followed the stream through the forest, and emerged near a group of tenants’ houses. “I thought you said we were miles away from anyone.”
“We were when I said it, but Felicity took a shortcut when I wasn’t paying attention, and now we’re within a half mile of those tenant cottages. But don’t worry. No one will suspect we’re doing anything except riding. You’re completely covered.”
She glanced down to make sure and discovered that Drew was telling the truth. Her head was bare and her hair was soaked, but his sealskin cape covered her from her neck to her ankles. No one looking at them from a distance would ever suspect that he had his hands on her breasts.
“But,” he added, “in order for me to taste you, you would have to face me and I’m afraid we’d both tumble off the horse in the process. But if we attempted it and somehow managed to stay on, there would be no way for me to get to you without concealing myself beneath the folds of my cape or exposing you to other eyes and the elements. And your reputation would be in shreds if anyone happened to see us because there would be no disguising what we were doing.”
Wren chuckled. “In case you haven’t noticed, my reputation is already in shreds.”
“In London, perhaps, but not here.” Drew amazed himself by telling her what he’d already realized. “Everyone on Swanslea Park and its environs thinks very highly of you.”
“Not everyone.”
“Everyone that matters,” he amended.
“Despite the fact that I’m the mother of your father’s child.”
“Yes. Despite even that.”
Wren shivered. “Thank you, Drew.”
“For what?”
“For saying that and for this afternoon and my riding lesson.”
“You’re welcome.” He ran his right hand down her ribcage and over her firm stomach. “Now, may I ask you something personal?”
Wren braced herself. “Y-yes, of course.”
“Has there ever been a time you regretted not marrying me?”
“Every day of the past six years.”
“Thank you.” Drew pulled her closer and hugged her tightly—so tightly that her clothing began to emit an angry-sounding, high-pitched squeal. Felicity reacted to the unfamiliar sound by stamping her feet and taking several sidesteps. Wren held on to Drew for dear life while he withdrew his left hand from the folds of the cape and reined the horse to a stop. Drew took a few precious moments to calm Felicity before asking, “What the devil was that?”
“Erin!” Wren gasped. “Merciful heavens, I forgot about Erin! I put her in the pocket of my pelisse before I left the cottage. We must have dislodged her.”
Something furry scrambled over his right forearm and down his hand. “And Erin would be… ?”
“Short for Erinaceus eropaeus.”
“Which is… ?” Struggling to remember his Latin, Drew grabbed the furry creature and pulled his hand out from under his cape. He opened his fist to reveal Erin, curled tightly into a defensive ball, her quills pricking his skin and her teeth firmly clamped in the webbing between his thumb and index finger.
“My hedgehog.”
Chapter Sixteen
Once a Mistress Page 19