“Ohh.”
Her small moans went straight to his cock. He thought he could smell her desire, an intoxicating, musky scent far more entrancing than any perfume.
This restraint was going to be torture, but it would be worth every minute.
He slid the second stocking off. “And now your hair. You can’t go to bed in your pins.”
She looked at him blankly, eyes slightly unfocused, lovely bosom heaving.
Excellent. She was already befuddled by passion.
He sat beside her on the bed, took her shoulders, and turned her slightly so he could reach the back of her head. He pulled the first pin loose.
“Don’t lose it,” she said, rather breathlessly.
“I know—you don’t have extras. Here, we’ll collect them in your lap, shall we?”
She’d crooked one leg on the bed, forming a triangle in her shift, and had braced herself with her hands on the mattress.
“Oh. Y-yes. All right.”
He reached around to drop the pin in her lap, and then slid his fingers back into the silky mass. “How many are there?”
“Um. Ah. S-six. I-I can do it myself, you know.” But her hands stayed where they were.
“Yes, but tonight I am your maid, remember.” He whispered the words by her ear, brushing her skin with his lips as he reached around to drop another pin onto her lap.
Had she pressed back against him? Perhaps. He’d swear he’d heard her breath hitch.
“My job is to minister to your needs.” He kissed the spot behind her ear before he pulled out another pin. “All your needs.”
He half expected her to protest, but she didn’t. Instead she gave a soft, little moan and tilted her head, wordlessly—and perhaps unconsciously—inviting him to kiss the sensitive spot again.
He did. Zeus! This slow, deliberate, careful bed play was going to kill him. It was nothing like his usual lusty romp. This time his mind was involved—and he rather thought his heart, as well.
He took his time, running his fingers through her soft, thick hair, finding the sensitive points on her scalp. Her eyes drifted closed again as if she were concentrating on his every touch.
He found the last pin, dropped it in her lap, and combed through her hair with his fingers one last time.
“Mmm. That feels good.”
That was Caro talking, but it could have just as easily been him.
“I-I should braid it.” She smiled, her eyes still closed. “I’m guessing that’s beyond your skills?”
He chuckled. “Yes, I’m afraid it is.” He brushed her hair aside to kiss the spot under her ear again. “Leave your hair down tonight, Caro. It’s lovely.”
“It will be a tangled mess tomorrow if I do.” She said the words as if she’d already resigned herself to that fate.
He nuzzled the top of her neck. “If it is, I will be happy to help you comb it.”
“Mmm. I hope you are as good at untangling snarled hair as you are at unknotting dress tapes. I—ohh!”
His fingers had moved from her hair to her lap. One hand cupped the outside of her leg, holding it still, stroking it, while the other chased the hairpins down her shift, closer and closer to her core. The pins were small, and his fingers felt large. Thick and clumsy.
Something else felt thick—and was rapidly growing thicker as Caro moaned and fidgeted against him.
He’d not paid attention to other women’s scents or the texture of their hair or the changing colors of their eyes or the subtle shift in their voices as their passion grew. He’d been too focused on getting his cock inside them to notice such details.
With Caro, he wanted to memorize every nuance.
“Pesky pins,” he murmured as he drew one slowly up her thigh.
“Um.” She pressed back against him.
Did she know she’d tilted her hips up slightly? Perhaps her body had taken over from her mind....
It’s Caro’s mind I most have to woo.
He pursued the last pin down the valley of her shift, dipping deep to trap it gently against her body—and then he waited to see if she would startle.
She didn’t. If she moved at all, it was to press against his touch.
He smiled and drew his finger slowly up, brushing over the seam of her opening, until he could pinch the pin between his thumb and fingertip.
She was panting again. Her head had fallen back against his shoulder, her lovely breasts thrust out, her nipples forming little peaks in the thin fabric of her shift. He couldn’t resist—he cupped one breast with the hand not encumbered with pins and stroked the nipple with his thumb.
Caro caught her breath, eyes flying open.
“Shh,” he said, stroking the side of her breast this time. “You’re safe. I have you.”
She must have decided to trust him, because he felt her body relax—until he tried to touch her with his other hand, the one with the pins.
“Careful! You’ll spill them.”
He chuckled. “Of course. Pardon me. I will put them away safely.”
He disentangled himself, and then made a great show of carefully laying each pin on the bedside table.
She pulled a face, and he laughed. Warm affection flooded him, diluting and softening his pounding need.
Odd. He’d never before felt this way in bed.
Or out of bed, for that matter.
“And now, milady, it’s time for your shift to come off. I’m sure you have only the one with you. You’ll want to remove it so it will be aired out by morning.”
Uneasiness and indecision clouded her eyes again. He would give her a gentle push in the right direction.
“Remember, you agreed it would be unsporting to keep it on and hobble my efforts to sell you on the wonders of physical pleasure.”
She nodded slowly. Reluctantly?
He would reassure her.
“And remember as well that I’ve promised to keep my breeches on. You will be completely safe from anything of that, er, nature.”
She looked at him guardedly, and he waited while she made whatever calculations she needed to. This had to be something she chose freely—not something he seduced her into that she’d regret later.
But he could still present arguments, couldn’t he? She was undecided, which meant part of her wanted to go down this path. And it was quite possible that not going forward would be what she’d regret later. She could always turn back if she changed her mind. His breeches were buttoned and would stay buttoned.
Perhaps appealing to her business sense once more would work.
“This is an exceptional offer, you know. You may never have this opportunity again—to have a man at your beck and call, willing and eager to be your lady’s maid in all things.”
Doubt still flickered in her eyes, but he thought he saw curiosity—and passion—there, too.
“I promise to stop the moment you say the word, just as a good servant would.” And he’d learned this morning that she liked to be challenged. “But I wager instead you’ll beg me to keep going until you scream my name in ecstasy.”
She snorted, skepticism suddenly writ large on her features. “You’d lose that wager.”
“I think not.”
Her eyes narrowed. “All right. I’ll bite. What are your terms?”
Aha! He had her. He just had to offer her something so enticing she couldn’t refuse. But what . . .
Of course!
“I’ll order a dozen casks of your Widow’s Brew if I lose.”
She snorted again and rolled her eyes. “And what do I owe you in the unlikely event I’m the loser?”
What did he want? Nothing besides the reward of bringing this difficult woman pleasure. “You’ll have to thank me politely.”
Her mouth fell open, she gawked at him—and then she grinned. “You’re on.”
And with that, she scrambled off the bed and grabbed the hem of her shift, almost as if she were afraid that if she waited, she’d lose heart.
Or perhaps
she just wanted to be in control.
Or...
Coherent thought evaporated as Caro pulled the shift up and over her head.
“Here you go,” a beautiful, wonderfully naked Caro said as she handed him the garment. “Hang it up so it doesn’t wrinkle, if you please.”
Chapter Sixteen
Lud! Her heart was pounding so hard, Nick would have been able to see it if he were still staring at her. Instead, he was across the room by the hearth, making a show of draping her shift over one of the chairs—the chair she’d been sitting in when she’d told him about Dervington’s attack and her father’s letter and then had drunk far too much brandy, got sick, and spent the night next to him. In bed. In this bed.
He’d been naked then—
Dear God, I’m mother-naked now!
She was never completely naked, except in her bath, and she always hurried through that.
She scrambled back onto the bed, dove under the coverlet, and pulled it up to her nose.
And then peered over the edge to watch Nick walk back toward her.
His body was very nice—tall and lean and muscled. She eyed his fall, and for a moment wished he would unbutton it and let her see his hips and thighs. And his cock, poor ugly—enormous—thing.
She shifted on the bed, remembering the feel of Dervington’s—
No. Nick has promised to keep his breeches on.
“Don’t be afraid, Caro,” Nick said, sitting next to her, his weight depressing the mattress so it sloped slightly toward him.
She inched away and moved the coverlet down to her chin to say, “I’m not afraid.”
The lie was automatic. It didn’t fool either of them.
“Ah. So then why are you hiding under the bedclothes?”
Did he expect her to flounce around the room? “I might be a little nervous. I’m not used to this sort of thing.”
He smiled in an understanding, comforting sort of way. “I meant it when I said I’ll stop at once, the moment you say the word.” His smile widened. “If you say it.”
And then he just looked at her and waited.
Oh, hell. She was afraid—and she hated being afraid.
I trust Nick as much as I trust anyone. . . .
The truth hit her so hard it took her breath away.
I don’t really trust anyone, do I?
Why should she? Her family had turned its back on her. Her friends . . . well, her only friends were Jo and Pen, and Pen had married and left her and the Home.
Caro knew she shouldn’t feel betrayed by that, but she did. Stupid! Pen had her own life to live. Everyone did. It was the way of the world.
Ever since she’d fled Dervington’s London house—if not before—she’d known she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself.
The thought made her oddly melancholy. And . . . lonely.
She shook the feelings off. She would rely on herself now—on her own judgment—and she judged she could trust Nick. After all, he could have taken whatever he’d wanted last night when she was asleep.
He was offering her an exceptional, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. For years she’d suspected other women were lying when they said they enjoyed bedroom activities, but it was galling, at the advanced age of thirty, not to know the truth of the matter.
She couldn’t let a little case of nerves keep her from finding out once and for all.
Nothing Nick had done so far had been anything like what had happened with Dervington. And if Nick failed to show her passion, he’d promised to buy her ale. That would be a win right there.
Enough! She was tired of being afraid or nervous or whatever this fluttering feeling was. And she was very tired of being ignorant.
“All right,” she said, a bit roughly, trying to mask her unease. “We have a wager. You might as well see if you can win it.” She lifted a brow, but kept the coverlet firmly under her chin. “Is there a time limit? I assume you’ll need more than fifteen minutes since you spent that long this morning with your”—what to call it?—“foolishness. However, I would like to go to sleep tonight.”
He grinned at her. “You are endlessly entertaining, Caro.”
She frowned. She had not said anything entertaining—she’d been rather caustic—and she knew Nick was smart enough to have heard the edge in her voice. Yet he was still grinning at her and seemed genuinely diverted.
“I definitely don’t want to inconvenience you,” he said. “How does this sound? If you are bored and still wishing to go to sleep in thirty minutes, I will concede defeat, and you may charge me for those casks of ale.”
This was going to be too easy. Only thirty minutes and she’d earn a tidy sum for the Home. And if Nick liked their ale, she might have got a new customer. Perhaps several new customers, if he shared it with his London friends and they liked it.
This ill-fated journey might turn out to be profitable after all.
The thoughts passed through her mind—but like lessons learned by rote, recited by habit. The feelings of pride and satisfaction that always accompanied them were strangely muted today.
This time the notion of winning felt more like losing.
Balderdash. She was just out of her element....
Ha! She was naked and in bed with a man. She couldn’t be more out of her element if she sprouted wings and flew into a tree.
“Very well. I can expend half an hour on this project. Proceed.”
And that made Nick laugh!
“No, don’t frown,” he said, still grinning. “You have set me quite a challenge, but I accept it.”
Nick looked over at the clock on the mantel, the one that had been flanked by the oddly blissful shepherdess and the statue he hadn’t let her see. “We’ve just hit the hour.” He looked back at her. He was still smiling, but now his eyes had an intent, sharply focused look. “Let’s begin.”
“All right. It’s—oh!”
Nick didn’t waste any time. He stretched out on the bed, which caused her a moment of anxiety, but when he didn’t shift his weight on top of her, pushing her into the mattress so she couldn’t breathe—
“Shh.” He stroked her cheek. “Don’t worry. Nothing unpleasant will happen.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Trust me.”
There it was again—trust. She wanted to trust Nick.
I trust tavern keepers to pay their bills....
That wasn’t the same thing at all.
“Remember how you felt this morning?”
This morning had been very nice.
“And just a few moments ago when I was taking out your pins?”
That had been nice, too.
“Loosen the tight rein you’ve got on your feelings, Caro. Let your body guide you.” He brushed his lips against her jaw. “Be brave.”
I want to be brave.
“Be fearless.”
I want to be fearless.
“Be passionate.”
Passionate? “I . . . I don’t know how.” The “how” came out on a bit of a wail.
“I’ll show you.” He stroked her hair, kissed the corner of her mouth. “Will you let me?”
She wanted him to show her. She wanted to know what it was like. “Yes.”
He smiled, and then his mouth brushed hers. The touch, light as it was, shot through her like lightning, incinerating all her hesitation and fear. And when his fingers pushed aside the coverlet, she didn’t protest. No. Suddenly, she wanted his clever hands to move lower.
They did. His fingers brushed the side of her breast, and the slight friction of his skin against hers caused both her nipples to tighten into hard, aching nubs. The channel between her thighs where Dervington had been ached, too, not in pain but in . . . need. As if it were empty and crying for Nick—and Nick’s long, thick cock—to fill it.
Good God! She shuddered—but in anticipation, not horror.
She’d felt none of these sensations with Dervington. He’d fumbled under her nightdress, slobbered a kiss or two on her lips, and then climbe
d onto her and shoved his way in. She’d felt nervous and anxious, and then she’d felt pain the first time, discomfort the second. There’d been none of this . . . excitement.
“Stop thinking of Dervington, Caro.”
“I’m not.”
Nick chuckled, seeing right through her lie. “Perhaps it will help if you think of the, er, brew that Dervington served you as vastly inferior, tasteless small beer. What I’m offering now is a sample of high-quality, robust ale.”
She snorted. “Aren’t you cocky.”
He grinned. “Oh, yes. Very cocky.”
The way he said it made her think of his swollen organ, of course. A hot tide of embarrassment swept up from her. . . .
Er, perhaps the hot flush wasn’t embarrassment.
Nick glanced at the clock and then down at her again. “I’d best begin in earnest if I’m going to win our wager.”
“Ha!” Caro couldn’t take that lying down—well, yes, she was lying down. But she couldn’t lose a wager—
Perhaps this is one you want to lose . . .
Nonsense! “You haven’t a chance of winning tha—eek!”
His lips brushed the side of her breast, and her nipples tightened again. She needed him to touch them. To lick them—
What an odd idea—but an exciting one. Should she mention it to Nick? He did say she could give him suggestions.
Perhaps he’d come up with the notion himself. His lips were moving in that direction, but he was taking so long. So maddeningly long.
She was going to lose her mind if he didn’t hurry.
He didn’t. His lips kept up their glacial progress, inching closer and closer to one nub, while his fingers stroked nearer the other—which, oddly enough, only made her ache more.
She moaned again and arched up, encouraging him to touch her now.
He chuckled.
“Nick.” She grabbed his hair and tugged, trying to pull him over to where she needed him.
“Patience, love.”
Love.
It was just a casual endearment. She knew it meant nothing. But she wished . . .
Her thoughts spun away as Nick’s mouth and fingers finally reached their destinations. His tongue glided over one aching nipple as his fingers tweaked the other.
The Merry Viscount Page 22