It looked like a Christmas gift wrapped in white paper and sealed with gold ribbon, where all one had to do was undo the ribbon to have the present open like a flower and reveal all sorts of good things inside. That was what he wished to do: unwrap every inch of her to see what lay beneath.
“Shall we begin?” she asked, her throaty tone merely enhancing his pleasant fantasy.
She’s talking about the dancing, you fool, not fulfilling your fantasy. Get your mind out of the gutter.
“I warn you,” he said as she came toward him, “this may not work.”
“All we can do is try,” she said lightly.
There was a white wicker settee piled with cushions next to where he stood, so she took his cane and propped it there. Then she paused to gaze down at it. “That’s a new cane.”
He was surprised she’d noticed. “A friend gave it to me after I broke mine earlier today.”
She caught her breath. “What friend?”
“The Undersecretary of War.”
“Oh, right. I forgot you had an appointment there today. Did it go well?”
“Well enough.”
He certainly couldn’t complain about the sword cane he’d found ready-made at Bennett & Lacy, along with the pair of travelers’ pistols that would serve him better than the duke’s ornate one. And the gunsmith was making him a cane with a pistol to hide in the handle, too, although it wouldn’t be ready for a week.
“This cane seems quite a bit stouter than your other one,” she said. “Does it have a sword in it, too?”
“It does. Why? Are you wanting lessons in swordplay now?” When delight leaped in her eyes, he said hastily, “That was a joke.”
“We could trade lessons,” she said with a minxish smile. “I’ll teach you to waltz and you can teach me to use a sword.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m not even sure I can waltz.”
“Right.” She came up to him. “For the first position—”
“Wait a minute.” He already felt unsteady without his cane. “How many positions are there?”
She avoided his gaze as she removed her gloves, then tossed them onto the cushions. “Only nine.”
“Nine! Are you daft?”
“Just try the first one, all right?”
“If you insist.” But if she was taking off her gloves, he was removing his, too.
Moving to stand next to him, she put her left arm across his back and his right arm across hers. That steadied him a bit. Perhaps he could do this.
Then she said, “Now you keep your left foot facing forward while you put your right one perpendicular to it. Like this.”
He stared at the perfect V her feet made and felt defeat swamp him. “I’m sorry, dearling, but my right calf and foot won’t move that way.”
“Of course they will, if you just—” She caught herself. “Oh. You mean they can’t move that way.”
“Exactly. They’re pretty much frozen in their present position.”
She lifted her gaze to him, her cheeks stained scarlet. “I didn’t realize . . . that is, practically every step of the waltz requires both the man and the woman to put their feet like that or point them or some such. So the waltz definitely won’t work. I am so very sorry.”
“I’m not.” Relieved that he hadn’t had to fall flat on his face to prove he couldn’t dance, he pivoted to pull her fully into his arms. “It allows me to hold you without having to watch my step and count off the beat.”
“We could try . . . another dance,” she breathed, though she readily put her arms about his waist.
“Must we?” He brushed a kiss to her brow. “Holding you is something I rather enjoy.”
She nuzzled his neck. “Do you, now? It’s very scandalous, you know.”
“Not nearly as scandalous as some things we’ve done.” He began to kiss his way along her forehead. “And definitely less scandalous than I intend to be.”
That made her tremble a bit, yet he could feel the wild beat of her heart against his lips at her temple. Nor was she pulling away. So surely she must want him a little herself.
She took a shallow breath. “Earlier, you told me . . . you knew better than to say certain things while wooing a woman.” Her voice grew husky. “What would you say? If, for example, you were trying to woo me?”
“Hmm.” He thought a moment as he continued scattering kisses down to her pretty ears. “I’d say you have eyes as green as forest pools, the kind a man could lose himself in. That you have a lemony scent all your own, both tart and sweet, which somehow makes it more delectable.”
Her breath feathered past his cheek, quickening as he tongued her ear. “Now who’s been reading sentimental poetry?”
“Shall I go on?” he asked.
“There’s more?”
“Ah, dearling,” he said, “there always seems to be more to enjoy with you. More wit, more surprises . . . more of this.”
And with that, he covered her mouth with his. He couldn’t seem to help himself. She was so giving and eager, as if she’d been waiting for him to come along and open her wrapping paper.
Their kiss rapidly grew heated until all he could think about was touching her. But he couldn’t do it while also holding on to her for support. So he dropped onto the settee next to his cane, pulling her down and onto his lap.
She gave a little squeak, but threw her arms about his neck all the same. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“God, no. And even if you were, I would endure it just for the chance to hold you like this.”
He leaned her back so he could kiss the soft swells of her breasts, which he’d been coveting a taste of since he’d first seen her in the ballroom. He knew he didn’t dare undo her gown enough to suck them the way he wanted. They both had to return to the ballroom eventually, and he wasn’t entirely certain he could get it all back properly.
But there was something else equally pleasurable that he could do, and it would hardly dislodge her gown at all. Sliding up her skirts a bit, he reached beneath them to run his hands up her thighs—her sweet, silky thighs—above her garters. She dragged in a shuddering breath that only inflamed him more.
“So soft,” he rasped as he caressed her. “Your skin is as delicate and smooth as the finest satin. It makes me want to do this.”
He lifted her off his lap to set her on the settee next to him. Then, after moving to the other end, he spread her legs apart so that one was on the settee and the other on the floor. From there, all he had to do was push up her skirts in order to bare all to his gaze.
“Joshua! What are you—”
He bent to kiss her thigh.
“Oh. Good. Heavens. This is insanity.”
Yet her hands grabbed at his shoulders as if to hold him close, and she made no effort to close her legs. He took that as a definite sign of encouragement.
With his heart thundering in his chest, he kissed and tongued his way up her thigh to the prize he was more than eager to gain—the thatch of curls at the juncture between her legs that hid the tender flesh he wanted to suck.
He could already smell her arousal. God save him, how it drove him out of his mind!
“Are you . . . trying to seduce me . . . sir?” There was a hint of alarm in her voice now.
“I want to pleasure you,” he said honestly. “If you’ll let me. Will you?”
He could barely see her eyes in the candlelight, but he would have sworn they glittered with anticipation. Though he told himself he was doing this as part of his campaign to make her confide in him, in his heart he knew it was more than that. He wanted her, was holding his breath as he awaited her answer.
Then she smiled like a cat in the cream. “Please do.”
That was all he needed to hear.
Chapter Fourteen
Despite giving him permission to do this, Gwyn hadn’t expected him to stare at her there. She ought to find it embarrassing. Instead, she thought it the most . . . most carnal thing she’d ever exp
erienced! Her blood roared in her ears, and she couldn’t help squirming under his eager gaze.
She squirmed even more when he delved through her curls with his thumbs to unearth the flesh beneath. “You’re wet for me, dearling. Wet and warm and fragrant, like a spring flower opening to the sun after a rainstorm.”
There was that endearment again. And more sweet words, too. Who would have guessed that Joshua had a gift for the poetic?
Then . . . then came something even more surprising. He bent to kiss her. Down there! And given the way he went on to flick and lick and tease her flesh . . . well, it seemed obvious he was enjoying it as much as she.
She couldn’t imagine how, because she was enjoying it beyond anything. Fire raced through her veins, and Joshua stoked it higher with every lash of his tongue. He might not have romantic feelings for her, but he certainly desired her. Surely no man would do this . . . odd thing to a woman without desiring her.
Nor had she ever experienced such an incredibly sensual bombardment. Joshua’s mouth and tongue and fingers aroused her where she least expected it, and the feeling . . .
Oh, it was incredible. She heard herself making moans and gasps that sounded as if they were coming from someone else. Because surely she couldn’t make such noises.
“Joshua . . . I haven’t ever . . . This is so . . . Good Lord!”
She’d had no idea such wonderful sensations existed! Clearly, she’d taken leave of her senses. Then Joshua started thrusting his tongue inside her, and her heart nearly failed her. It was . . . exquisite. No other word sufficed.
Catching his head in her hands, she pressed him into her to gain more of the ecstasy she craved, and he gave a triumphant chuckle.
She didn’t care if he triumphed, as long as he kept . . . doing . . . kept doing . . . oh, Lord, that! Exactly that. Because now he was delving in and out of her with his tongue in a rhythm that seemed both familiar and exotic. It tugged her up and up, like Jack’s mythical beanstalk growing toward the sky.
Soon Joshua’s tongue was stroking more deeply, and his thumbs were stroking, too, but in an incredibly sensitive spot that made her want everything he could give her. She could hardly breathe for the excitement rising down there, carrying her on to greater heights . . . into the clouds and beyond to magic worlds . . . that unfurled as if . . . in a dream.
“Joshua . . .” she begged, not quite knowing what she was begging for. And then whatever it was found her, like a bolt of lightning. “Joshua!” she screamed, clutching him to her as she shattered into a million pieces, all at once.
As waves of pure, decadent pleasure shook her, she collapsed against the settee’s back. “Ohhh, Joshua.”
He kissed her thigh, then drew down her shift so he could wipe his mouth on it.
“That was . . . amazing,” she whispered. “I never dreamed it could be like that with a man. It was the perfect end to my debut ball.”
“Has it ended?” he asked in a ragged tone. “What a shame, now that I am finally beginning to enjoy it.”
“No, you’re right. It can’t be over.” She pushed herself up to sit beside him once more. “You . . . haven’t . . . found your pleasure yet.”
He pulled down her skirts to hide her legs. “I had enjoyment enough in pleasing you.”
She arched a brow. She knew exactly how men found their pleasure, and it wasn’t like this.
“Besides,” he continued, “someone is bound to have missed us by now, and we’ll soon have them all gossiping if we stay out here too long. You are, after all, one of two guests of honor at this ball.”
She found her gloves crammed between the cushions and drew them on. “I suppose you’re right.”
That he could go so easily from giving her the greatest pleasure she’d ever known to thinking rationally about hiding their illicit encounter was upsetting. But then, that was Joshua’s way, wasn’t it? Pretend he didn’t care, that it didn’t matter. Or perhaps he wasn’t pretending. Perhaps he was a less-obvious version of Lionel, still wanting to take advantage of her without marriage being part of it.
Feeling an acute pain in her chest at that possibility, she stood and roamed the room, hunting for her reticule. She found it on the floor near the settee. Then she heard Joshua’s cane clicking on the stone floor as he came up behind her.
“I do not regret one moment of what we did,” he murmured. “It was . . .”
When he faltered in describing it, she said, “Magical. For me, it was magical. Thank you for that.” She struggled to hide her hurt. “But don’t worry. I won’t assume that it means anything. After all—”
“So this is where you two got off to,” a hard voice said from the door that led to the house proper. “I did wonder.”
Gwyn whirled to find Beatrice standing there, glaring at Joshua. Heat rose in Gwyn’s cheeks. How long had his sister been standing there? What had she seen?
Oh, Lord, if she’d seen Joshua pleasuring her, Gwyn would just die.
“They’re asking for you in the ballroom, Gwyn,” Beatrice said, though her gaze never moved from her brother. “Grey wants to make a toast to both of us, and I told him I’d find you.”
Gwyn swallowed. “I–I wanted to show Joshua your orangery. He seemed rather keen to see it.”
Beatrice snorted. Gwyn risked a look at Joshua only to find him wearing that bland expression he wore when he didn’t want anyone delving beneath his surface.
“Well, then,” Joshua said, coming up to offer Gwyn his arm. “I suppose we’d best return to the ballroom.”
“Gwyn,” Beatrice said, “if you could please go in and give me and my brother a few moments alone? Tell Grey I’ll be there shortly.”
Joshua dropped his arm, and half in a trance, Gwyn hurried out. Oh, she would never live this down. Never! She hoped that Beatrice had been the only one to notice that both Gwyn and Joshua were gone.
Otherwise, Gwyn’s debut had just gone from magical to disastrous.
Joshua didn’t say a word as Gwyn fled. Or after, for that matter. Because judging from the look on his sister’s face, she was about to do all the talking, and it would not be pleasant.
“Are you trying to ruin her?” Beatrice asked bluntly.
“Ruin her? We merely came out here to see the orangery. And Lady Gwyn had some odd notion she could teach me to waltz, but of course that didn’t work.”
“I am not a fool,” Beatrice said calmly. “I know what I saw.”
Saw? Bloody, bloody hell.
Then he remembered that his sister could be sly when she wanted. “What could you possibly have seen but us talking?”
Beatrice stuck out her chin mutinously. “I saw her hunting for her reticule.”
“Which she dropped while we were attempting the waltz.”
“And she looked rather . . . disheveled.”
“That happened while I was hobbling about, trying to dance.”
It was no use. As Beatrice had said, she was no fool. She stared him down. “I thought you were a gentleman, Joshua, but clearly I was wrong. So help me, if you harm one hair on my friend’s head—”
“I would never harm her,” he said earnestly. “Not as long as I live and breathe.”
His sister seemed taken aback by that statement. Damn, he shouldn’t have admitted as much, especially to Gwyn’s bosom friend. But he wasn’t going to take it back. Let Beatrice make what she would of it. It was true.
He went over to straighten the cushions on the settee, and she followed him. “You harm her by walking out into the gardens with her and staying gone for half an hour or more.”
He raised a brow. “Have you been spying on me? Because I seriously doubt anyone else in that ballroom noticed.”
“That the guest of honor and the only man in uniform in the room disappeared at the same time? I assure you someone noticed.”
“Who?” he demanded.
“We probably won’t know that until the gossip rags start circulating tomorrow morning.”
“I
f that happens, and if the gossip looks as if it might in any way ruin her reputation, I will do right by her, I swear.”
“You will marry her.”
“Not that she would have me, but yes.” Although before he did, he would demand to know what the devil was going on between her and Malet.
His sister planted her hands on her hips. “Why wouldn’t she have you? You’re a wonderful fellow when you wish to be. But when people edge too close, you always start pushing them away, and then, of course, you end up alone. So you blame it on your wounds instead of your fear, and on and on it goes.”
“Thank you for that fine assessment of my flawed character,” he snapped. “Now, may we go in?”
She gave a heavy sigh. “We aren’t going anywhere. I am returning to the ball and you are leaving.”
“The hell I am.” He walked up to loom over her. “I’m her bodyguard. I do not leave her side.” Especially with things between them so unsettled.
“Thorn told Grey all about the arrangement you made with him, and Grey told me. But I assure you, she is safe with us. Thorn might have left, but Sheridan and Heywood are here now. And Grey will accompany her and Lady Hornsby home whenever they’re ready to leave. But if you go back inside with me, anyone might guess I found you two alone together. I won’t risk it. This way, if someone asks where you are, I can say you left hours ago. That you hate balls or some such.”
Her plan made sense. But it still chafed him that his sister was treating him the way he’d treated Greycourt last year, when Joshua had found the duke in her bed. Joshua hadn’t even gone as far as Greycourt, for God’s sake, and Beatrice was treating him like a scoundrel.
Or an untrained hound who needed to be schooled in proper behavior.
As always, his sister could tell when he was angry, for she placed a hand on his arm. “Dear heart, I don’t know exactly what lies between you and Gwyn, but I know what she’ll suffer from the gossips if they figure it out. This is best and you know it.” She ventured a smile. “And you don’t enjoy balls anyway; admit it. You were glowering at everyone all evening. While the family knows that’s typical for you, our guests may not.”
The Bachelor Page 14