With none of the ostentation found below, the elegant cream-and-pink room possessed beautifully carved furniture. Painted roses trailing on vines decorated each piece of the matching set: armoire, a dresser along one wall, and a pair of chairs at a circular table occupying a corner.
There were few adornments beyond the furniture itself, simply the large bed, a vase of real roses atop the armoire—how extravagant—and lit candles sprinkled liberally throughout—how doubly extravagant.
As he hovered closer, Lord Tremayne’s heat scorched along her back. Under his direction, Thea stepped farther into her new room.
“May I have a moment of privacy?” she asked, surreptitiously looking for the chamber pot.
He indicated a shadowed door across the expanse. “I…believe what you seek is through there.”
“I’ll hurry,” she promised, edging toward what she realized was an adjacent dressing room. “Just please, ah…give me a moment—”
“Thea.” He held up one hand and gestured between them and then to the bed, his gaze never leaving hers. “This is…not a race.”
“Then I won’t hurry,” she assured him. At his raised eyebrow, she blurted, “But neither will I dally.”
Her cheeks heated at the amused look he gave her and Thea rushed to the promised respite, swiftly shutting the door behind her.
Only to find the windowless room completely dark.
Completely, as in pitch-black.
She blinked and waited—to no avail. She wouldn’t have known if a herd of mice were juggling grapes at her feet.
Thea eased the door open. Lord Tremayne hadn’t moved. “A candle—” She pointed as she sped toward the closest one. “I’m afraid I need it.”
“B-by all means.” The wretch was laughing at her again, but she couldn’t seem to mind, not when his eyes twinkled too. He clasped his hands behind his back, and when she raced past him again, candle in hand, he winked.
Face flaming, body thrumming, Thea escaped to the sanctuary of the dressing room where she found not only the chamber pot but also a basin of water and more personal necessities than she knew what to do with. And, unmistakably, what she was expected to don for the night—a long, ivory gown hanging next to the washstand.
Knowing she mustn’t tarry, she quickly disrobed and took care of her ablutions. Rather than linger over the task, one made especially pleasant by the warmed water and soft towel, Thea made do with as expeditious a cleaning as she could muster, ever aware of the strapping six foot plus of utter masculinity waiting only a few paces away.
Once her skin fairly sizzled from the brisk scrubbing, she reached for the voluminous night rail. “Heavens, there’s enough fabric here to sail the Royal Navy.”
Shouldn’t official Mistress Apparel be more…scant?
Thea laughed at herself. What had she expected? To be attired as the buxom beauties in the paintings downstairs—in absolutely nothing at all?
“You noddy! Be grateful for the long sleeves that’ll hide the bruises!”
That fortified her and she pulled the gown over her head, inhaling in surprise when the filmy fabric caressed her bare skin. Practically choking when she realized the wealth of froth was in direct opposition to what it concealed—or didn’t conceal.
Every shadow and cleft of her body was more than apparent. But before she had time to wither in mortification, Thea saw how the waves of diaphanous fabric hinted at curves and a womanly softness she knew had long deserted her limbs thanks to the meager rations she’d come to subsist on.
The capacious gown had obviously been sewn for a woman much taller than she. The neckline rode low on her shoulders, the sleeves hung inches past her fingertips, the hem pooled on the floor, but the nearly transparent mistresswear only enticed Thea to stand tall. (It was either that or bemoan her lack of needle and thread, and she’d never been one for moaning over what couldn’t be changed.)
It was past time to begin “earning” the right to her new accommodations and the lovely nightclothes. If she spent any more time thinking about what she’d be doing in the next few minutes—with a man she’d only just met—she’d likely barricade the door and that wouldn’t do, not at all.
Done with dithering, she leaned over to blow out the candle. As the smoke wafted by her in the dark, Thea decided she must learn to conduct herself as someone used to such lavish surroundings.
That thought fortifying her courage, Thea bunched the lacy cuffs in her fists, held the overlong gown off the floor so she wouldn’t trip, took a deep breath for courage and barreled through the door. “I’m ready, my lord.”
Thank God. The avocado abomination she called a dress had been abandoned in favor of an alluring night rail.
She’d left her hair pinned in place, but the provocative confection she emerged in more than made up for it, a confection he’d happily appreciate—off her—at a later date.
At the moment, damn his infernal luck, he had a bravely trembling mistress-to-be to soothe.
For despite what she claimed, he knew better. She wasn’t ready. Nowhere close.
She might not be a stranger to sex, but she was definitely a stranger to kissing. And to sex with him, and he’d be damned if he’d “rush his fences” and ruin a potentially grand thing.
Striving for control he was far from feeling, Daniel allowed his attention to drift over her shoulder to the door she’d burst from. He’d hoped the time alone might work a miracle, that her inhibitions, along with her ratty dress, might be cast onto the coals upon her return. But judging by the quickness of her breaths, the shaking of her person, that was too much to wish for, at least for tonight.
While she’d been gone, he’d taken a moment to appreciate the scrupulously clean environment. The furnishings below stairs—and in the master chamber down the hall, he’d noted when he’d escaped to find his own chamber pot—were tawdry beyond belief.
But the couple his man of affairs had hired to staff the place promised to make up for the prior occupant’s lack of taste. They knew their duties: the chamber was cozy from the banked fire, the bed was turned down (in here, not the master’s rooms he noticed; seemed he wasn’t the only one who found the garish vulgarity off-putting, given how this was the room they’d readied). The perfect number of candles were lit—enough to see by but not so many the intimacy was shattered.
Add to that, they knew how to disappear—he knew they resided in the servants’ quarters on the lowest floor, but he hadn’t heard a peep.
Thea’s “I’m ready,” shook him from his stupor.
What was he to do with her? Or with the need filling his loins?
Thea skidded to a halt at the sight of Lord Tremayne standing patiently near the bed.
He was fully clothed save for his tailcoat, which he’d draped over the dainty bench at the foot of the massive bed.
At her appearance, pleasure flared in his eyes but the look was squelched so quickly she wondered if she mistook his approval.
Would he stay the night? Sleep here after her mistress duties were done? She’d lain in the same bed nightly with Mr. Hurwell and it had been a singularly…uneventful experience. Unless actually copulating, her late husband had taken pains to remain on his side—and instructed her to do the same (the one time she’d drifted near, Mr. Hurwell had taken exception to her “cold extremities” upon his person).
Lord Tremayne didn’t seem a man to be put off by frigid feet. Though, Thea reflected, curling her toes into the thick rug, they didn’t feel the least bit cold now.
What to do? What to do?
Her fingers clenched the delicate fabric and she made a conscious effort to relax. Tossing her head as though she did this sort of thing every night, she repeated, “I am ready, my lord.”
Ready for what, she wasn’t quite sure.
Him to kiss her again, certainly.
“On the…bed.” Lord Tremayne spoke the command quietly.
Having him tell her what to do was a relief. Thinking mayhap he’d kiss her th
ere, she crossed the room under his watchful gaze.
The bed itself was fit for royalty, standing far above the floral rug and supporting a sumptuous mattress. Thea marveled at her new circumstance as she perched warily upon the edge and ran her fingertips over the crisp sheets. Amazing, from sleeping on rags piled on the floor to this? Pristine and unwrinkled, the linens bespoke of purity. A whimsical notion, yet not sufficient to detour her thoughts from the direction they’d gone all evening…
What kind of lover would Lord Tremayne be? Slow and tender as she’d dreamed of as a girl, spinning fantasies about her future husband? Or abruptly efficient as Mr. Hurwell had been? Or possibly masterful and commanding as she longed for several years into her lackluster marriage?
Anything other than the tepid, perfunctory matings she’d known would suffice. It seemed Mr. Hurwell had thought it his duty to have congress with her monthly, whether he wished it or not. More than once, he’d even fallen asleep in the middle of the act—was it any wonder she’d questioned her ability to seduce and satisfy?
Thea sensed Lord Tremayne evaluating her and left off admiring the sheets to gaze up at the man she was here to please. Was he? Pleased at the sight of her? At the notion of bedding her?
Brooding silence aside, she hadn’t a clue.
He stood near the foot of the bed, his formidable shoulders slightly hunched, fists clenched, staring at her and not looking very much like a man pleased.
But also definitely not on the verge of sleep. Quite the opposite, in fact. He studied her with an intensity she might find alarming from anyone else. But there was no mistaking how her body responded to him, growing restless in the strangest places… “Lord Tremayne? My wish…”
She couldn’t hold his gaze a moment more, so she looked down and was reminded how prominently the sheer gown displayed the summits of her breasts, the shadowed triangle between her thighs.
Shocking—how this much loose fabric managed to reveal. Shocking, that the sight of her nearly nude body didn’t send her scurrying for cover but instead gave her a measure of confidence she’d lacked moments before.
She risked another glance at him. Surely, even in the dim candlelight, he could see her beaded nipples through the thin fabric. See how she didn’t shrink from him. See how she was agreeable to pressing forward. Then why did he not move toward her? Take what he’d bought, what she freely offered?
Was he waiting for her to lie back amid the fluffy bedcovers? Waiting for her to crawl beneath them? Or, mayhap, the opposite?
Think like a mistress. “I wish to please you. Shall I”—gulp—“remove my gown?”
“Nay. Leave it.”
For if she didn’t, Daniel feared he’d pounce on her and banish to the rubbish bin his good and wholesome intentions of giving her time. In truth, he was of two minds—take her anyway, despite Sarah’s counsel, or depart Temptation’s presence. Return home and palm his staff as he’d been doing nightly, only this time, to the vision of Thea.
What circumstances brought her to this place? Because it assuredly wasn’t an honest desire to barter her body, not the way she trembled more than a leaf in a storm.
He half-wished he hadn’t snapped when Penry dangled the bait. Thea was a young, fresh-faced guppy swimming in shark-infested waters, not at all the experienced, older widow he’d been led to believe.
He ought to cut his line and throw her back.
Daniel’s tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth as their too-brief kiss flashed through his mind. He wanted to taste her again—everywhere. Everywhere.
If he tossed her overboard, someone else would catch her up.
The thought of anyone else swimming in her waters— “God-d-d-dammit!”
Thea jumped a foot and Daniel realized he’d cursed out loud. His infernal mouth!
“My lord?” Her face was flushed and her body quaked as though the bed balanced on a high wire. But her eyes, those soft, mossy eyes met his valiantly, as if she didn’t abhor the thought of him taking her. As if she was amenable to it, mayhap even anticipated it with something other than dread, but she wasn’t comfortable with the idea.
Not with him. Not yet.
And when she gave a solemn blink and a hint of hurt entered those pretty eyes, as though she sensed his hesitation and had concluded he found her lacking (patently preposterous!), it all caught up with him: the whole entire aggravating day…
Wylde’s asinine request, Ellie’s tears, the damn orrery he couldn’t get working. Add in the weeks of sexual frustration, his own agonizing over Sarah’s “party” and meeting a potential mistress…
Tom Everson.
And there it was. The one thing troubling him more than anything else—save for Thea’s trembling—how effectively he’d crushed the young man’s spirit.
Bloody hell.
Bloody, bloody hell! Where was the ease a man’s mistress promised? The refuge from life’s travails? The night of sleep?
By God, he’d paid for the right to use her body and use it he would!
And it had nothing to do with that wounded look in her eyes. Nothing.
“T-turn over.” Even a paltry two-word request was beyond him? Double dammit!
“Pardon?” He could tell he’d startled her.
Too damn bad. “Over,” he ordered harshly, gesturing with his arm, sick of dithering. “On your stomach.”
Confusion wrinkling her brow, she complied, bringing her legs to the mattress and then rolling to face the bed. He took advantage of the moment to prowl the edges of the room and extinguish every candle save the one burning closest to her bed.
Mayhap the shadows would help alleviate her nerves.
They sure as hell didn’t mitigate his desire, not when he returned to her side and found her resting on bent elbows, upper body propped over a pillow.
She didn’t look at him, didn’t ask what he had planned, just resolutely waited.
Waited for him to join her, to take her.
Well, take her he would—his way. The lewd way he’d begun envisaging after his former mistress dragged him to one of those wretched shadow plays which illustrated the arousing act in all its unnatural glory. The bawdy way the same former mistress had permitted a time or two—just enough to whet Daniel’s appetite for more.
Thump. His left boot hit the floor.
Snarl and thump, he wrenched the right one off as well. Then he tore through the buttons on his trousers and pushed them and his drawers down, kicked them off.
He was stiff as a pike, his poker ready to poke but damn him if he’d settle for resolute. No, by God, when he finally took his new mistress, really took her as a man did a woman, it’d be because Thea wanted him to. Needed him to release the torrent of desire he’d build into a writhing ache…
But not tonight. Tonight was for him. To ease his relentless desire
The mattress dipped when he placed one knee near her hip. And because he couldn’t wait any longer, Daniel smoothed the night rail over the small of her back and the flare of her hip. Savoring how the material felt sliding over her warm skin, he lowered his open palm to the swell of her backside, settling it firmly atop the cheek closest to him. She made a faint sound in her throat, not a whimper, not a protest (he didn’t think), perhaps something between the two.
He wanted to ask her. Wanted to haul her upright, take her hand in his and talk. Ask her if she feared him (and assure her she needn’t), ask why Sarah had issued that blasted caution, why circumstances had dictated a change in her fortune (because that…that…that maggoty dress had no business covering the form of such a well-mannered young woman).
He wanted to ask her whether he could stay the night—and where the blazes was her cloak.
But Daniel knew better than he did his own name if he opened his mouth and started the imbecilic spewing before he ever had a chance to give her a different impression first, all would be lost.
Just as he was lost—lost to reason and any finer sense when he watched his fingers travel dow
nward over her legs until they gripped the hem of the frothy night rail and, by a will stronger than his own, whipped it up her body until the fabric ballooned at her waist. So his eyes could drink her in.
The gentle flare of womanly thighs, the anxiously flexing toes and muscles of her calves, the sweetest little derrière—clenched so tight he couldn’t mistake how appalled she must be, knowing he looked his fill.
Relax, he murmured in his mind, shifting the rest of his weight onto the bed and straddling her thighs as both his hands stroked the halves of her arse.
His heart gave an unfamiliar lurch when she let him, her ragged breaths the only sign of her distress. That dark seam between his fingers beckoned, especially now that she’d unclenched, and Daniel edged his thumbs inward, beyond pleased when her hips tilted as though inviting him to explore further…to delve into deeper, damper territory.
But his own territory had grown damp—the small circular spot darkening the tail of his shirt where it drifted past the tip of his rod glaring the evidence. His cock was past ready to spend.
Without giving himself time to debate further, Daniel firmed his grip on her cheeks and slid the opposing sides of her bum apart, groaning at the musky, dark pink flesh the action exposed.
What was he doing back there?
“Ah…” Thea gulped down the apprehension threatening to close off her air. She was a grown woman. She’d had amorous congress before, she consoled her growing nerves.
But not like this!
Never like this!
She trusted him, Thea reminded herself. Trusted the understanding man in the carriage who had kissed her so tenderly.
But still! “Lord Tremayne?”
With his broad hands holding her posterior in a most objectionable way, his heavy and hot lower half hovering over hers, Thea’s insides were a pure muddle.
Outrage, uncertainty, perhaps a bit of passion in the mix, it all boiled together, churning her stomach in a most disturbing manner. She strove to look over her shoulder. “What, ah, are you—”
Seductive Silence (Mistress in the Making Book 1) Page 11