“Hush,” he growled, lowering himself on top of her. At the first feel of his erect male length against the sensitive cheeks of her bottom (between them actually!), Thea felt her hips flinch away, then press up to meet him. Her mind might be screaming protests, but it seemed her traitorous low country had other thoughts.
Without further ado, his long legs blanketed hers and his upper body settled over her back. He arranged his arms around hers, bracing the bulk of his weight on his elbows, and cradled her fisted hands within his large palms. Large, strong hands she couldn’t help but stare at, their heat seeping through her skin and igniting an unfamiliar sizzle in her belly.
Hands, thank heavens, that were no longer groping her posterior.
Though why that reality gave her a pang of disappointment instead of relief, Thea couldn’t have said, not now, not when so many new sensations were bombarding her nerve endings.
Her breath—what she could catch of it—came in tiny pants.
When he nuzzled his cheek next to hers, she caught the subtle aroma of the wine he’d consumed with dinner. That and, now that he surrounded her, the elusive, sweetly spicy scent, the one so uniquely his. And an understated reminder of the outdoors, pine or juniper perhaps. Again she thought of the aborted kisses they’d exchanged in the carriage.
Kiss me again.
But she couldn’t ask, not when he’d just told her to hush.
As though he couldn’t be bothered to remove it, he still wore his shirt. Her eyes fixed on the cream-colored linen blending with the gossamer sleeves of her gown as he relaxed his weight against her and started to move, that part of him rubbing so insidiously, so illicitly between the crease made by the lobes of her bottom.
The deliberate motions of him burrowing along the crevice pressed her deeper into the bed. Rather than give in to maidenly hysteria (her first inclination, which was definitely not appropriate Mistress Behavior), Thea concentrated on the masculine hands bracketing hers, the knuckles raised and rough-looking, and tried not to think about how gently those hands had just caressed her in such a personal place. Tried not to think about the foreign texture of his groin snugged flush against her posterior.
Devil take her to Devonshire, it proved impossible.
How could one not think about something so intolerably titillating, so very wickedly stimulating? Especially when a curious tingling began in her abdomen, one she’d felt a time or two but never quite this strongly.
She wanted to roll over, to curve her legs around his and hug him to her. To experience his bare chest pressed against hers, to feel the full weight of him as she looked into his stormy, amber eyes. Despite her misgivings, Thea positively had to express that desire. “Lord Tremayne, I—”
“Shhhht!” It was a grunt this time but he softened it by kissing behind her ear. A lingering kiss that moved leisurely down her neck and stopped when confronted by the lacy edge of the night rail.
He reached between them to pull the neckline lower. The delicate lace resisted and several threads snapped.
“D-damn me,” he muttered between kisses. “Buy you another.” And then his lips plastered themselves to the groove between her neck and shoulder and he kissed her with more feeling. Her head dropped to rest on his bent arm as she surrendered her inhibitions to the divine assault of his mouth.
His legs slid between hers, forcing them to part. The action widened her thighs and slanted her intimately into the mattress. His thrusting motions continued, prompting Thea to squeeze the halves of her bottom together. For if she didn’t, he might slip and accidentally enter her—there.
The fast motion of his pelvis rocking into her became hard to follow. Confused beyond reckoning, Thea simply held on, enduring the irregular position, enjoying his kisses, wondering…
Didn’t he want to be inside her? To put his long stalk in her delicate flower? Mr. Hurwell had used those words once, early in their marriage. She’d not paid them much mind then.
But now, she sensed her flower pearling with dew, preparing to bloom. If only Lord Tremayne would—
He gripped her hands tighter as his breathing became erratic. His weight bore down and her hips began to rotate on their own, to move against the mattress, angling so that the bed provided friction to her center, even as her traitorous backside pressed up into Lord Tremayne’s groin. Giving herself up to the moment, Thea rode the waves of his undulating body, consciously relaxing in order to move in tandem with him.
“Thea.” Another grunt, the whisper of her name, but one that touched her. She might be perplexed by his unexpected actions, but she felt unaccountably cherished by the way he said it.
He stopped kissing her shoulder and exhaled harshly near her ear. A drop of sweat rolled off his face and landed on the bed sheet. Again he rasped, “Thea.”
His side whiskers rubbed against her temple, abrading her skin, when he said it.
The force of his movements increased. His hips jerked hard into her several times before stilling. And Thea knew the warmth of his seed upon her back.
Other than a slight twitch of his spent erection, all was frozen: time, her pounding heart, even the restless yearning centered in her woman’s flesh.
He shifted against her and his long exhalation stirred the loosened hair near her ear.
Would he tell her to face him? To roll beneath him? Would he now thrust into her rose? End the persisting ache in her abdomen?
Anticipation wound through her.
Abruptly, he released her fingers, pushing up on his arms and away from her. He eased off her bottom. The air hit her newly exposed skin and caused chills to erupt along her spine. The sticky wetness remained on her back.
“Lie still,” he commanded, climbing from the bed.
Thea had to stifle a giggle. What did he think she might do? Offer to rush downstairs and bring him a brandy? Jump up and dance a quadrille?
As soon as it formed, she longed to share the jest with him. But the wall of silence he’d erected stayed her tongue. Wondering what would come next, she held her breath as he stepped into the dressing room.
While she awaited his return, she repeatedly smoothed the sheet beneath her fingers, searching out the spot where his drop of perspiration had landed. The simple motion calmed her, though the wetness remained elusive.
Seconds later, Lord Tremayne approached the side of the bed. He ran a cloth over her lower back and bum, even swiping once between her cheeks!
Now would he come back and join her? Finish the act?
Aye, for she heard him removing his shirt. A sigh of relief, of nervous excitement escaped as Thea languidly rolled to her side—only to find him pulling his shirt not off but his trousers on.
“Lord Tremayne?” Thea hurriedly lowered the night rail and spun to her back. She hugged a pillow to her torso, vexed to see his attention focused on his garments—and not his mistress. Why, now that he’d finished their erotic exchange, he wouldn’t even look at her! Was too enamored with wrestling his tailcoat after snatching it from the bench.
“My lord? You’re leaving?” Her voice squeaked at the last, making her sound needy indeed.
Definitely not the impression she intended to give her new benefactor. “Of course, you must leave.” She attempted a credible, casual laugh (and feared she failed miserably). “You have a home to return to, after all.”
A home he likely shared with a wife.
Thea nearly choked on that unpalatable thought. Why had she not thought to ask Sarah? After all, Lord Penry was married. Chances were Lord Tremayne was too.
Emotions too plentiful to name, too punishing to endure threatened her outward calm but Thea resolutely shrugged them off. Dwell on him, you ninny, and your new safe existence. “Thank you again for providing me such beautiful accommodations and—and—”
Why did her throat thicken and the words come swiftly, as though trying to outrun tears? Why were the carnal urges storming her insides stronger than ever before? She barely knew the man, knew even less about hi
m. She only knew that she wanted to again feel his body upon hers, this time without the barrier of their clothing. To explore his broad chest, feel his skin, slick with sweat, against—
Thea sat up and clutched the pillow tighter. She’d put on a confident air or her name wasn’t Dorothea Jane Hurwell, the dashed Best Mistress of 1815!
Daniel knew his duty.
Send the woman a bauble first thing tomorrow. A sparkly trinket delivered straight from the jeweler’s with his name attached to the box.
That’s what men did for their mistresses—the requisite token of appreciation; something tangible, something expensive that paved the way for the next encounter.
Next encounter? Hell, he wasn’t satisfied from this encounter. Not even close.
He might have melted across her back, gained some measure of release, but it wasn’t the one he wanted—to mount her Venus mound and ride them both to heaven—nor the one he promised himself he’d take—
Damn his cowardly hide! He hadn’t been able to do it—breach that virgin territory of hers. Not and maintain his honor. Coitus per anum might be well and good for a man’s raunchy mistress, but Thea didn’t act like one and he’d be damned if her first introduction to sex with him was an act of sodomy guaranteed to drown any tender feelings she might ever harbor for him before they had a chance to float to the surface.
Though he wanted to doff his vestments rather than don them and hunker down in that pretty, feminine bed, he didn’t trust himself to exercise restraint if he stayed the night through.
Ignoring the inner promptings to linger, Daniel snagged his tailcoat from the bench and shoved his arm into it just like he shoved away his yearning—ruthlessly.
He might know his duty but the vague notions that brimmed in him now confused the hell out of him. Duty mixed with not-quite-filled desires and an odd eagerness to please. To convince Thea she’d made the right choice, choosing him as her protector.
Mayhap he’d compose a note, a sincere and personal “thank you” to accompany the trinket.
Pen her a missive? The asinine thought had his arm missing the second sleeve twice.
What was he thinking? He was a grown man with physical urges, not a damn suitor for her hand!
Never before had he thought to send a gift because he wanted to. He hadn’t even left her bedchamber—and yet he was already acting like a lovesick swain, anticipating his return…
Pining for more time with her. A time when he might tup her properly.
A time when he might hold her, sleep with her in his arms… A time when he might stay the night.
He thought to kiss her, to stroke the fallen hair from her flushed face and tell her with the touch of his lips how much he wanted to stay. But he knew his own limits as well as his duty.
So, without sparing her another glance, he picked up his boots and crossed to the door. Hand on the knob, he stared at the dark wood in front of him. “Thea.” Just the act of saying her name soothed the rasp plaguing his neck. “May I visit you again?”
“Certainly, my lord. You are welcome here anytime.”
She answered too swiftly for him to mistake her reply. Of course she could do naught but agree. After all, it was his money buying the house. Buying her.
The tenor of their association gave her no other choice. His fingers tightened on the brass knob.
This wasn’t how he wanted it! Not between them.
Risking a glance, he angled to catch her gaze. She looked so damn inviting, hair mussed, plump lips curved in a tremulous smile—one that didn’t quite make it to her eyes and therefore kept his hand in place, strangling the knob, so he wouldn’t lunge for her. That and the reddened patch the torn neckline revealed—where his damn whiskers had abraded her soft, soft skin. “Thea.”
It was a sigh. An apology, a question. All he couldn’t say.
One she answered simply with, “I will never turn away your company.”
But would she welcome it?
When she offered, “In truth, I will eagerly await your next visit,” words she needn’t have uttered, his pride was soothed and he decided she just might.
Mayhap his earlier actions hadn’t botched things beyond repair. “Very well.”
He wanted to tell her how much she pleased him. How he’d enjoyed laughing with her in the carriage, holding her within the cage of his arms so very briefly. How he looked forward to more time with her alluring backside, more time with her.
But of course he could attempt none of those things, not with his damn mouth.
After a final, abrupt nod, he wrenched the door open and escaped.
Now that she was alone, the finality of the latch clicking into place sounded disproportionately loud.
Thea was positive he’d wanted to say more before he plowed through the doorway. Twice, he’d opened his mouth but both times slammed it shut.
Had she displeased him? Nay, because he’d expressed his desire to return.
Releasing her worries on a sigh as she sank deep into the sumptuous mattress, Thea heard him pause outside the bedchamber to pull on his boots. A moment later, he pounded down the stairs.
So this was it? Her first night as a fallen woman. Curious how she felt so very elevated, then. So very—
He raised his voice, calling out. Thea cocked her head and heard the low rumble of conversation before Lord Tremayne exited the townhouse.
Afterward, someone shut the door and locked it—from inside.
Which could only mean that, in addition to securing the house, he’d also procured a servant? For her? Though in her youth she’d experienced such, since her marriage, Thea had learned to depend solely on herself, money for servants something Mr. Hurwell decried as an unnecessary luxury.
But now it seemed she had someone else to depend on. Goodness, that would take some getting used to. Time enough to greet them when she wasn’t so befuzzled.
Perplexity over Lord Tremayne’s disquieting behavior and excitement over her new lodgings battled in her breast.
Breasts that felt heavy and acutely sensitive.
She slid her fingers over their tips, still tight and hard. Though she’d never touched herself outside of bathing before, Thea couldn’t stop her growing curiosity. Given the added knowledge she had thanks to Sarah, the added awareness thanks to Lord—
What was his given name? “Lord Tremayne” seemed so inappropriately formal now.
Now that he’d awakened new urges.
Thea allowed one hand to wind down her stomach. When it reached the juncture of her legs, she pressed inward. Even through the gown, undeniable moisture greeted her fingertips. That and the insistent longing gripping her loins told her she’d wanted the sex act tonight.
It was more than she could have hoped for.
Tomorrow. How she hoped Lord Tremayne visited her tomorrow, for she ached to be with him again. To laugh with him again. To have him, not just on top of her, but inside her.
Of their own accord, her fingers delved farther into her cleft. Never before had she felt so saturated. Thea scrambled to raise the gown out of the way. When she did, the warm slickness covered her fingers as her inner muscles pulled them deep. With the palm of her hand, she rubbed against her core, flinching from the pressure.
Determined not to recoil, to brave the new sensations as she knew a Proper Mistress (what a combination!) ought, she moved her hand, pushing her fingers higher, and rocked her pelvis against her palm. Instead of bringing relief, the motions only heightened the ache.
Uncertain what to do next, feeling so tightly wound she wanted to burst, Thea eventually slowed the motions, then pulled her fingers free. She wiped them clean with the washcloth he’d left by the bed. Considerate man. She wished the bounder hadn’t left.
At some point, she slept.
But only after counting the two hundred and forty-seven rose petals painted on the armoire (the remaining candle burned out before she could finish). And only after reaching the surprising realization that in addition
to her body craving Lord Tremayne’s return, her mind craved his company as well.
Though she was his, technically bought and paid for, when he looked at her, he didn’t make her feel cheap or tawdry. Unlike the insulting glare of her former landlord, her new protector’s gaze didn’t brand her as his possession. Instead, being with him made her feel like a person. And a desirable one at that.
Gracious. She’d only just met the man and already felt indebted to him, thankful he’d given her something she hadn’t even realized was missing these last difficult months—her dignity.
Thanks for reading Mistress in the Making, Book One - SEDUCTIVE SILENCE. If you have a chance to write a review, it’s always appreciated. Reviews and word-of-mouth are two of the best things you can do for authors you enjoy.
Thea and Daniel are two of my all-time favorite characters. Their story is just getting started; turn the page for a look at LUSTY LETTERS where they begin flirting and getting to know each other in a way I never expected when I handwrote Daniel’s first note to his new mistress. :)
For yourself, savor the silence when you can and speak up when you need to.
Excerpt from LUSTY LETTERS
Chapter 1
Whereupon Things Progress Nicely…and Naughtily
Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed.
William Shakespeare, King Henry IV
The first attempt (the strip of paper it was on cut away, now balled up and swept to the floor):
Mrs. Hurwell–
What a horrid beginning. Did he want to instill more distance between them?
Second attempt:
Thea,
Please accept my most humble thanks—
“Humble thanks?” What am I? Her deuced hat maker?
Seductive Silence (Mistress in the Making Book 1) Page 12