The Scandalous Miss Howard

by Nan Ryan

  And then laughing out loud with sheer, unadulterated delight.

  Laurette had felt certain that what Sutton had done to her—what she had allowed him do to her, had wanted him to do to her—was shocking and unorthodox. But, oh, what incredible ecstasy! She had almost felt that moment of stunning rapture again and she’d automatically pressed her thighs together tightly, squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth.

  Finally she’d thrown back the bedcovers and sat up. She’d swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, but still hadn’t gotten up. She sat there, reluctant to move, to do anything. She’d felt different that morning. Not like herself. Not like she’d ever felt in her life.

  Had she looked different?

  Abruptly, Laurette had risen from the bed, pulled her nightgown off and sat back down on the mattress’s edge.

  She examined her naked body and shivered when she saw that the pale flesh of her breasts, around her nipples, was still pinkened from Sutton’s burning kisses, his sucking lips.

  She had tingled with embarrassed pleasure when she parted her legs and saw, high up on the inside of her left thigh, a small red splotch. She touched it with her fingertips and sighed, remembering. Sutton’s mouth had played and plucked at her thighs for a long, lovely time and it had been pure heaven.

  Laurette had drawn a quick, shallow breath at the highly erotic vision of Sutton’s handsome, bearded face pressed between her open thighs, ardently kissing her, lovingly licking her. Never had she felt anything quite so pleasurable. Never had she done anything quite so scandalous.

  Suddenly embarrassed and ashamed, Laurette had grabbed her discarded nightgown, risen from the bed and, holding the gown modestly against her nude body, rushed into the dressing room to get ready for work.

  Now, as her shift was ending and she was ready to leave the hospital, her thoughts remained on Sutton. Had all day. She couldn’t get him out of her mind and she was already worrying and wondering when she would see him again. If she would see him again. If she should see him again. If it wouldn’t be better if she never saw him again.

  Who was she trying to fool? She wanted to see him more than anything in the world. She had to see him. She could hardly wait to see him.

  At two o’clock sharp, Laurette stepped out the heavy front doors of the hospital. She promptly frowned. It was chilly and rainy and she dreaded the walk home. She raised her parasol, pulled the collar of her wrap up around her ears and skipped down the steep hospital steps.

  She was yawning by the time she got home and strongly considering a nice, long afternoon nap. She hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep last night. Now, after a long, hard day at the hospital, she was tired, totally drained of energy.

  She’d been home only long enough to hang up her wrap and build a fire in the fireplace when someone knocked on the door. Laurette sighed—the last thing she wanted on this rainy afternoon was company. She’d bet anything that it was Johanna, bored and looking for company.

  Laurette was pleasantly surprised when, pushing her hair behind her ears, she opened the door to find Sutton standing on her veranda.

  “May I come in?” he asked, a bouquet of white roses in his hand.

  “Please do,” she said, her face growing warm.

  Before he took a step inside, he turned halfway around, inclined his head and casually asked, “Who lives on the south side of Dauphin in that big red Georgian mansion?”

  “The McBains,” Laurette replied. “Mr. and Mrs. Ralph McBain. Their children have all grown up and left home.”

  “Have the McBains lived there long?”

  “Yes. Sixteen years, I believe. They fled Atlanta in the war, moved down here.” She extended her arm, urging him to enter. “Come on inside, it’s cold out.”

  Sutton nodded, but stayed where he was, continuing to glance at the red mansion barely visible through the falling rain.

  “Who lived in the house before the McBains bought it?” he asked, then carefully studied her face as she answered.

  A hint of melancholy came into her luminous dark eyes, but with little emotion in her voice she said, “The Dasheroons. Douglas, Carrie and Ladd. Ladd was their son, a year older than I. We were playmates and best friends. We…and we…” She didn’t finish the sentence.

  “What happened to the Dasheroons? Did they move away?”

  Laurette swallowed hard and shook her head. “They are all dead. The father and son were both killed in the war. The mother contracted yellow fever and succumbed in the summer of ’74.”

  “I’m sorry.” He came inside and, handing her the white roses, said, “I didn’t mean to…don’t be sad, Laurette.”

  “I’m not,” she replied and smiled at him. “It all happened a long time ago.”

  Walking in front of her, his eyes narrowing slightly, he said, “And you got over it a long time ago.”

  “Yes, of course,” she replied.

  A muscle spasmed in his tight jaw at her response, but Sutton quickly regained his self-control and walked into the drawing room. Laurette followed. She put the roses in a vase and artfully arranged them.

  Standing in the middle of the large room with his back to the fireplace, Sutton asked, “Where are all the servants at this early hour?”

  Laurette laughed and said, “Why, I’m standing right here in front of you.”

  Sutton frowned with disbelief. “You mean you have no servants? None? You are all alone here in this big house?”

  Before she could answer, he began to smile devilishly. He came to her, took her by the hand and led her out of the drawing room toward the staircase.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  When they reached the second floor landing, he turned toward the back of the mansion. He didn’t want to take her to the master suite. He didn’t want to lie in the bed where she had once slept with Tigart.

  Laurette stopped and said, “Sutton, my bedroom suite is the other direction. Why don’t we go there and—”

  “Let’s not,” he said and propelled her toward a little-used guest room at the very end of the hall.

  When he pushed the door open and handed her inside, she turned and said, “Why are we going in here?”

  “To make love,” he told her and took her in his arms. Sutton kissed Laurette and as he kissed her, he reached out and yanked the covers from the bed, leaving only the sheeted mattress. The counterpane, quilt and pillows lay on the carpeted floor.

  The kiss finally ended and Laurette sagged against him, her heart pounding, knees weak. His lips in her hair, she heard him say, “Do you remember how we made love last night?”

  Her eyes slid closed and she murmured, “How could I ever forget?”

  “Good. I don’t want you to forget. I want you to remember. I want to love you like that again and again so that you will never forget.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Only this time I want to be as naked as you. Will you help me get undressed?”

  Laurette raised her head. “It will,” she said with a sly grin, “be my pleasure.”

  She urged him down onto the edge of the bed and stood between his knees. She pushed his pale-gray frock coat off his shoulders and down his arms. “Shall I hang it up?” she inquired, as she picked up the coat and folded it over her arm.

  His answer was a wink as he reached out, took the coat from her and tossed it across the room. It came to rest near the open door. Both laughed as their hands went to the buttons of his cream silk shirt. Laurette slapped his hands away.

  “I’ve an idea,” she said and her dark eyes sparkled.

  “Which is?”

  “You undressed me last night,” she reminded him. “Now I will undress you.”

  “As you wish,” he replied and dropped his arms to his sides. He caught himself liking the way she teased him as she unbuttoned his shirt. She let the fingertips of her right hand play in the dense hair on his exposed chest as she cupped his chin, urged his head back and kissed him, her tongue
licking at his lips, her teeth nibbling. Already half-aroused, he instinctively lifted his hands to her waist.

  Her lips abruptly left his and she warned, “No, don’t. Allow me to fully undress you, then you may touch me if you like.”

  “I’ll like,” he said, then watched as she undid the buckle of his leather belt.

  Her small hands quickly moved to the buttons of his fly. When his trousers were open, she yanked the long tails of his shirt up, pushed the sleeves down his arms, unbuttoned his cuffs and took the shirt off. She tossed it to the floor while he nodded his approval.

  She paused and a look of genuine concern crossed her face. She reached out and tenderly touched the network of scars on his right side and said, “You’ve been badly hurt.”

  “Just a nasty spill off a spirited stallion,” he said, making light of it. “A long time ago, long since healed.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly as she sank to her knees and began brushing kisses to the scarred flesh.

  Sutton gazed at the golden head bent to him and shuddered. Her soft, warm lips played on his flesh and he could feel himself stirring in response.

  She finally lifted her head and Sutton drew a much needed breath. He then leaned back on stiffened arms as she knelt before him and began untying his shoelaces. In seconds both shoes and stockings had been removed and tossed aside.

  “Are you cold?” she suddenly asked, “if you are we could—”

  “I’m not cold,” he assured her.

  Nodding, Laurette stayed on her knees. She said, “I may need a little help.”

  “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  She put her hands to the sides of the waistband of his trousers and asked him lift himself. He did. She gave the trousers a forceful yank and they slid down over his lean buttocks to his thighs. She peeled them off and dropped them, then playfully dusted her hands together as if she’d just completed a chore.

  He laughed.

  She did, too.

  Again their eyes met. Their gazes locked and held.

  He wore only his white linen underwear and he wondered if she would stop now. He assumed that she would. She was surely not seasoned enough at playing erotic games to complete the intimate task she had so coyly begun.

  Her face was flushed. She was, he felt sure, not accustomed to making love in the light of day. She would be too timid to strip him naked. He was certain of it. She wouldn’t dare…

  At once the sobering thought flashed through his mind that he was a fool to think she was shy about anything having to do with sex. She had, after all, been married to Tigart for years, had done with Tigart all the intimate things lovers do. The realization momentarily cooled his ardor as in his mind’s eye he vividly saw the two of them naked and making love. The vision sickened him.

  But the image disappeared and his heart raced when Laurette gazed up at him like a naughty child reaching in the cookie jar as her fingers curled decisively around the waistband of his underwear.

  “Lift up,” she ordered again softly. “Let me have this. I want you naked.”

  He did as he was told and then found himself flushing with embarrassment when she pulled the linen underwear away from his body, releasing his rigid masculinity. He hadn’t intended that to happen yet. Where was his control? Her eyes holding his, Laurette licked her lips as she slowly, teasingly peeled the underwear down his long legs. She sank back onto her heels and eased the underwear over his bare feet.

  When she tossed that last garment aside, she rose up onto her knees, moved a trifle closer and asked, “Would you like me to kiss you all over just the way you kissed me last night?”

  Twenty-Seven

  “No, sweetheart, I don’t think that—” He stopped speaking. His breath caught in his chest.

  She gripped his sides and began sprinkling sweet, wet kisses over his bare, broad chest. He hadn’t expected this. Didn’t know if he could stand it. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want her to behave like this. He had to be the one in total control, not her. He was shocked by her boldness. Hadn’t expected anything like this to happen. Couldn’t believe that he was sitting naked with her kneeling between his legs, kissing him, torturing him.

  Her tongue was presently circling his flat, brown nipple. Softly he groaned, took hold of her upper arms and gently set her back.

  “Let’s undress you and—”

  “No,” she said with calm authority. “Not yet. First I am going to love you the way you loved me.”

  “No, I can’t….”

  “Yes, you can,” she interrupted and rose to her feet. “Stretch out on your stomach, Sutton.”

  He was torn—he had to keep the upper hand with this beautiful Jezebel. He could not allow himself to fall under her spell again, the way he had when he was a naive boy.

  But the prospect of her soft, warm lips caressing his taut body was tempting. And the first thing he knew he was obeying her. Sutton turned and stretched out on the bed while Laurette kicked off her kid slippers.

  “I wish you’d undress, too,” he tried one last time.

  “I will,” she promised as she settled herself on the edge of the bed beside him and leaned down to press a warm kiss to the nape of his neck.

  For the next half hour Sutton was suspended in sweet agony. Laurette’s unbound hair teased and tickled him as she scattered kisses along his arms, across his shoulders and down his back. He moaned and folded his arms beneath his face as she kissed a line down his spine, her hands lightly gripping his ribs. And he tensed when he felt her face against the tight right cheek of his buttocks. He exhaled heavily when she licked his skin and groaned deeply when she teasingly bit him.

  Laurette’s teeth abruptly released Sutton’s flesh. Her tongue deserted him. Her face lifted. Several seconds passed. Sutton ground his teeth, waiting, wanting more. Frowning, Laurette stared at the strange-looking scar on his left buttock. She laid a gentle hand on him and, with the tip of her forefinger, traced the scar’s borders.

  She felt his buttock flex beneath her hand. “What happened?” she asked. “How did you get this scar?”

  “It’s not a scar,” he said, “it’s a birthmark.”

  Laurette was immediately skeptical. “Really? It looks like the scar from an old wound and it—it looks like letters, the letters DC.”

  “You’re imagining things,” he said and lithely rolled over onto his back. He sat up and took her in his arms.

  “I’m not,” she said with a smile. “You, Sutton Vane, have the letters DC on your rear. Turn back over, I want to look at—”

  “I’ve a better idea,” he said and kissed her. When his lips left hers, he told her, “All day I’ve thought of nothing but how much I want you. Take off your clothes and let me make love to you.”

  Without a second thought she nodded, rose from the bed and, turning her back to him, began unbuttoning her wool dress.

  “Why,” he asked, “have you turned away from me?”

  “I—I don’t know, I just always…”

  “Look at me.”

  Laurette slowly turned to face him. “Never be shy with me, Laurette. Never try to hide yourself from me. You have a beautiful body. Please allow me to admire it to my heart’s content.”

  “All right,” she said and began undressing while he gazed at her.

  When she was as naked as he, he summoned her to the bed. She sat down on its edge, facing him. He took one of her hands and placed it on his hot, rigid flesh. Her slender fingers eagerly curled around him and she was awed by the heat and power she held.

  “You’re a slender, fragile woman and I don’t want to hurt you,” Sutton said, brushing her hair back off her shoulder. He lowered his hand to cover hers where it gripped him. He said, “I want to give pleasure with this, not pain.”

  She leaned up and kissed him and said softly, “I want you so much I’m certain there will be little or no discomfort.”

  Sutton felt his heart hammer in his naked chest. He shuddered when she relea
sed him, then agilely climbed onto the bed, threw a slender leg over and sat down astride his hips. At the first touch of her flesh against his, his erection surged upward, seeking her warmth. Laurette shivered at his involuntary response.

  But, wanting to prolong the anticipation, she made him wait, did not immediately let him come inside her. Her hands lightly gripping his ribs, she leaned down, kissed him hotly and let her soft breasts brush back and forth against his broad chest. She felt his hands come up and cup the cheeks of her bottom.

  “Ah, sweetheart,” he murmured, “don’t torture me so.”

  She raised her head, looked at him and said earnestly, “I would never do that. Never.” She sat up straight and said what he’d said to her last night, “Watch me love me you, Sutton. Look at me. Don’t close your eyes.”

  He didn’t.

  Aroused as he’d rarely been in his life, Sutton lay there on his back and watched as this beautiful blond temptress slowly raised up onto her knees, took him gently in both her hands and carefully guided the pulsing, blood-filled tip of his erection just inside her. To his amazement, she was so hot and wet that he realized she was as aroused as he. He liked that. He wanted her so excited she hardly knew what she was doing.

  He loved it when she released him, tossed her wild hair back off her face, laid her hands on the tops of her thighs and slowly, sensuously rotating her hips and drawing in the taut muscles of her stomach, slid down the full, rigid length of him. Both moaned at the marvelous meeting and melding of hard male and soft female flesh. It was as if their bodies had been especially designed to accommodate and pleasure the other.

  As it had last night, a wicked thought ran through Laurette’s mind that she’d like to keep him forever just as he was now. Inside her. Filling her.

  Much the same thoughts were going through Sutton’s head.

  He was totally dazzled by Laurette. Dazzled by her sweet, tight body so easily accepting him, taking him up inside, gripping him deliciously, making him her own. He waited indulgently while she carefully settled herself on him, getting totally relaxed, sighing as she found just the right position.

  “Comfortable?” he finally inquired.