by Jade Lee
His hand wove into her hair, and his other gripped the bedpost. His buttocks tightened, but he didn’t thrust. He didn’t want to frighten her.
“Amber,” he groaned. “You don’t know what this does to a man.” He was holding onto control by the barest thread.
“Does it make him fall in love?”
He swallowed, and his heart squeezed in his chest. “You know it doesn’t. It makes him hunger. It makes me want you such that I cannot think of anything else.”
“That’s not love.” She spoke as if she already knew the truth but needed to keep repeating it to herself. It was a way to remind herself that this wasn’t what she wanted. And yet, she kept touching him. And when her head bowed, and she took a tentative lick across his head, he lost all rational thought.
He groaned and swayed toward her. She held him firm, and he thrust through her hand and into her mouth. And while he was stifling his moan, she swirled her tongue around him. Such a glorious feeling, and then she made it better. She sucked him. A quick pull, but he went with the motion, thrusting inside her mouth until she completely engulfed him.
His blood roared. Heat and wet pleasure. All wound together while her hand fluttered across his thighs and between his legs to touch his balls.
He gasped beneath a tidal wave of desire. He pulled back, unwilling to abuse her even more, though she fought him with a suction that tore at his sanity. He escaped her hold and fumbled for the handkerchief. But he was too slow, and she had him completely unraveled.
He erupted like a boy with his first woman. He caught most of it, saving her from embarrassment. Or perhaps he was saving himself because she watched with rapt interest.
He released into his own hand. His breath came in raw gasps as he leaned hard on the bedpost. She helped steady him with hands braced at the top of his thighs. He was shuddering against her, and the smell of her excitement mingled with his own.
He stood there, letting the last of the release roll through his body. He saw her growing curiosity as she watched him. Her nipples were pebbled beneath her nightrail, and her hair fell about her shoulders in glorious temptation.
Such a contradiction. She was innocent in practice and yet knowledgeable. She spoke boldly of what she wanted and yet dreamed of love like a schoolgirl. She knew that a man’s lust wasn’t love, and yet, when she looked at him, it was as if stars filled her eyes.
“I would like to sculpt that,” she whispered as she looked up at him.
“What?”
“You. Your chest heaving, your hips moving. Did you know, your neck tightens with every pulse? It is like you strain against a great weight, but there is bliss in your eyes.”
He stared at her. “So poetic,” he murmured, and suddenly he wanted to see what she saw in him. Why had she picked him for her adoration? For her explorations? He wanted to see her sculpture and yet she could not do such a thing. “Swear to me you will not even sketch it. Nothing, Amber. Not even in your most private moments.”
She blew out a breath. “No one would see it but me.” Then she looked up. “I have sketched from statues before, but nothing compares to you. Alive. So strong. So…” She pressed her palm to his belly. “It was beautiful.”
He shook his head, still dazed. “No one has ever called me beautiful.” Then he touched her face. “You take my breath away.”
He kissed her then. How could he not? She had brought him not only bliss but also poetry. She made him think about love when he had dismissed the thought years ago as childish. And she made him want to give her everything, his wealth, his protection, and yes, even his love. But that wasn’t possible for a man with a title. So, he gave her what he could.
He gave her pleasure.
He kissed her until she was breathless. And he pinched her nipples through her nightrail and swept the gown up past her hips. He stroked her legs, and he pressed his mouth to her belly. And when he thought of licking between her thighs, his mouth watered with need.
But she was already whimpering with every breath. Her body was alive and not under her control. He would not risk her making noise. Not for his own sake. He deserved to be beaten to a bloody pulp for what he was doing with her. But he would not have her shamed.
He slipped his hand between her thighs as he captured her mouth with his. He caught her cries as he thrust his fingers inside her. And when he stroked her nub, her legs spread wider. How he wanted to seat himself there now. He wanted to plow into her and plant his seed. Their children would have artist’s hands and her frank wonder as they looked at the world.
He thought of that as he pumped his fingers into her. And he thought of her belly swelling as he thrust against her nub. And when she cried into his mouth, he caught her sounds and memorized the feel of her coming apart beneath him. And suddenly, he daydreamed about love and happily ever after. How wonderful would it be to do this with her every night? To wake with her in the morning as she nuzzled against him in her sleep?
He would learn to see what she did when she drew flowers or lions. And together, they could talk of things that had never entered his adult thoughts. Poetry. Beauty. Love.
She settled beneath him. He eased her nightrail down and covered her once again. He smelled her musk and memorized that, too, especially as she looked at him with dazed, happy eyes. Then she opened her mouth to say something. He couldn’t let that happen. Not if her words were the ones simmering in his mind. Words that would burn them both, because they couldn’t be taken back.
So, he kissed her hard and fast rather than hear them. And he kept kissing her until she lost whatever it was she might have said. And when he finally eased back, he dropped his forehead to hers.
“Don’t speak,” he said. “I have to leave now, and it’s best if we’re both quiet.”
She stilled, frozen for a breath, maybe two. Then she nodded. He could feel her retreat into herself as her hands slipped away.
“I have tasks tomorrow,” he said. “But the morning after, I will come early for you. We will go to Lord Morthan‘s estate so you can see the jewelry and figure out the brooch’s design.”
She nodded, and he wondered if her expression was sad. He certainly felt heaviness as he returned their relationship to a business footing. He needed her to make the brooch and nothing else. He needed the jewelry that would buy him the vote he required. Then she would return to her life and he to his. Ended, except for the memories.
“I cannot marry you,” he said softly, and the words broke his heart.
“I know,” she said.
He straightened and cleaned up. His cock was heavy, and lust burned in him still. But he set himself and everything else in her chamber back to rights. He even blew out the candle before easing open her bedroom door and slipping out into the hallway. A few moments later, he was outside and walking briskly through the dark back to his home.
He couldn’t marry her, he told himself as his steps took him steadily away from her. But he could love her. And that was the saddest daydream of all.
Chapter Seventeen
Amber woke with such happiness that she knew she’d been dreaming. Well, not exactly dreaming since last night had been one of her secret dreams come true. A man had crept into her bedroom and touched her intimately. He had given her such pleasure, and she had been able to explore him in a way she’d only imagined before.
The memories had her flushing and smiling into her pillow. But even as she hugged the sheets tight to her sensitive breasts, she remembered who had been the man of her dreams. Elliott had swept into her life and pulled her from her gray cage into a world of color. Elliott, who wore black and made her feel not only wanted but also understood.
Elliott would never marry her.
Her giddy happiness drained away. Last night had been another dream come true, but today was for serious thoughts. No more fantasies, only reality. Elliott had said that he would take her to Lord Morthan’s country estate tomorrow morning. After that, she would make the brooch, and they would separate
. He would have no more need to sponsor her, and she would have no chance to find a respectable husband.
If she meant to secure a future for herself outside of the Lyon’s Den, then she needed to do it today. Today.
She picked up Diana’s crumpled list of men and smoothed it out. She already knew her pick, but went through the list dispassionately anyway. One by one, she reviewed Diana’s notes and her memories. By the time the maid brought her a cup of morning chocolate, Amber had decided on her future.
Mr. Christopher Jupp would do well enough. He was kind and poetic, which matched her own artistic needs. If she could bring him up to scratch, then they would have an acceptable life together. So resolved, she planned her campaign.
Mr. Jupp showed up late for their ride in Hyde Park. He was full of apologies even as he began to talk about the poem he had begun that afternoon. It caused him to lose track of the time and was likely the reason he sported ink stains on his shirtsleeves, but he was also in good cheer. She realized as they walked to his carriage that this would likely be how he appeared throughout their life together. Tardy and with ink stains, but still sporting a smile. She could live with that, especially since she often lost track of time while working.
The carriage was his father’s and smelled of cigars, so when they disembarked at Hyde Park, she lifted her face to the sun and breathed deeply. Unfortunately, the sun was hidden behind clouds. Mr. Jupp was still talking about his poem—this time about his choices in rhyme and meter—and she listened with half an ear as she smiled at several others out for a stroll.
“I’m blathering on again,” he said with an embarrassed cough. “I do apologize.”
“I like the sound of your voice,” she said simply, though it wasn’t quite as deep or resonant as Elliott’s. In fact, his voice wouldn’t wrap around her in the darkness the way Elliott’s could, but that brought her back to her nighttime fantasy and not to the daytime mission.
She shut her mind to daydreams and focused on the here and now. They greeted several people of the ton all decked out in colors bright enough to please Amber. The words they shared were unimportant because half was trite and the other half spiteful. Best to smile prettily and look at the birds. Or mentally criticize the jewelry. That was always fun.
They’d been in the park for twenty minutes when Mr. Jupp leaned down and spoke low into her ear. “I am so sorry for how they are all staring at you. I cannot imagine what Rodney was thinking, mistaking you for that Thisbe girl. He’s generally a good fellow, you know, or at least he was in school. But he’s soured lately, and I am sorry he was such an idiot last night.”
Amber didn’t plan her next words, but once spoken, she didn’t regret them. “He might be an idiot, Mr. Jupp, but he wasn’t wrong.”
He didn’t react at first. He was too busy smiling at a passing couple. But eventually, his step hitched, and he stared down at her. “What did you say?”
She smiled at a group of five who were taking a nearby path, then spoke in a low voice. “Perhaps we could return to the carriage. I would like to show you something.”
He stared at her for a moment longer and then nodded. It took another fifteen minutes to saunter back to the edge of the park, but the carriage was nowhere in sight. Just as well. She steered them past the fashionable lanes and hailed a hackney. He went along without complaint or question, and she wondered if that was also a clue as to her future. Would he always be this docile? There were advantages to an easy-going husband, but it might be exhausting being the one in sole charge of their affairs.
He finally spoke when they were in the dark carriage. His voice was low and angry. “You are Thisbe from the Lyon’s Den?”
“Yes.” She would not begin a marriage with a lie, though she was very aware that this could be the end of her marriage hopes.
“What do you do there?” His voice was harsh. “And how did you get into society?” The second question sounded more like curiosity than anger. She knew the first question was his real focus.
“I am not one of the upstairs ladies like you imagine. Indeed, I am not employed by the Lyon’s Den at all. I work with my father, Mr. Gold.”
“And what do you do for him?”
Now came the harder part, though she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because it was easy to give the name of the Lyon’s Den and be rejected. It was harder to confess she crafted jewelry and have him despise it.
“My art is not one of sketching, Mr. Jupp. I make jewelry. I learned it at my grandfather’s knee when his hands began to shake. And then I surpassed him in skill.”
His brows rose. “Really? That is quite a claim from a woman.”
“Nevertheless, it is true.” She hated that most people did not think women could do much more than cook and sew. Shoes and jewelry were made by men. Bookkeeping and the management of businesses were done by men. And, of course, medicine and the running of the country, all handled by men. Unless it wasn’t. Elizabeth I ruled England for seventy years. Amber loved thinking of that great woman.
Meanwhile, Mr. Jupp was not convinced. “I know nothing of jewelry-making, but I would assume it’s a taxing craft. The shaping of metal would require strength.”
“My father handles most of the metalwork. I design the pieces and sculpt the wax.” She pulled out the lion hairpiece and handed it to him. “I made that. And I have made many more besides.”
He gave the piece a cursory inspection. He was not a man who noticed jewelry, and so, he had no understanding of the excellence he held. She didn’t explain. He wouldn’t understand the finer points of the task. She sat in silence while he turned the lion over and over in his hand. When they arrived at the Lyon’s Den, she took him to the door of her father’s shop and showed him inside.
Her father looked up with shock but quickly recovered. “Fine lady, good sir, how may I help—”
“This is Mr. Christopher Jupp, Papa,” she interrupted. “If he asks you for my hand in marriage, I should like you to accept.”
Both men stared at her. Neither had expected her to be so blunt. But after only a few days of living in society, she was tired of verbal games. She wanted the truth spoken clearly for all to understand. At least among the three of them.
Her father recovered first. He straightened, put on a broad smile, and began speaking to Mr. Jupp as he would any customer. Except, this time, he was selling his daughter.
Amber listened for a few minutes but couldn’t stand it for long. Blocking out her father’s pitch, she shrugged off her wrap and went into the back workroom. There, she began to sculpt another firebird.
And she purposely lost herself in the work.
She came back to the present hours later when the firebird was complete. This one was a bracelet with flames to wrap around a lady’s wrist and wings that swept up her forearm. It was very good, but not great, and she prepared to destroy it as she did all her firebirds.
“Don’t,” her father said as he caught her hand. “Let me make this one as a wedding gift to you.”
It took her a moment to separate from her art to his words. But when she did, her eyes widened in shock. “A wedding gift? He will propose?”
Her father beamed at her. “He has asked permission to pay his addresses to you, and we discussed a wedding in a month’s time.”
“A month!” So soon?
“It will be a quiet one in the country. Your grandpapa and I will be able to come, but no one else. Your association with us will have to be kept a secret.”
“I do not want to keep you a secret!” she snapped. It was a hot statement, but inside, she knew the wisdom of it. Mr. Jupp was not so high up in society that he could marry a tradeswoman without damage. And she would not marry him if her children would be shunned by his family and friends. That would defeat the purpose of marrying into a title.
“It is for the best,” her father said. “And he saw the wisdom in allowing you to sculpt for us.” Her father grinned. “I believe he was surprised by our prices.”
&nbs
p; Amber sighed. “You exaggerated them.”
“No, I did not.” He came forward and wrapped her in his arms while pride rang in his words. “My daughter will be a fine lady. My grandson will have a title.”
His grandson would become a baron one day, and that was something they could both celebrate. The child would have land and status. He would never have to run from his homeland like a beggar or a thief. This was her father’s dream come true, if not exactly hers, and she should be thrilled.
Instead, she pressed a kiss to her father’s cheek and headed to the door. She needed to get back to Diana’s home before… She frowned. What were the plans for tonight? It didn’t matter. There would be more from now on. If she married Mr. Jupp, she would attend balls, the theater, and even musical evenings for the rest of her life.
And even better, Mr. Jupp wore colors. She would never have to look at unrelieved black again except on the priest in church. Odd how the thought made her more depressed than when she’d been locked in the cage upstairs with no end in sight.
Chapter Eighteen
Unlike Mr. Jupp, Elliott arrived on time. He began by sending a note, asking her to be ready by noon for a drive to visit her distant relation in Cambridge. It was a lie, obviously, but it was a good enough excuse. She was ready when he arrived, but her ill-temper made her shrewish.
“Can’t you ever wear anything but black?” she snapped by way of greeting.
He paused in the middle of his bow, then looked up with understandable surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
She flushed hot, then shook her head. “No, my lord, I beg your pardon. That was inexcusably rude of me. Your attire is perfectly acceptable, and I am horribly out of sorts.”
He frowned as he stepped further into the parlor. “Should we delay? If you are unwell—”
“No! Please, let us get this visit over. I am simply anxious about seeing my cousin again after so much time. What will she think of me now?”