Bedding The Baron

by Alexandra Ivy

  Well, he could hardly argue with that.

  It was true that women risked much when placing themselves in the hands of a man.

  His mother had paid with her very life.

  But the thought of this woman remaining frigid and unloved throughout the endless years was unbearable.

  He wanted her to discover that there were men who could be trusted. Men who could offer her more than disillusionment.

  Stepping forward, he grasped her hands before she could elude him. “Portia, there are means for a woman to enjoy pleasure without risking her reputation or becoming with child.”

  Her gaze lowered to his hands that held her captive. “A man will promise anything when he seeks to seduce a woman.”

  Slowly he lifted her hands to his mouth, stroking his lips over her slender fingers.

  “Not all men are alike, poppet, just as not all women are alike.” He turned her hands over to nuzzle the center of her palm. “I would never lure a woman into my bed and then abandon her to her fate. I would treat no woman as my mother was treated.”

  She shivered beneath his touch, her breath unsteady.

  “Fredrick . . .”

  “Do you want me, Portia?” he demanded, capturing her wary gaze with his own.

  She stilled, as if she were struggling to erect those barriers that kept others at a distance. Sensing her battle, Fredrick stroked his thumb over the sensitive skin of her inner wrist, willing her to admit the truth.

  At last she heaved a frustrated sigh.

  “I do not want to want you,” she muttered. Fredrick could not halt his soft chuckle. “It is rarely a matter of choice.”

  “Of course it is a matter of choice,” she protested, her voice husky. “There might be an . . . attraction between us, but we have a choice of whether or not we act upon it.”

  He held her gaze as he touched his tongue to the center of her palm. “Shall I tell you what I choose?”

  A shudder wracked her body. “I do not need to be able to read your mind to know what you would choose,” she breathed.

  “It is a fortunate thing that you cannot read my mind.” He sucked the tip of her finger between his lips as a raw heat flowed through his veins. He wanted to taste every inch of her satin skin. To feel the smooth velvet rubbing against him as he thrust into her. “If you actually knew the deliciously wicked thoughts that have plagued me since I first caught sight of you, poppet, you would have me chained to the wall.”

  Her breath caught, her eyes darkening with a need she could not disguise. “I have not yet ruled out that possibility,” she muttered.

  “You can chain me anywhere, so long as you promise to stay here with me,” he murmured, lightly nipping her finger before he tightened his grip and pulled her inexorably forward. “In fact, the notion of being at your mercy is a most intoxicating image.”

  Portia did not struggle as he tugged her against his hard body, not even when his arms carefully encircled her body. Instead she regarded him with wide eyes that held a confusion of fear and vulnerable longing.

  “Fredrick, I do not think this is a wise notion,” she whispered.

  He trailed his fingers up the curve of her back, his head lowering to brush his lips over her temple. “If you want me to stop, Portia, all you need to do is tell me,” he promised. “My only desire is to please you.”

  She clutched at the lapels of his robe, her lashes fluttering down to hide her expressive eyes.

  “Why? Why do you want to please me?”

  Fredrick drank in the sight of her ethereal beauty in the flickering candlelight. His heart squeezed as his gaze drifted over the porcelain perfection of her features. The narrow line of her nose, the dark sweep of her raven brows, the lush curve of her rose-kissed lips. She was by far the most lovely creature he had ever held in his arms, but it was not her beauty that captivated him.

  It was the strength in the line of her jaw, and the hint of mulish determination in her firm chin that kept him beguiled. There were pretty women in every village he passed through, but it was rare to discover such a combination of intelligence and staunch courage.

  This woman had overcome every obstacle that life had thrown into her path and still was capable of gathering others in need beneath her wing.

  And yet, for all her strength and sheer willpower, she possessed hidden wounds that kept her from allowing anyone truly near.

  “Because I know what it is to be alone,” he said, his lips kissing a path to the curve of her ear. “I know what it is to be wary of allowing another close because you fear they will hurt or disappoint you.”

  She instinctively arched into his body, her unsteady breath brushing the bare skin of his neck.

  “What do you want from me?” she demanded.

  Fredrick’s muscles clenched as a wave of desire flooded through him. What did he want from her?

  Everything, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

  Every beautiful, stubborn, mysterious inch of her.

  But he would begin with her delectable body.

  “This,” he muttered, he dipped his head to nuzzle the long line of her neck, his fingers dealing nimbly with the buttons that ran down the back of her gown. As the heavy wool loosened, he gave a gentle tug on the material to reveal the curve of her shoulder. “And this.” His mouth savored the smooth skin of her shoulder as he continued to pull the gown steadily downward.

  She gave a soft moan, her fingers locked in a death-grip upon his robe.

  “Fredrick.”

  Fredrick bit back a foul oath as he forced himself to lift his head from the addictive sweetness of her skin.

  “Do you want me to halt?”

  Her eyes reluctantly lifted to meet his smoldering gaze. “I . . .”

  “Portia?” he prompted. As much as he longed to overwhelm her with the passion that he could sense trembling through her, Fredrick had given his promise. He would not have her accusing him of treachery.

  She sucked in a deep breath before giving a slow shake of her head. “No, do not halt.”

  Holding her gaze with his, Fredrick gave another tug on the gown, smoothing it over her hips to pool at her ankles. Then, with more haste than skill he was unknotting the laces that held her corset in place.

  “You are exquisite. As beautiful as the finest jewel,” he murmured, stripping away the corset to leave her standing in her thin shift. Lowering his head he allowed his gaze to drift over her slender body. “Bloody hell,” he choked out as he caught sight of the delicate chemise that was paneled with fine lace and delicately embroidered with flowers. It seemed designed for the sole purpose of inflaming a man’s fantasy.

  And he was definitely inflamed, he acknowledged as his groin hardened and his erection thrust against the heavy folds of his robe.

  Sensing his shock, Portia pulled her head back to regard him with eyes shadowed by desire.

  “Fredrick?”

  “You are a woman who never fails to surprise, poppet,” he husked, his fingers reverently trailing a path along the deep plunge of her neckline. “Who could have suspected that beneath all that wool and starch was such a delicate garment?”

  She shivered as his touch brushed the curve of her breasts. “It is merely a chemise.”

  “No,” he breathed, lowering his head to replace his fingers with his lips, goaded beyond bearing by the sight of her tightly budded nipples peaking through the thin lace. “It is temptation.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes fluttered shut as her hands crept upward to tangle in his hair.

  Cupping her breasts, Fredrick found the tip of her nipple and sucked it between his lips, using his teeth and tongue to tease her.

  “Your scent has been driving me mad,” he murmured as he shifted to discover the taste of her neglected nipple. “I shall never again be near roses without thinking of you.”

  “This is . . .”

  His hands moved down her slender waist, the heat of her body searing through the thin fabric.

  “This
is what?” he demanded, relentlessly continuing to pleasure her swollen breasts.

  “Dangerous,” she whispered.

  It was dangerous, Fredrick realized as his body throbbed with the need to lower her to the ground and thrust into the heated silk of her body. This pounding, consuming passion was the sort of thing that made men toss aside pride and loyalty and honor.

  It was the sort of thing a man would trade his very life to possess.

  His arms tightened about her body and with one smooth movement he had her off her feet and was heading toward the bed. Her eyes widened, but she gave no protest as he gently set her on the edge of the mattress and sank onto his knees between her spread legs.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded as he captured the hem of her shift and tugged it up her legs to expose the pretty ribbons that held up her stockings.

  “Do not fear, Portia,” he murmured, untying the ribbon to remove a white stocking. “I only want to please you.”

  “Dear God,” she hissed, as he lowered his head to trail a string of kisses down the inner softness of her exposed thigh.

  Lost in his haze of desire, Fredrick managed to relieve her of the small slippers and the remaining stocking before spreading her legs wide enough to expose the tiny patch of raven curls that hid her most intimate secrets.

  He gave a hungry groan as he tasted of the tender skin of her shivering thigh. He wanted to consume her. To make love to her for hours as he discovered every sweet inch of her body. But for tonight it was enough to offer her a glimpse of what paradise could be.

  Forcing himself not to rush her, Fredrick took his time as he nipped and licked at her skin, rewarded by her low, shaky moan as he headed discreetly toward his goal.

  “Fredrick, what are you doing to me?” she rasped as her fingers threaded through his hair.

  He smiled in satisfaction as he realized that no man had ever made the effort to please her in such a manner. It was little wonder that she had so easily turned her back on the pleasures of the flesh.

  Placing his hands on her legs to keep her from closing against him in shock, Fredrick at last shifted to stroke his tongue through the satin heat of her cleft.

  Portia gave a small shriek at the intimate kiss, her hands tugging painfully on his hair.

  “Oh, mercy.”

  “You shall have no mercy on this night, poppet,” he swore, his tongue searching until he found the small nub of her pleasure.

  “Fredrick.”

  Her grip eased as her fingers ran a restless path through his hair, her breath coming in small pants as he laved her with tender care.

  Fredrick moaned as the taste and scent of her filled his senses. His erection was so hard he thought it might explode at any moment, but with a grim determination he forced his thoughts away from his own needs.

  Tonight was for Portia.

  Opening himself to her every gasp and soft sigh, Fredrick tormented her with soft licks that brought her to the edge of the precipice without allowing her to tumble over. Over and over he plundered her sweet heat, feeling her legs trembling beneath his fingers.

  “Fredrick . . .” she at last pleaded on a small sob, “please.”

  “Whatever you desire, poppet,” he breathed, taking the tender flesh between his lips as he suckled her to an explosive release.

  Crying out in shocked pleasure, Portia fell back on the bed, her entire body shivering as she struggled to breathe. Fredrick rose to his feet and just for a moment allowed himself the pleasure of gazing down at her delicate body sprawled on the bed.

  Attired in the thin chemise, with her raven curls spread across the blanket and her features flushed with passion, she had never appeared more beautiful.

  His erection throbbed as it brushed against the fabric of his robe. He had never been so painfully aroused. Dash it all, playing the role of tutor rather than lover was a brutal business. If he did not have relief soon he might end up in Bedlam.

  Then Portia’s lashes fluttered slowly upward, the dazed glow of wonderment managing to ease the wrenching frustration that held him in its grip.

  With a small smile, Fredrick climbed onto the bed and pulled her into his arms, burying his face into the rose-scented tresses.

  There would be other nights, he promised himself. Nights when she would trust him enough to give of herself freely.

  Until then he would gladly accept whatever she felt ready to offer.

  Chapter Eight

  Portia was floating on a cloud of bliss. Mercy. She had never dreamed of such exquisite sensations. Certainly not by merely having a gentleman put his mouth between her legs.

  It had been decadent and delectable and wickedly, madly delicious.

  And most wondrous of all there was no fear that her life was about to be plunged into some ghastly nightmare to punish her for her sins.

  Instead there was nothing but a serene satisfaction and incredible warmth as she snuggled into Fredrick’s strong arms. At the moment she was quite certain she would be content to lay beside him for the rest of eternity.

  Long moments passed until Fredrick gently trailed his fingers over her cheek.

  “Portia.”

  “Mmmm?”

  “Will you look at me?”

  His finger slipped beneath her chin to angle her face upward.

  Vibrantly aware of the robe that had fallen open to reveal a vast amount of his pale, golden skin, she astonishingly felt a flicker of excitement race through her sated body. She did not know what it was about this man that set her senses ablaze, but it obviously hadn’t been ended by their brief encounter.

  At last she allowed her eyes to meet his gaze, her heart squeezing at the genuine concern that smoldered in the silver depths.

  “Are you well?” he demanded softly.

  An unsteady smile touched her lips. “I am not entirely certain. I have never experienced anything like that.”

  His concern eased as his finger strayed to outline her lips. “You are pleased?”

  A sudden flush stained her cheeks as she recalled her cries of pleasure.

  “You must know that I am. I did not know that . . . that a woman could find pleasure in such a manner.”

  His chuckle whispered over her cheek as he slid his palm down her back and pressed her against the hard length of his arousal.

  “There are many pleasures yet to be discovered, poppet. All you need do is trust me.”

  A shiver raced through her. Not of fear. That, she was prepared for. But instead it was a stunning desire to arch her body against his hardness. To brush aside the heavy robe and run her tongue down that smooth chest while he pressed her onto her back and thrust deep inside her.

  She swallowed a small gasp as the shocking images tumbled through her mind, making her heart pound and her body clench with need.

  “No,” she breathed softly, pushing from his lingering hold and scrambling from the bed.

  In a blink of an eye he was standing beside her, watching as she struggled to tug the gown over her head with a puzzled frown.

  “Portia, what is it?”

  Dipping her head she hid her expression behind her hair as she hastily tugged on her stockings and slippers.

  “I must go before I am missed.”

  She heard him heave an aggravated sigh as she clumsily tied the ribbons around the top of her stockings.

  “So after all we have shared you intend to scurry back behind your barriers?” he rasped.

  Portia gave a shake of her head as she struggled to reach the buttons that lined the back of her gown.

  “I do not know what I intend,” she muttered, unable to think clearly with him so near. Gads, she had sensed from the beginning that Fredrick was different, but she had no notion just how different. After all, the last time she had offered herself to a man she had experienced nothing more than relief that it was all over.

  How could she suspect that she could actually find such paradise? That she could possess a near overwhelming desire to crawl back i
nto that bed and forget the world in a haze of lust?

  Still fumbling with the aggravating buttons, Portia felt her hands being brushed aside as Fredrick stepped behind her.

  “Here, let me,” he muttered, swiftly dealing with the buttons. When the last slid into place, his hands skimmed across her shoulders in a tender caress. Portia softly moaned as she felt his lips brush the side of her neck. “Portia.”

  Her eyes began to flutter downward as enticing prickles of anticipation spread through her body. It would be so easy to lean back into his body. To snuggle her head in the small hollow beneath his shoulder and allow him to seduce her all over again.

  Far too easy, a voice whispered in the back of her mind.

  She took a hasty step away, grudgingly turning to meet his smoldering gaze.

  “Please, Fredrick, I really must go.”

  He gave a lift of his hands, his expression tight with frustration. “I have told you that I will never do anything against your will, Portia. You are not my captive.”

  Portia swallowed a near hysterical laugh as she moved toward the door, her body still tingling from the magic of his touch.

  “You do not need to do anything against my will to make me your captive, Fredrick,” she whispered as she pulled open the door. “And that is why I am leaving.”

  The tiny village that lay nestled in the valley near Oak Manor was just as Fredrick remembered.

  The small stone church that the Graystone family had attended for the past three centuries still slumbered with an ancient peace beneath the pale sunlight. The tidy Green still boasted a crumbling wishing well. And High Street was still lined with a handful of shops that catered to the locals.

  Beyond the shops were a dozen or so whitewashed cottages with thatched roofs and small gardens that had been the home to villagers for countless eons.

  It was a pretty enough village, Fredrick acknowledged as he passed the curious onlookers who gawked from various windows, but so steeped in tradition that it felt as if he were traveling back in time.