Serena closed her eyes and laughed.
Take them off; you know you want to. You want him to see you.
Serena had to agree with the taunting voice. She had, after all, posed more than once for Monsieur Favel when he or one of the others had needed a female form. Replicas of her body fairly littered Europe, armed with shields, winged helmets, and breast-exposing togas.
She wanted him to see her. Her body, although that of a mature woman, was lush and appealing and men found her attractive. She had nothing to be ashamed of and lacked an Englishwoman’s ingrained shame when it came to nudity.
She glanced around, her eyes moving to the hillside where she’d watched from when he was bathing.
He saw her look. “I instructed Jessup that I wished to be alone and to advise the servants I have placed this portion of the river out of bounds. And the men are not digging today, as they have done all they can until after tomorrow. I believe the chances of discovery are less than eleven percent.”
She wanted to ask him how he’d come to such a ridiculous figure but there was no point in delaying the inevitable.
The gown she was wearing was the type of day-dress a woman of limited means wore. It tied at the neck and beneath her breasts, where the bodice was gathered to adjust to any changes in size or to allow for a new owner with no alteration. She removed her fichu first and tossed it onto the ground. His eyes flickered down to it and he frowned, reminding her of his penchant for neatness. Well, that was too bad. She untied the ribbon on her bonnet and tossed it a foot in the other direction, enjoying the way his forehead creased, almost as if the scattering of garments made him physically uncomfortable.
She crouched to remove first one sturdy ankle boot and then the other before standing and kicking them in two directions.
Gareth shot to his feet. “Mrs. Lombard.” He did not raise his voice, but he spoke far more emphatically than usual.
She paused and gave him a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Yes, Mr. Lockheart?”
He made a vague, restless gesture with one hand. “Perhaps you would like to place your garments here, on the blanket. Neatly.”
“No.”
“No?”
She almost laughed out loud.
“You wished me to disrobe and bathe, sir. I am doing exactly that. Now, shall I continue?”
She could see his jaw moving from side to side and could almost hear his teeth grinding over the din of the running water.
He sat down, his back ramrod straight this time, his expression one of grim determination. Serena began to feel sorry for him and the obvious torment the garment tornado was causing him. But then she recalled this had been his idea and reached behind her neck and pulled the tape.
***
The events of the past hour and twenty-seven minutes were something of a blur. In fact, nothing was quite clear starting from the moment he’d seen the nude representations of himself in Mrs. Lombard’s sketchbook.
His brain, usually the most reliable of organs, had utterly deserted him. Instead, it was as if some devilish stranger had taken control of his body and began to issue cool and shocking commands. Commands he heartily agreed with, by the way, but which he could hardly believe he was capable of uttering with such mastery.
He’d been having one of the best days of his life, right up until the moment she began to clutter up his enjoyment by distributing her garments in a way that was surely unnatural to any man or woman.
Now, his mind seemed to have fractured. The imp that had engineered this afternoon of unparalleled pageantry was mightily enjoying the display, as was evidenced by an erection that belonged somewhere between nine point nine and ten on the Mohs scale of mineral hardness.
But the total disarray around her!
Her lips curled in a way he could not recall seeing before. . .almost as if she were . . . mocking him. But that was not possible. After all, he was the one wearing the clothing.
She reached behind her neck and everything in life narrowed to that one moment. Their eyes locked as she pulled the tape loose and her neckline sagged lower. She reached her other hand behind her back, her movements sinuous and studied, like the steps of a sensual dance. The second tape made no appreciable change to her garment until she gave it a slight tug and the fabric opened the dress to a wider diameter, until it slid off her arms and down over her hips.
His chest hurt and he realized he’d forgotten to breathe. He inhaled deeply as she stepped out of the puddle of dress, toward him.
His eyes darted from the messy pile of fabric to her plain buckram corset in the shape of an hourglass. Beneath the corset was a whisper-thin chemise, tied around her waist a single petticoat made of undyed muslin.
He looked up at her face when he realized she’d stopped disrobing. She smiled and then reached for the waist tie of the petticoat and released it with a single pull. Again, it slid to the ground with nary a sound.
She left it behind as carelessly and callously as the gown, but his eyes saw nothing except her, now. Like a ship locked in ice, they remained fixed on her stockings, garters, the hem of her chemise—blessedly short—and the snug garment that compressed her into the ultimate manifestation of male desire.
Her garments were modest, threadbare (Thank God! Thank God!) in the case of her chemise. But he’d never been more aroused, not even when Venetia had sported the finest lace or silk.
She leaned down far enough to offer a flash of magnificent bosom, pulling the garter loose and tossing it behind her.
Gareth groaned, an animalistic sound that shamed him to his core. She smiled and released the second strap, tossing it directly into his tented lap.
The stockings slipped, and she rolled down first one, and then the other wadding them into a ball that made him briefly close his eyes, before hurling them somewhere off to the left.
She reached behind her back to get at her laces, her shoulders arching in a way that sucked all the moisture from his mouth. She plucked the laces open and then used both hands to alternately loosen the constricting garment until it, too, slid to the ground.
The sun was behind her and he saw immediately the corset had merely molded to her natural figure, it had not created it.
She took one last step and her foot touched the blanket.
Gareth swallowed, his face eyelevel with the apex of her long, shapely legs. The hem of her chemise fluttered mid-knee, the wind toying with it as if to taunt him.
She nudged the fresh ledger he’d brought with him with her toe. “You’d better get to sketching, Mr. Lockheart, I’ll want to inspect the results.” She turned without waiting for an answer and daintily picked her way not toward the shore, but to the big rock that hung over it. She was going to jump.
Remorse seized him like a fist and he opened his mouth to tell her he had changed his mind, but it was too late: she jumped, one hand on her nose and the other holding down her hem.
Gareth was already beside the water’s edge when she came sputtering to the surface. He’d taken the blanket and held it before him.
“Mrs. Lombard, come and let me put this blanket around you, before you catch your death of cold.”
She pushed water from her face, but more streamed from her hair. “What?” she demanded through chattering teeth. “Where is your sk-sk-sketchbook, Mr. Lockheart?”
“Don’t be stubborn, come and put this around you.”
Her face was blue and stubborn, but she came toward him.
“Good God.”
She stopped at the sound of his voice and followed his eyes. She looked more nude than nude with the gauze thin garment molded to her glorious curves, limning the dark triangle between her thighs and the hard, pink nipples that tipped her high, full breasts.
Gareth realized he’d dropped the blanket and picked it up without removing his eyes from her.
Her face had become rosy somewhere during the brief walk and Gareth draped the blanket over her shoulders like a
cape and then pulled her close, cupping her face and tilting it toward his.
Chapter Fourteen
Serena had never been so cold in her life, but when his eyes swept over her, she burst into flames. And when he lowered his mouth to hers, she forgot all about the cold and slid her arms around his taut waist, this time resting both palms on his bottom. He made a muffled sound of approval and pushed closer, the soft leather of his breeches cool and smooth against her belly.
He kissed as if he wanted to devour her, his lips demanding, his tongue invading, his teeth grazing and nipping as long, powerful fingers massaged their way down her neck, until they rested on her shoulders. He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, his breathing labored.
“If you wish me to stop, tell me now.”
She pushed her hands beneath the edge of his breeches and pulled out what felt like yards of shirting before she could reach his hot, hard flesh.
He inhaled sharply as she explored the shape of him, his thumbs stroking her collarbones while he backed away from the river. “Not out here. Come, beneath the trees.”
Serena snatched at the blanket hanging from her shoulders and held it with one hand at her neck, taking his hand and following him beneath the tree canopy. He shrugged out of his snug-fitting coat.
“Take off your shift and put this on, you will be warmer.”
She released the blanket and thrilled at the tightening of his facial muscles and the flaring of his pupils which turned his eyes from harsh gray ice to enveloping black pools of heat. Ever so slowly, she lifted the wet chemise over her head.
He muttered something emphatic sounding beneath his breath and a triumphant smile curled her lips as she freed herself from the wet garment.
She was about to toss it to the side but he took it from her, shaking his head.
“No.” He handed her his coat and watched her slip it on with eyes as sharp as a raptor’s. His coattails—which hit him just at the knee—tickled her ankles. When she was covered, he took her thin, wet chemise into the sunshine and stretched it out on the grass to dry.
The coat dwarfed her and the clean scent of him was dizzying. She closed her eyes and shivered in anticipation.
“Are you cold?” His voice came from beside her ear, hot breath on her temple and soft, soft kisses beneath her ear. “I will warm you.”
His hands, strong and hot, pushed between the coat flaps and settled on her hips. He spanned her waist and squeezed her lightly, the gesture making her feel small and dainty, two things she knew she was not.
“Mmmm,” he hummed against her, his kisses moving down her jaw, forcing back her head, until he nibbled and licked at the underside of her chin. He took his time, his focus on her pleasure rather than his own. It was an onslaught unlike any other she’d experienced and her arms hung uselessly at her sides while his hands roamed her torso. He licked, kissed, and tasted his way down her throat, grazing her strangely sensitive collarbones on the way to her breasts.
Serena cried out when he flicked a cold, hard nipple with the hot tip of his tongue, and then was gone. She pushed herself against him. More.
He took her in his mouth and suckled her until warmth radiated out from her breast.“So beautiful,” he whispered into the hollow between her breasts, and then moved to her other nipple and tormented her until she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming.
Suddenly, the heat of him disappeared and she opened her eyes.
“Come.” He took her hand and pulled her down beside him on the blanket. His hands slid between the flaps of the coat she wore—his coat—and he cupped her bottom with strong hands, molding her body to his. Lips and teeth drifted over her throat, jaw, and ear while his hands—his wicked, wicked hands—stroked and teased and kneaded.
“Unbutton me.”
A rush of pleasure shot through her at the sound of his command, spoken in such hushed passion. She pushed a hand between their bodies, tracing the hard length of him thrusting against the soft leather.
He groaned and tightened his hold, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh. She stroked him again and again and again, until his powerful body vibrated with need, and then, with a few deft flicks, she opened the flap of his breeches and released him.
He hissed in a ragged breath at her touch and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, his gray eyes heavy-lidded as they gazed up into hers. “The ground is hard and I don’t want to hurt you.” He explained in a lust-roughened voice she hardly recognized. “I want you to ride me, Serena.”
She shivered at his raw words, her fingers working on the buttons of his waistcoat as she pushed up onto her knees. He watched her straddle his hips with a heavy-lidded, sensual stare, an expression of bliss on the hard, taut planes of his face.
Serena shoved up his shirt once his waistcoat was open, groaning in amazement at the latticework of muscles beneath her hands. His ridged abdomen shifted and tightened when he sucked in a breath, his hands holding her still as he flexed his hips and rubbed his hard ridge against the most sensitive part of her body.
It was too much and Serena’s eyelids fluttered shut. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth as he ground against her, hard, insistent, and slick.
When she opened her eyes it was to find him watching intently, his jaws clenched tight as he stroked, the slight curve of his lips that of a man confident in his ability to bring her pleasure.
“Touch yourself.” He spoke the shocking words in an even more shockingly normal tone. At her look of disbelief he nodded, “Yes, touch your breasts—your nipples. Tease them for me.”
She swallowed loudly enough to be heard over their heavy breathing and the distantly chuckling river. Her hands moved slowly up her ribs until she touched one finger to the tip of her breast. His hands tightened painfully on her hips and his thrusting motions became jerky.
“More,” he forced the word through clenched teeth.
She put a finger in her mouth and slicked it before swirling it around her other nipple. His lips parted and his breathing roughened as he strove to control the rhythm of his thrusts. Serena tipped her head back, surrendering to the sensation building inside her. She was drowsily aware that he’d not entered her body and yet he was driving her steadily and relentlessly toward her climax, stroking and grinding against her sensitive core until her entire body hummed with delicious tension. Until she could not bear another second without coming apart.
Serena came hard, the waves of pleasure pummeling her, overlapping and receding, only to crash again and again. She realized, vaguely, that he’d stopped moving and she looked down to find him watching her with rapt hunger.
“I want to be inside you.”
She nodded shakily and raised up off him.
His hand moved to where they touched and he positioned himself against her entrance. When he raised his hips, she impaled herself—hard. They gasped as he sheathed himself fully, the echoes of her climax contracting around his thick shaft. His body jerked and arched, the muscles of his stomach, chest, and shoulders so defined they looked as if they’d been carved from the finest alabaster.
Serena leaned forward until her breasts grazed his chest, her hands fisting the blanket on each side of his shoulders as she tilted to take him even deeper. Barely an inch separated their faces and this close to him she saw the fine, icy gray shards that made up his irises. She tightened her inner muscles and his eyes widened, his hands like butterflies on her waist.
She swiveled her hips and his nostrils flared. His grip tightened on her waist, but he did not take control of their lovemaking. He let her dictate the pace and depth and rhythm, the pale skin of his face flushing with passion as she rode him inexorably to his crisis, her own body tight with anticipation, her attention on his pleasure after he’d given her so much.
And when he stiffened and cried out, his beautiful face no longer under his tight control and his body pulsing inside her, Serena felt as triumphant as if she’d just compl
eted a fine piece of art.
***
Gareth only gradually became aware of the rock jabbing his neck and the stick or twig digging into his lower back; he did not care. The warm, soft body lying on top of him was worth a thousand times more discomfort. He was still inside her, his cock too delirious with joy to have completely softened. Indeed, he began to want her again even before he’d emerged from the pleasurable fog that suffused both his body and brain.
She shifted slightly, the round firmness of her naked breasts against his chest making him harden.
She shook slightly and he realized she was laughing.
Gareth leaned back as far as he could—not much—and tilted her chin up, until he could see her flushed face and wicked smile.
“You find my condition amusing, Mrs. Lombard?”
She laughed outright and then buried her face in his chest. “Very.”
“Hmph.”
That only made her laugh harder. Which made him smile. It was amusing when one considered it. Men were just as much appendages to their breeding organs as the other way around.
Gareth flexed his rapidly hardening cock and felt her tighten in response. He grunted as ripples of pleasure washed through his body.
She propped herself up and crossed her arms on his chest, looking down at him with a quizzical look. “You made no sketches.”
Gareth smiled at her unexpected words and she stared down at him with wide eyes. “You can smile!”
“Yes, I can.” Gareth pushed a wet rope of hair back from her forehead. “But I cannot sketch.”
“Everyone can draw.”
He shook his head. “Not me.”
Her lips quivered. “I think you are trying to make me cry, Mr. Lockheart. That may be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. I believe I shall have to prove you wrong.”
“Oh?” Gareth found he could not keep his hands off her body and he stroked from her slim waist to her lush bottom, his cock jumping on its own this time.
Her eyelids lowered and her sheath tightened.
A Figure of Love Page 17