What a Lady Wants

by Victoria Alexander

  Her head dropped back and his mouth dropped lower to kiss between her breasts and run his tongue along the sensitive flesh not covered by her corset. Instinctively she reached out and gripped his arms. She held her breath. “Why?”

  “I should hate to be shot at.” His voice was low and heavy with desire. He reached behind her and undid the hooks that held her skirt and petticoats in place. Then they too dropped to the floor. She stood before him now in little more than her corset and chemise and drawers, and she didn’t care. He stepped back and shrugged out of his coat, his gaze as caressing as his hands.

  “I don’t think my husband would shoot anyone.”

  His coat joined her bodice on the floor and he yanked off his cravat. “Not even someone dallying with his wife?”

  She kicked off her shoes, stepped over the clothes mounded at her feet, and moved toward him. “I don’t think he cares enough.”

  He pulled his shirt off over his head and let it fall. She stared at him for a moment, at his broad shoulders and finely muscled chest. At the way his body tapered from his shoulders to the waist of his trousers. She reached out and rested her hands on his bare skin and reveled in the heat of his flesh under her fingers.

  His voice was rough. “I doubt that.”

  “Still…” She gazed into his eyes.

  “Then he is a fool.” He pulled her into his arms and his lips pressed to hers, hard and firm and demanding. Her mouth opened to his and his tongue met hers. He tasted vaguely of champagne and strawberries and of promises not yet made. And fate. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her body tighter against his to savor his warmth and the hard planes of his body. His hands roamed over her back and lower to cup her buttocks, and she ground her hips against his. And felt the evidence of his arousal hard against her. She moaned with his need and her own.

  Without warning he released her, swiftly undid the hooks of her corset, and threw the thing aside. Then picked her up, carried her to the bed, and laid her down.

  “You should know,” she said in a breathless voice, “I am not experienced at sharing.”

  He peeled off her stockings and caressed her ankles and her calves. “Your husband has not done his duty then.”

  His hands drifted upward over her legs and her thighs. She resisted the urge to press her legs together and instead clenched her hands at her sides and waited. “He has been…preoccupied. With other matters.”

  He pulled the ribbon that held her drawers together, then pushed the opening wider, lowered his head, and kissed the bare flesh of her stomach. She sucked in a hard breath.

  “Then he is indeed a fool,” he said under his breath.

  He straightened and slowly pulled her drawers apart and down to reveal her most private parts, and still she waited. He traced slow, infinitely slow circles on her stomach until she wanted to scream. Instead she held her breath and closed her eyes. His touch was light, barely perceptible, and yet the most intense thing she’d ever known. His hand drifted lower to the joining of her thighs, and they fell open of their own accord. His hand slipped between her legs and slid over that portion of her body only she had ever known. She moaned and arched upward, her hands clutching at the bedclothes. His fingers were slick with her own desire and slid over her slowly until the most exquisite tension pooled deep in her body.

  He stopped then, and she gasped with loss and opened her eyes. Nigel was discarding the rest of his clothing, and curiosity dampened desire. She propped herself up on her elbows and stared. Rather rudely, she suspected, but she’d never seen a naked man before aside from those depicted in marble. There was no comparison really. There was the obvious absence of a fig leaf, of course. On the continent she had seen the occasional sculpture of a male god without a fig leaf, but one really did try not to stare at that particular area of a statue even if one couldn’t help taking a peek or two. Carved in marble, that appendage had always appeared rather innocent and benign, not the least bit threatening. But then she had never seen a man’s, well, manhood aimed directly at her before. In the flesh, so to speak.

  “Are you quite through staring?” Amusement sounded in his voice.

  Heat flushed her face and she looked up at him. “It’s rather startling, isn’t it?”

  He raised a brow. “Startling? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it described as startling before.”

  “Never?” Her gaze shifted back to his privates. “I should think startling would be the usual description.”

  “Felicity!”

  “Are you overly large?” she said without thinking. “In comparison to other men, that is?”

  “I don’t think so although I have never compared myself to other men,” he said wryly. “However, I have it on good authority that I am more than satisfactory in this particular area.”

  “References.” She nodded thoughtfully.

  He groaned. “Felicity.”

  “References are always helpful, Nigel.” She scrambled to her knees. “Might I touch it?”

  He made an odd sort of choking sound. “Please do.”

  She reached out and ran her fingers along the shaft. His member jerked and Nigel gasped. “How remarkable,” she murmured and curled her hand around him. She hadn’t expected it to be quite this hard and rigid and covered in flesh as smooth as silk. She glanced at his face. His eyes were closed and his lips were slightly parted. She squeezed gently, and his brow furrowed as if his entire being was focused on her touch. She slid her hand up and down the shaft and watched the expressions play across his face. This was exactly what he had done to her. Had she looked as engrossed as he did now? The oddest sense of power swept through her, and, with it, desire.

  He grabbed her hand. “I think that’s quite enough.”

  “Is it?” She shook off his grasp, then slid her hands up his chest, leaned forward, and brushed her lips across his. “I’m not sure it’s nearly enough.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” With a quick, deft movement, he pulled her hands from his chest, and trapped her wrists behind her back with one hand. With the other he unbuttoned her chemise.

  “You’re very good at that.”

  “I know.” He released her hands, pushed her chemise off her shoulders, and let it fall. Then he cupped her breasts in his hands. He bent and took her nipple in his mouth, and she uttered a short gasp and arched toward him. He lavished attention on each breast in turn, and a delightful weakness spread through her. When at last he straightened, she collapsed slowly backward on the bed, and he climbed in beside her.

  His mouth again claimed hers and his hand caressed her breasts and traveled lower in an easy exploration that was at once exciting and infuriating. And she ached for more. His hand drifted ever lower to slip between her legs, and he again found that remarkable spot that was the source of her plea sure. His fingers teased and toyed, and her breath came in short gasps. The world around her faded to a haze of sensation and need.

  He slipped a finger into her and she held her breath. He eased it out and then slipped two into her, and she realized he was preparing her for what would come next. She could have told him he needn’t do so. She was prepared, she was ready, and, dear Lord, she wanted. Still, it was the most extraordinary feeling, this invasion of his, and not at all unpleasant. His fingers continued to slide in and out and his thumb caressed that point of sheer plea sure, and again she found herself sliding into a world of utter sensation.

  At last he spread her legs apart and settled between them, his member nudging hard against her.

  He stared down at her. “I understand it may be painful for a woman, this first time, that is.”

  “But not the second?” She gazed up at him.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then dear, dear Nigel, let us hurry and get past the first.” She arched her hips up to meet him. “Remember, I am willing to learn.”

  “And I am most willing to teach,” he murmured. He eased himself into her with a steady motion until he paused, and she held he
r breath. Then he thrust hard, and a sharp pain stabbed her and she gasped. “Oh my.”

  He lay still deep within her, and her body throbbed around him. For a long moment he didn’t move, then with a slow, deliberate movement he drew back and thrust forward again. The pain eased. He did it again, and what ever remnant of pain remained dissolved into plea sure.

  This was quite extraordinary. In spite of what she’d been told she’d had no idea it would be this intense, this overwhelming, this consuming. With an instinct she’d never suspected, her body responded to his and she moved in a rhythm that matched his. Thrust for thrust, stroke for stroke. A tight hunger, an ache, a longing built within her as if she were climbing up a very tall hill toward something most amazing. And abruptly, the need within her exploded in a shattering spasm of exquisite delight that gripped her body in waves of plea sure and touched her soul. Dimly she heard him moan, and he thrust hard into her and she felt his body shudder against hers. Then he collapsed against her, his body hot and all-encompassing, and she could feel the beat of his heart against hers. And she had the most profound sense of peace and contentment, as if all were right with the world. And for now, at least, it was.

  They lay still joined together for a long moment, her fingers trailing lightly over his back, his head buried in the crook of her neck, and she wished they could stay like this forever. It was quite remarkable. Perfect. Right.

  “Well, I never quite expected…” She sighed.

  He murmured against her neck. “I’m delighted that you are not disappointed.”

  “Not at all. It was…”

  He raised his head and stared into her eyes. “Extraordinary.”

  “Extraordinary,” she echoed.

  He slid off her, shifting onto his side, and propped himself up on his elbow. A lazy smile curved his lips. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “Enjoyed it?” She laughed. “I daresay enjoyed is an understatement. You’re really quite good at this, aren’t you?”

  His smile widened to a grin. “Anything worth doing is worth doing well. I try to give it my best.” He studied her for a moment. “You do realize this changes nothing.”

  “Perhaps not for you, but I feel distinctly changed.” She rolled over on her side, propped her head in her hand, and grinned at him. “Perhaps we could change again?”

  He raised a brow. “Again?”

  “As lovely as that was, I daresay you can do better.”

  “Better?”

  “I am new to this but I suspect you were being remarkably restrained.”

  “Well, not remarkably.” He chuckled. “I have never been with a woman who has had no experience before.”

  “A virgin, you mean.” She reached out and trailed her fingers idly over his chest.

  “Yes.” He laughed and caught her hand. “A virgin.”

  “Were you disappointed?”

  “No, not at all. It was”—he brought her hand to his lips—“wonderful. But then I had a virgin who was willing to learn.”

  “One should never underestimate the importance of being open to new experiences,” she said primly. “And I have always relished new experiences.”

  She pushed him onto his back, then threw her leg over him and shifted until she straddled him. She sat up and grinned down at him in a wicked manner. “If the first time was wonderful, what do you think the second time will be?”

  “The second time?”

  “I think we should do it again.” She ground her bottom against him. He grimaced with obvious pleasure. “What do you think?”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea.” He wrapped his hands around her waist, lifted her slightly, and repositioned her until she felt his hard member between her legs, then slid her down to impale her. “Oh my.” She caught her breath. “This is interesting.”

  “Is it?” He thrust upward.

  She gasped. “Yes, it is. Yes, indeed.”

  He slid his hands slowly up her body to cup her breasts. His thumbs toyed with her nipples and his hips moved beneath hers.

  She sucked in her breath. “Very interesting indeed.”

  “I thought you might like it,” he murmured.

  He slid one hand to her waist to steady her and slipped the other between her legs and caressed her even as his hips rocked beneath her, one steady stroke following another. Sensation assaulted her, assailed her, overwhelmed her until it became her entire world and she no longer knew who she was and didn’t care. She existed only in the spiral of ever-increasing pleasure.

  The strength to sit upright abandoned her, washed away by sheer delight, and she collapsed on top of him. And still his fingers moved in tandem with the strokes of his manhood and the beat of her heart and the pulse of her blood. Faster and harder and relentless, until he thrust into her with a moan and she felt him shake beneath her. And a moment later, her body too jerked and shuddered in exquisite release and glorious plea sure.

  For long moments she lay on top of him, unwilling, unable to do more than try to breathe and revel in the feel of his naked body joined with hers.

  He chuckled beneath her. “What are you thinking, Felicity Cavendish?”

  “I’m thinking how very fortunate I am to have such a skilled teacher. And I’m thinking as well…” She sighed with utter contentment. “Mother was right.”

  Were all virgins insatiable or was it just those who were willing to learn? Nigel propped himself up on his elbow and watched his sleeping wife. The afternoon had turned to evening and the last lingering rays of the sun caressed her sleeping form. Lucky sun. How could anyone ever have thought she was merely pleasant? She was lovely beyond words. His stomach tightened. Apparently he was rather insatiable himself.

  If Nigel had ever envisioned the consummation of a marriage, and indeed he never had, this certainly was not what he had imagined. Virgin or not, Felicity had an innate sensuality coupled with a unique enthusiasm. The last few hours had been extraordinary, and he suspected he would not be able to get enough of his new wife, at least not in bed. As for the rest of marriage…

  He had to consider that this was indeed the hand of fate. What but fate could account for his losing the painting to her? Or the pistol discharge? Or the fact that she seemed to be everywhere he looked? Or any number of other odd, annoying coincidences. Even his own actions were suspect. Over and over he’d done things he shouldn’t have because he simply wanted to be with the blasted woman. To talk to her or dance with her or kiss her in the shadows.

  He sighed. They were bound together now, for good or ill and certainly forever. There was nothing to be done about it. But he’d meant it when he said he did not intend to change his life. This marriage had not been his choice. He acknowledged, if only to himself, that an intelligent man would make the best of it. But blast it all, it simply wasn’t fair. Certainly it wasn’t fair to Felicity either, but when all was said and done, regardless of the circumstances, she had been given exactly what she’d wanted. And he’d simply been caught. He ignored the thought that he’d been given her as well.

  Damnation, it was his life. Surely he had the right to have some say in it. Desperation gripped him, squeezed his soul until he had to struggle to breathe. Desperate men took desperate measures. Accepting his marriage was accepting defeat. Accepting that he had absolutely no control over his life. Accepting that he was no more than a pawn in the hands of fate. Well, he wouldn’t do it. Not now, not ever.

  The thought struck him that only a fool would fight fate. Who knew what the cost for that might be? Didn’t the gods strike down mortals foolish enough to defy them? And weren’t the fates minor deities? And women as well?

  Still, there was something to be said for resolve, for determination, for fortitude. He gazed at his wife lying beside him and tried to ignore the voice nagging at the back of his mind.

  He was indeed a fool.

  Eleven

  What a man really wants is a woman with spirit. Keeps him young.

  Lord Fernwood

 
; If she hadn’t been ruined before she certainly was now. And a lovely ruination it had been. Felicity lay in the center of Nigel’s bed and gazed unseeing at the ceiling, her lips curved in a satisfied smile. Even with her mother’s reassurances, she’d had no idea lovemaking would be quite this delicious. Nigel was indeed an expert but there was something more to it than simply skill. When he’d touched her or had joined with her or had cried out her name in the throes of passion, Felicity had never felt so, well, loved before. Even if the word love had not been mentioned.

  She sat up and stretched and glanced around the room. It was obviously late morning. She hadn’t planned to sleep so late, but then she really hadn’t had much sleep during the night. She grinned. Or yesterday afternoon, or last evening. She wondered idly where Nigel had gone to but wasn’t at all worried by his absence. He would be back. She was certain of it. In the meantime, she was now the mistress of a house and had a great deal to do.

  She threw back the covers and realized she didn’t have a stitch on. That too made her grin. Imagine, here she was naked on the morning after her wedding and she didn’t feel the least bit embarrassed or uncomfortable. In truth, she had the most wonderful sense of well-being and contentment. She was, she realized, happy. Truly, blissfully, extraordinarily happy.

  She slid out of bed and winced. Dear Lord, she was as sore as if she had ridden a horse across the country. She laughed aloud at the comparison and wondered what Eugenia would think if she knew Felicity was now most interested in the ride. Still, it was a lovely soreness. Felicity discovered her robe on the lone chair in the room. She hoped it had been placed there by her husband and not a maid. She blushed at the very thought of someone other than Nigel seeing the state of the room at the moment. The clothes she’d worn yesterday were still scattered about the floor. The bedclothes were bunched and disheveled, indeed the bed looked like it had been the scene of a battle of epic proportions, which in many ways she supposed it had.

  Felicity pulled on her robe and stepped through the dressing room into what would be her room. She chuckled. Even when a bed was installed, she had no intention of spending her nights there. No, she would be by Nigel’s side in Nigel’s bed. And given what they’d shared last night, he would have no objections. She was indeed willing to learn, and he had been a most attentive teacher. She could scarcely wait for her next lesson. She moved to the wardrobe and found her clothes had been unpacked and neatly arranged. She selected a day dress she could put on without the help of a maid. Once dressed, she would go downstairs and see what state the kitchen was in. With any luck at all the cook Lady Cavendish had loaned her had something prepared. Felicity was famished. Remarkable how passion did that to you. She had an idea as well about how to furnish this house quickly, if temporarily.