Love Lessons at Midnight

by Shirl Henke

  He shucked it away, then said, “My shoes must be removed before I can proceed any further.” His eyes danced with a dare.

  “Sit on the edge of the bed and raise your leg. I said I would be Settles.”

  “I am ever so grateful you do not resemble him,” he said with a chuckle, doing as she asked. Amber straddled his leg and began to tug off a shiny black shoe while he admired her small derriere from an exceedingly good position. By the time she had removed the second one, his breeches had become unbearably tight. Sitting up, he held her hips and planted a swift nip on each cheek, eliciting a startled laugh from her.

  “Not sporting unless I may do the same,” she cried, watching as he stood and began to unbuckle his belt. Her mouth watered when he started to peel down his tight pants. “You are like a Greek statue, only with a larger…” Placing her fingers over her mouth, she let out a rich chuckle. “Have I shocked you, m’lord?”

  “M’lady, how could any man ever be displeased to have his body described thus?” he replied, smiling ruefully. “Once I believed that my naked body was repellant to women.”

  “Ah, but you were so very mistaken. If you stood thus next to the Elgin marbles, the female audience would be enormous and they would not be there to admire the marbles.” She placed her hands on his chest and ran her fingers through the crisp hair. Her mouth followed, tongue flicking one hard male nipple, then the other.

  “Darling, I am no marble statue,” he said hoarsely.

  She pressed her hips to his lower body and felt the hard probe against her belly. “But this part of you is hard as marble, only warm and alive,” she murmured, taking his staff in one hand. “No cold lifeless stone but heated, steely velvet. How often I have felt this buried so deeply inside me. Now I may see and stroke its beauty.”

  “Do not stroke too much, love, lest you suffer the fate of Pliny, inundated by an eruption of Vesuvius.” He stilled her busy fingers. “Here, allow me to take down your hair, so I may see it flowing freely as I have felt it in the darkness.” He reached up and began to unfasten the pins holding her elaborate coiffure, tossing them carelessly away until he could run his fingers through the thick satiny curls as they tumbled to her waist.

  Amber combed her fingers through his inky locks. “From the first time I watched you pacing across my office, I wanted to do this.”

  He picked her up and knelt on the mattress with one knee, laying her on the soft linen like the most precious treasure on earth. And she was to her earl. She stared up at him. He looked down at her. Both drank their fill.

  Her hair spilled like cherry satin over the snowy pillows. “At last, at last,” he whispered, lying down beside her. She turned into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He twined her hair in his fists and drew her mouth to his.

  They kissed slowly, languorously, caressing and examining every part of each other’s bodies with eyes wide open. How often had they done this in darkness? How familiar was every inch of skin? Yet much greater pleasure came now that they could love without darkness or subterfuge between them. Rob sat up, bracing his hands on each side of her body as he bent his arms, lowering his head to suckle her breasts again, then moving to her belly…and the fiery curls below.

  When she opened her thighs, he bestowed a soft kiss on the creamy petals, eliciting a moan from her. “You are beautiful here, too,” he whispered, returning to the caress. When he saw her body bow up on the mattress and felt the tiny spasms signaling the start of her first culmination, he raised himself up and covered her, plunging deeply inside her welcoming heat. He held his body rigidly still, waiting for the blissful storm to pass.

  Amber felt his powerful thrust add to the blinding pleasure surging through her. But he did not move. She watched his face above her, set tightly as he held his own release in abeyance to give her more pleasure. What woman could ask for a husband to love her more than this?

  In response, she slid her hands up his sleekly muscled arms and drew him down to her, kissing him fiercely, arching her body hungrily even as the contractions slowly died away. “Now we will continue our lesson, yes?” she whispered once again in French.

  “Oh, yes, a thousand times, yes,” he murmured, stroking slowly until her fire once again matched his own. She clenched his body between her thighs, gasping and writhing with every slow, delicious stroke he made. He knew the moment she began to ascend the heights again. When she cried out his name, urging him to go faster, he let go of his hard-won control and spilled himself deeply inside her.

  Amber felt his whole body shudder in release. And watched him through her own heavy-lidded eyes, even as he watched her. This was the ultimate communion of body and soul, mated together. And they would share this for the rest of their lives.

  He collapsed on top of her, being careful to take his weight on his elbows as he rolled to his side. She curled against him and they lay, silently, each listening to the other breathe. When she regained composure sufficient to speak, she placed her hand on his chest and whispered, “I could never imagine our coming together could grow better than what we experienced in London. Now I know I was wrong.”

  He twined a curl and let it slide between his finger and thumb. “Seeing you this way…free in the light…I have waited so long. Yes, this is even better than before.”

  “And will it grow better each time we love?” she asked.

  His chuckled. “We have only to keep loving and find out.” With that he started kissing his countess once again…

  One dim candle burned by the side of the bed and the remains of a cold collation of cheeses, fruits, roast pheasant, and crusty bred lay on a nearby tray. An empty bottle of what had been fine claret sat beside it. They had fed each other between bouts of making love until both were utterly exhausted.

  Amber nodded off in a light sleep, her hand placed over his heart. When she felt the rumble of a laugh building up, she opened her eyes. “What is so amusing, m’lord?”

  “I was just thinking…once I was the most ardent of reformers. Now I am a veritable polygamist, wed to an aristo spy, a penniless French innocent, the notorious Lady Fantasia—and to triumph all, a dead marchioness. I have a luscious harem made up of all these amazing women in you, my Amber love.”

  “Aren’t you the fortunate husband, then, m’lord Pasha? Every member of your harem is madly in love with you!”

  Author’s Note

  I was delighted but caught by surprise when my editor asked me to return to writing Regencies. What unique idea could I come up with that had not already been done in this, the most popular subgenre of historical romance? Of course, I asked Jim to brainstorm with me. We each retired to our offices and did what any writer does in these circumstances. Wait for a miracle to appear on the blank computer screen.

  Was the hero a rake in need of a good woman to tame him? Nah, that’s been done a lot. Was the heroine a noblewoman posing as a courtesan or a courtesan posing as a noblewoman? Hmm, what if she was both? But what hero would want such a woman? Then some magical muse must have had a slow day and decided to favor me with an inspiration. What about a “good boy” hero, rather than a rakehell such as Alex Blackthorne from Wicked Angel or Jason Beaumont from Yankee Earl?

  Creating the Earl of Barrington, Rob St. John, was a real challenge, a reformer who wants to stop prostitution. But he needs to learn how to please his potential bride in bed. Where can he find such help but with a courtesan? Because of his concern for a lady’s sensibilities, he must have the “lessons” take place in the dark.

  Amber Leighigh, a marchioness in hiding from a brutal husband, poses as Lady Fantasia, owner of the most exclusive bordello in London. After her experience with the “mad marquess” she has had no physical intimacy with men…until Rob St. John comes to her at midnight with his startling request.

  Here is Amber’s chance to have a man do her bidding. She poses as Gabrielle, a French émigrée, expecting only to receive a taste of physical gratification from the devastatingly handsome Rob, not to fa
ll in love with him. He feels the same about Gabrielle. But then he is drawn to the brilliant, witty Lady Fantasia. Which woman does he love? When Amber admits to herself that she loves Rob, how can she explain her deception? And what about the mad marquess waiting in the wings?

  I pitched the story to my editor and she loved it, so I dug right in. Amber’s character worked beautifully. But it took me over a hundred pages to grasp what motivated the reformer Rob. In more than thirty historicals, I have never written a good-boy hero. Why should I? After all, I married my very own bad-boy hero!

  In spite of this, Jim really liked my concept. Together we brainstormed plot twists and did research, but when it came time to turn in the finished manuscript, he said he felt his name should not appear as collaborator. “Why?” I asked. “Because you wrote a Regency and a woman’s fantasy,” he replied. I said that if we could stay married for years there must be a few elements of nobility in his soul, or else I would have killed him by now!

  That’s when Jim came up with the idea for the authors’ photo in the back of this book, taken on our wedding day. He may still be a semidomesticated bad boy, but he does have a good idea now and then…in spite of the caption that he wrote!

  Shirl

  Jim’s Note

  I suggested that we use a wedding photo for the back cover of this book! I? Me? That’s about as likely as a condemned man suggesting that a photo of his execution, swinging by the neck from the gallows while he’s dressed in a diaper, be sent to the New York Times. Hey, I may have been dumb enough to get myself married to a bossy redhead, but I ain’t into public humiliation!

  Just look at that coy supercilious smile on Shirl’s face as we cut the wedding cake. Sure, why not? She won. Now, look at that frown on my face. Her lawyer was informing me that this would be the last time I was allowed to be near my wife with a sharp knife in my hand. We didn’t have a prenuptial agreement. We had a bloody armistice. But then, I guess that is why we’ve been married for 87 years…or maybe it’s only 78. A person has a way of losing track of time in purgatory.

  But I have to admit that Shirl’s idea for this book is a brilliant one, although her note gets some of the details a bit wrong and omits others I found fascinating. The Earl of Barrington wants his “love lessons” conducted in a dark room, not out of consideration for his future wife. That’s only an excuse. He wants the darkness because he is unsure and embarrassed by his uncertainty. Amber/Fantasia realizes this immediately and offers him this advice: Ask your lover what pleases her and then do it. Fantasia realizes that such a question is so much easier to ask in the dark. Of course, modesty forbids me suggesting where Amber/Fantasia and Shirl got that idea.

  However, Shirl correctly outlines Rob’s psychological quandary when he believes he may be falling in love with two women, entirely different in every way. What she glosses over is Amber/Fantasia’s growing “schizophrenia” as the “lessons” continue.

  Having created the passionate, nurturing Gabrielle—Rob’s lover and her own alter ego—Amber/Fantasia begins to think of “Gabrielle” as a separate woman and her rival. She becomes jealous of her Gabrielle persona, the recipient of Rob’s passion and the confidant with whom he shares his deepest and most painful secrets. She becomes a victim of the deception that she has created to control the hero. Now that’s poetic justice. Once again, modesty prevents me…Hey, deceit is how I’ve survived marriage for 67 years to a willful, obstinate creature…or is that 76?

  Jim

  THE CRITICS RAVE ABOUT SHIRL HENKE!

  “Sensational Shirl Henke is one of the top ten authors of American romance.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “A true shining star of the genre.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Shirl Henke mesmerizes readers with the most powerful, sensual and memorable historical romances yet!”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Shirl Henke is one of the brightest stars in romance…Her engaging characters and talent for storytelling will grip readers from the first page to the last.”

  —Katherine Sutcliffe

  “The lively dialogue, biting repartee and sizzling sensuality crackle through the pages of this delicious and fast-paced read. Henke captures you from page one…A quick charmer of a read!”

  —RT Book Reviews on Yankee Earl

  “Readers will need oxygen to keep up…Shirl Henke knows how to spin a heated tale that never slows until the final safe kiss.”

  —Midwest Book Review on Wanton Angel

  “Another sensual treat for readers who like their romances liberally laced with both danger and desire.”

  —Booklist on Rebel Baron

  “Wicked Angel is a clever blending of humor, romance, and history into a powerful Regency tale…another powerfully entertaining Shirl Henke novel to savor.”

  —Amazon.com

  Other Leisure books by Shirl Henke:

  WHITE APACHE’S WOMAN

  BROKEN VOWS

  McCRORY’S LADY

  A FIRE IN THE BLOOD

  NIGHT WIND’S WOMAN

  Wild West Trilogy:

  THE RIVER NYMPH

  PALE MOON STALKER

  CHOSEN WOMAN

  American Lords Trilogy:

  YANKEE EARL REBEL BARON

  TEXAS VISCOUNT

  Blackthorne Family Trilogy:

  LOVE A REBEL…LOVE A ROGUE

  WICKED ANGEL

  WANTON ANGEL

  Colorado Couplet:

  TERMS OF LOVE

  TERMS OF SURRENDER

  Discovery Duet:

  PARADISE & MORE

  RETURN TO PARADISE

  Copyright

  A LEISURE BOOK®

  July 2010

  Published by

  Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  200 Madison Avenue

  New York, NY 10016

  Copyright © 2010 by Shirl Henke

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  E-ISBN: 978-1-4285-0892-7

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