“He needs a pretty girl,” Celeste pressed.
“Well I…” Amelia started. She didn’t know what to say. If she said yes plainly, it would imply that she agreed that she was pretty. “If you have no one else, I would be happy to assist you.”
He didn’t move for an instant, then he nodded. “It can work,” he said. Amelia liked the sound of his voice. “Next week,” he said and Amelia nodded. “I cannot pay much.”
Amelia’s mouth gaped open; she had not realized there would be any pay involved. She didn’t know if she should offer to do it without pay as was her instinct, but it might come across as something she didn’t intend. “Whatever you deem is appropriate,” she said and he nodded before turning his attention away. Amelia felt relief when he did as she felt pressure when his eyes were on her, it gave her butterflies.
“Amelia,” Celeste said shoving her arm slightly. “Are you at a loss for words?” Amelia blushed. “For our dear Henry, too,” Celeste grinned. “Good choice, he is a very sweet man.” Nothing about him seemed sweet, but it was true, she had a bit of interest in the man. She looked away and smiled—she couldn’t help it. Celeste’s impression that he was a good man meant a lot. Maybe there was something down this avenue, Amelia thought.
Roan got up on the other side of the table and swung the little girl who was still in his arms.
“Time for bed, little one,” he said and the girl howled her complaint. Roan’s wife got up and took the girl from him. “Kiss Daddy,” she said, “time for little heads to lie down and sleep.” The girl obediently kissed her father and her mother followed suit. It looked so incredibly sweet. Their happiness was obvious and it wasn’t diminished by the humble surroundings. Amelia knew that she was seeing a picture of love. These two people were together because they had chosen to be, they loved each other and they were raising a family together—and occasionally entertaining seemingly good friends.
“I am leaving soon,” Celeste said. Amelia realized that she was going to continue discussions in private with the man in old fashioned pantaloons. “Stay if you like, you will be well treated.”
“No, I best go too,” Amelia confirmed.
“You don’t have to, Alan will see you home if you like.”
“I have a carriage outside. I should go.” The truth was that she didn’t feel secure enough to be completely on her own without Celeste. Celeste seemed to understand as she put her hand on her arm to reassure her.
“I hope you enjoyed the evening,” Celeste said. “This can be a raucous bunch, but they are well meaning.”
“It’s been wonderful,” Amelia admitted. She could tell that Celeste and the man were eager to get away.
“Alan, be a darling and see her out,” Celeste said to Alan.
“Of course,” he said and stood up. He held out his arm to her and she turned to say goodbye to all. A chorus of goodbyes returned and Henry nodded slowly to her. Amelia felt her cheeks heat—again. She smiled and then turned as Alan led her down the stairs.
“Now, my next concert is at the end of next week and I would be most honored to have such a lovely angel on my arm. There would be a number of my acquaintances that would be extremely jealous.”
“I would be honored,”
“Good. I will send a carriage to collect you. I cannot do so myself as I am needed before hand, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“I will be there to meet you as you arrive. It will be a splendid night.”
“I am looking forward to it,” she replied waving goodbye as the carriage took off.
She might be a girl who had fallen out of society, but she was being treated with a degree of respect and reverence that she hadn’t expected. Perhaps it was just Celeste’s company that did so. If that was true, then she had found her new acquaintances. So far, she liked them immensely. They were very keen on enjoying each other’s company, and a few of them seemed to want to include her.
Then there was the thing about sitting for Henry the Painter’s new commission—that would likely mean spending time with him. She trusted Celeste when she said that it was not an untoward venture and she did want to get to know him better. She just hoped her nerves wouldn’t ruin it for her, or that she would fall to pieces when he was watching her, replicating his vision on canvas. And he seemed like a good prospect, not only did she go a bit giggly when he was around, but Celeste seemed to encourage her interest.
It was all happening very suddenly and she wasn’t sure she was ready; she still felt unknowledgeable and clumsy around him. She would have to do her best to absorb more information before the meeting so she could carry an intelligent and intuitive conversation when they next met.
She let the warmth of the wine cajole her as the carriage conveyed her home; it buzzed through her blood spreading a feeling of wellbeing throughout her.
It was late when she got home and she felt Lord Eldridge’s presence as soon as she walked in—a heavy feeling emanating from his presence. Immediately she was assaulted with sights and sounds from a few evenings ago, when his presence had for a short time been the entirety of her world.
She’d never expected it to have lingering impact, but it obviously did. She felt a rush of nervous energy in her as she hung up her cloak. She wondered why he was still up, and what could be keeping his interest in the study at such a late hour. The door was open and light seeped out into the darker vestibule.
“Pleasant evening, Miss Hessworth?” she heard his deep voice from inside the room. She walked over to the doorway and saw him sitting in his large leather chair. He had taken his coat off, showing the black brocade waistcoat over black pants. He had been somewhere, these were formal clothes.
“It was a lovely evening,” she said. He raised his eyebrows and brought up a crystal glass containing amber liquid, taking a sip and returned it to the desk where his fingers played with the sharp lip of the glass. Watching his fingertips tease the glass sent a rush of heat through her; although she conceded that she may well be affected by the alcohol she’d drunk and the general feeling of serenity she’d been left with that evening. She really should go upstairs, but something kept her from taking the steps back into the shadow of the hall.
“A lovely evening in the gutter,” he said snidely.
Alright, she thought and pushed her shoulder off the doorway, her own room suddenly seemed much more appealing, but she felt that his comment was unjustified. “For your information, it was a lovely evening. I met some wonderful people who understand what matters in life.”
“And what is it, Miss Hessworth, that matters in life?”
“Kindness, family … passion?”
“Passion?” he said with amusement, “Such things grow tiresome.”
“No they don’t, they wouldn’t be true passions if their interest was fleeting.”
“And do you have passion, Miss Hessworth?” he said and came around the front of the desk, leaning back crossing his arms.
“I’d like to think so,” she said with as much confidence that she could muster. The truth was that she wasn’t sure. She had no particular talents; she even felt her conversation was inadequate. “One must believe in things that are important, it gives us purpose.”
“Purpose is important,” he conceded, “and have you determined yours?”
“I take care of my aunt—that is my overarching purpose at this point. What is yours?” she challenged.
“Typical things, family, honor. Passion is a funny thing, it tempts you away from the things that are important, leads you astray.” Amelia watched him, he didn’t say it with his usual contempt, he said it flatly like he believed it and his gaze had an intensity that unnerved her.
“I’m not sure passion in one of your guiding principles,” she said in what she hoped was a tone that would lighten the mood, but equally she fully believed every word she said. “I might go so far as to say you have conquered its lure.”
He smiled, “It is persistent.”
She watched as he pushed himself off the edge of the desk and her stomach flipped. She wasn’t sure she wanted to feel this way, he angered her so easily. His challenge was always direct and uncompromising, and this was a challenge as well, of a different sort.
He was in front of her now and she couldn’t breathe. He raised his hands and skimmed her skin down the side of her neck and along her shoulder.
“I find it won’t leave me alone sometimes. You left me with some very vivid memories the other night,” he said quietly. He was standing close, not too close, but she could feel heat as her attention was focused completely on the man in front of her. His reference to the other night brought certain memories back to her too, particularly what he looked like under those clothes. His strong form and the undulation of the muscles down his arms, particularly when he was ‘engaging’ with her; the solid mass of his chest, and the firm slim abdomen—a body so different from hers. She wanted to run her hands along him, feel the skin and the muscles.
He’d moved closer still and the tension in her only increased. The edge of the doorway was behind her, holding her in place as he advanced. She felt a little like a mouse being caught in the gaze of a hawk. Is this what the mouse felt like as the hawk was bearing down? Did it wonder at the magnificence of the hawk?
He gently touched her arm, but the touch itself was nothing compared to the presence of him there, just a few centimetres apart. She could feel his breath on her temple.
“I think it will rob me of sleep tonight,” he said. She had no idea what he was talking about.
“What will?”
“Want.” It made her flinch. It was one thing feeling him here, he took up her whole conscious world at the moment, but to hear him say he wanted her, it made it far more poignant. This wasn’t just in her head.
He leaned down slowly toward her lips, but he wouldn’t go all the way. She was waiting for it, still uncertain in what to do, but he didn’t reach all the way. She felt robbed and frustration sizzled through her. His lips were so close, there was no way this could be a misconception. She reached forward and was rewarded by the soft lips that were there waiting for her, tempting her. The connection felt like a shift in the world. She wanted so much more. Not until he pulled her close to him did she feel like her request had been granted.
He deepened the kiss and she gave him full access. He had her in his arms, there was no space between them now, but she didn’t feel overwhelmed, while feeling like she needed more. She felt like she needed the intimacy they had last time, she wasn’t scared of it, she needed it. She wanted his hands on her and he seemed to comply as he hands travelled down her waist and around her back, lifting her up onto the edge of the side table along the wall.
His kisses were stopping her thinking properly and there was something in the back of her mind urging her to think this through, but she couldn’t form any coherent thoughts. The sensations of him touching her, kissing her were clouding everything else, and the heat in her belly was fierce. He urged her legs apart letting him even closer. She would probably let him do anything he wanted at this point.
She could feel his body at her centre. It was different from last time, there was fire, she was on fire and the friction between them seemed to fuel it. It should terrify her but it didn’t—again she felt like she trusted him completely. She knew they were about to do the same thing as before, but it was different this time.
His hands were undoing the buttons on the back of her dress and she could feel them giving way, then the corset that kept her safe and sound behind its rigid structures. Finally she could breathe freely—not that it really felt like it because she needed so much air, there wasn’t enough to give her lungs. He gently urged her back and slid the dress, corset and chemise over her head. She was bare now and his gaze travelled down her body. She should feel self-conscious about him seeing her, but there was also something in her that wanted him to see her.
His hand travelled around her shoulder and down her front cupping her breast, while he kissed her again. She really would let him do anything he wanted to her. She wanted to feel him, feel his desire for her in whatever form it would take. She could feel his hardness between her legs and she wanted him to use it on her, the way he had done last time. She wasn’t afraid now, she wanted him inside her.
Actually she wanted more skin. She tugged the buttons of his waistcoat until she had it off his shoulders. The shirt had to be pulled out of his pants before that lovely skin was revealed. There was something very special about feeling his skin next to hers—something very satisfying. But the tension only remained, it grew and she couldn’t live with it any more.
He moved, preparing himself as he unbuttoned his breeches and she knew he was about to enter her. She felt a stab of fear, but it was soon replaced with the most glorious sensation as he pushed himself inside her. Their previous intimacy had alluded to this, but this was so much more encompassing. She could feel him moving inside her, filling her with a headiness that was indescribable. When he moved, sensations washed all semblance of rationality from her mind; she needed him in that moment more than she’d needed anything.
Long smooth strokes made it seem like they were part of the same being, moving in perfect unison and her body seemed to have tapped into something it instinctively knew how to. The tension got too much to bear, it overwhelmed her, but somehow she needed to move to make it more acute—she couldn’t help herself. It seemed a need that drove itself outside of her ministrations. His strokes became harder until her body seemed to pull itself apart in some kind of explosion of sensation, which made her lose all touch with time and place.
When her consciousness reorganize itself, his head was in the crook of her neck, while his arm supported her. He jerked slightly like he was in pain—big ragged breaths shook through his body. He kissed her neck before he pulled her body upright toward him without letting go of her. His skin still felt glorious, warm with a sheen of sweat. She placed her mouth on his shoulder trying to get her mind to understand what had just happened. Her body had revealed a secret. She’d never felt like this.
“You might be pure evil,” he said not much louder than a whisper. She was going to question him about the statement when he pulled back slightly, stepped back which gave her a complete view of his body. She felt a sense of complete joy; this was beyond anything she’d expected. Intimacy was absolutely, encompassingly fantastic. Women and men could do such wonderful things together. She had thought it had been interesting the last time, but this had been on a completely different level.
“Is it always like that?” she asked trying to get her voice to work through the unrelenting breaths.
“No,” he said as he leaned his hands on either side of her. “Yes, maybe.”
“You’re not making sense. You have done this before, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have done it before,” he said tartly. “But it’s not always the same; the mechanics are, roughly speaking. The results are the same, often, but there are different levels of intensity.”
“Oh,” she said. She tried to understand what he was saying. She had so very little to refer to and this had been completely different from last time. There had been the whole explosive sensations which she wasn’t even sure she could describe even to herself. “And this was on which scale?”
He didn’t answer her, he just closed his eyes, which could have included the tiniest little eye roll.
“It was bad,” she said with disappointment.
“It was not,” he said and righted his breeches. “It was…what men live for.”
That sounded a bit
cryptic to her, but he’d said it wasn’t bad, so that was good. She’d understood that men were fond of the process; she’d heard said such things. She had to admit, she was increasingly fond of the process herself. This was just the second time and like before, it had left her completely revitalized and excited about the future—after some sleep.
They had not been lying down this time; she’d been half lying on the table and he’d been standing. This way had been far more ‘intense’ for her and she infinitely preferred this way. She desperately wanted to ask if there were other ways of doing it, but he was pulling his shirt on and collapsed into the chair behind the desk.
It seemed to have been trying for him because he looked completely exhausted. He took a large swig from his glass and leaned back into the chair, while he watched her slip her gown back over her head. She couldn’t very well run upstairs naked, even at this time of night.
Chapter 10
Richard groaned as he woke; he’d done it again. He’d told himself that he wouldn’t, but given the first opportunity he’d bedded her, again. He was imminently disappointed with himself; he’d shown as much control as a youth discovering the delights of the fairer sex. It was embarrassing—he hadn’t even been that drunk this time. He’d had a bit, but he was in full control of himself, except for the part when he’d waited for her return. He’d told himself he wasn’t, but there was no other reason to stay down in his study as he had.
She was just so incredibly delectable as she stood in the doorway, flushed and sparkling with wine and an enjoyable evening. Her glossy curls escaping their constraints, highlighting the soft skin on her neck. He wasn’t made of stone. And the first thing he did was seduce her. Admittedly the first time had been her initiative, he was fairly certain.
He pushed the pillow down on his face to block out the sun and reality of his uncouth actions. For all her forays into the world outside society, he knew in his bones that she was an innocent, or would be if he didn’t insist on leading her down the road to debauchery. He knew full well there were innocents and there were not, and the former naturally became the latter; he just didn’t want to be responsible for the process.
Undoing One's Enemy Page 10