Miss Claremont bristled at his orders. Perhaps the woman had simply been on her own too long to accept him dictating her moves. However, she had no choice but to accept his demands. As his mistress, obedience would be expected. He watched her climb the stairs, her rear swaying under all that blue fabric and allowed himself a wry smile. Of all the women to ask to be his mistress, he had to ask the most argumentative and disobedient one he had ever met. He thought it unlikely she’d always obey him unquestionably but one could hope.
“There are several letters for you, my lord. I left them in the study,” Mrs. Hargreaves told him.
“Ah, thank you. Bring them to the drawing room, will you? And some tea.” He strode into the drawing room and paused to peer out of the window at his favorite view. Here the fields stretched out in front of the house, dipping and rolling. Not far in the distance, a row of trees signaled the start of the woods and they lined the horizon gracefully.
Hands clasped behind his back, Evan strode over to the fireplace and waited. He rocked on his heels. Damnation, how long did it take a woman to freshen up? He glanced at the golden mantel clock and conceded he had been standing there only minutes. However, the fear she might change her mind plagued him. The sooner she signed the contract, the better.
Mrs. Hargreaves entered with a tray of tea and his letters stacked on the side. She set them on the console table next to the window and Evan had to force himself not to race over and snatch the documents.
“Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“No, thank you. Miss Claremont shall likely want to meet with you to discuss the running of the household. You are to treat her as your mistress, Mrs. Hargreaves. But it has been a tiring journey so I think it can wait until tomorrow.”
The grey-haired woman’s pinched face remained implacable. “Of course, my lord.”
The housekeeper left in a swish of grey skirts. If she seemed surprised by him taking a mistress, she didn’t reveal it. Mrs. Hargreaves was a frosty kind but Evan appreciated her thoroughness and her ability to stay out of his business. Few could say the same for their staff. And while he had never shown interest in having a mistress before, she’d served his father who no doubt had many women waiting around for him. Whether his father beat them as he beat his wife, he did not know.
The door opened again and this time it was Miss Claremont. Her skin looked dewy as though she had dampened it with a wet cloth and she had changed into another blue affair, this time lighter in shade with some frilly type detailing down either side of the buttons. It drew his attention to her breasts and made him long to pop each one of those buttons open.
She stared at him as if he was about to devour her—which was rather close to what he was imagining—and he recalled his manners. Dipping his head, he motioned to the blue padded chair by the window. It occurred to him she rather matched the room. Even her pale skin and light brown hair made her look at home in the room as she sat. With the afternoon sun streaming around her shoulders, he thought it was almost as if someone had designed the blue and silver color scheme especially for her.
“I trust you are not too tired,” he commented, aware he had returned to staring at her.
“I am very well, thank you.”
“And the bedroom is to your liking.”
“It is pleasant indeed.”
He swallowed and strode over to the console table at her side. He made quick work of leafing through the letters and finding the one from his lawyer. He tore it open, scanned the writing and nodded with approval before handing it over.
“The contract,” he explained. “I think you shall find it satisfactory.”
Miss Claremont stared at the paper but he didn’t think she read it. Several moments passed with only the ticking clock for company. He squeezed his hands behind his back again and tried not to look like an eager young whelp desperate to have his first taste of a woman. Devil take it, it was not as if he were some wet-behind-the-ears virgin. He had bedded many a fine beauty but never before had his heart hammered at the mere thought of taking their hand or pressing a gentle kiss to their wrists.
He saw her take a deep breath and begin to scan the contract. Once finished, she lifted her head and nodded marginally. “It looks more than satisfactory.”
“Good.”
“And the provision for children? You will claim them, am I correct?”
“Yes. Though I hope it shall not come to that. We can discuss these matters later but there are several things you can do to prevent conception.”
“I see.”
Color sat high in her cheeks, and Evan cursed inwardly. She had no knowledge of these matters, clearly, though her kiss led him to believe she was not wholly inexperienced. But, damn it, he had never taken a woman’s innocence before and it had never appealed to him either. He preferred his women experienced. The enormity of what she was giving him, and the journey they were about to embark on hit him. For her, it would change her life irrevocably. He only hoped the monetary compensation more than made up for it.
And as for him? He would try his best to ensure Miss Claremont’s only role in his life was for the odd moment of pleasure. He had no wish for his life to change. In a year’s time he would either look into taking a wife—one who ideally had little interest in spending time with him, therefore not risking his temper—or he would give up the idea entirely.
“You can sign it here.” He motioned to the writing desk next to the fireplace.
“Of course.” Slowly, she stood. He noted the contract shake a little in her hands. When she sat and lifted the pen out of the inkpot, he held his breath. “Just here?” she queried, pointing to the spot at the bottom of the contract.
“Yes.”
As though she were fighting the very act, she carefully and shakily signed her name. Once the ink had dried—and while they both stared at her signature for some time—she handed it back to him. “There. All done.” She stood, lifted her chin and eyed him boldly. All signs of nervousness had vanished. “I am all yours now, Lord Hawksley. Whatever shall you do with me?”
“I have a great deal in mind,” he said in a low voice, her words twisting deep inside him and sending desire straight to his manhood.
She had little idea what her flippant words did to him. But instead of indulging in the need to strip her bare and take her then and there, he coaxed her close with a hand to her neck so she had to stare up at him. And stare she did. Miss Claremont did not look away, did not flutter her lashes or show any hint of fear. Oh, how he admired her courage.
“First, we shall seal our deal with a kiss,” he murmured.
“I thought we already did that, my lord.”
Evan ignored her comment. “And you can cease with this ‘my lord’ business. I am Evan and you are… Lilly.” He relished the sound of her name on his tongue, savored it as if it were a delicious pastry.
“Evan,” she breathed.
“Lilly,” he responded and with a groan claimed her mouth, well and truly sealing their deal.
Chapter Ten
Hands to her arms, she rubbed them up and down in an attempt to ward off the chill. Lilly gulped. Was she really going to go through with this? She had thought little about giving herself to a man. Lord Hawksley—Evan—was the first man to have summoned any real interest in… in sex. With no marriage prospects, she envisaged spending the rest of her life a virgin and after a few fumbling kisses with some village boys when she was younger, she felt it no great loss.
But now she was to give herself to the man who’d effectively bought her. What would her mother have said? She suspected she might have supported the move. Above all else, Mother thrived on passion. Her passion had driven her to sacrifice everything for her father. Lilly didn’t think she was capable of the emotion. She had spent too long watching her every move, aware of being judged at every turn.
Still, she knew the mechanics well enough. Hopefully she could put in a satisfying performance for Evan and he would be pleased with t
heir deal.
Lilly spritzed on a little perfume, gave herself a perfunctory once over in the mirror and stood. She pushed the stool back under the vanity table and eyed the lavish dark blue bed. Though well furnished, her own home did not boast such luxury. The fabrics alone were worth more than most of her furnishings. And, laid amongst them, she would be taken by Lord Hawksley.
Another shiver wracked her. Even the heat that always flowed freely beneath her skin when she thought of him could not combat her nervousness. Had she made the right decision? Beneath her chemise, her legs twitched. She could leave now, quickly, before it was too late. Forget it ever happened. Forget Lord Hawksley.
“That would not happen,” she told herself quietly.
Besides which, there was too much riding on this. Had women not made many sacrifices throughout history? Was she such a coward that she would turn away from such an opportunity? No. She squared her shoulders, aware of her naked skin brushing against the cotton. There was too much to gain from this.
Footsteps outside the door made her pulse beat a restless tempo. She gulped and turned to face it, tracing the square panels of the wood with her gaze several times. No more footsteps came. Had he changed his mind? Was it a servant? The maid had already seen to her, helping her undress and bind her hair in a simple but beautiful braid. Curls spilled artfully around her neck and face, creating an enticing picture even to her. Hopefully under the dim light of the few lit candles he would find her pleasing. It made her dull hair warmer and the constant stain on her cheeks more flattering.
The rattle of the door handle made her squeak. She forced her hands to her side and clenched them until her knuckles burned. With such slowness that it almost stilled her heart, the handle moved and the door eased open.
Lilly drew in a sharp breath that seared her lungs as Lord Hawksley stepped in. He didn’t look at her immediately, only kept his gaze dipped to the floor while he used a foot to kick the door shut. This unrefined move combined with the sight of him in black trousers and a white shirt made her stomach tumble over and over.
He took his time meeting her gaze. From her head to her feet, she tingled incessantly while he perused her, taking in each fragment it seemed. Lilly returned the favor, letting her gaze linger on the smooth flesh at his open collar and the tense strength of his forearms below his rolled shirt sleeves. The muscles in his arms flexed as he opened and closed his hands repeatedly.
To see him so informal should have relaxed her surely? But instead a tight coil of nerves wound around her insides and pulled so tight her breaths grew short and made her lightheaded.
Fearing she might swoon, she motioned to the bed. “Shall I…?”
Her words brought his unfocused gaze up to her face and he nodded stiffly. “Yes.”
The swish of her chemise almost deafened when combined with the crashing thud of her heart. How much could he see of her in the lamplight? The thin cotton of the garment likely revealed a fair amount. Her nipples pressed rebelliously against the fabric and though unable to bring herself to look at him, she felt his gaze follow her while she climbed onto the bed and lay down—waiting.
Lord Hawksley took his time coming to her side—maybe enjoying prolonging her agony. She closed her eyes and kept her hands tightly by her sides. The bed dipped and the sheets rustled. A hard thigh brushed against hers and she squeaked.
“Lilly, open your eyes.”
She forced her heavy lids open to find him lying fully next to her, propped up on one elbow so as to look down upon her. His handsome face so close made her head swim. She took in the sight of his strong nose and longed to trace it with a fingertip but her limbs refused to move. His jaw line begged to be touched too and if she glanced lower, she had a fine view down the front of his shirt. An expanse of skin beckoned to her. Had she not been so nervous, she might have given into the teasing voice that told her to do everything she wished. To touch him everywhere, to lay her lips to his warm, smooth skin.
“Lilly,” he prompted, and she drew her gaze up to meet his.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Don’t be nervous. I shall do my best to make this as easy as possible for you.”
She nodded quickly. “It’s fine. I am not a coward.”
He smirked. “I know you are not, but that doesn’t mean you should have to tolerate any more discomfort than necessary.”
She nodded again, unable to think of a response. Part of her longed for him to get it over and done with. All this waiting around was driving her to insanity.
A warm finger came up to skim her features and linger on her lips. She parted them instinctively and he startled her by dipping in to meet her tongue. Lilly licked his fingertip and found herself savoring the salty tang of his skin. He groaned and her eyes widened. Did he enjoy that?
That same fingertip left her mouth and began a journey down her neck. He brought his hand up to circle it and linger on her pulse point. Lord Hawksley took his time studying her neck before pressing a butterfly kiss to it.
“I confess to being slightly obsessed with your neck. I long to kiss and mark it as my own.”
His own? Of course, he did own her, but why did that admission not frighten her and instead stoke the fire in her belly? She heard herself let out a moan as he kissed her neck once, twice and a third time before kissing her collarbone.
Lord Hawksley inched a hand down her side, coming to rest on her waist. She flinched and the fire inside dowsed. Was she ready for this? To know a man in the most intimate way? Darkness imbued his gaze and dread curdled her belly. She had done wrong. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to remain still.
“I scare you?” he asked, the sound gritty.
“I… no… just… just…” Lilly shut her mouth and closed her eyes at how foolish she must sound. Did every woman behave like this on their wedding night? Maybe not, but this wasn’t her wedding night and Lord Hawksley wasn’t her husband.
“You don’t trust me,” he stated.
She snapped open her eyes. “I do,” she spilled out.
Did she? How odd that those words came so easily. Yet if she did not—deep down—would she have agreed to this arrangement so easily? What had really driven her into his bed? Money? Or a simple need to experience all Lord Hawksley could give her. Good God, she was more wanton than she ever imagined.
He debated her for several moments and searched her gaze. He gave a curt nod and carefully eased his hand down to her hip. Lilly tightened her muscles to prevent any more evidence of her nervousness. The hand moved lower still, grazing the outside of her thigh and moving across. His gaze never left hers as he bunched the material of her chemise in one hand and inched it higher. Cool air breezed across her calves, then her thighs and finally her heated juncture. She bit her lip and he dipped to kiss her mouth.
Nerves vanished at the touch of his lips upon hers. Twisting desire, hot and heavy, flooded her senses. The kiss remained light—almost chaste—but the taste of him reminded her of the most decadent of foods. He might have been drinking brandy as a slight warmth sat on his breath and when his tongue parted her lips and touched hers, she savored the spiciness.
Lilly jolted when fingers met her inner thighs. A rumble of appreciation came from the marquess and though a rush of pleasure at the sound coursed through her, she snapped her legs together instinctively.
“Relax,” he soothed, peppering kisses over her lips, chin and nose.
“I am relaxed,” she said through clenched teeth.
“You’re as taut as a piano wire.”
In truth, that wire of nerves was on the verge of snapping. She focused on breathing—that was simple enough. In and out. Forcing her legs apart, Lord Hawksley wriggled his fingers against the trap she had created and she eased them wider, baring herself to him. Her chemise lay across the very tops of her thighs and if he looked down, she had no doubt he would be able to see her most private parts.
Higher, his hand climbed with gentle, soothing strokes. For a man so seve
re and commanding, the tenderness surprised her but she couldn’t appreciate it fully. Not when it took every ounce of willpower to remain on the bed beside him. She became aware of a hardness pressing into her hip—his arousal, she realized. What would it look like? Would she get the chance to see? If only she knew more of lovemaking.
A fingertip caressed the crease between her thigh and her sex. She had touched herself there many times, even learned to bring herself to a peak, but never had it felt so sensitive. Hands clenched by her side, she attempted to listen to her breaths but his fingers were too distracting. They slid through her curls and finally met her sensitive folds. Lilly bucked and clamped her legs together once more.
Lord Hawksley narrowed his gaze at her. “Relax,” he told her again. “I need to prepare you. I can’t make this good for you unless you let me touch you.”
“Forgive me,” she whispered. “I-I…”
Any excuses died on her tongue. She had none but that she was inexperienced. He had likely bedded women of great knowledge and skill. She would pale in comparison. What had she been thinking? He would likely take her and cast her aside once he realized how poor a bed companion she was.
His dark eyes softened. “Don’t apologize, damn it. Just trust me.”
“Yes, my lord,” she replied, throat so tight with apprehension the words were barely audible even to her.
“Evan,” he prompted through gritted teeth and began to circle her sex with one finger.
He found that spot that always brought her the best pleasure and she allowed herself a moan and closed her eyes. Maybe if she pretended it was just her in her bed alone she could relax. But his fingers were too strong and clever to be hers. She had thought herself adept at bringing pleasure but Lord Hawksley was a virtuoso of it, it seemed.
Hot jealousy spiked through her as she imagined all the other women who had been in this bed receiving his attentions. How many others had there been?
Love Regency Style Page 9