“Oh yes. Yes please.”
Slowly, so slowly, with just her fingertips, she began to rub the oil across Amelia’s back, the smooth flesh soon made silken. Beatrice started low, circling around the top of the other woman’s backside and kneading either side of her spine. Up she went, rubbing, pressing, digging her thumbs into the rigid, knotted muscles until Amelia sighed.
Beatrice sucked in an uneven breath. This was always the trickier part. Firmly quelling her own arousal, ignoring the constriction of stays chafing her taut nipples and the throbbing pulse in her pussy, Beatrice began to massage Amelia’s upper back and shoulder blades, and the top of her rib cage.
Do not venture near her breasts. Do not.
But her wretched fingertips disobeyed, darting around to weigh the undersides of the luscious, heavy curves.
Amelia tensed, and Beatrice nearly cursed out loud. Quickly, she moved her hands back to the middle, kneading Amelia’s shoulders until the other woman relaxed again. Thank heavens. That had been foolish in the extreme. Companions were dismissed for much less.
Moving upward, she massaged the back of Amelia’s neck, allowing her fingers to delve into Amelia’s hair and rub her scalp to ease the discomfort of pins and braids. “How does that feel?”
“G-good,” said Amelia, oddly hoarse.
Emboldened, Beatrice began to press harder into Amelia’s scalp, before attending to her temples, forehead, cheeks, and chin. But it was only when she lightly stroked Amelia’s throat that she discovered the rapid beat of her pulse. Was it fear? Or something else?
Unable to bear not knowing a moment longer, she gently but firmly grasped Amelia’s upper arms and pulled her back until she was sitting fully upright again. Oh God. The truth was right there reflected in the looking glass. While her mistress’s eyes were shut, her nipples were hard buds, her breasts rising and falling in time with her ragged breathing, and her thighs were pressed tightly together.
Heady anticipation warred with caution. She wanted Amelia so damned badly, and yet her last interlude, being caught with a lusty maid behind the Irving stables, had seen her cast out onto the streets. She’d been incredibly fortunate to find this position. Was it worth the risk?
Two years, four months of longing. And Amelia is aroused, see!
Taking a deep breath, Beatrice rested her hands on Amelia’s shoulders for a brief moment. Then very, very tentatively, willing to stop at any moment, she slid them down past Amelia’s collarbone until they sat on the tops of her breasts and she could massage the satiny flesh. Almost immediately Amelia’s back arched, nudging Beatrice’s fingertips with her nipples.
Her heart in her throat, Beatrice circled the distended peaks without touching them. She could play this game for hours, teasing her mistress, even though her own pussy was slick and throbbing, desperate for ease. Finally, in the boldest move yet, she brushed her thumbs over Amelia’s nipples. A low whimper was Beatrice’s reward, and she stroked them again and again, a deliberate back and forth motion, before trapping each swollen nub between her index and middle finger and delicately pinching.
Amelia gasped, her hands bunching in the folds of the dressing gown draped around her waist. “I…ah…mmmmm…”
Quivering with happiness at a dream come true, Beatrice lifted her fingers away and wet them with her tongue. Then she reached down to pinch Amelia’s nipples again, harder this time until the jutting peaks were wine colored and her mistress moaned loudly. Incapable of resisting, Beatrice bent her head and placed a tender kiss on the spot where Amelia’s neck met her shoulder. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world. I’ve waited forever to love you.”
Amelia wrenched away, hauling herself up from the padded stool and turning her back as she attempted to cover herself with the dressing gown. “No. I…no.”
It was like being doused in a bucket of icy water. “I’m so sorry,” Beatrice choked out. “Amelia—”
But her mistress wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Don’t say anything. Please…please just go.”
“Yes, Lady Garrick.” Horrified, she bobbed a curtsy and hurried from the bedchamber. How could she have made such a terrible mistake in judgment? She was the worst of fools. A fool blinded by her own desperate need.
And now she would be dismissed. Penniless. And alone.
Chapter 2
Amelia hadn’t slept a wink all night.
Like a coward, she had successfully avoided Beatrice for most of the day by undertaking a full inspection of the linen cupboard, and planning the next week’s menus with the housekeeper.
It changed nothing.
She was still a married lady, a respectable countess noted for her virtue and fidelity, who had allowed another woman to caress and pinch her nipples. Who had not only reveled in it, but craved even more chaotic pleasure as her naked body awakened for the first time.
Adultery!
The horrid truth echoed in her mind as she made her way downstairs to the dining room for supper. Just as it had the previous evening when Beatrice broke the mindless sensual spell she’d been under with words. And not just any words, but beautiful and love. The heartfelt emotion in Beatrice’s eyes, the tender kiss…Lord above. For one ungovernable moment, oh how she had yearned to discard her dressing gown and beg to have Beatrice’s kisses on her lips, on her breasts, and most shocking of all, the secret place between her thighs that throbbed and ached in a way it never had before.
That moment had terrified her. Besides the fact she was Amelia Garrick, wedded wife, how could she possibly desire the intimate touch of another woman? Everything she’d been taught said it was wrong. Very wrong. No matter how right it felt. The law said she belonged to her husband and he could do as he pleased with her, regardless of how degrading or painful. Regardless of how much she loathed him for lying through his perfect teeth and saying he loved her, when all he’d wanted was her substantial dowry to fund his lavish London life of gaming and parties and mistresses.
“Good evening, my lady,” said a footman, inclining his head as she entered the dining room.
“Good evening. Where is Miss Beatrice?”
“I’m here, my lady,” said a soft voice behind her.
Amelia struggled for composure as Beatrice walked around the table to her usual place. Her companion wore a ruby red gown that set off her dark hair and green eyes to perfection. Had her skin always been so creamy? Her figure so enviably tall and slender? What color might her nipples be? Would they be as equally sensitive to touch?
Aghast at her wayward thoughts, Amelia quickly shook her head and half-slid, half-collapsed into her own seat. She had lost her mind. And if anyone guessed and reported back to Garrick, there would be no place in England for her to hide.
A footman served bowls of herbed pea soup, and she ate the steaming, rich broth without tasting, the mindless actions of spooning and swallowing continuing with the dishes of Dover sole, sliced hot ham, vegetables in parsley cream sauce, and fruit. In fact, the only thing she could enjoy was the wine, which another footman was quick to replenish whenever her glass emptied.
“Everything in order with the linen cupboard?” Beatrice’s voice broke the fraught silence as she speared an apple slice with a polished silver fork and took a nibble.
“Quite,” Amelia replied, grasping the easy topic of conversation like a barnacle to a rock. “The laundry maids have a steady touch with the starch and the lavender comes straight from the garden, so everything is just crisp enough while retaining a pleasant scent. This household is run so competently I’m hardly needed at all.”
Beatrice shook her head. “Oh no, you’re needed. Very much.”
The husky words hung in the air, and Amelia briefly closed her eyes as that same ache from the previous evening settled between her legs. Her gown was suddenly much too tight, and she wanted to tear her bodice and stays away and be as free and unconstricted as she’d been in front of the dressing table.
Would it really be so bad if she sinned just once? I
f she learned about pleasure and had a beautiful memory to hold onto when her future with Garrick held nothing but pain and misery?
After pushing aside her plate of fruit, she picked up her napkin and dabbed at her lips. Another frank discussion was necessary, and such private matters certainly couldn’t be aired at the dining table with several footmen standing at attention.
Turning her head, Amelia addressed the liveried men lined up along the west wall. “I think I would like a bath.”
Beatrice dropped her fork, the sound of silver clattering onto crockery unfathomably loud in the stillness of the room, but Amelia ignored it and smiled pleasantly, as a countess did. “Would you please arrange for the copper tub to be filled and sent to my bedchamber at once.”
All three men bowed and marched from the room, leaving her and her companion temporarily alone.
“A bath?” Beatrice’s gaze had locked on her plate. “Do you require my assistance, or should I summon another maid?”
Anxiety churned Amelia’s stomach at what she was about to do. It couldn’t be riskier; if they were caught, they could both lose everything. And yet those moments in the bedchamber were imprinted in her mind. Such tenderness in the embrace. Such skill in the wicked caresses. The promise of real pleasure, of discovering what those married women and widows all knew. A key had been turned, and now she wanted to open the door and explore. To fully understand what the strange and powerful feelings were that swirled within, even if it was for just one night.
“No other maid,” said Amelia distinctly. “Just you. We need to talk. And…”
Beatrice lifted her head. “And?”
“And further investigate matters pertaining to oil and dressing tables,” she said, pushing her chair back and getting to her feet.
Even across the table, her companion’s indrawn breath was audible. “As you wish, my lady.”
This was it, the rocky path to perfect pleasure or ruination.
No turning back.
Somehow Beatrice managed to walk the seeming thousand-mile distance from the dining room up to Amelia’s second-floor bedchamber without stumbling, even though with every alternate step she changed her mind from being unbearably excited to scared stiff.
What was she supposed to think?
Amelia had ordered her from the room the previous evening. Then avoided her all day. And yet now…she wanted a bath. An activity where she would again be naked. And she wished to talk and further investigate matters pertaining to oil and dressing tables.
Her irrepressibly optimistic heart wanted to believe that Amelia had reconsidered her rejection and wanted to further explore, despite the taboos. Her practical head offered a scolding for being a foolish dreamer and the reminder that Amelia was a married lady. A married lady who had not demonstrated any overt sensual inclination toward Beatrice, or any woman for that matter.
Besides. Just because you loved someone with every part of you, did not mean they would love you in return. And love could be fickle and false, laden with conditions and withdrawn at the first hint of trouble. Her family had taught her that, as had the two women she’d had discreet liaisons with. Ironically, neither of her affairs had resulted in her disownment. No, that had come about because of a foolish, tipsy May Day kiss. But nothing in her past, not even all her indiscretions combined, were as dangerous as what she dared tonight. Not only her livelihood and home but her heart.
To distract herself, Beatrice hurried around the chamber and fetched fresh towels and a bar of the rose-scented soap that Amelia preferred. Shortly afterward, two footmen carried the overlarge copper bathing tub into the screened-off corner of the bedchamber, and several more footmen and maids followed with wooden buckets of steaming hot water to pour in. As always, the servants were wonderfully efficient, but she still wanted to scream in frustration at the time it took for the tub to be filled.
And then, after Amelia instructed she not be disturbed for the rest of the evening…they were alone.
Beatrice straightened her shoulders and stared at her mistress. “You wish to talk, my lady? Or bathe? This is your parade to lead.”
“Don’t…please don’t be sharp with me. I’ve stepped onto a new continent. I have no idea what to do or what to say. No doubt I will do and say it all wrong.”
“I apologize. But in some ways, it is new for me as well. While I have always been drawn to women rather than men, nothing I have felt even comes close to the attraction—to the tender sentiment—I have for you.”
Amelia clasped her hands in front of her, but they still trembled noticeably. “I…ah…I see. In a, um, perfect world, what would your life look like?”
Well. How did one answer such a remarkably direct question? Vague, safer dissembling, or the uncomfortable, unvarnished truth?
A weary sigh escaped. She had pretended and held back for years, and suddenly the burden seemed far too heavy to carry a second longer. “In a perfect world? I would live with my lover in an elegant but cozy manor. By day, hosting teas, reading books, and helping Lady Portia fundraise for her schools and hospitals. By night…naked in bed, my lover wet and needy and craving my touch. Desperate for my kisses to her lips and her nipples and her pussy, begging me to let her climax.”
“That sounds…” Amelia stared at the floor, her cheeks ruby red. “…so very enticing. But I don’t even know if I can climax. I, ah, never have. Not once. And I’m certain it’s my fault. Well, I have been told enough times it is. Because I’m frigid.”
Beatrice’s jaw dropped. It was just as well her mistress wasn’t looking, it would be a decidedly unattractive sight. But in the past two days, Amelia had confessed more about her marriage than she had in the previous few years, and the longer she thought about her beloved being subjected to such abuse and indignities, the more furious she became.
Bolting forward, she wrapped her arms around Amelia. “Dearest, no. Those fools are wrong. You aren’t in the slightest bit frigid. I know you are capable of great passion.”
“How?” said Amelia, leaning back slightly to look up at her, her beautiful brown eyes huge.
“What happened when I massaged you?”
“I, ah…”
“Say it.”
Amelia bit her lip. Then she blurted, “My nipples got hard. And when you wet your fingers and pinched them, I ached. Down there.”
Oh God. This conversation was going to kill her, or at least her mistress’s innocent, unawakened eroticism would. The steam rising from the bathtub had nothing on the slick, pulsing heat of Beatrice’s pussy right now. “Then that settles that. Not frigid, but a beautiful, sensual woman just wanting to be pleasured by the right person. Someone who cares for her.”
Amelia shivered, went up on her tiptoes, and very, very tentatively brushed her lips across Beatrice’s cheek. It was the lightest of touches, soft as a butterfly’s wings, and yet it felt like a brand. Raw hunger surged through her body, hardening her nipples to rigid peaks. Beatrice remained still, concentrating fiercely on not doing anything that might startle or frighten her mistress into stopping. A second kiss came, this time to her other cheek, and more firmly, and she couldn’t stop her hold on Amelia’s waist tightening, the urge to tear off her clothes and possess her almost overwhelming.
“Beatrice,” whispered Amelia. “Please.”
She lifted one hand to cup Amelia’s head, the other to trail a thumb across her lower lip, left and right, and left and right until it was slightly swollen and her mistress’s breathing became ragged. “You want to me to kiss you, my lady? Because once I’ve tasted you, I’ll need so much more. As I said last night, I’ve waited forever. I won’t be happy with just your mouth. I’ll need your neck. Your breasts and those lovely big nipples. Your thighs spread wide so I might learn every inch of your sweet pussy.”
There was a moment of silence, the longest moment in the world until it seemed all the air had been removed from the room. Damnation. She’d gone too far. Been too bold, too demanding…
“I
want that,” said Amelia, her tone low but resolute. “I want to know what pleasure is. With you.”
Warmth unfurled inside her, and tears of joy burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Nothing in the world could stop her kissing Amelia now, not the heavens opening or the earth splitting or an army of thousands storming into the bedchamber.
“At once, my lady,” Beatrice replied, and leaned down to capture Amelia’s lips for the longest, hottest kiss in the world.
Fire. Whirlwind. Paradise.
Beatrice’s lips were soft as rose petals and yet they fiercely mastered and conquered her own, while her darting tongue was a sensual sword. Amelia moaned helplessly, intoxicated by desire as she learned what her mouth was capable of.
This was passion. This was what the poets and writers spoke of in their odes and verses, although none she’d read truly captured the sheer carnality of it. Her temples were damp. Her skin flushed. And her gown so constricting she wanted to claw it off. Not to mention delve a hand between her legs and ease the ache making her squirm and circle her hips. It seemed Beatrice had the right of it. Amelia Garrick was not frigid. And oh, how liberating that notion felt.
“More,” she gasped.
Beatrice laughed, a light, joyous sound. “Patience, dearest. You are going to come again and again for me tonight. But first, I’m going to bathe every inch of this delectable body.”
Undressing was pure torture. Slowly, deliberately so, her companion’s every action to remove Amelia’s gown and petticoat more caress than tug. And then her stays. Lord above. Each hiss of silken cord eased and released seemed to sear her skin like a licking flame.
At last, she stood in nothing but her knee-length chemise. Beatrice knelt down behind her, lifting the garment and tormenting her too-sensitive thighs, hips, and back with brief, hot kisses as the skin was bared to her gaze.
Amelia groaned, desperate. “Please.”
“Step into your bath, my lady.”
My Lady's Lover (Surrey SFS) Page 2