A Visit From Sir Nicholas (Effington Family Book 9)

by Victoria Alexander

  “Good Lord, Nicholas.” She downed the rest of her brandy, knowing, even as its liquid burn slid down her throat, that the liquor was not to blame for the heat washing through her body. And it was exceedingly warm in here.

  “Your corset will drop discarded to the floor, and you shall scarcely notice, far too intent on the feel of my hands over the delicate material of your chemise and your drawers. Caressing your breasts, sliding down the curve of your waist, over your hips and across the swell of your stomach to the point where your thighs meet and —”

  The glass slipped from her hands, bounced on the carpet, and settled at her feet.

  He tossed back the remainder of his drink and set his glass on the closest available empty spot.

  She swallowed hard.

  His gaze shifted downward to her toes, then back up, in a slow, deliberate manner, as if she were already unclothed, as if he were already running his hands over her naked body.

  “Nicholas.” Her voice was as unsteady as her insides. “In the interest of honesty, I must say I have never heard such things spoken aloud, and, in spite of my forward manner last week, I am thoroughly shocked, and furthermore, as it has been rather a long time since I have been with a man, I don’t think,” her voice faltered, “I can possibly bear to hear about your plans for another moment without flinging myself at you.”

  “Then let the flinging begin.” His voice was as low and as intense as his dark eyes.

  Any doubts she might have had, any second thoughts, any considerations as to her conditions or the future vanished not merely with his words but with the look in his eyes. Smoldering with desire exactly as she remembered from years past and from her dreams, but there was more, something deeper, a yearning that went beyond simple passion. A need of the soul that matched her own.

  She stared at him for a moment and then was in his arms. His lips crushed hers with a need too long denied. Her mouth opened to his in a welcome born of urgency and desire. He wrenched his lips from hers and kissed the corners of her mouth, her closed eyelids, her temples, as if he needed to taste every bit of her. She gasped and clutched at his shoulders. Her head fell back and his mouth explored the length of her neck and her throat. His tongue trailed a path to the valley between her breasts, and she cursed the voluminous skirts and petticoats that kept her body from his.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth back to hers. To pillage and ravage and claim him as her own. His hands caressed her shoulders, and she shivered at his touch on her bare skin. His hands moved greedily over her back, and he fumbled without discernable success with the fastenings on her bodice.

  She wanted to feel his naked flesh hot against her own and she had already waited far too long. Impatience and unrelenting need seized her, and she yanked his neckcloth free. She pushed his jacket over his shoulders and he shrugged it off. She tore at the buttons of his waistcoat until it opened and tugged his shirt free from his trousers. He pulled both over his head in one fell move and tossed them aside.

  For a moment she could do nothing more than stare at his naked chest, firmly muscled with a triangle of dark hair trailing downward over his abdomen to disappear into his trousers. His shoulders were broader than she’d realized, his waist nicely narrow. All in all the man was certainly not a creation of his tailor. She drew a deep breath and rested her hands on his bared chest. His muscles tightened beneath her touch and he groaned.

  “Damnation, Elizabeth.”

  Without warning, he whirled her around and deftly unfastened the tiny hooks at the back of her dress with a speed and efficiency unknown to even the most skillful maid. Precisely as he had promised, it dropped to her feet in a puddle of green silk. He tugged at the ties of her petticoats, and one by one they slid to the floor. His hands wrapped around her corseted waist and he pulled her against him and nibbled at the crook of her neck. She felt his arousal hard against her buttocks, separated from him only by the thin fabric of her drawers. His hands slipped upward to cup breasts supported by stays, and she marveled at the way they seemed to be a perfect fit in his hands. He moved to loosen the ties of her corset, and her patience snapped.

  “Good Lord, Nicholas.” She twisted to face him. “If we wait until we’re rid of all of these blasted clothes it will be another ten years.”

  “Not while there’s breath in my body,” he muttered and pulled her back to him.

  She met his lips once more and reveled in the taste of him. His hands caressed her derriere and she pushed her hips tighter against his. She could feel his desire and his heat, solid and straining against the material that still separated them. She shifted to slide her hand between his body and hers and fumbled with the buttons of his trousers. He groaned and pushed her hand aside. He unfastened his trousers and let them fall to the floor. His manhood sprung free against her, and without thinking, she ran her fingers over it. He slipped his hand between the legs of her drawers and found that part of her that was wet and wanting and aching with need. She jerked at his touch, then pushed against his fingers. His hand explored and fondled and stroked, and she moaned with the exquisite sensations his touch produced. Her hand tightened on his member, and it throbbed beneath her touch. And his moans matched hers.

  Without warning, he shifted, grabbed the top of her leg, and lifted it to wrap around his, opening her up to him. She guided him between her legs and he slid over her in a teasing, enticing fashion that heightened her arousal. She sucked in a hard breath and flung her arms around him as she pressed herself tighter to him. He was hard and hot and she was wet and slick against him. He slid back and forth between her legs, and with every movement she rocked against him.

  He wrapped one arm around her waist and supported her buttocks with the other, then skill-fully lowered himself to sit on the sofa. She straddled his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. Her gaze locked with his. His eyes were dark with need and promise and something more than mere prurient desire and unbridled lust.

  “Nicholas.” She reached forward and brushed her lips against his. “You do realize I have not done this for a very long time?”

  “Yes, I know,” his lips murmured softly against hers. “And you do realize I have wanted you for a very long time?”

  She brushed aside any tinge of hesitation. “As I have wanted you.”

  She straightened and poised above him, her gaze never leaving his, then slowly lowered herself onto him.

  She was tight and he was larger than she’d thought: still, she slid down the long length of his shaft with an ease wrought by her own excitement and a yearning far too long ignored until at last her curls meshed with his. For a long moment she savored the feel of him inside her, a physical fullness she only vaguely recalled and a sense of completion she remembered only from her dreams.

  He grasped her waist and guided her up and down, moving his hips in rhythm with hers. Her head dropped back and her eyes closed. She grabbed his shoulders, her fingers tightening on his flesh with every stroke, with the tension that swelled within her. The sofa beneath them creaked in protest. Or celebration.

  They moved in measure with one another as though they had moved together always like this. As if their bodies were matched, made one for the other. In perfect rhythm, perfect harmony. As if their joining was inevitable. Fated. Meant to be.

  Her fervor matched his with an aching sweetness that spread from her very soul and fired her blood and throbbed in her veins. She’d never known, had never suspected such passion. Pure and elemental and raw. Building within her, tighter and tighter, a spring coiling to a breaking point. Frightening in its intensity. Glorious in its power.

  Nicholas groaned and heaved beneath her, thrusting upward in a powerful stroke. His body shuddered against hers and his heat spread through her. Her nails bit into his shoulders and her own body convulsed in an altogether unexpected and extraordinary manner that caught at her breath and stole her soul.

  And she screamed his name.

  She collapsed against him
and clung to him and buried her face in his neck. He held her tight as if he could not bear yet to let her go.

  It struck her in some oddly rational part of her mind that while she had always rather enjoyed relations with Charles and had always considered that part of marriage quite pleasant, it had been nothing like this. Perhaps it was the illicit, forbidden aspect of being with Nicholas that heightened the pleasure. Or the desire they’d both ignored for a decade that deepened the experience. Or perhaps it had more to do with the fact that she’d never straddled her husband’s naked lap. Indeed, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d actually seen Charles completely unclothed, and they’d never made love anywhere but their bed.

  “Elizabeth?” Nicholas stroked her back in an idle manner, but a note of concern sounded in his voice. “Are you all right?”

  Was she? She wasn’t entirely certain. She was somewhat shocked by her own wanton behavior as well as her body’s response to his, and perhaps a little embarrassed by it all. And oddly enough, rather pleased with herself.

  “Elizabeth?”

  She raised her head and smiled into his eyes. “That was really…quite…”

  “Indeed it was.” He grinned. “Extraordinary.”

  “And it seems I am still…that is…well, you are…” Heat flushed up her face.

  His grin widened. “Indeed I am.”

  She scrambled off of him and got to her feet, at once grateful that her drawers and her corset, loosened but still on her, provided a measure of modesty.

  He stood slowly. She had never thought of him as overly tall, and the impression of great height might well have been exacerbated by his lack of clothing. Nonetheless, it was rather daunting to be staring up at a man who looked very much like an ancient classical statue come to life. A naked ancient classical statue.

  He caught her hands and drew them to his lips. His gaze met hers, his dark eyes simmered. “You are everything I have ever imagined. Everything I have ever wanted.”

  Her breath caught. “As are you.”

  A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “I think my bed would be a much better place to continue.”

  She tilted her head and studied him. “What makes you think I wish to continue?”

  “Do you?” His voice was low and inviting, and a tremor of sheer anticipation shivered through her.

  She stepped away, hid a smile, and gathered up her clothes.

  “Does this mean you do not?”

  “This means I would prefer to have my clothes near at hand, as eventually I shall have to dress.” She glanced at him and raised a wicked brow. “Your bed is upstairs, I presume?”

  “Allow me.”

  He scooped her into his arms, bundle of clothes and all, and started toward the stairs.

  “My slippers?” She clutched her clothes with one hand and waved absently with the other.

  “Of course,” he said gallantly, tossed her over his shoulder, scooped up the shoes, repositioned her, and continued as if nothing whatsoever had occurred.

  Elizabeth stared at him. “That was quite impressive.”

  He smiled in an overly smug manner and started up the stairs. “I know.”

  “Do you think the servants will see us?”

  “I don’t particularly care.”

  “They’re probably well used to seeing you stark naked carrying a half-clothed woman up the stairs.”

  “Not at all, as they are all new to my employ. However,” he grinned, “I expect they will grow used to it in time.”

  “Nicholas!”

  The man was most arrogant and she shouldn’t find him the least bit amusing, but he was. She laughed and snuggled closer against him. She realized she was, at the moment, rather unreasonably happy. Possibly even blissful. The thought occurred to her that she would prefer there being only one half-clothed woman he ever carried up the stairs stark naked, but she pushed it aside. This was supposed to last no longer than Christmas. That was her plan, after all.

  They reached his bedchamber, and he shoved the door open with his foot, stepped into the room, and kicked the door closed. The gaslight on the table by the side of his bed was lit but turned low. He set her on her feet, then took her clothes and placed them on a chair. She glanced about the room curiously.

  The furniture was very dark and rather heavy and obviously quite old. But aside from a few pieces of his Chinese pottery, the room was relatively bare. Indeed, it was positively stark when compared with the rest of the house.

  “Didn’t Lord Halstrom’s collections extend to the bedrooms?”

  “Lord Halstrom’s collections filled every room in the house.” He moved to stand at her back and put his arms around her. “I simply could not bear to sleep amidst the displays of Japanese armor and stuffed heads of exotic beasts, so I had everything save the furniture moved to another room.” He chuckled. “You can scarcely open the door in that room now.”

  “I see,” she murmured, her gaze sliding to the bed. It was far and away too big for one person but nicely spacious for two. Even if one was wanton and enthusiastic and the other skilled and well-practiced.

  He ran his fingers along the front opening of her corset and murmured in her ear. “Damnation, Elizabeth, you wear a great many clothes.”

  She unhooked her corset and tossed it in the direction of the chair. “It didn’t seem to bother you earlier.”

  “It didn’t bother me earlier.” He turned her around to face him. His gaze roamed over her in a decidedly hungry manner, as if she were the sweet and he long deprived of sugar.

  Elizabeth quite liked it.

  She caught his gaze, reached behind her to un-button her drawers, and let them fall. She gathered the hem of her chemise, pulled it over her head, held it out by two fingers in a manner as provocative as she could muster, and dropped it to the floor. She had never before stood in front of a man naked, and she marveled that she wasn’t especially nervous. Apparently, there was something to be said for wantonness.

  He stared at her for a long moment, then opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace.

  His body was warm and strong against her own. Her breasts flattened against his chest, his growing arousal nudged against her stomach. His hands roamed lightly over her back and lower to her buttocks, and she shivered with his touch and her rising desire.

  He gathered her closer, picked her up, and deposited her on the bed. His gaze swept over her, and he smiled, then climbed on the bed to lie by her side.

  Nicholas cupped her breast in his hand and bent close to take the hardened nipple in his mouth, his manner undemanding and gentle and as intoxicating as brandy. The frantic nature of their earlier coupling had vanished, replaced by a lovely, languorous enjoyment. Pure pleasure. He shifted his attention to the other breast, caught her nipple carefully in his teeth, and flicked it with his tongue. She sighed and her eyes drifted closed. He trailed his hand lightly between her breasts and over her stomach in a slow, easy exploration. A promise of passion to come. His fingers traced lazy circles and dropped ever lower.

  She arched her back slightly to urge his touch lower still. His fingers toyed with the curls between her thighs and her legs fell open. She held her breath and waited. Her existence narrowed, the world itself faded, and she knew only the touch of his hands, the heat of his body beside hers. His hand teased the top of her legs and the inner flesh of her thighs. And still she waited. For a moment or an eternity.

  At last, he slipped his hand between her legs and stroked her. A shock of exquisite pleasure shot from his touch and rushed through every part of her. She gasped and arched upward and she wanted more. He slid his fingers faster over her and she struggled to breathe against the extraordinary tension once again building within her. And more was not enough.

  “Nicholas.” She moaned and clutched at him and pulled him toward her. “I want…”

  “As do I,” he murmured, his voice harsh with need. He shifted to position himself above her, then guided himself into her.


  For a moment he didn’t move, and she reveled in the simple joy of their joining, of being one with him. Then he withdrew, his manner measured and restrained, and she could feel every inch of him within her. He slid forward slowly. She wrapped her leg around his and he rocked to and fro, his tempo increasing with the beat of her heart. She met his thrusts with hers, boldly and eagerly and with a frenzied need that spiraled ever tighter in the very core of her being.

  Until her body arched upward seemingly of its own accord and wave after wave of release and unimagined pleasure rushed through her. He thrust hard and deep and shook with his own release until he lay spent and exhausted. His heart pounded in his chest against her and matched and meshed with the beat of her own.

  And she wondered at the feeling she could not ignore that being in Nicholas’s bed, in his arms, even in his life was right and true.

  And wondered as well if he was a craving she would ever be able to satisfy.

  * * *

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  The first rays of morning light streamed in the tall windows of Nicholas’s bedchamber.

  Elizabeth lay straddling one of his legs with hers, her chin resting on her hands on his chest, the beat of his heart thrumming beneath her fingertips. She was at once utterly exhausted and wonderfully satisfied and surprisingly content. All in all, she’d never felt quite so cherished. Or so loved, even if love had nothing whatsoever to do with this.

  “I should be going home,” she murmured.

  “Yes, you probably should.” He idly stroked her naked back.