The Bedding Proposal

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Her necklace came next.

  Moving behind her again, he set his fingers to work, nimbly opening the tiny clasp. She stood utterly still, watching through shuttered lids as he gathered the warmed gold into his palm.

  His lips glided over her cheek and temple. Arching her head back against his shoulder, she let him take her lips in a leisurely, openmouthed kiss that left no doubt of his ultimate intentions.

  Her eyelids slid closed.

  Rather than continue, though, he went to her dressing table again to place the necklace next to its companion. “Gown next?” he said.

  Silently, she nodded.

  He took a moment first to remove his jacket, leaving him in waistcoat, shirtsleeves and trousers; then he stepped behind her again.

  His fingers went to the small buttons on the back of her evening dress. With a deft touch, he began working them open. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the night we first met.”

  Her eyes found his again in the mirror, a faint smile on her lips. “Yes, I know. You were horribly forward.”

  “I was also hopelessly bewitched.”

  He placed a palm over the exposed skin of her shoulder for a warm caress. “I thought I’d changed your mind that afternoon by the lake at Holland House, but you ran away.”

  “I did. I’m sorry about that. And for getting you shot.”

  “I told you before, you are forgiven. Who could possibly have foreseen that farmer and his gun?”

  He slid her dress down and off, pausing to let her step free. “But you were right to make us wait. I can see that now.”

  “Can you?” Her heart beat faster as she stood in nothing but her shift and stays.

  He draped her gown over the back of a nearby chair, then returned to unlace her corset. “Yes, I know you now. We know each other. Tonight is going to be amazing.”

  Tendrils of anticipation spread through her. She knew he was right.

  With a speed and efficiency that demonstrated his familiarity with women’s undergarments, he pulled her stays free and laid them on top of her dress.

  Then he came to stand behind her again, their eyes meeting once more in the mirror. He pulled her gently to him, rocking her slightly against the unmistakable evidence of his erection.

  She trembled, then trembled once more as his fingers moved across the thin cotton bodice of her shift to unfasten the buttons there.

  Her eyelids drifted closed.

  “Open your eyes,” he commanded, his voice rich as velvet. “I want you to see yourself, to see us, and how perfectly we fit together.”

  He waited until she complied before peeling back the cloth to reveal her naked breasts. Cupping them in his wide palms, he ran his thumbs over her nipples. She watched the pink tips tighten, felt their ache down to her core.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said with unmistakable reverence.

  Unable to look away, she watched him fondle her, rolling her throbbing peaks between his thumbs and forefingers, stroking, sliding, before giving them a firm pinch.

  She cried out, her head pressing back against his wide shoulder. “Do you like that?” he asked.

  “Yes.” The word came out on a gasp.

  “Good.”

  Unfastening a last pair of buttons at her waist, he pushed her shift down past her hips. It pooled at her feet. “Kick it away,” he told her.

  Thighs quivering, she obeyed.

  He curved a long arm around her bare stomach and pressed her more tightly against him.

  Seeing their reflection in that moment, she was struck by the fact that she was completely naked, save for her stockings and garters, while he was still fully clothed. She waited for him to lead her to the bed.

  He shocked her instead.

  “Spread your legs,” he told her.

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “Your legs. Move them apart.” Bending his head, he kissed the side of her neck. “Trust me. I promise I’ll take care of you.”

  And she did trust him. Otherwise she would never have let things go so far, never have given him such power over her.

  She hesitated a few seconds more, then obeyed him again.

  In the mirror, she watched his other hand slide down, over her waist and hip and thigh. He stroked her inner thigh for a few tantalizing moments, then wove his fingers through the patch of dark curls between her legs.

  Her body flushed with heat and longing.

  Slowly, he slid one long finger inside her, going deep.

  “Hmm, you’re so wet already. Practically dripping for me,” he said with approval.

  His words made her wetter, intimate moisture beading as he inserted another finger beside the first. He stroked, in and out, then in and out again.

  The sight and sensation of his touch turned her legs to jelly. If not for Leo’s strong arm at her waist, she knew she would have crumbled to the floor. But he held her steady, relentless as he drove her closer and closer to the edge of insanity.

  She moaned and angled her pelvis to draw him deeper still, her head rolling against his shoulder, her eyelids falling shut.

  “Keep your eyes open.” He stroked her faster, pausing to scissor his fingers inside her with every deep inner touch. “See how beautiful you are as you take your pleasure.”

  And then she couldn’t look away, watching, feeling, as he built her desire higher and hotter. She ached, hunger scraping through her until she felt raw, shaking from the force.

  He cupped her with his palm and pressed deeper. As he did, he rubbed with his thumb, doing something so astonishingly pleasurable she thought she might break.

  Suddenly, she was crying out, quaking wildly as she toppled over into bliss. Her mind went blank, her limbs too weak to hold her up.

  But Leo didn’t let her fall. Exactly as he’d promised, she was safe in his arms.

  He wasn’t done, though, far from it, she realized hazily as he lifted her up into his arms and carried her across to the bed. He laid her against the sheets, the linen cool against her overwarm flesh.

  “I forgot to take down your hair,” he said, leaning over her for a long, sultry kiss.

  Continuing to kiss her, he began sliding hairpins free, dropping them in small clusters onto her bedside table. Once her hair was loose, he drove his fingers into the heavy mass, massaging her scalp as he searched for any overlooked pins.

  Tingles radiated downward from her head, the sensation of his fingers unbearably erotic. She shivered and speared her fingers into his hair to draw him nearer. Finding his mouth, she kissed him hard, sliding her tongue in and out with wild abandon.

  He moaned and demanded more. Eagerly, she gave it.

  Then he broke away, his hands moving to the buttons on his waistcoat.

  She watched as he stripped off his clothes, every inch of skin he revealed a profound revelation.

  Simply put, Leo was beautiful.

  His shoulders and chest were broadly sculpted. His stomach was a flat plane that beckoned to be touched, while his arms and legs were roped with lean male muscle. His hips and buttocks were tight and narrow. As for his shaft, he was heavily erect, thick and long, a bead of moisture glistening on the broad tip.

  Before she even knew what she was doing, she reached out and took him in her hand, running a thumb over the drop of his semen. Another one immediately gathered. She rubbed that one too.

  A harsh groan rumbled low in his throat, his eyes closing for a second of obvious bliss. “You’re going to unman me if you aren’t careful,” he warned.

  “Am I? From what I’ve seen, that doesn’t seem likely.”

  His eyes gleamed, dark with need. Then he was on the bed, bending up her knees as he fit himself between her legs. He crushed his lips to hers, ravishing her mouth in a way that left her enslaved.

  Breath panted from her lips as she slid one leg up over his back. “My stockings,” she said, only then remembering that he hadn’t taken them off.

  “Leave them,” he said, palming one of he
r breasts. “I like the idea of tupping you with them on.”

  He kissed her again before bending lower to suckle her breasts in ways that drove her mad, using his lips and tongue and teeth until she thought she might drown in the sensations. Hunger coursed through her, stronger than any she’d ever known.

  Still, she gasped as he slid a hand beneath her buttocks and thrust heavily inside. It had been a long time, more than six years, since she’d taken a man into her body. She thought she’d known what to expect, but nothing about Leo was ever what she imagined it would be.

  Rather than draw back to thrust again, he settled against her more heavily, reaching down to angle her legs higher around him. He went deeper still. She moaned as her body stretched to accommodate his impressive size.

  “You’re tight,” he murmured against her ear.

  “It’s been a long time.”

  He brushed her lips with his. “Relax. We have all night.”

  “I don’t think I can do this all night. Can you?”

  He laughed, the sensation teasing her inside. “You feel so good I just might try.” Then he shuddered, his body and mind clearly at war over the necessity of proceeding.

  And she couldn’t deny him any longer.

  Before she could even think, her body took over, gripping him with a velvet clasp as she arched reflexively, her feet pressing flat against his lower back. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him hard. “I’m ready,” she murmured. “Take me, Leo. Take me now.”

  At her command, he began thrusting, plunging in and out, faster and deeper, as he plundered her mouth, his hands moving in wild forays over her skin.

  She trembled from head to toe and lost herself in the fathomless, pulse-pounding depths of his possession. Her mind went blank, thoughts scattered like petals, aware of nothing but the need lashing her in ever-increasing waves. Aware only of him.

  He thrust even harder, deeper, until he’d gone as far as he could go. She held on, her hands sliding restlessly over his back and hips and buttocks, arching high to take everything he could give and more.

  Then she broke, a high keening sound filling the air as ecstasy flooded through her, a pleasure so intense that it sank deep into her blood and sinew and bone, where she knew it would stay forever.

  A tear slid from the corner of her eye, but it was a tear of happiness.

  Of healing.

  As if this were her first time all over again and he the only lover she had ever known.

  And would ever know again.

  She clasped him tighter, pleasure still radiating through her as he claimed his own satisfaction with a shuddering sigh. Smiling, she stroked her hands over him with leisurely caresses, content to luxuriate in the moment.

  They lay for an uncertain amount of time, exchanging lazy kisses and murmured words of enjoyment.

  “I must be heavy,” he said after a while.

  She stroked his cheek and rubbed her heel across the dip of his lower back. “No. I like this.”

  “God,” he moaned, his shaft twitching inside her, “I like that too. Do it again.”

  “What? This?” She rubbed her heel against him again, circling.

  His shaft hardened more and he gave a little involuntary thrust. “I think I’ve created a wanton.”

  She trailed her hand over his buttocks, then gave the firm flesh a light squeeze. “I believe you have.”

  He thrust again, his erection stretching her deliciously.

  Without warning, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, still lodged deeply inside. His palms reached up to cover her breasts, which he began to fondle. “I think we can do this all night. Shall we give it a try?”

  She gave an experimental bounce and laughed, amazed at her sudden daring. “Yes,” she said on a breathy sigh as her desire flared hot again. “Most definitely yes, my dear Lord Leopold.”

  Chapter 21

  Leo was gone when Thalia awakened—for the final time, at least.

  She stretched her arms over her head, a twinge of soreness making itself known in her thighs and other far more intimate places due to her and Leo’s vigorous and enthusiastic lovemaking.

  As promised, Leo had roused her at various intervals throughout the night, his prior boasts about his impressive stamina all proving true. But he was more than eager; he was inventive as well, teaching her two sexual positions she’d never heard of with sinful assurances of more to come.

  Still, her favorite moments had happened just before dawn when she’d opened her eyes to the sensation of his mouth trailing a line of kisses along her spine.

  She trembled blissfully again at nothing more than the memory, recalling how he hadn’t stopped when he’d reached the end of her spine but had continued lower. He’d buried his head between her legs to give her the most intimate kisses of her life, bringing her to a climax so powerful she’d had to use her pillow to muffle her frenzied cries of release.

  Then improbably he’d done it again, lifting her to her hands and knees and sliding heavily into her from behind to make her climax once more.

  She’d lost count of the number of times he’d brought her to pleasure during the night, leaving her delirious and exhausted and so intensely satisfied she didn’t know how it could possibly get better. Yet he’d whispered to her that their fun was only just beginning—and she believed him.

  Leopold Byron didn’t lie.

  She shivered deliciously and sat up amid the rumpled bedsheets, late morning sunlight flooding into the room. Her recollection of him leaving was hazy; she’d been so tired. But he’d kissed her, whispering sweet words into her ears as he told her to sleep and that he would see her later that afternoon.

  There’d been something about taking her for a drive, she thought. Or was it to a gallery? Either way, she’d find out once he returned, she supposed.

  A glance across the room revealed that he’d tidied all her evening clothes before he’d departed, draping them neatly over her dressing table chair. Even her shoes had been carried in from the sitting room and placed side by side underneath.

  How surprisingly considerate. How discreet, even though all the servants must realize by now that he had brought her home and spent the night in her room.

  In her bed.

  She was his mistress now.

  No, she corrected. I am his lover. My favors are given freely out of mutual desire with no financial remuneration involved.

  Mistresses received town houses and carriages, clothes and jewelry and other assorted gifts. She wanted nothing from Leo, only his company. Only his passion, until both of them decided they’d had enough and their affair was done.

  Perhaps it was a small distinction in the eyes of the world, but not to her. She was her own woman, independent and self-sufficient, and she would stay that way. Being with Leo did not change that at all. If people wished to think otherwise, she couldn’t stop them. It was a hard lesson she had learned well.

  But why was she dwelling on such doleful thoughts when she had felt absolutely spectacular only moments ago?

  I am going to enjoy this affair, she told herself, for as long as it lasts. For once in my life, I am going to enjoy myself.

  Enjoy him.

  In every wicked, delectable, sinful way possible.

  Sliding out of the bed, she padded barefoot and naked across to the bellpull and gave it a tug. She needed a bath and something to eat, since she was utterly famished. Then she was going to dig through her meager wardrobe and find something pretty to wear.

  She wanted to look attractive for Leo.

  Her new lover.

  Smiling, she went to fetch a robe.

  * * *

  “You’re whistling again.”

  Leo jogged down the last of the stairs at his and Lawrence’s town house, the tune he’d been accused of harmonizing still on his lips. He offered a final tonal flourish, then looked at his twin. “Am I?”

  Lawrence raised an eyebrow. “Which means, I take it, that you had a good eveni
ng last night.”

  “I did, yes.” A smile moved over Leo’s mouth as thoughts of Thalia replayed in his mind.

  “I also presume this good evening was had after you got into an argument with Lord Kemp and strangled him in front of several dozen witnesses at Drury Lane?”

  Leo strolled into the study.

  Lawrence followed.

  “I didn’t strangle him,” Leo clarified in a casual tone. “It was more of a corrective throttle.” He took the stopper off the wine decanter. “Claret?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Leo shrugged and poured himself a glass.

  “Corrective throttle?” Lawrence asked.

  “Kemp insulted Thalia. I was correcting him.”

  Lawrence gave a short laugh. “Gallant of you, I’m sure, but given her history and reputation, insults will unfortunately come her way.”

  “Well, they had better not come her way around me.” He drank a large swallow of wine, his other hand squeezing into a fist. “You’d have throttled Kemp too if you’d heard how he spoke to her. It was unpardonable.”

  Lawrence sobered. “I’m sure it was. Just don’t let your defense of her get out of hand.”

  “In what way? What do you mean?”

  “Just that I heard there was talk of a duel between you and Kemp last night, but that he refused your challenge.”

  Leo scowled. “You seem amazingly well-informed and here it is only”—he paused and reached for his pocket watch, clicking open the case—“eleven twenty-three in the morning.”

  “It’s the talk of the town—how could I not be well-informed? I had a letter about it over breakfast from one of our friends. It won’t be long before the news wends its way to the family.”

  “Let it wend. Kemp is a villain and a coward. I am only sorry I didn’t have a chance to put a bullet in him at dawn this morning.”

  “I, for one, am glad you did not.”

  Leo tossed back the rest of his wine. “That’s what Thalia says. She told me to let it go.”

  “Then listen to Lady Thalia. It sounds as if she has a great deal of wisdom.”

  “She’s not what you think, you know,” Leo said, meeting his brother’s eyes. “She’s not what anyone thinks. She’s gentle and intelligent and kind. She’s quite the most fascinating woman it has ever been my privilege to know.”