Regency Rumours/A Scandalous Mistress/Dishonour And Desire

by Juliet Landon

  The spell was broken. His smile was understanding. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘Come and help me choose a mount, then.’

  Having almost given up hope of finding in this relationship the kind of romance she was looking for, Caterina was all the more delighted to find that Sir Chase’s methods were far removed from those of her two former betrothed. Roses appeared in her room and a late hellebore had been placed on their table at dinner, signifying protection. Other trinkets appeared, too: a pair of embroidered gloves, a lace handkerchief, a small book of William Blake’s poems, more flowers, and two tickets for the theatre on Saturday evening.

  ‘I have nothing to give you, sir,’ she said again, accepting from him a small paper box tied with ribbon with ‘John Atkins, High Quality Confectioner and Sweetmeat Maker’ printed on the lid.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ he said. ‘But I can wait.’

  She was a virgin, he reminded himself, and he was reluctant to persuade her or to take a hasty advantage of the impetuosity that several times in the last few days had almost spilled her into his arms. He had witnessed her struggle against it, had seen desire darken her eyes, had felt her fear, and with probably only the vaguest notion of what she was holding on to, he knew she was impatient to discover how it would feel to release it. Curious and aroused, she was ready to be taught, just as ready to be freed from the constraints of Paradise Road and just as angry at the manner of it as she had been at first. Once she had given herself, however, there would be no turning back. She would have to go with him, willing or unwilling. And they both knew it.

  Purposely, he did not make the decision too easy for her and, in her innocence of men of his sort, she interpreted his attempts to make these few days memorable for her as a desire to show her his good side, as opposed to the one about which she had found so much to criticise. In a sense, she was right, but there was more to it than that for, in the short time left to them, he took her into other situations where it would have been possible for her to drop her guard and allow him some access to her, as she had done at Sevrington Hall. After the Royal Stables, he had come close on several occasions, but the theatre was to be their last outing before their return home on Sunday.

  Like other Brighton entertainments before the season had begun, the Theatre Royal on New Street had not yet swung into action with the same gusto of high summer when it would be packed to the roof and noisily sociable. In early May, the acting talent still lacked the big names, the musicians eager but unpolished. Believing that Caterina would be ready to give the second half of the performance a miss, Sir Chase suggested they might leave.

  But she resisted the idea of abandonment. ‘Absolutely not,’ she said during the interval. ‘They may not be the best we’ve ever heard, but they don’t deserve a mass walkout halfway through.’

  ‘Two of us is hardly a mass,’ he commented drily. ‘Don’t exaggerate.’

  ‘I feel exaggerated,’ she snapped.

  ‘You certainly have an exaggerated sense of loyalty to a group of amateurs. If I’d known they were as bad as this, I’d have taken you to the Assembly Rooms at the Castle instead.’

  ‘I’d much rather be here. But you must be missing the gaming tables. These last few days must have been quite a strain for you.’

  ‘Oh, they have, Miss Chester. You can have no idea of the strain I’ve been under. Gambling, drinking, debauchery, the ruining of innocent young women. How I’ve missed it.’ He yawned behind his knuckles. ‘Shall we go in for our second dose of voluntary torment?’

  ‘Now who’s exaggerating?’

  Sir Chase was not in the least dismayed by this sudden waspishness, for it had nothing to do with whether they should go or stay. He had seen how, when the tensions built inside her, she found a release in scolding and reckless bids for solitude, picking a quarrel when she felt herself changing towards him. Soon she would be facing her father again after a second escape without a proper farewell, her time as a free woman almost at an end. The prospect was unnerving. She needed a scapegoat and he was happy to oblige. For the time being.

  ‘You’ve had no singing practice,’ he said as they took their seats in the box beside the stage. ‘Have you missed a lesson?’

  ‘Two,’ she said, curtly, as if it were his fault.

  ‘And when is your next performance to be?’

  Slowly, she swung her head to look at him as if he’d asked her to name the King of Persia. It was the first time she had thought about it. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she said in a rush, thinking that he must be the most exciting man she had ever known. Sitting there beside her, he exuded a virility and strength in his easy grace that took her breath away. When he moved, he had the rhythm and power of an athlete and she had known a most unusual pride to be seen with him, riding and walking, driving, sitting at meals. She had worn her best outfits to complement his elegant style, enjoyed his friendship and forgotten those uncomfortable resentments until just before sleep each night. Then, she had dragged them out for a nightly airing, in case they disappeared altogether. Gradually, it had become obvious that, unless she were to reveal her willingness to him, he was not going to kiss her as he had done at Sevrington Hall. And she was certainly not going to ask him to.

  ‘Don’t ask me where, either,’ she said, turning her head away.

  ‘Where is it to be?’ he said, smoothly.

  ‘Chiswick House. Not far from home. You need not be there.’

  ‘I shall be there. Remember what happened last time.’

  ‘The Duke has his own resident musicians, so there won’t be a repeat of last time. Signor Cantoni will be with me, too.’

  ‘So shall I. The Duke of Devonshire is a friend of mine.’

  ‘I might have guessed.’

  Superficially, the frostiness lasted throughout the second half during which she would have regretted her misplaced loyalty to the cast had it not been for his warm large hand that took hers within minutes, settling itself upon her lap like an old friend. Soon, she covered it with her other hand, nestling all three close to the bend of her body where, when the acting grew increasingly tedious, he spread his fingers caressingly into the soft folds of muslin over her inner thigh, moving it downwards into the dark warmth of secrecy. He heard her gasp beside him, but knew she would not look at him when she was herself in full view of the audience.

  Alert, vibrating, unresisting, she allowed his hand to stay there. He had made the first move, and now she need no longer accept full responsibility for what happened next. In allowing his caress, she had divulged the open secret that her pique was more for his delay than his new ownership of her.

  ‘Little wasp,’ he whispered, during one noisy scene. ‘I’m beginning to read you, girl. Beware.’

  ‘How long does this go on?’ she whispered, her eyes fixed on the stage.

  He smiled at the ambiguity. ‘What a question,’ he replied.

  The five-minute walk back to the Castle Inn was made in the kind of silence that anticipated another delicate shift in their relationship, though the age-old response of all well-bred women was bound to make an appearance, as a formality, at the door of her room.

  ‘Where does your maid sleep?’ he whispered.

  ‘In the little room next door. Her coughing disturbed me.’

  ‘Good. I shall come to you in half an hour.’

  ‘Sir Chase … no, er … you cannot.’

  ‘Why can I not?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She bit her lip, in the darkness.

  ‘Then I shall come. Caterina?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But … oh … yes.’

  Chapter Six

  Wanting him was one thing, but offering herself like a betting-token as the price of a wager was quite another. When his light tap upon her door broke the silence of the room, she was still in the cream embroidered evening gown, and Millie had been sent back to bed.

  He, on the other hand, had come to her in a long dressing gown of grey-figured silk tied round the hips, his feet inside
velvet mules, his neck startlingly bare without the high neckcloth, his only accessory the lingering aroma of pine trees. Apparently, he saw nothing surprising in her unreadiness. He closed the door quietly and waited, his expression thoughtful.

  ‘I’ve … er, I’ve changed my mind,’ Caterina said, her voice wavering with the effort. ‘I’m sorry. You must know how I feel about … things. This would be a betrayal, wouldn’t it? You can see that. I can’t do it. It will have to wait … until … whenever.’ She spread her hands in a helpless gesture, one of them still holding her long kid gloves. Facing him, she saw his eyes glint in the flickering candlelight and thought she recognised the glimmer of amusement or admiration rather than disappointment. Irritated, she tried again, sharpening her tone. ‘Perhaps you should leave now. Good night, sir. I’ve had the most enjoyable …’ Backing away, she warded him off as he approached, but he took the gloves from her and draped them over the chair. ‘Do you not understand me, Sir Chase? I have changed …’

  ‘Your mind. Yes, of course you have,’ he said, gently. ‘You reach the brink, you get cold feet, then you cry off. And this time, although you want me, you cannot bear the thought of being seen to submit, or even to consent. It goes against the grain, doesn’t it? Dazzling, fiery creature. It goes by another more common name, too.’

  ‘What does?’ she whispered, still backing round the room, skirting the obstacles and feeling her way round the bedposts, hand over hand.

  ‘Pride,’ he said, following her through the shadows like a grey cat stalking its prey. ‘Understandable, but I have a way round the problem that should satisfy both of us. Shall I show you?’

  ‘No!’ she cried, unnerved by his refusal to be put off. She had backed herself against a small bedside table where a candle’s flame wavered in the draught, bending as she dodged to one side to evade him. But she was not fast enough to escape the arms that came round her with a speed that made her yelp, and before she could even begin to struggle against his grip, she was tossed sideways onto the bed, held down by his arms and legs, her hands caught as they flew up to beat and push at him. ‘No … no!’ she growled. ‘You might at least talk about it. You don’t understand, do you? This means nothing to you, does it? Let go … let go of me!’

  ‘Steady, girl … steady. Stop struggling and hear me out.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear you,’ she panted. He was close above her, and she was able to see how his gown gaped to expose a wide V of rugged chest and the muscled column of his throat, so close that she could smell his skin and feel his intimidating warmth. The excitement of it surged through her body towards her knees, making her heart race and her objections slow to a halt. ‘I don’t want to do this with you,’ she whispered, trying to convince herself of its truth.

  ‘And it will suit you better if I insist, thereby giving your body what it craves and clearing your conscience at the same time? Yes, I know. But if you believe that it means nothing to me, my beauty, you’re quite mistaken. I would never waste my time with any other woman who’s raised as many objections as you have. Now, let’s see if we can move things on a bit with some gentle persuasion.’

  Having released her hands, his own fingers were engaged in undoing the ribboned drawstring around the neckline of her dress and, when that was loosened, he eased her over on to her side so that he could reach the hooks of her bodice and draw it down past one shoulder. Casually replacing her, he eased the other side down.

  Anchoring her elbows close to her sides, Caterina clung to the top of her gown while her mind, in contrast, lay helplessly adrift, her senses honed in readiness, sure that he would, despite her insincere protests, unleash something within her that had been caged and waiting too long for freedom. Only a man with his experience, tarnished or not, would know how to accept what she had to give with its odd assortment of pride, passion and surrender. Only he would understand what she wanted from him in return, not the usual diluted lovemaking reserved for virgins, but something more that would disturb her profoundly and make this particular sacrifice worth her while. What good would it do for her to opt for anything less than the real thing with a real man? Like him.

  Instead of insisting, he drank deeply from her dark eyes and knew from the desire growing there that he had been right: her objections were formulaic, no more than that, her arms already relaxing against the ache to hold him. Bending his head, he began a kiss intended to lure her cooperation, tender and teasing.

  Once again, she flared like an inferno at the taste of his mouth, and the words of denial upon her lips were devoured in a blazing contradiction, spurring him on beyond the initial languid phases of seduction. Exhilarated and encouraged, he gathered her into his arms, rolling her under him in a crumpled knot of silk as a cry of sheer abandonment escaped into the dark canopied enclosure of the bed.

  In the briefest of intervals, he sat back to remove his gown in one impatient tug, hurling it aside before bending to her once more, watching for any sign of distress as she lay with half-closed eyes, waiting for him to disrobe her as she had dreamed more than once that he might do.

  The close proximity of his nakedness vibrated through her like a drug. He was smooth, solid and magnificent under her hesitant fingers, rippling with muscle toned by exercise, broad above, sloping to a narrow waist and hips that had little resemblance to her own womanly curves. The strong nose and brow caught the mellow glow from the single candle, carving his features from polished oak like some dark woodland god, his eyes following the path of hers as she bathed him in open wonder and approval, telling him without a word being spoken that she had ceased to object.

  He bent to kiss her again, intending to draw her mind away from the hand that slid the bodice down over her flawless breasts to her waist, and beyond. But the first contact of their skin brought another cry of desire from her lips, and she arched against him, pressing herself along his length, pushing her hips into him as if she had been taught, eagerly searching for every connection while foraging with her mouth, accepting everything he offered.

  Pushing her thumbs into the folds of her gown, she eased it away with his help, impatient to learn more of him through her skin, moving, smoothing him with her thighs, sliding the soles of her feet down his long legs, feeling with her hands the deeply rippling valleys of sinew and muscle.

  She stopped suddenly as a strange hardness pressed against her stomach, tearing her mouth away from his, her eyes wide and filled with apprehension. She had seen that part of a man on classical statues from the ancient world, but there remained some anomalies in her mind about the mechanics that not even the observation of her tiny half-brothers had been able to solve. What she felt now pressing urgently against her was something she had neither seen nor imagined.

  Her reaction was what Sir Chase had anticipated. Although virgins had never received his attentions as a lover, this woman was different in so many other ways from the one-dimensional women he had known. Outwardly in control, inwardly she seethed with denials and inconsistencies. She was sensual, passionate, wild, fiercely free and independent of spirit, talented and, in many respects, conventional. She was largely innocent of men also, for though she had met plenty of them, only one had been allowed to come close. Indeed, it looked as if she had begun to lose interest altogether until he had demanded to be noticed.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he whispered. ‘There’s no hurry, my beauty. I shall be careful. We have some ground to cover first. Let me show you … easy … my girl. Let’s take it slowly, eh?’ Showering her with a mist of new and erotic compliments, his hand began its quest along her shoulders and throat, leading his kisses along paths of smooth silk. Her eyes closed in rapture once more, unable to hold back her craving long enough to wait patiently upon his languid lovemaking.

  The caresses moved over her breast like a breeze that scarcely touched her skin until it brushed her nipples in passing, causing a gasp of surprise at the tingle along every fibre of her being. Feeling her response, his hand cupped and encircled one br
east, holding it captive for his lips to tease and torment. But without realising it, he had already lured her beyond that point, and now the instant response to the nudge of his knees between hers was a soft moan and the sharp incisive dig of her fingernails into his back, warning him of her readiness, sooner by far than he had imagined.

  Spreading her legs to resolve the ache between them, she waited, trembling and tense with desire. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she whispered into his cheek. ‘You must tell me what to do. Quickly … what is it? What am I to do?’ There was an urgency as well as desire in her voice.

  She was, he thought, already doing everything a man could dream of, and more. Without delay, he responded to her demand by lifting her to him with an arm under her back, passing over the intimate preliminaries that he’d intended, making his first careful entry effortlessly smooth, virtually painless, and more immediate than either of them could have predicted.

  Awed, speechless with the exquisite thrill of his penetration, she became aware of a slow fire within that deep part of her that had ached for him, like a firm rippling caress over a private wound, taking her breath away with its sweetness.

  ‘Breathe,’ he whispered, waiting for her to recover.

  Raggedly, she exhaled. ‘It’s … all right,’ she gasped. ‘Is this it? Is this what you do, Chase? Is this what we do? Like this?’

  ‘Not quite, beautiful, wild woman. Not yet.’

  ‘What more … is it? Ah … yes, go on … go on …’

  With slow voluptuous movements, he began to pleasure her, raining kisses like snowflakes upon her upturned face, gradually filling her with each thrust.

  Faint mewing sounds escaped from her throat, pushing every thought from her mind into a world of sensation, part pain, part bliss, in which she was sure heaven could not be far away. Stretching under him, she felt each gentle thrust, anticipating the next with greedy excitement, wanting it never to end, revelling in the knowledge that this man understood her needs better than she knew them herself, that he was the strong, handsome, arrogant man who had brought her to this sooner than she had believed possible, that he was the one, the only one, she wanted.