He touched her shoulder briefly, as if he wished to make his point very clear. “I’d not wish to see one as lovely and interesting as yourself wind up like me. Don’t wait too long to come back to life. It’s been five years, and while I’m sure you believe there is no one who will suit, who can possibly make you happy, I would disagree.”
“You’re right, I’m certain, but for several reasons this is all much easier to speak of than to put into practice. For one thing, I’m reclusive at Margrave Park. Unless I were to marry my neighbor, Sir Edmund, who’s close to eighty, or take up with my gardener, or perhaps convince the good vicar to abandon his wife, I have no prospects. There’s my steward, Mr. Timms, but he’s a dreadful dull sort, and I’d no doubt spend the rest of my life dozing off at inopportune moments. The notion of coming up to London in search of a spouse is distasteful.”
“And the other reason?”
She met his gaze directly. “I’ve yet to feel the desire.” It was not a good choice of vocabulary, but she realized, after she said it, how accurate it truly was. At least, it was accurate until approximately an hour ago. What was it about him? She was shocked at her reaction to him, and wondered what he would think of her if he knew she was interested in him that way?
“Perhaps you should come up to London with William, stay a while and take him about, and perhaps enjoy some social engagements. I daresay you lack female companionship, rusticating in the country. Not a woman of my acquaintance who doesn’t enjoy her friends. You and Jane seem to have struck it well, and she’ll be back within a fortnight. In fact, if you decide to spend some time in London, I’d consider it a privilege to escort you wherever you wish to go.”
“You’d attend a ball with me?” She almost laughed. Most men didn’t like attending balls.
He surprised her when he nodded. “If you wish to go, I’ll take you.” He touched her shoulder again. “I’d like to help you find someone suitable, and while I’m no matchmaker, I do have some idea about who’s who and what’s what. It wouldn’t do for you to fall into the clutches of a fortune hunter.”
“Not at all. It’s my duty to retain all of William’s holdings and wealth until he reaches his majority. Indeed, Blix worries much over me being taken advantage of.” She grinned up at Sherbourne. “It becomes apparent, I presume, that my brother still regards me as a mere child, incapable of understanding the less than noble motives of some men.”
“It’s aggravating to you, no doubt, but there may come a time when you’re glad to have him at your back. I confess I misjudged your brother and have a newfound appreciation for his honor and character.”
“I’m so glad. He’s a good man.” She looked away, toward the lily. “Would that I could find a man of like nature and integrity, one whom I might feel the slightest attraction to, I might consider remarrying.”
“It will be impossible if you don’t make yourself available. But that’s stating the obvious, isn’t it?”
She looked at him again and nodded. “Perhaps I’ll come up to London with William. Spring is here, and the Season in full swing. I can take him into the park, and to Gunther’s for an ice, and in the evenings, I can attend a few parties. Are you sincere about escorting me?”
“Most sincere.” He blinked then and smiled wryly. “How very peculiar this conversation is. Does it seem so to you?”
“On the contrary. I have the oddest feeling that I’ve known you for years.”
Their gazes met and something very different and far beyond friendship passed between them. He dropped his foot and stood straight. “Good God, Lady Bonderant, this won’t do at all. I believe I should take you home now.”
She rose to her feet and faced him. “Yes, undoubtedly wise, Sherbourne, but I’d really rather you made good on that look. I vow my curiosity is killing me.”
“I’m old enough to be your father.”
“But you are not my father, and your gaze is not in the least fatherly.”
He looked somewhat pained. “This is absurd! You are still young, while I am—”
“Not old. Mature, but not old. I daresay old men don’t contemplate what just went through your mind. Do not deny it.”
He stared at her with those deep-blue eyes, fringed with dark lashes, lined with years of laughter. Lucy stood outside herself for a moment and tried to tell herself she was being ridiculous, that she didn’t really want the Earl of Sherbourne to kiss her.
She told herself to be quiet, that yes, she really did. More than she’d wanted anything in a very long time. “Either kiss me, or say you absolutely do not wish to. I may go mad, standing here, waiting.”
“It should be James, or Jack, or any of the others escorting you about this bit of paradise, wondering if you’ll allow them to kiss you. I am ludicrous, ma’am.”
“You are incredibly attractive, and I haven’t wished to kiss anyone in five years. If you’re a gentleman, you’ll grant me my wish and stop blathering on about it.”
“Blathering, am I?”
“Oh, good heavens.” Lucy moved very close and slid her arms up the front of his coat, round his neck and tilted her head back. He was a fair amount taller than her, so she really couldn’t kiss him without his cooperation. “Now I shall die of humiliation if you don’t kiss me, and surely a friend wouldn’t allow the other death by mortification?”
“Devil take it, Lady Bonderant, this is just not right.” His hands grasped her waist and he bent his head to hers for a chaste kiss, before he stepped back, forcing her to drop her arms.
Lucy didn’t know what had come over her. She’d not been aware of a man in this way since Matthew, but she appeared to be making up for lost time. Her body fairly hummed and her center flooded with heat and longing. “Please kiss me as you want to, and my curiosity will be assuaged, and you may take me home and pretend it never happened.”
“Do I have your word?”
“My solemn word.”
He reached for her then, and drew her to him slowly, his eyes on hers, his expression a disparate blend of doubt and desire. One arm slid over her shoulder and his hand splayed across her back, drawing her nearer, while the other arm moved about her waist to pull her body snugly against his. “You are so very beautiful, it’s unnatural, perhaps even a crime for you to lock yourself away as you do.”
“I’m trying to rectify things, if only you would cooperate.”
He bent his head until his nose was close to hers. “I’m far too old and jaded for you.”
“If you’re too old, why do I feel the evidence of your desire against my belly?”
“I’m old, not dead.”
That was putting it mildly. “You don’t actually know me at all, so as to being jaded, perhaps I’ve my own manner of experience. Had you thought of that?”
“No. You were an innocent when you married, and your husband was taken from you a year later. You’ve as much as said you’ve been with no other, so I fail to see where you might have become experienced. Bonderant was not much older than you, so I doubt he might have taught you anything out of the ordinary.”
He was correct, of course, but he couldn’t know what was in her head, how vast was her imagination. What would he think if he knew how she spent a great many of her nights while sequestered at Margrave Park? She’d never know what he thought of it, because she would never tell him. Or any other living soul.
Thinking of her creative work, of her drawings and writings, her vivid thoughts, she wondered how it would be to actually engage in those activities. Sherbourne may not have remarried, but he had no doubt gone through a string of mistresses. He would know a great many things, could show her, lead her, and teach her. All that she imagined might be reality, if he was so inclined.
If he could be convinced into willingness.
She swept her eyes closed as his lips touched hers and slid one arm about his middle, the other round his neck, enjoying his height, his heat, his scent. He truly smelled wonderful, and tasted of tea and something indefinable,
perhaps simply him –his unique flavor. He held her more tightly, kissed her more deeply, languidly stroking the interior of her mouth with his tongue, inviting her to reciprocate.
What began as desire and longing stretched out into full scale need, and her mind exploded with images and possibilities.
One kiss was not going to be enough.
He drew his lips away from hers and looked into her eyes. He seemed almost surprised. “You’ve not grown rusty, it would appear.”
“No, but I do grow restless. I really do not think one kiss is going to suffice.”
“You gave me your word.”
“Yes, but I beg you not hold me to it. I didn’t know how very good this would be. I only suspected.”
He kissed her again, more passionately, his arms beginning to move against her back, one hand dropping to cup her buttocks and press her ever closer to his very strong erection. Lucy trembled and wished to feel him inside of her, though she strongly suspected she could climax with only the movement of his fully clothed member against her core. It had been such a great, long, lonely time, and she had ever loved the physical side to her marriage. How wonderful it would be to lay with him, to feel his hard nakedness against her, within her.
But he was hesitant even to kiss her. How on earth might she convince him to lay with her?
When next he drew his lips away from hers, she whispered, “Do you suppose, just once, we could—”
“No, we could not. We absolutely . . . positively . . . could . . .” He was kissing her again, and their hands didn’t stay where they ought if this was to be only a kiss, even only a passionate kiss. His hand gently massaged and stroked her buttocks through the silk of her gown, and his other hand moved to her neckline, tugging until her breasts were released. Still plunging his tongue against hers, still holding her lower body tightly to him with one hand, he caressed her swollen bosom and paid particular attention to her nipples, rubbing them softly before gently rolling their peaks between his warm fingers.
Her hands were equally employed, one set of fingers exploring the definition of his buttocks, enormously intrigued by the rounded, tight perfection of him, while the other set of fingers stroked and investigated the feel of his stiff cock, straining against the fabric of the fall fronting his breeches.
Years of loneliness welled up within her, demanding relief. She’d thought pleasuring herself would always be enough, that she could hold the memory of Matthew’s hands upon her, his body within her, long enough to sustain her throughout the rest of her life.
She was mistaken. Until now, she’d not fully realized how very lonely she was, how much she missed a man’s touch, or how desperately she craved intimacy. That her desires were focused on a man twice her age bothered her not at all. He certainly didn’t seem twice her age. On the contrary, he was imminently desirable.
His mouth was hot, firm, seductive. His body against hers was hard and lithe, not in the least dissipated. She moved her arms beneath his coat, traveling further, beneath his waistcoat, tugging his shirt from his breeches that she could touch the warm skin of his back.
“Lady Bonderant, you really should not—”
“Lucy. You will call me Lucy, and I will not hear the words should not from you again. I’m a widow, a mother, a woman particularly mature for my age. If I shock you, Sherbourne, I don’t care. It’s very clear you desire me as much as I want you, so do stop protesting and let us enjoy one another.”
His gaze was less surprised than smoldering. “I can only think we’ll regret it. I’ll feel ridiculous.”
“Not before me, surely, and who else will know?”
He was silent and still for a moment, then murmured, “Who else, indeed? Are you quite certain this is what you want, Lucy?”
“Yes, quite.” She glanced about her and added, “We’ve not the luxury of darkness in the conservatory, Sherbourne, and I would rather be shot than caught groping the master of the house by a gardener who happens by.”
He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, which he released slowly as he opened his eyes again. “You would accompany me, then, to my bedchamber? It’s shocking, truly, for it’s not yet time for luncheon.”
“I fail to see what luncheon has to do with it. I’m not at all hungry.” She nipped at his lower lip with her teeth and scratched his back with her nails. “At least, not for food.”
She could see from his demeanor the instant he stepped across the line between hesitation and determination. He moved back a bit and adjusted her bodice, then grasped her hand and walked her rather quickly toward the front of the house. Rothschild was not about, thankfully. Neither was there a footman or any other servant in the hall. They climbed the stairs silently, though several meaningful looks passed between them. At the landing, he turned to the right and she followed him to the last door of the hallway. Just before he opened it, he turned to her once more, his expression serious.
“Are you certain, Lucy? Speak up now, for once we are set upon the course, it will be difficult to turn back.”
“Oh, do open the door, Sherbourne. I’m fair shaking, and eager, and crazy for you.”
In bare seconds, they were locked within his chamber and he was quickly divesting her of her small hat, her hair pins, her morning gown, her stays and chemise, her slippers and stockings. When she was naked, she reached for his cravat, his coat, waistcoat, shirt, boots, breeches and drawers. They stood apart for a moment and looked their fill.
“Honestly, my lord, you are beautifully put together.” His chest was broad and well formed, sprinkled with dark hair that grew into a line that led to his groin. His hips were narrow, and his thighs boasted impressive muscles, no doubt the result of years in the saddle. Sherbourne’s first love was said to be horses. Was he larger than Matthew had been? It was difficult to remember. One thing was certain, however –Sherbourne was very well endowed. She audaciously moved toward him and grasped his heavy, thick cock within her hand, filling the other with the weight of his bollocks. “Old, indeed. You’re spectacular.”
His hands were not idle, swiftly moving across her skin, touching her arms, her throat, her back, her belly, and her breasts before he drew her close to the bed and tossed back the tester. He turned to her and smiled with a twinkle. “Let us see how well the old man holds up in the face of your beauty and grace and extremely luscious body, shall we?”
“Luscious, Sherbourne? I’m anything but luscious.”
His smile faded, replaced by a look of burning intensity. “You’ve been alone too long, I fear, without benefit of a man’s appreciation. I’d thought yours a quiet beauty, dignified and refined, but now, seeing you naked, with your lovely hair about your shoulders, your dark nipples peaked with desire, I can only describe you as luscious, tempting and not the least refined. It’s infinitely appealing, for I’ve never had a taste for refined ladies. Perhaps you’re the daughter of a duke, the widow of a viscount, but damned if you aren’t the very earth itself.” He reached for her and kissed her hungrily, holding her close whilst his hand moved between her legs. “You’re like a ripe peach, lush, sweet and deliciously . . . juicy.”
She shoved him backward and fell upon him as he hit the bed.
“You’re also decidedly impetuous and lusty, my lady.”
On her knees, her center was close to his cock when she stopped and gazed down at him. “Do I go too far? Am I too bold? If so, you must forgive me, but it’s been a very long time, and I cannot wait another moment.”
“Not too far, at all, and I find your boldness intoxicating.” He bent his knees and raised his feet to the bed to propel himself farther along the mattress, taking her with him until they were in the center, though still sideways. His hands reached for her waist and held her loosely as she settled herself along the length of him, all the way down, until the head of his cock touched her womb.
She melted with pleasure and fulfillment. Ah, how lovely it was, how right it felt. Slowly, she moved against him, gyrating her hips to create
the friction and heat she craved. It wouldn’t take long, she realized as she gazed down at him between the curtain of her hair. “The very earth, Sherbourne? How poetic you are.”
His hands tightened about her waist and suddenly, without warning, he flipped her to her back. He crouched above her, his laugh lined face no longer filled with good humor, but rather a certain dark expression of deeply carnal intent. “I sense a certain wildness and erotic knowledge within you, and I have to wonder from whence it comes.” He withdrew and plunged deep before pulling back, almost leaving before thrusting once more.
“I read . . . oh! . . . a great deal.”
“Not anything available at an ordinary bookshop.” He thrust again, then lingered on the back pull, appearing to find great pleasure in the process.
She stared up at him, willing herself to hold on, to not let go just yet. She wanted to last and last, to enjoy him as long as possible. “No, my lord, they don’t come from a bookshop.” How would he react if she told him they were her very own books, handwritten, with original art, bound by her own hand and read by no one but herself?
“I’ve seen such books, Lucy. They typically include drawings, as well. Very realistic renderings of what we’re doing at this very moment, and a number of things we’re not doing.”
He filled her again, withdrew again, maddeningly slow, but she wouldn’t hurry him. She was determined to make it last. “I confess, it’s my nature to be keenly curious to know what some of those other things might feel like, if they’d be as enjoyable in reality as it seems in my imagination. I find the imagination can be quite . . . stimulating.”
He surprised her when his expression became almost sad. “Poor Lucy, alone in your grand house, but for erotic picture books. I trust you’re enjoying yourself now, rather more than being alone?”
The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series) Page 13