She understood his meaning and smiled up at him. “Sherbourne, I can’t recall when I last felt this much pleasure. You fill me completely, and it’s taking a great amount of effort not to go off too quickly.”
His thrusts became more rhythmic, deeper and harder. “By all means, allow yourself to release.”
“I don’t wish for this to be over so soon.”
“Neither do I, but all this talk of your wicked books and the thought of you pleasuring yourself, alone in your bed, is far too stimulating. I’d thought to outlast you, but now it appears doubtful.”
Her hands clasped his thickly muscled upper arms as she rose to meet each stroke of his body in hers. He bent low and licked her lips before turning his head to kiss her deeply. Their bodies slid together with a fine sheen of perspiration, slick, hot, perfectly matched in rhythm.
She didn’t follow her usual pattern of slow build into a soft, pleasing climax. Instead, she was taken by breathless surprise when her entire body began to shake uncontrollably. Her back came up from the bed into an arch. Finally, at long last, saints be praised, she cried out her immense euphoria. Had it been thus with Matthew? It had been marvelous, she was certain, but had it been like this?
She didn’t know. She didn’t think it mattered at all. There was here, and now, and Sherbourne, and that was all that mattered at the moment.
He stared at her with wonder before he dropped his weight to hers, pressing her into the mattress while his thrusts became ever more powerful. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms around his middle, and held on to the last shred of her sanity.
It didn’t help.
As he completed and pumped himself into her, she went off yet again, her needful, too-long-untouched body responding enthusiastically to his.
When the last of their fulfillment settled into a gentle peace, he remained there, above her, within her, his breathing labored, his head resting beside hers, half of his face buried in her hair. She turned her head and met his blue gaze. “Do you feel ridiculous?”
“No, not ridiculous, but somewhat of a villain. Although I’m deeply honored you’ve chosen me with which to break your fast, I feel I’ve taken advantage of your loneliness. I’m older, wiser, more experienced, and should have discouraged you. Instead, I’ve bedded you.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
He smiled and raised a hand to brush her hair from her face. “More than I should, I’m afraid.”
“Why so?”
His fingers traced her profile, down to her throat, where he caressed her tenderly. “Because it can only be this time and no other, Lucy, and having known you, it’ll be difficult to resist knowing you again.”
“Yes, I see your point, although I fail to see why we might not enjoy one another so long as we wish. I’m a widow, not a virginal miss.”
He sighed and rolled off of her, though he took her along and held her close to his side. “I won’t dishonor you by making you my mistress. I suppose I could marry you, but it would, indeed, announce to the world that I’m ridiculous, would it not? I, myself, have chuckled with the rest of them when an old man marries a young woman. I have only to remember the laughing jibes we poked at Twykham when he married Miss Moring last year.”
“Honestly, Sherbourne, how you do go on. Twykham was a year from eighty and Miss Moring barely seventeen when they married. The comparison of Twykham to yourself is absurd. Consider Hollister, if you will. He married Miss Emily Smitherman when he was five and forty and she but twenty. She went on to bear him five children and they are to this day quite happily living in Shropshire. I don’t recall that he was held up in jest, or that anyone so much as blinked in surprise.”
He was quiet for a while, considering, she supposed.
“This conversation has taken a decidedly interesting turn. Do you mean to say you would consider marrying me? We’ve not known one another long at all.”
She raised up on her elbow and gazed down at him. “I suppose it is a bit presumptuous of us to talk of marriage. But you won’t take me as a mistress, and I don’t wish to return to my matronly life of loneliness, so what’s the alternative?”
His expression was sober. “Perhaps you should send for William and stay in London a few weeks, as we discussed earlier. I’ll honor my promise to escort you out and about, and we’ll arrange to meet privately on occasion. After a fortnight, perhaps this attraction will become less . . . intense, and we’ll be able to judge the situation with cooler heads. I’d also like for you to take a look around, perhaps single out a gentleman you’d find desirable as a husband. A younger gentleman.”
Admittedly, she didn’t pay close attention to all he suggested, rather focusing on his willingness to arrange for additional private meetings. She was delighted and said so. “Do you suppose we might try some different things, Sherbourne?”
His eyes widened. “You’re serious?”
Slightly embarrassed, though not enough to back up and deny her seriousness, she dropped her head to his shoulder and nodded. “I’ve no doubt you have a great lot of experience in these matters. Would it bother you to teach me what I beg to learn?”
He chuckled then and held her closer. “It wouldn’t be a bother, I assure you, but I’ll be curious to see how far you’re willing to go in your education.”
“I look forward to laying your curiosity to rest.”
His chuckle became a laugh. “You’ll be the death of me, won’t you? I’ll die in the midst of a lesson and be sent straight to Hell for debauching an innocent woman.”
“Innocent, indeed!” If he only knew. Yes, she was physically still quite innocent of anything beyond coupling, always beneath, usually in the dark, but mentally, she was not at all naïve. She wondered, yet again, what he would think if he knew of her books?
She further wondered if her interest in erotic writing and drawing would wane after today, after a fortnight of intimacies with Sherbourne? She suspected it might. They had served to sustain her since Matthew’s death, but with a living, breathing, very virile male in her bed, she thought words and drawings upon paper would definitely pale in comparison.
“I’ll send for William as soon as I return to Blix’s house in Cavendish Square.”
“Please make use of my footman, and send your request from here. While we await his arrival, we’ll have luncheon, and then perhaps enjoy a drive in the park. Or a ride, if you prefer.” He shot her a concerned look. “You do ride, Lucy?”
She laughed. Had she ever laughed this much? “Being that you’re a very accomplished horseman, it would sound the death knell to your interest in me if I didn’t, so I’m fortunate to say that yes, indeed, I do ride. I’ve been told I’ve an excellent seat, so I shall ride with you this afternoon and bravely bear your scrutiny.”
“Death knell? I think not.” His hand dropped to her thigh and slowly made its way to the apex, where he drove a finger within and waggled it about, grinning as she squirmed beneath him. “If you didn’t ride, I would teach you. If you do not ride well, I will teach you to do so. I believe I’m going to enjoy teaching you a great many things.” He kissed her again, still grinning.
“I’ll enjoy learning.” Her eyes widened. “But, Sherbourne, I’ve only just realized, I don’t have a suitable mount.”
He leaned over her, his fingers continuing to fondle her while he smiled into her eyes. “I’ve just the mount for you, m’lady.”
Lucy stared up at him and sighed happily. “I’ve no doubt, my lord, no doubt at all.”
Chapter 8
Jane couldn’t fathom what had come over her. As they traveled along the Dover road, she tried to enjoy the splendid spring day, the plentiful sunshine and new growth all around. She conversed with Blixford, who was being a dear, really, talking far more than was his wont, undoubtedly attempting to put her at ease, but she was only half listening to him, her mind unable to let go of worry.
She hadn’t told him, would never tell him, the truth to what happened in Scotland. Yes,
she’d been willing, up until a point. Regrettably, she learned there is a moment in a man’s time when he might still leave off, and once that point is past, he’s compelled to finish things. MacDougal hurt her far more than his betrayal. She’d felt torn to bits, and thinking of the act occurring once again was frightening in the extreme.
Blixford was so large, it followed his member would be proportionate, didn’t it? She shifted in her saddle, praying she would be able to accommodate him, that it wouldn’t be too painful.
When the Red Lion was within sight, he abruptly changed the subject, though she was unclear which subject he’d been on. Something about sheep?
“Jane, you’re a world away.”
“Never say it. I’ve followed along most studiously.”
“Now it’s you who lies. I just suggested we attempt to crossbreed a Merino ewe with a Hereford bull, that the resulting animal would be significantly large. Complete balderdash, and you merely nod and say, Yes, excellent notion, Blixford.” He urged Pendragon closer. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I’d rather not.”
He reached over and squeezed her shoulder before dropping his hand. “I’m not a brute, you know. We’ll take our time and nothing will happen that you don’t wish to happen.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re implying,” she said with what she hoped was convincing astonishment.
“Ah, I see, and mere hours ago, you gave such a pretty speech about how our marriage would begin with truth and honesty.”
“Bloody hell,” she mumbled.
He looked off down the road. “I’m quite hungry and looking forward to luncheon. Wonder if they’ll have steak and kidney pie? It’s a favorite of mine.”
Jane scowled at Grendel’s ears. Dash it all, she had the insane feeling she might cry. What was wrong with her? It vexed her to be this intimidated. She tried to think of other things, but she invariably came back to the matter at hand, that as much as she wanted Blixford, she was scared to death of him. Oh, what a tangle! He’d never stay in her bed if she was a cold fish, a frightened little rabbit.
“Ah, here we are.”
Jerking her head up, she realized they were, indeed, approaching the yard of the inn. A groom ran out to greet them, tipping his hat as he came. “Would ye be stayin’ the night, m’lord, or would ye be here to partake of the mistress’s tasty victuals?”
“Luncheon, my good man,” Blixford boomed with a wide grin. “We’ve only just married and I desire to impress my bride with a feast.” He dismounted and reached for Jane, his large hands circling her waist to swing her clear of the saddle. When her feet were upon the ground, Blixford tossed a coin to the groom and offered his arm to her.
Inside, the public room was crowded; mingled voices forming a dull roar. The proprietor, a portly man with a florid face and bulbous nose, smiled as he approached. “Welcome to Red Lion, sir, ma’am! I’m Bertram Osgood, proprietor.” He sketched a brief bow and summed them up, all at the same time. “How might I be of service to you?”
Blixford handed Mr. Osgood his card. “The duchess is quite exhausted from our journey, and I believe it would suit her to rest a while. Perhaps a spacious room in which we might enjoy luncheon and a rest?”
“I’m honored, Your Grace! Please, step this way.” Posthaste, they were escorted to the stairs and shown to a room at the farthest end of the first floor hallway. It was spacious, bright and airy, with windows along two walls, it being a corner situation. The bed was an old fashioned canopy with light, muslin hangings and what appeared to be three mattresses beneath the tester. A floral patterned rug stretched across the polished floor, just to the edge of the hearth. “I’ll have a maid bring up hot water, Your Grace, and be back shortly with some of the wife’s victuals. I’m a cobbler without shoes if you don’t agree she’s a fine cook.” He bowed himself out, and they were alone.
“Are you tired, Jane?”
She stared out the window at the countryside behind the inn and shook her head.
“Hungry?”
“Vaguely, but I’m not sure.”
He went to the window and threw open the sash. “How fortunate we are to enjoy such lovely weather. Are you up for riding the remainder of the way to Beckinsale House?”
“Yes, Blixford.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “You’ve no idea how far it is.”
Moving to stand beside him, she sighed. “It can’t be too terribly far, for we’ve already traveled a good distance into Kent, have we not?”
“Yes. We’re but five or six miles from our destination.”
“Why, then, did you agree to stop here?”
“Because you wanted it, and I’m beginning to believe your theory is correct.”
She jerked a startled look to his face. He stared down at her with a strange intensity. “You do?”
“Yes, Jane. It’s very clear that you’re afraid, which is understandable, but I don’t think there’s anything I can say to alleviate your fear. I’ll have to demonstrate why your fright is groundless.”
She felt herself blush, but didn’t look away from him. “I loathe and detest this, you know.”
He turned and gathered her next to him. “I’ll not ask why you’re afraid, but I will say fear isn’t a bad thing. It’s our instinctual manner of avoiding pain, perhaps even death. No soldier goes into battle without a healthy dose of fear. We run from predatory animals because we fear them, but there’s no shame in self-preservation.” He held her closer. “You’ll have to trust me. Try and remember that I’m your husband, and hold you in high regard.” He paused, then added, “Perhaps it would help if you remember the library and put any other memories from your mind.”
“I’ll try. Thank you.”
He moved his hands to her head, carefully removed her hat and set it upon the low dressing table. Returning to her hair, he slowly removed the pins, lying each one aside before resuming the task. Eventually, her hair fell about her and he murmured, “Ah, beautiful. I’d hoped you hadn’t cut it.” His fingers combed through the curls, all the way to the ends, somewhere close to her waist.
A knock sounded at the door and he went to open it, allowing a maid to enter with a pail of steaming water. She poured it into the pitcher before she curtsied and left. Directly, Mr. Osgood arrived, along with another maid, who laid out a lovely repast on the small table to the opposite corner of the room. A bottle of wine was produced, opened and poured before the man and his helper inquired as to further instructions.
“I believe that will be all,” Blixford said. “You’ll see that my wife is not disturbed?”
“Of course,” he said with another wide smile. “My groom tells me you’re newly wed, Your Grace. May I offer felicitations?”
“Yes, thank you.”
At last, the man was gone and they were alone, once again.
Blixford turned from locking the door and walked a few steps into the room. “Come here, Jane.”
She did.
“Turn round.”
She did so without question and stood stock still while he moved her hair over her shoulder and began to unbutton her habit. When he was done, he slowly tugged the garment until it fell to her waist, then nudged it along until it went into a heap upon the floor around her feet. He bent and grasped the fabric. “Step out.” He took it to one of the chairs before the fireplace and laid it out carefully before he returned and bent to remove her boots. “These are unusual for a woman.”
Balancing herself with one hand upon his shoulder, she replied, “I have them made especially for riding. Most women’s riding boots are terribly inadequate.”
He rose, returned to her back, and loosened her stays, tossing them to land atop her habit. She was down to her shift, a fine lawn garment with dainty lace trim. Moving around her, he bent to one knee and lifted the shift to concentrate on her garters. He untied them slowly, his movements almost reverent, anticipatory. Her stockings followed, each rolled down in turn, and she lifted her foo
t that he could remove them entirely.
When he was done, he stepped back and devoured her with his gaze. “Just as I thought.”
“Beg pardon?”
“You’re lovely, Jane.” He reached for his cravat and removed it without fanfare before he shrugged out of his coat. “Does it occur to you that I may be nervous, as well?”
She watched him remove his waistcoat. “Not at all. You’re quite accomplished at this, I’m sure.”
“Perhaps,” he admitted as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his head, “but not with you.” He met her gaze as he tossed the shirt toward the other chair by the fireplace. “You’ve already informed me you will find it humorous to see me without clothes, so I’m ready to take the humiliating plunge.”
A smile tugged the corners of her mouth, even while she stared openly at the expanse of his chest. He was very well formed, muscular and masculine, with a thatch of dark hair that followed a line down to the edge of his riding breeches. “I didn’t say I’d be amused, Blixford. I said it would be odd, that I would wonder at the peculiarity of seeing you naked.”
“Yes, I remember. Why was that, Jane? Because I’m a stick?”
“It was thoughtless of me to say so, and I’m quickly concluding that you’re not at all a stick. It’s merely an affectation.”
“Similar in nature to your bluster without blush, announcing to all within your sphere that you’re fearless.” He stood there, gazing at her. “I find I’m unable to complete the task of undressing. You’re going to laugh and I will be crushed with the indignity of it all.”
“Oh, pish! You’re funning me, sir, and I don’t appreciate it.”
“Not at all,” he said quietly, moving closer. “I’m a man of great pride, Jane, and I’d not want to disappoint.”
He was serious! It hadn’t once entered her mind that such could be the case, but he was actually anxious about bedding her. Was it merely a reaction to her fear? The thought brought another urge to weep. Her hateful jitters were going to ruin it for him. He would not enjoy their coupling. He would leave her bed and find another. One who wasn’t a ninny.
The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series) Page 14