“Better, I hope?”
“Infinitely.” She blushed and wondered if there would ever come a time she wouldn’t do that when she thought of the intimacy they shared.
“You’re remembering this afternoon, are you not?” His voice was low and husky again.
“Well . . . yes. It bothers me that I blush, because it seems missish and coy, neither of which are in my character.”
He reached across the space between them and stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Uncharacteristic, maybe, but you’ve no idea how charming you are, looking away and blushing.” He dropped his hand and moved Pendragon, widening the distance. “As for your imagination, I stand corrected, ma’am. In future, I suspect it may be me who attempts to read your mind, instead of the other way round.”
“You’re welcome to try,” she said with a wide smile. Glancing at him, she noticed his seat was much relaxed, so much so that he was almost leaning back. “What of you, Blixford? I doubt you remember much at all of me from our first two meetings, but it would interest me to know what, if anything, you imagined when we met again at Lucy’s house party.”
“I assure you, Jane, I imagined quite a lot, none of which is seemly, and all of it ungentlemanly.”
Her entire body was awash in a warm languor. “Do tell, Blixford. My curiosity is keen.”
He was quiet for a long while before he moved close again and looked at her skirts, settled across Grendel’s girth. While she watched, his gaze slowly moved upward, lingering at her breasts. “I imagined how you might look without your traveling gown. It was purple, and exposed a fair amount of your bosom.” His gaze moved to her hair. “You wore a pretty bonnet and when you removed it in the front hall, part of your hair escaped its pins, so I knew it was long. I imagined what it would look like, all of it down, across your naked back. I wondered how soft it would feel against my own skin.”
Her languor slowly began a metamorphosis. He recalled the color of her gown?
Now he looked at her mouth. “Your lips were plump and pink and I knew kissing you once would never be enough.” His eyes met hers. “You have beautiful eyes, Jane, an unusual shade of blue. I’m certain anyone would agree, and had you simply looked at me with cool composure, I’d not remember with such clarity the effect they had on me.” He leaned toward her, staring into her eyes. “No woman ever looked at me as you did, before or since.”
The warmth of the day increased and she became flushed with heat. “I thought myself wildly in love with you. Is it any wonder I looked as though I’d like you for breakfast?”
“Ah, but I didn’t know, couldn’t fathom why a young miss would boldly stare back at me with as much hunger as I felt.”
“Hunger, Blixford? You mock me.”
“No, Jane.” His hand reached out and caressed her jaw, stroking downward to her throat. “I stood in my sister’s front hall and allowed my imagination to race off with you to my bedchamber, where I stripped you of your clothes, laid you across the bed and had my wicked way with you.” His lips curved into a sinful smile. “The finer points I’m unwilling to share, primarily because you wouldn’t understand, can’t conceive such things are possible.”
Jane licked her suddenly dry lips. “Do you suppose you might demonstrate the finer points in the near future?”
“It will be my pleasure,” he said, leaning closer. His hand moved to the nape of her neck and he tugged her toward him that he could capture her mouth with his –moist, hot, and promising. Desire stabbed through her center, all the way down her inner thighs.
He released her and drew back. “You’ll think me insatiable.”
She eyed him carefully, noting the bulge at his crotch that pressed against the saddle. Now she understood why he appeared to lean back a bit. Realizing her own state of arousal was equal, though not nearly so obvious, she sat up in her saddle as she looked ahead. “How far did you say we are from the house?”
“Less than a mile, I believe.”
“Hmm. Pity the horses are tired, or we might run the remainder of the way.”
Although she didn’t turn her head, she knew he jerked a startled glance toward her.
She calmly added, “It’s been a tiring day and I believe I’d prefer to have supper in my room and retire early, if you’ve no objection.”
His voice was deep when he drawled, “You may have whatever you wish, Jane. We are, after all, in the country, and it’s expected we keep country hours.”
This he said, despite the fact that sunset was still at least an hour away. Even country hours didn’t dictate bedtime before sunset.
***
Beckinsale House was a lovely old manor, in the style popular a hundred years ago, its rose bricks mellowed with age and its corners lovingly embraced by creeping ivy, neatly trimmed lest it encroach completely. The relative warmth of southern England and its milder winters meant the windows were large, oversized even, and this lent an air of brightness to the interior, highlighting the warm honey paneling and shining oak floors. A small hall in the entry was flanked by a study to one side and a parlor at the other, the dining room farther back, its wide windows facing south, overlooking a free-form garden, just beginning to burst into spring bloom. Farther along, past the garden, was a wilderness, carefully cultivated, Blixford said, to remain a wilderness. “We’ll walk there tomorrow,” he said, “and I’ll show you a secret place no one knows about but me.”
“Really, Blixford, I’m not such a green girl to fall for anything so melodramatic.”
He was mysterious when he said, “Ah, a skeptic. You shall see.”
The housekeeper was a rotund, cheerful woman by the name of Hester, and her counterpart –her husband, in fact –was an equally rotund man named Clive. He was a proper butler, but it was difficult to take him too seriously because he chuckled often, setting his belly to quivering in a comical way.
Hester listened to their plan of retiring early and had such a look of knowing in her merry, blue eyes that Jane blushed furiously. Naturally, Blixford noticed, and as they followed the chattering housekeeper up the stairs, he whispered, “I may become adept at mind reading, Duchess.”
“Behave!”
She quickly became aware that they didn’t have adjoining rooms, that there were none among the six bedchambers. They would share the largest room, as well as the dressing room. The traveling coach had arrived over two hours prior to their arrival and his valet and her maid had already unpacked their trunks. Jane found it oddly, warmly intimate, their brushes and bottles and such resting side by side upon the dressing table.
She believed, from the look of surprise on Blixford’s face, he’d expected her to be situated in another room, but he said nothing. She wondered if he would have her things moved? Surely staying with her in the same room would bring a sense of warmth and intimacy to their marriage, even if only for a fortnight, that would severely threaten his determination to keep her at a distance. Thinking of Lucy’s counsel, Jane decided if he asked her maid to remove her to another room, she would protest.
Hester said in her happy voice, “A Mr. Hopping built this house from money he earned as a purveyor of small boats. It’s said he was a fine craftsman and his boats were beautiful and sturdy. You’ll notice a nautical theme in some of the furnishings, the ones that remained with the house through the years, and the balustrade is a series of carvings representing sailor’s knots. Out beyond the wilderness is a small lake, which Mr. Hopping liked to use to test his boats. Those that failed are still resting at the bottom of the lake.” She smiled and nodded, her hands folded across her ample midsection. “There are two there that didn’t fail, that have been kept well over the years. Perhaps His Grace will take you about in one tomorrow.”
“That would be lovely,” Jane agreed, already thinking she’d love to learn to row. She glanced at Blixford and her heart skipped a beat. He stared at her. He looked . . . hungry. Doubtful he’d heard a word of Hester’s house history, but then, he would already know
all of it. She quickly returned her gaze to the housekeeper and smiled politely.
“Well, then,” Hester said with a wide grin as she walked toward the door, “you’ve only to ring when you’re ready for supper. In the meantime, I’ll just have Polly and young John bring up your bath and light the fire. It’s been a nice, warm day, but sunset will bring a chill.” She chuckled and looked at each of them. “You’ll have to argue amongst yourselves as to who may go first. When you’re done, ring and fresh hot water will arrive.” She left in the midst of Jane’s thank you and closed the door behind her.
As soon as the latch clicked, Blixford swept her into his arms and bent her backward, kissing her with as much desire as though they’d been parted for weeks, as though they hadn’t made love to one another a scarce few hours ago. Insatiable, indeed.
Jane decided she was equally so, her arms about his neck, her fingers tangling in his silky hair. All their talk of imagination had set her to yearning for him again and she made no protest when he reached for the skirt of her habit and jerked it up to thrust his hand between her legs.
“Jane, you astonish me.” His fingers moved greedily within her as he raised her upright and urged her backward, until her thighs bumped the bed.
Dropping her arms, still kissing him, she felt her way across the fastenings of his fall, quickly releasing it, then deftly unbuttoning his riding breeches. As he had done with her, she daringly reached for his privacy within his drawers, shoving them out of the way that she could grasp his shaft, impressed all over again, and fearing him not at all.
“’Tis a bold one, you are, wife.”
Before she could say a word, his hands wrapped about her waist and he lifted her up to set her upon the mattress, then none too gently pushed her backward before he reached for her booted ankles and lifted her legs to either side of his waist. He quickly hitched her skirts up and moved close to the bed, his gaze upon hers when he thrust inside of her, filling her quickly before withdrawing and plunging again. The lack of pain still amazed her, made her look upon him with something close to worship. In place of pain was a feeling like nothing else in all the world, a warmth and intimacy she found infinitely appealing and addictive to her feminine soul. Her desire increased with every drive of his thick, heavy shaft and the look in his drowsy, smoldering eyes was intoxicating.
“I’ve no hope of lasting, Jane. You’re closing around me too sweetly to resist.” His smile was slow and sinful. “And I confess, doing this to you while fully clothed is very stimulating.”
He was still in his coat. She was still in her boots. He was correct. It made it all somehow enormously erotic and as she watched him begin to lose his control, she felt her body take on a mind of its own, her back arching from the bed, bringing her center ever closer to his, delicious waves of pleasure thrumming through her. As her climax slowed, he found his own and his head went back, his eyes closed and he groaned. She felt the pulsing of him within and smiled her pleasure.
What a wondrous thing to make love with him.
He was still buried within her body, both of them breathing rapidly and heavily, when a knock came at the door.
Jane’s eyes widened in horror.
Blixford chuckled as he withdrew, stepped back and reached for her hand. In one smooth movement, she was upright, her skirts covering her, once again. He quickly did up his breeches then called out, “Come.”
She hastened to the window, hoping to appear as though she were merely enjoying the view of the wilderness through the large panes of glass, instead of catching her breath and forcing her legs not to shake. Listening to the sounds of the servants laying out the bath, the rush of water, the clang of metal against metal, the duke’s softly spoken instructions, she felt the trickle of him as it made its way down her inner thigh and stopped at her garter. Good heavens. How could something like that make her smile like a cat in the canary cage? She was surely low and common to find such pleasure in him, such delight with him in her.
At last, the servants were gone and they were alone again. He came up behind and circled her with his arms, tugging until she rested her back against his chest and belly. His mouth moved close to her ear. “You’re embarrassed, Duchess?”
“No, merely thoughtful.”
“I’d attempt to read your thoughts, but you don’t play fair, keeping your face averted toward the window. Mayhap you’ll simply tell me what you’re thinking?”
She did, feeling as though she might say anything to him at the moment. “I recall you seemed put off by my response to you in the library, all those years ago. I hope you won’t find cause to disapprove of my enjoyment in you now. It would make the entire process lose a bit of its luster.”
His response was slow in coming. Finally, he murmured, “Has it luster, then, Jane?”
“I’m fascinated with you, and anticipate what is yet to come.”
He turned her to face him and his look was sober. “I assure you, at no time in our lives will I ever disapprove of anything we do in privacy. It’s my hope that you will always be comfortable, relaxed, not shy, and well satisfied. A man may find his pleasure with fair ease. It’s not always so for women, and you have to tell me what it is you want or need.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “It gives me the greatest pleasure to give you pleasure, and in no way do I disapprove of your enjoyment.”
She felt another drop of liquid as it slid down her leg and she smiled, ducking her head to rest it against his shoulder.
“You’re grinning. Why?”
Looking up to meet his eyes, she blushed furiously. “You’ll think me low and common.”
“Doubtful.”
Raising up, she moved her mouth close to his ear and whispered the cause of her amusement. “Isn’t it shocking to find such a thing so tantalizing?”
His answer was not in words, but action; his arms crushed her against him, his big hands splayed across her back. He held her so close she lost a bit of her breath.
“You’re not shocked?”
He made an odd sound, deep in his throat, and it was a while before he murmured, “No, not shocked. Not at all.”
Jane began to wonder if he would hold her like this until the room was completely dark of daylight and illuminated only with the cheery fire in the grate. The sun was set, but the room was still lit with dusk.
How strange was his reaction. He made that odd sound again and she could only wonder at his thoughts. It would appear she’d moved him in some way, though she was at a loss why what she’d said could be considered touching in the slightest.
Men were very strange, she decided. Fascinating, sometimes wonderful, sometimes not, but decidedly strange.
At long last, he released her and turned away toward the bath, a copper tub, just the size for one. “Would you care to be first, Jane? I’ll be gallant and soap your back.” He glanced at her and waggled his eyebrows.
Laughing, she nodded. “Very well. I suppose, this being our wedding night, we’ll dispense with my maid and your valet’s services?”
“I think it best. You’re mine for the evening and I will gladly play lady’s maid to you.” He shot a glance at his breeches. “I daresay you’ll do adequately well as valet, considering how quickly you divested me of my fastenings.”
She nodded and said gamely, “I’ve had some experience with men’s breeches, growing up with a father and six brothers.”
He stared at her, dumbfounded. “Why would you have anything to do with their breeches?”
“Laundry, sir. It’s a massive undertaking, of which you wouldn’t be aware, being a man and such things beneath you.”
“You’re the daughter of an earl! Why on earth would you have your hand in laundry?”
She shrugged and presented her back for him to undo her buttons. “Mostly for demonstration purposes. We rotated housekeepers on a regular basis because my brothers were so slovenly and difficult. I was always very particular about the laundry. Ruining garments is a horrid waste. So I demonstr
ated to each new housekeeper how I preferred it to be done. In all that, I learned to handle fastenings and buttons with great dexterity.” She glanced over her shoulder.
He stepped close and his warm fingers soon had her naked of all. He summarily picked her up and set her into the tub, then stood back and gazed at her. “Is the water to your liking, my little laundress?”
“It’s perfect, thank you.” She gazed up at him, flushing as much from his heated look as from the warm bathwater. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think there’s something about me having a hand in laundry that’s appealing to your masculine nature.”
“Damned if it isn’t appealing, and I haven’t any idea why. Can’t say I’ve ever found the concept of a woman performing menial labor alluring.” He shrugged and turned to divest himself of his coat and waistcoat. He returned and rolled up his shirtsleeves before kneeling beside the tub and reaching for the soap. While he lathered her back, he spoke softly. “I’ve been thinking about when we return to London. Would you be averse to hosting a small affair of some type, a soiree or musicale, perhaps, to test the waters?”
“I’d be delighted.” She wished he’d continue soaping her back for another year or so. His big hands upon her were positively wonderful, such an ease to her tired muscles. “If we choose to hold a musicale, however, I’ll politely decline to perform. It would dampen any hope of easing back into the fold. In fact, I’ve no doubt we’d be run out of town by an angry mob.”
“You’ll forgive me if I agree?”
“Of course. It’s a stretch to call my ability at the pianoforte ability at all. We should call it an attempt and leave it at that.” She leaned forward and moaned. “You’ve a talent with your fingers, sir. I daresay I’ll be unable to repay the kindness in like manner.”
“Ah, Jane, having your hands on me in any capacity is pleasurable. Is this good?”
His fingers rubbed firm circles against her shoulder blades and she nearly fainted with pleasure. “Oh, it’s far better than good. Wherever did you learn to do this?” She realized what she’d asked the moment she said it, and hastened to say, “Never mind, Blixford. I’d rather not know.”
The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series) Page 18