It appeared to bother him that Blix was not in residence. When Lucy told him his uncle had married and gone to Beckinsale House for a wedding trip, he’d asked if they could go as well. He remembered Blix taking him out in a boat, rowing him across the lake, and he thought it would be a capital notion to visit and go about in the boat again. When she told him they couldn’t, he wanted to know why. She finally said newly married people didn’t know one another very well, and their wedding trip was a chance to become friends, which was accomplished much better without the intrusion of others. Then she talked about all that they would do while in London and he promptly forgot about Beckinsale House and Blix’s jolly boat, eventually settling down to sleep.
Downstairs, she piddled about in the library a bit, until Peatrie announced dinner was served. At home, she typically took all of her meals in the morning room, and allowed William to breakfast with her, that she could teach him table manners. She hated eating by herself in the dining room, because it seemed to shout a reminder that she was very alone.
She wasn’t comfortable requesting dinner anywhere but the dining room at Blix’s house, so she went in and took a seat at the head of the long table. She almost forgot herself and asked after Peatrie’s wife, until she remembered herself and remained silent. One didn’t speak to servants while at table. Seemed utterly ridiculous, but there it was. She’d undoubtedly upset Peatrie if she broke stricture anyway, so it was just as well.
Eventually, she was done, and rose to retire to the drawing room for tea and a book she’d selected to peruse until she could retire for the evening. Peatrie had only just left after presenting the tea cart before he returned to the doorway and said stiffly, “A Mrs. Sherry here to call on you, Lady Bonderant. Shall I tell her you’re out?”
Lucy didn’t know a Mrs. Sherry, or, at least, she didn’t think so. Perhaps she had met her previously and forgotten? She was terribly bad about that, wasn’t she? Her mind was sometimes not on the matter at hand, especially when meeting new people. In any case, she had to wonder how the woman would know she was here. She peered at the butler, trying to discern his manner. He appeared to be cautious, but not offended. Mrs. Sherry must be only a small amount questionable. Ah, well, it wasn’t as though she had anything else to do. Who knew when Sherbourne would arrive? If, indeed, he would at all. “Yes, Peatrie, do ask her to join me.”
Moments later, Peatrie opened the door again and said formally, “Mrs. Sherry, my lady.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Peatrie.” Lucy stood and almost bit her tongue right off to keep from howling with laughter. Sherbourne walked in, his step mincing, his large body elegantly gowned in the first stare of matronly fashion, all purple satin and vanity flounces, his upper arms covered by elbow length sleeves and his lower arms encased in pearl-buttoned gloves, effectively hiding his muscled, hairy arms. His bosom was impressive, though modestly covered by the neckline of the gown, disallowing a peek at his cotton cleavage, or his hairy chest. A purple turban with matching, waving ostrich feathers covered his head, hiding his hair. An enormous amethyst brooch winked from the folds. He’d rouged his cheeks and painted his lips into a bow. In one hand, he clutched a lorgnette, which he held to his eyes as he looked toward her. Clever man, for it was enough of a distraction, one failed to notice his face was not particularly feminine. Actually, not in the least feminine. But he was a distractingly handsome man, and made a handsome woman. Even with the turban.
The best was yet to come. He would know, of course, that Peatrie wouldn’t leave right away, but see that her guest was seated first, in the event anything was needed. Sherbourne minced toward her, padded hips swaying a tad too much, and swept into a deep curtsy. The distinct sound of creaking bones reverberated through the drawing room and Lucy noted Peatrie’s widened eyes, no doubt worried he’d be called upon to haul the large lady from the floor if her decrepit knees gave out on her. Luckily for Peatrie, Mrs. Sherry returned to her full height, her very impressive height, without undue mishap.
“Lady Bonderant, you simply must forgive my impertinence to call upon you without prior notice, but I saw you in the park this afternoon and, as I told dear Mr. Sherry, there is Lady Bonderant and her sweet son, and he, of course, said, why yes, m’dear, so it is, and I said, well, I shall have to call on her as soon as possible and welcome her to town. Mr. Sherry said it was a splendid idea, but reminded me we are to leave in the morn for Northumberland, to visit his dying granny, poor dear, hasn’t been well in an age, and I wonder if she’s actually close to death, or merely anxious for a visit, but it’s not for me to question, as it is, after all, Mr. Sherry’s own, dear granny, but as you see, it will be impossible to call on you on the morrow as I’ll be gone from town, so I am come tonight, instead, for I simply could not leave without saying hallo!”
Lucy blinked. If she didn’t know better, she wouldn’t believe this was Sherbourne, he of such strong, bold masculinity. His voice was pitch perfect, his manner of speaking spot on for a kowtowing matron. She avoided looking at his eyes, for she would surely break down and die laughing. Instead, she focused on the amethyst. It had to be paste, as it was so large as to be vulgar. “I’m honored, Mrs. Sherry. How lovely of you to call. Please, won’t you sit down and enjoy a bit of tea?”
“Delighted!” He sailed toward the sofa and lowered himself in another fit of creaks and groans.
Lucy perched on the chair opposite and nodded at Peatrie. “That will be all, I believe. I’ll ring if we require more tea.”
“Yes, my lady.” He bowed himself out and they were alone.
Lucy covered her mouth and let herself laugh until tears popped into her eyes. “Sherbourne,” she whispered, “you are . . . ” She couldn’t speak, she was laughing too hard. “That turban! And my God, your bosom . . . it’s . . . it’s huge.”
His blue eyes twinkled merrily. “Now, now, Lady Bonderant, shield your claws. I understand yours is quite impressive, but mine is colossal, which would, of course, send you into fits of envy.” He drew an arm beneath his bosom and pushed it up a notch. “I daresay my stays are inadequate, however. Gravity, you know, is the very devil on a woman’s bosom.” His gaze moved to her bosom. “How do you manage to keep yours so uplifted and perky? I vow, I imagine your nipples must be positioned perfectly, for I can see their outline, and oh, my, you’re a lucky, lucky woman, aren’t you?”
She moved to the sofa and sat beside him. “Peatrie isn’t one to eavesdrop, but if he were, he would doubtless find your observations unusual.”
“Perhaps not. Connie had several Mrs. Sherrys who dropped by to kiss her feet, who complimented her on everything from her hair, to the way she held her teacup, to her fine figure, despite so many babies. I recall one woman actually told her she had a lovely, fine bosom, and asked her secret to keeping them perky.” His gaze moved to hers, once again. “Hmm, it would appear I’ve a taste for perky breasts, would it not?” He reached up and removed one feather from his turban, then set about tickling her décolletage with it. “Let us hope Peatrie isn’t peeking through the keyhole.”
Lucy giggled and leaned back against the cushions, slapping at the feather. “Sherbourne, you are truly wonderful. I’ve not laughed so hard . . . ever, I believe.” Her eyes widened. “But how shall we get to my bedchamber without detection?”
“We will be detected, but we won’t care. In a little while, you’ll exclaim you’ve a new gown and hat, as well as some dress patterns my daughter would like, and we’ll move to your bedchamber for a nice, womanly coze.” His deep blue eyes looked into hers, still twinkling. How did he do that? “Then I’ll take off your dress to see for myself how perky your beautiful breasts truly are, then take you to bed and make love to you until you scream and I have to cover your mouth, for surely we couldn’t explain away your passionate, orgasmic cries when looking at dress patterns, now could we?”
Lucy stared.
“I vow, Lady Bonderant, you appear flabbergasted.”
“It seems extremely
odd to become aroused by a matronly woman in purple satin, but I vow, I cannot wait to take off your dress.”
He pursed his painted bow lips and kissed the air. “Will you steal my rouge?”
Staring at his mouth, she was not laughing any longer. “I’ll lick it off very slowly.”
He wasn’t laughing either. “You’ve no idea how long the day became after I brought you and William home. I’ve got you in my blood, Lucy.”
She was gravitating toward him ever so slowly, until she caught herself and murmured, “Now, Sherbourne. I can’t playact another moment. We will go and see my new bonnet and have our coze now.” A movement caught her eye and she jerked her gaze to his lap, followed quickly by her hand. He was hot and hard beneath the satin and it was all she could do not to jerk his skirts up and straddle him. “Oh, God, I want this inside of me, so much.” She sprang from the sofa and said in a loud voice, “Mrs. Sherry, you must come and see my new walking gown and bonnet! I’ve also a box of dress patterns for you daughter . . . Imogene. Shall we adjourn to my bedchamber for a nice coze?”
He stood quickly, belying the sound of creaking knees.
She looked toward his skirts with a question in her eyes.
“Whalebone,” he whispered, then said loudly as he followed her to the door, “What a lovely idea, Lady Bonderant, and how kind you are to take me to your bosom as though we are old friends, too long parted. But we are old friends, in a manner of speaking, are we not? Of course we are! As I said to dear Mr. Sherry, it was a happy day, indeed, when I met you at Twykham’s summer solstice garden party, what has it been, now? Two years past? Such a dear thing you were, in your great hat and pretty summer gown. I vow, I envy your girlish figger, for I’m a veritable giant of a woman, although, of course, Mr. Sherry doesn’t mind, even if he’s scarcely to my shoulder, poor dear, and frequently accuses me of sitting upon him, which is most unfortunate and not at all the thing, but he seems to hide on occasion, and suddenly, there he is! Just where I sit. I say, His Grace, your brother, has done a lovely redecorate in this house, has he not? I don’t recall this wallpaper. Is it Chinese? Beautiful! By the by, I heard Blixford married this morning, which, of course explains why you are in town, but do tell, is he really married to Lady Jane Lennox? You must give me details, my dear! Ah, here we are, in your chamber. I vow, those portieres are stunning. I must discover Blixford’s decorator, because my house has become terribly dated, what with . . .” She closed the door and he stopped talking. He removed the turban and tossed it aside, along with his reticule and lorgnette, then reached out his arms, palms up, silently asking her to remove his gloves.
Lucy stepped close and bent her head to the task, fumbling in her haste. “Good heavens, Sherbourne, why ever did you purchase these gloves with all these infernal buttons?”
“So that you would stand very close to undo them and I could look down your dress.”
She jerked her gaze to his and saw that he was indeed, focused on her cleavage. “I like a man with a plan.” She went back to work and eventually, she had his gloves off. He turned his back to her and she concentrated on the buttons of the gown. When it fell away, she saw that the false bosom was actually sewn into the bodice, as were the padded hips. “How much did you have to pay a modiste for her silence?”
He stepped out of the dress and turned to face her, devoid of stays or chemise, just him in all his muscled, hairy, stiff-cocked glory. And stockings lined in whalebone, held up by garters above his knees. She bent to remove them, keenly aware of his very erect shaft just next to her hair.
“An astonishing lot, but I’ve had the costume almost a year. I had it made for a practical joke I played upon Wrotham, last Season. He’s a stick, you know, and because he can’t allow himself to enter into sexual congress with a lady, he became quite desperate and decided to frequent a brothel. He made careful enquiries as to which might be most discreet, where he might go for an evening’s entertainment and not be seen by anyone. Sticks can be like that, very hypocritical. Anyway, I, Mrs. Sherry, an avenging angel of morality and prudence, chose just that night, and just that brothel to crusade for the souls of the damned in the depraved fleshpots of London. Naturally, I happened to open the door of Wrotham’s lady’s chamber first and expressed my dismay at who was within, an earl, for heaven’s sake, a pillar of London, surely, who had fallen so low, and how shameful it was.”
He had her laughing again. “Did Wrotham faint?”
“On the contrary. He cast aside his woman and suggested he and I remove to an empty chamber, where we might discuss the matter in a more intimate fashion.”
She stood and stared at him, slack-jawed, then at last said, “He propositioned you? An avenging angel?”
“It was the bosom, I’m certain. Some men would simply have to see the bosom without cover, for it is spectacular.”
“But you’re a matron!”
“True, but breasts are breasts, and very enormous ones are irresistible to some men. Wrotham was disappointed when I declined, and he didn’t speak to me for a solid month after I removed the turban and revealed my identity. He eventually came round and forgave me and saw the humor, but I’ve watched my back ever after, waiting for payback. He will attack when I least expect it.”
He was not fifty, but fifteen, surely. His love of practical jokes was legendary, and she could now see the intricate thought he put into them. She eyed him cautiously. “I’ve a grand sense of humor, Sherbourne, but please, don’t play a practical joke upon me.”
“Of course I wouldn’t, Lucy. I doubt most people see the finer points of my pranks, that they’re designed to gently, kindly, humorously point out some flaw in a person’s character. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. Wrotham did leave off some of his stick tendencies after that, and took a proper mistress, as all gentlemen should do when they are not married.”
“Some have mistresses even after they are married.”
“Ah, but they are married to icebergs.” He snatched her close and bent his head to hers. “You, my love, are anything but an iceberg. Whomever you marry will never, ever, in a thousand years, take a mistress, for you will keep him sated and replete and absolutely bound to your every breath.”
“Suppose I marry you?”
“Then I shall have to search for an elixir that will allow me to keep up with you. I’m fifty, Lucy, and not able to make love to a woman multiple times in an evening.”
“Just once, then?”
He looked thoughtful. “Twice is possible, but three times is right out. Truthfully, once a man passes thirty, he loses the steam for three times, so I’m not far behind, am I?”
His doubt was endearing. “Sherbourne, you foolish man, I don’t care how many times other men can work up the steam. I only want you, and if once is all I get, I’m content. If I get it twice, well, it’s a fortunate day.”
“You understand the multiple rule only applies to an evening? Over the course of a day, all bets are off.”
“So you could make love to me of a morning, and in the afternoon, and again at night. Sounds divine, so what’s the problem?”
“I suppose I’m beginning to be monotonous. Shall I stop reminding you of my age and limitations?”
“Not on my account, because I don’t really pay attention. But perhaps you’re too hard on yourself. I suggest you relax and enjoy our time together and keep it firmly fixed in your mind that I desire you an enormous lot, and cannot, have not, and most likely will not, find the slightest interest in another.” Her hand closed around him and she sucked in a breath. “Ah, Mrs. Sherry, you are magnificent. Funny, warm, wonderful, kind, and absolutely a beautiful man. Given half a chance, I will fall wildly in love and make a cake of myself over you.”
His arms tightened around her and he held her head to his shoulder. “I won’t allow it, Lucy. We’re going to find you a suitable husband, a man who can keep up, who will love you and give you more children, and who will live a very long time.”
“Is this your wa
y of saying you would never love me, or marry me?”
“It’s my way of saying I want you to be happy, because I care for you, and am concerned for your future. It’s far too soon to talk of love and marriage, anyway. We agreed to have our two weeks and reevaluate then, did we not?”
Her hand tightened around his cock. “So we did. Very well, I’ll not mention it again, if you’ll not mention your age again.”
“It seems a fair bargain.” His hands slid into her hair, knocking some of the pins loose. He brought his face close to hers and whispered, “You will lick it off, is that what you said?”
She was wet and hot and oh, so ready. “Slowly. I said I will lick it off . . . slowly.” Releasing her hold on his cock, she reached up and cradled his face between her palms to keep him steady while she moved her tongue across his lips, first this way, then that. After a time, he groaned and opened his mouth to suck her tongue within. They kissed an eternity, and she knew, without a doubt, she’d never been kissed as Sherbourne kissed her. His entire body seemed to kiss her, his thighs spread to encompass hers, his heavy, muscular arms surrounding her, his body curled around hers, and his mouth solely focused upon hers. He made love to her mouth, sucking and licking and slowly, deliberately, languidly bringing her arousal to a fever pitch.
When she didn’t think she could wait another moment to feel him inside of her, he lifted his head and whispered, “How shall I please you tonight, Lucy? Have you something in mind?”
Meeting his gaze, she smiled softly. “The chair, just over there.” She nodded toward the fireplace, to the wingback she’d had removed from Blixford’s room and delivered to hers, explaining to Peatrie that she frequently suffered insomnia and liked to read late in the night.
The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series) Page 20