Lusty Letters: A Fun and Steamy Historical Regency (Mistress in the Making Book 2)

by Larissa Lyons

  Tell yourself the truth, girl. It wasn’t thrift that had her continuing on the same page. It was the tingling awareness Lord Tremayne’s presence had brought to her body last night. The awareness that had only grown in hours since he’d left…

  You see in me a pokered-up prig of a tutor? My lord, how you wound me with such a comparison. Could you not think of me more along the lines of a spruced-up sprite of a governess? Or a buttoned-up— (Fiddletwig! I must cry off here. I cannot think of any suitable, single-syllable B-word that might meld with “barmaid” which is where I was going—though please do not stop to inquire why. Assuming you’ve remained awake through the reading thus far.)

  Madness. Sheer madness. It’s this magical quill, I assure you.

  So have you decided Mr. Shakespeare might, after all, suit your stringent literary tastes? How wonderful I am sure. (And I vow that’s not a single speck of sarcasm you perceive. Not a single, solitary one. All right, perhaps a half.)

  Shall I share a few lines of my own with you? Ones composed during my childhood? Or might you think less of me when you see how very, ahem, less is my talent?

  I will refrain from troubling you with them unless you ask.

  Thea (who vows she hasn’t smiled, or written, this much in an age)

  Thea waited and waited (and waited) for his response, growing ever more appalled by her actions. With every second that passed without a pithy, entertaining reply, she worried she may have overstepped not only the bounds of propriety but the boundaries of mistress as well.

  So it was with complete and utter dismay, and an impressive (and instantaneous) elevation of spirits, that she received not one but two notes in response.

  Both delivered at the exact same moment.

  And both by the very man she’d been afeared of offending.

  Daniel was greeted at the door by Samuels, a strapping man of early-senior years possessed of a barely perceptible limp and few hairs atop his balding pate. He’d met the couple briefly upon his leave last night. Recognizing how they’d roused themselves from sleep upon his departure, Daniel had simply thanked them for having the room prepared on such short notice and bid them good night. Now that it wasn’t after one in the morning, the latest servant in his employ seemed inclined for a more effusive greeting.

  “Come in, my lord, come in,” Samuels encouraged without preamble, opening the door wide. “Horrible rains we’ve been having today, just horrible.” It had been raining? He hadn’t noticed. “Glad to see it didn’t tamper with your plans tonight.”

  Before Daniel could acknowledge the man—or the weather—Samuels was circling to help remove his greatcoat, talking all the while. “Molly and I have been looking forward to your visit. You’ll join Miss Thea for supper this eve?” Samuels came around and reached for gloves and walking stick. With a slight rub of his thumb over the ivory knob, Daniel released it, delighted to find the man so given to jabbering. “Lovely woman, Miss Thea. Hope you don’t mind the informality, but she asked us to call her such.”

  Daniel nodded to indicate his approval. Patting the outside of his pocket, reassuring himself the two folded squares were neatly tucked inside, he inquired, “Where is she?”

  He was promptly ushered toward the drawing room. “In here, my lord, in here. Miss Thea?” Samuels called upon reaching the doorway. “Lord Tremayne here to see you.” With a polite nod at both, he said, “Refreshments can be served any time you wish. Ring if you have need of us, otherwise we’ll be below. Enjoy your evening.”

  Then the butler was gone, acting as though he didn’t know the sole purpose of Daniel’s visit was convenient fornication.

  The moment she saw him, Thea scrambled from the small writing desk located across the room. Twin spots of fresh color stained her cheeks but he was comforted to see that her smile came naturally and the trembling that had been so very apparent last night was absent.

  “My lord.” She gave him a deep curtsy, then spoiled the effect by rushing toward him with every appearance of eagerness. Eagerness she checked just three steps away, as though unsure of her reception.

  Thinking how easily her inherent splendor overwhelmed the ratty state of her dress—he really needed to buy her a new wardrobe—Daniel covered the distance in one long stride and took hold of her hand. “Thea.” He lifted her arm and bowed low before her, straightening and tugging her closer. He’d rehearsed in the carriage so the words came—almost—easily. “Would ask how you spent your day but think I know.”

  He couldn’t help the grin nor the glance toward her writing desk.

  Her feet shuffled in place. He still maintained possession of her hand and she looked at where they were joined instead of his eyes. “Sleeping in, I confess. Then making the acquaintances of the wonderful Mr. and Mrs. Samuels. Exploring my new home.” All of that came out in a rush. Only afterward did she meet his gaze, and her breath wafted out on a sigh. “After that I enjoyed the most unexpected afternoon.”

  Her fingers fidgeted in his and he reluctantly released them, reaching behind his back to clasp his palms together—it was either that or thread his hands through the luxuriant spill of dark hair that was piled up again, but not nearly as intricately as the night before. “Oh?”

  “Reading.” Her eyes flashed at him. Wondering if he would take up the bawdy banter in person?

  With every appearance of boredom, Daniel spun on his foot and walked sedately toward a garish red settee, frowning at the velvet upholstery—at the entire room—once he realized how very vulgar it was, echoing the gold and crimson tones, and the illicit décor, from the entryway.

  Upon reaching the settee he planned to banish as soon as he ordered her new furnishings, he sank into a corner, crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, and very casually commented, “Reading? How…droll.”

  She snickered and he knew she saw right through his act. “Not today. Today I had the most thumping time turning page after page. However”—she started heading toward him, slowly—“just when I was reaching the exceptionally good parts, I’m saddened to say, they disappeared.”

  “Vanished?” He made a sound of dismay. And decided it was time to share the contents of his pocket. Before he made a cake of himself by talking too much.

  “Completely! How shall I ever know how the story unfolds if—if—” She stumbled to a halt, both in words and in walking, when he held out the folded squares. “For me?”

  Deuced amazing. One would have thought he’d given her diamonds instead of mere dispatches.

  “For you,” he concurred, making sure she saw what he’d written on the outside of each before relinquishing them into her control.

  Thea looked at the notes, one marked For Now; the other labeled For Tomorrow.

  Two more letters to cherish! How could she be so fortunate?

  Not attempting to disguise the smile lifting her cheeks, she tucked the one designated for tomorrow in the pocket of her dress and unfolded the other. Standing just shy of the settee where Lord Tremayne sprawled, she began to read, not realizing until she was partway through the first paragraph, that she was doing so out loud.

  “Dear Thea, It occurs to me I was remiss. Unaccountably callous, in fact, and for that I beg your pardon.

  “Last eve you so kindly saw to my needs while I—” Here she paused to glance at him over the sheet. Looking solemn but unembarrassed, his gaze unwavering on her face, he nodded for her to continue. She did, unable to help the lowering of her voice as though they shared a secret. “While I selfishly ignored your own.”

  Her own needs? The page shook—following the tremor of her arm—and Thea resolutely stiffened her betraying limb and her resolve. Her resolve not to give in to any missish vapors. Of a certainty she did have needs! How wonderful of this man to recognize that. To acknowledge them. Something her late husband had never, never been considerate enough to do.

  Granted, she’d not thought to contemplate her needs so soon, given how she wasn’t yet attired to receive Lord Tremayne in the boud
oir. But she had reveled in the first sit-down bath with hot water she’d been treated to in ages, thanks to the efficient and indulging Mrs. Samuels. The sweet woman had even washed and pressed her dress. Though really—to greet him wearing the same ugly dress? It was not what Thea had planned. But she was clean, her hair simply but neatly arranged, and Lord Tremayne had looked as pleased as she’d felt when Samuels had shown him in.

  Taking solace in that, she firmed her voice and read on, again admiring his fine penmanship (which was easier than fully processing what she was saying). “May I rectify that now perhaps? I need to, you see, for I did not mean to present myself as such a selfish lover. It was most insensitive of me, to begin our new association that way, and I would like to presume upon you to give me this chance to show myself in a better light.”

  Thea was intrigued. Just what was he planning? Eager now to find out, her voice hurried along as she no longer attempted to read with any great skill. “While I have a prior engagement this evening and regret I cannot stay long, I don’t doubt we have ample time for me to illustrate the merits of my apology in the way—”

  Though there was still a sentence or two remaining, Thea lowered the page. After the titillating exchange they’d carried on this afternoon through Buttons, she’d reached a level of comfort with their relationship that perhaps she shouldn’t have. She’d assumed he’d stay for several hours, if not the entire night.

  How foolish. Just because she’d remained at home all day, rather than trek to her horrid room across town to retrieve her meager belongings (something she’d put off a fortnight if she could), she had to remember Lord Tremayne was a peer. A man with responsibilities and associations far removed from her narrow place in his life.

  Take heart, he’s here now. “I’m disappointed to hear you cannot remain but I hope your social activities tonight prove enjoyable. It was very kind of you to stop by given your commitments else—”

  “Kind?” he laughed. “Nothing of the sort.” A look of mischief entered his eyes. And his posture wasn’t quite so sanguine. “Read on or I might lack sufficient…time.”

  She muttered through the last line until she found her place. “Illustrate…merits…of my apology in the way of your interpretation of Hamlet and his maiden—”

  The page fluttered from her fingers. “Lord Tremayne!” That was all she said. All she could say, for he surged to his feet and caught the note before it hit the floor.

  Holding her gaze, he refolded it, precisely creasing the corners before slipping it into her pocket along with the other. Then he promptly took up her hand, placed it in his, and led her out of the room and directly up the stairs—after no more than a single wink.

  He knew he’d shocked her speechless. Good.

  Five hours of swapping stimulating raillery had him stiff and ready and craving the taste of her. Had him stopping by now, before his dinner engagement, instead of after, when he’d be too tempted to stay the night—and be selfish all over again.

  He’d gotten off to a rotten start last eve, Daniel knew. But he thought their exchanges today had more than made up for it. Beyond his wildest dreams, in fact—her replies had him smiling and laughing and watching out the window for his footman’s arrival like a callow youth in the throes of his first passion.

  Daniel thought Thea might be beginning to like him and damned if he’d do anything to interfere. So if last night was for him, then tonight was for her.

  Tomorrow night could be for them both.

  They reached the landing and he turned toward her bedchamber.

  “Nay,” she gasped, digging in her feet and pointing down the hall. At his raised eyebrow, she released her bit-upon lips and said in a breathless voice, “The master chamber. I— You— There’s a mirror!” she finished on a hushed squeak.

  A mirror? Grasping her meaning immediately, her hand still tucked snuggly within his, he marched down the corridor until coming to the room he’d briefly glimpsed in shadow the night before. The candles were already lit, several of them, and the bed was turned down.

  He released her near the giant canopied bed and leaned in to look up. Sure enough, a large mirror hung overhead, securely fixed beneath the canopy. Five by six feet if it was an inch, and Daniel’s body responded as any red-blooded male’s should. “D-d-damn.”

  She’d come up behind him and placed one hand on his shoulder. But her exclamation of “’Tis something, isn’t it?” had gotten severed by his curse.

  She jerked back in surprise and met his gaze when he straightened. “You don’t like it,” she said flatly. “You hate it. Forgive me. My room is fine. Let’s—”

  He gripped her around the waist when she would have fled. Pulled her spine flush against his chest and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Love it, I…do.” He fancied a tremor racked her frame from the breathy caress of his words. Or perhaps it was caused by his hand, the one not across her middle and edging toward her breast, which couldn’t help but mold to the firm flesh of her right buttock and thigh. “I’m upset…at not having…time to make long and loud and lusty use of it…tonight.”

  At his explanation, his kneading fingers, she melted into him. “Tomorrow night, then?” she asked on a lilt, one that had him cursing again—this time his sister and Wylde for tonight’s dinner invitation issued last week. Given the strained relations he’d witnessed yesterday—God, had it been just yesterday?—there was no way he could avoid going this evening.

  Nothing that would keep him from returning tomorrow.

  In answer, he kissed that delicately sweet spot where her neck met her shoulder, ready to swear anew at the high, unyielding neckline of the deuced dress. “Wardrobe,” he murmured as his fingers started crawling over and lifting the dense fabric of her skirt higher and higher. “Need to b-banish yours to the grate.”

  “Aye, likely I do.” It was a heartfelt sigh and he was thrilled when his erection rubbed firmly against her back and she did no more than lean in closer to him. “But—but I haven’t changed yet into—”

  She went rigid. A second later she spun to face him and put her arms in between them as if to ward him off. “Wait! The night rail you sent this morning—I forgot to thank you in all the fun of our earlier exchanges. I wanted to put it on—wear it for you—”

  “No time.” Gad, if he saw her in that scrap of nothing, he’d never get out of here.

  Glossing over her forgetfulness as though it mattered naught, Lord Tremayne curved his hands around her waist and boldly tossed her straight on the bed. A coil of naughty desire wound through Thea.

  It intensified when he climbed up after her.

  She scurried backward until the pillows against the ornate headboard prevented further retreat. Instinct—and modesty—had her clutching her dress near her hips, had her protesting. “You cannot mean to—”

  “I can.” He pressed inexorably forward, advancing until he grabbed her ankles and spread her feet so he could settle his bulk between her splayed legs. Her skirts rode up as he did so, obscenely so.

  Feeling vulnerable, Thea told herself she should protest more stringently, claim she wasn’t ready for such perverted intimacies, not without at least some preliminaries. She should cry out that she truly did not want this—his powerful torso forcing her legs wide.

  But all of that would have been a lie. For she’d already admitted, when she shamelessly wrote those illicit lines this afternoon, that she did want this, was vastly curious about the sensations his mouth on her might bring forth. She wanted to experience the scrape of his whiskers in a place that had never known the light of day—much less the lust of a candlelit bedchamber.

  So Thea did the only thing she reasonably could—she looked upward.

  And what a sight she beheld.

  His cigar-brown tailcoat, fitted to perfection across the broad expanse of his shoulders and practically glued to the slope of his tapered back; buff breeches molding to strong thighs… His elegantly attired masculine form—so very dignified for an eveni
ng out—so indecently centered between her stocking-covered legs.

  Legs that quivered beneath the upward stroke of his hands. “Can and will,” he said in a low rumble that sent a fine tremor through her. “For you.”

  “But I don’t—” Thea broke off, seeing her white-knuckled grip on her skirts slacken. Seeing her knees bend, her thighs stretch to welcome his proximity even more. Seeing him pause, tilt his head toward hers.

  “Thea?”

  She refused to lower her gaze, transfixed by their reflection. Too busy watching his fingers, strong and powerful, slide higher until they gripped the skin of her thighs above the aged stockings. Feeling his hands tighten, then tighten again, until she was persuaded to lower her gaze from the mirror and meet his.

  This strong, handsome protector (aye, handsome, for the short beard troubled her not a whit tonight) whose penmanship and the personality it portrayed snared her interest when they were apart, but not nearly as much as his presence captivated her completely. Enticed her mind until she thought of naught but pleasing him. Pleasing herself.

  Soulful brown eyes narrowed even as he climbed his fingers upward, honing in on that unexplored territory. A quick, fumbled, under-the-covers mating from Mr. Hurwell, with him in his nightshirt and her in her gown, compared naught to this.

  “You,” Lord Tremayne said deliberately, his face looming closer as he closed the gap between his fingers, intensifying the depth of carnal awareness between them, “…don’t…?”

  Thea’s lashes slammed down. Her traitorous, treacherous hands abandoned their hold on her skirts and instead curved over his shoulders, latched on to the solid muscles there. But that wasn’t enough to stop their restless wandering and soon they were plucking at his immaculate neckcloth. Tendrils of arousal weaved through her, growing tighter every silent second.