by Gayle Eden
“Yes. He is Lord Byrne. Eighty years if he is a day. Saw him my first foray into London.”
In what looked like his bathing robe and slippers, the mussed white mane floating around his shoulders, the old man passed them with a nod, the goat on a diamond-studded leash walking passively at his side.
“Why a goat?” she murmured on a confused laugh.
He supplied, “The story behind it has something to do with a wager he lost over thirty years past. There are variations, but whatever the truth, he’s been leading a goat around, apparently keeps it his house, ever since. The irony of that is, men wager on which is the real story behind it. It’s rumored that he’s written it down and will have it published upon his death.”
“I suppose that is one way to stand out amid your peers.”
“I think he’s merely eccentric. Or wickedly cleaver. Amused by it all.”
Turning back after watching a bit, Jo found Sascha studying her smile. It faded a bit. She had that off balanced feeling….
He asked softly; “Did you care for Auvary?”
She would not blush, and she made herself not flinch from stare. “He’s a good friend to all of us.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Auvary is in love with Archard and Aric’s cousin, Ingrid. They are perfect for each other.”
His gaze remained, so Jo supplied, “I’m not going to ask you about the duchess as your mistress. You can volunteer what you like. Nor, will I ask about your lovers since.”
“Is that what he was, your lover?”
“Obviously you have heard something.” She was not happy with that prospect.
His voice was soft, intimate, as he supplied, “If we embark upon an affair, I should like to be appraised if you’re a virgin.”
She did flush. Jo looked away and cleared her throat. “Why does it signify?”
“Very obvious reasons, Johanna.”
She closed her eyes a moment.
He murmured, “I see…”
Jo opened her eyes. “You don’t see. But since it is my personal affair, I don’t feel inclined to share the details.”
She had kneed her horse and turned back on the path.
They rode some time before he probed, “How long were you lovers?”
“We weren’t lovers.” Jo halted her horse and stared ahead, saying that with a sigh of frustration that she would have to bloody explain it all, “We enjoyed a flirtation… and I pushed the boundary one night. He felt bloody horrid about it, as did I.” Jo’s teeth set on edge as she turned and glared at him. “Nothing was….finished. We realized the mistake…” She shook her head. “It is bloody none of your affair.”
That lime gaze searched her face again, whatever he was thinking; he hid well, and murmured merely, “Shall we dine at my hotel tonight?”
“If you wish.” Her throat was tight.
“I wish.”
They rode on and before exiting the park, he talked a bit about Edmund, Alexandria, and the new heirs. She told him her father was likely awaiting Alex’s return to London before having his own seasonal gathering of friends.
Normal conversation, Jo thought, amid the tenser and intimate one. She bloody did not know what she expected they would talk about, but going from her virginity to general conversation left her feeling on edge. This affair business was supposed to be easy, was it not?
By the time Jo was home, and stripped to take a long needed nap, she was tense and mulling over how dense she sounded when he had asked her about Auvary? Of course, he would want to know that. People who were going to be intimate…
Groaning, she made her body relax because she needed sleep, if only an hour.
Lovers, Johanna. That is what affairs made people. Do try, Jo, and not seem so green and dim-witted from now on.
Sometime after her nap and a bath, Megan knocked on her door. Sweeping in wearing a lovely ice pink gown and white satin gloves and slippers, she enquired blinking, “Aren’t you going to the theater with us?”
“No.” Jo was obviously not dressed for that. “I’m dining with Viscount Whitford, at his hotel.”
Megan’s eyes rounded. “Do tell.”
“Yes.” Jo’s dry tone said it all as she sat down to put her hair up in combs. “I’ve lost my bloody mind, I suppose.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps it is time. I mean…you both left it unfinished, and you are obviously attracted.”
The combs in, Jo smoothed the bodice of her gown, a jade silk with light hip length jacket. Putting tiny earrings in, she supplied, “Make my excuses to father, will you?”
“Of course. Jo? If it is any consolation—I do think it’s something that needs finished.”
“It is.” Jo sighed and rested her hands in her lap. “Everything I’ve done, the time I’ve wasted, the emotions unspent…” She found Megan’s gaze in the mirror. “If it burns hot and then burns out, it does. I am an adult. I do not know if it is the time that has passed, or that I have grown, that he has obviously changed—not, that I knew him before. Whatever it ‘tis, there’s no use pretending it’s not there.”
Megan came and hugged her. “Be careful.”
“I shall. Enjoy the play. Enjoy the season, cousin.”
At the doorway, Megan replied. “I am surprisingly— enjoying myself.”
“Could have something to do with a certain gray eyed giant…” Jo called out and heard Megan’s laughter.
She sat there for a while before arising and gathering her gloves and parasol. The gown whispered against her white stockings as she exited finally. She had on her paten half boots, and Jo mused whilst going down the stairs that she had dressed from the skin out like a woman mindful of that a man would be undressing her later. Her short chemise was sheer lace and landed at her upper thighs. The garters that went with those white silk stockings were lace with tiny faux diamonds. She had perfumed those thighs and between her breasts. Her skin warmed it, thanks to a simmering fire in her blood.
She had no idea actually, at what point he would take her to bed. However, Jo was certain, absolutely, that it was going to happen.
* * * *
Dinner was wonderful of course, and conversation flowed due to Jo’s asking more about his work and travels. She was conscious of his eyes on her most of the time, but both were aware of the other diners who stared and whispered from the time Johanna entered on his arm.
Afterwards, he suggested they go to another address for coffee.
She was relieved. Ordinarily gossip did not bother her, but she had another sort of tension to deal with, and would rather have focused on that.
He chose a coffeehouse in a neighborhood of mostly businessmen, clerks and merchants. Though boisterous, the looks they received had nothing to do with the ton and their wont of gossip about the Marquis family. Though female servers were present, it was not common for (ladies) to attend, save for those who were called bohemians. Conversation and debate was lively, and Jo gave Sascha points for daring to bring her. Most men felt it a place women were to be excluded, as they imagined their weak brains had nothing to offer political or otherwise.
Relaxing apparently, Sascha had removed his neck cloth and tucked it in his pocket, garbed in snug dove trousers, white shirt and charcoal jacket, black boots, his hair was not confined either. He looked, Jo thought, deliciously rakish. She observed that he spoke to anyone who engaged him, and was comfortable in the atmosphere. He confirmed that later, talking about Inns and Taverns, coffeehouses, he had visited abroad. Jo mentioned that her father had told her that in Bath, where he met and had the affair with her mother that produced her—her mother had frequented not only coffeehouses and intellectual salons, but was known and liked for her wit and conversation.
“You must take after her.” He smiled a bit.
“I believe I do, save for the fact she wed young and other than the affair with Alexander, was discreet. I cannot eat breakfast without it being reported in the rags.”
“This wil
l certainly make the rounds.” He glanced around and winked.
“I hope so.” She snorted. “But this is mild compared to what I’ve actually done they don’t know about.”
His gaze went over her face, but Jo did not offer a list. Asides, she thought, he could probably guess and apparently was not concerned about it. Then again, the society he spoke of away from the aristocracy, seemed much more progressive and open to her. Moreover, here they were, embarking on an affair.
It was understood between them that of all of Alexander’s “claimed” daughters, Jo had done nothing to raise her reputation or win favor in society. She had stood up for Val when gossip flew, and she had ignored their rigid rules. Most of that came from the freedom and lack of restraints based on her sex, in her upbringing. Although she agreed with her father’s insistence they come to London and partake of society, the Marquis knew from the get go that Johanna was never going to conform, nor was she likely to find a lofty man to suit her.
He had said from the first season, she could remain amid his circle of close friends, few of whom were peers, or at least the most rich and lofty, some were politicians, some intellectuals, some artists and businessmen—or choose and accept invites beyond that. He wanted her with him, and wanted them to form bonds, the siblings, which they did mostly at Hawksmoor. However, neither had delusions that Jo’s life would ever be conventional.
By late evening, they had strolled a bit before he hired a hack. Jo rested her head against the cushions, her gaze roaming from watching the lantern lit streets to the man seated across from her.
His arm was along the door and muscled legs slightly spread, eyes illuminated with each passing of the street lamps—and again on her.
“You are normally not this quiet,” he guessed.
In equally hushed and lazy tones, Jo returned, “No. I’m certainly not the subdued one amongst the siblings.”
His gaze was moving over her face, which she supposed was also cast in amber light and shadow from the window. “I’ve directed the driver to a decent Hell.”
“You gamble?” Her brow arched. Though, inwardly wincing at how tactless that could sound to a man whose life changed over debts.
“No. But I have heard you enjoy it.”
“My father?” Her smile teased. “Yes, although I don’t play deep. I seem to share his instincts.”
That gaze remained on her until the hack stopped. Jo was aware of the thick sexual tension, even as he helped her down. A simple touch of their hands got her blood humming.
Like most hells, this one was noisy and wafting with smoke, the air tinged with that and perfume. She chose roulette. Sascha held her jacket, standing behind her as she wagered. A collective sound went up from those lining the table when she hit. Johanna smiled, nodded to a few who congratulated her. She played a bit more and handed her winnings to Sascha to hold.
Later she told him, “Put that on the upcoming boxing match. The female boxers.” Jo added.
He asked, “Have you heard of Lady Barrymore?”
“No.”
“They call her the Boxing Baroness. She boxes to keep fit and amuse her husband, the sport mad Lord Barrymore.”
“Good for her. I would like to have seen Stokes box. I heard in the early days, she fought with short sword and cudgel.”
“Some box bare breasted, you know.”
She winced. “That makes them much tougher than men.”
He chuckled and nodded. “Absolutely.”
An hour, perhaps longer, and they merely observed a few games whilst sipping champagne. Jo was all too aware that Sascha now stood closer, his body touching hers, causing that intimacy in a preoccupied crowd, and raising the hairs on her arms.
At some point, under the guise of assisting her to step back to make room for other patrons, his hand cupped her side and slid around, palm to her stomach long enough to burn through the thin silk of her dress.
She smiled, even chatted with those around. He would lean down and occasionally murmur some comment in her ear. The pretext evident when his lips and breath brushed skin, effectively making her blood hum.
The combination of that and the champagne, the sexually charged tension, soon had Jo making equal moves, leaning back enough to brush her back against his front, or turning her head when he did lean down— so that her cheek brushed against his.
She set her champagne glass down and turned to the side, aiming to leave the table they had been watching, and glanced up at him. “Fresh air?”
His gaze swept her before he led her outside. Jo stood before him whilst he lit a cheroot, bracing his foot against the building façade. Because there were others also taking air or passing by the street, they were not alone. Yet with gazes locked, they may as well have been.
The cheroot finished, having smoked it whilst regarding her in that half lidded way, Sascha undraped her jacket and stepped up to drape it over her shoulders. His head dipped and mouth skimmed her ear. “Shall we leave?”
“Yes.”
He hired another hack and this time took the seat beside her. Sitting a bit forward, turned toward her. It had no sooner pulled from the curb than his hand skimmed to her nape and his head lowered, their lips meeting, rubbing sensually, before his tongue sought entry.
She kissed him back, giving him the access he sought whilst satisfying her own hunger. The jacket fell from her shoulders. Her hands raised one to the side of his sinewy neck, the other gliding to his side.
Though the heat in both their blood was evident, he pulled back, nibbled and teased her mouth before covering it and plunging deep. Breathing rough and thick, Jo felt the most wonderful intoxication overtake her.
He kissed her cheek, her ear, his cool silky hair brushing her skin when he began to nip and lave the side of her throat. Giving him access there too, she arched her neck. The hand on his face moving so her fingers tangled in his hair. Deliciously, his tongue tasted her skin, making forays down to the tops of her breasts, leaving chills and hyper sensitizing her skin.
Breathing as dark and her own, he cupped one breast and flexed his fingers over it until her nipples hardened. Jo arched, and moaned in his mouth, earning an answering masculine one, before he raised and regarded her flushed features, his eyes heavy with hungers.
“My hotel is not discreet enough.”
At that husk and rasp in his tone, she licked her lips and whispered, “We can make other arrangements.”
Her hand moved so that it cupped his jaw and her thumb could brush his mouth. “Soon.”
He bit that thumb and kissed her again. This time when his head dipped, his breath fanned over her nipples, palms pushing her breasts upwards from the bodice.
“Sascha…” She panted, wanting his mouth on them.
Scoring up to her mouth again, his tongue delved and his hand moved down, over her ribs and hip, then palm caressing her thigh. Breathing rigid in her ear, he husked, “I’ve at least got to get my own bloody coach.”
She laughed, breathless and moaned her agreement, loving the feel of his hands skimming the silk, molding her body and touching her.
Too soon, the hack stopped at her father’s address. When he would have left, after escorting her in, she took his hand and led in to her father’s study. The butler discreetly turned and went back through the house, towards the kitchens.
“They’re out for a bit longer.” Jo dropped the jacket and poured him a brandy, taking a sip and then handing it to him, after he took his own jacket off and undid a few shirt buttons.
Sascha looked as tense as she felt.
She sat on the arm of a chair, watching him walk over, open the French doors, and rake his hand through his mane. The clock ticked in the ensuing silence. After drinking deep, he turned, eyes gliding over her before he set the glass down.
In a few strides, Sascha was in front of her, cupping her face and kissing her wild and deep. Thumbs delved under the edge of the sleeveless bodice and a hook gave way as he pulled it downward.
“God, Yes…” The word came from his lips before he was kissing the pale mounds, cupping them, holding them so his teeth and tongue could wet and tease her nipples. He suckled then, wrapping warm lips around the tips.
Having arched and raised her arms, Jo slid back until her bottom hit the chair cushion. She panted, “Oh—God—uhm.”
He straightened enough to drag the skirt of her gown up, fitting himself between her legs that were draped over the arm, exposing those garters and stockings. Soon he was caressing her limbs from ankle to thigh. Swarthy fingers flexed on the tender skin above the white silk.
Their breathing filled the room; her gaze peeked from her quivering breasts to the pool of material, needing only a nudge before exposing her sex.
His stance between her parted limbs was erotic enough, but one look at his face, hair mussed and eyes glittering and Jo discerned the same craving flooded through him. In fact, the snug trousers he wore hardly hid the fact his body was aroused, the elongated shape of his sex pressed behind the placket.
“Jo.”
She jerked her gaze from his thighs.
His hand moved to the inside of her thigh, closer to the apex. “There’s no time or place at the moment to satisfy both of us. You’re extremely aroused, are you not?”
“Yes.”
His smile was strained. “Incredibly sensual and beautiful also…:
She tensed a second, feeling the pad of his fingers touch her curls. He watched her expression, teasing there a moment before parting them, her slick arousal making it easy for him to caress between, to rub that ultra-sensitive spot, before his finger poised at the entry of her sex.
Jo moaned when he slowly leaned over, kissing her at the same moment, he eased his finger deep. Her arms went round his neck, her tongue ravishing his mouth this time. Unconsciously she parted her legs further, inner muscles squeezing instinctively and sending even more shocks through her sex.
Kissing deep, finger sensually, slowly, thrusting in and out, her body flushed hotter, her sex grew wetter. The concentrated heat built between them. Sascha left her mouth and laved, sucked her breasts, until she whimpered, tugging his hair while sensually riding his finger.