Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

He frowned at that before replying, “I’m not bothered… but it was a reckless thing to come here. For a multitude of reasons.”

  There was something in his tone that seemed to highlight the intimacy of their current situation. She was in his bedchamber wearing only her nightclothes. He’d shed his coat and waistcoat along with his neckcloth and stood before her clad only in very form-fitting breeches and his shirt. It was open at the neck revealing strong, corded muscles and just a hint of dark, curling hair. Curiosity overwhelmed her. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a man without a shirt before. Admittedly, there had never been one she’d been quite so curious about though. If she were to be entirely honest, she’d traversed the corridor to his chamber hoping that something improper would occur.

  “Am I in danger then?” she asked. The words came out in a tone that was both challenging and unintentionally provocative. It wasn’t what she meant to do. Certainly, she understood that they were in a potentially scandalous situation, but they were supposed to be married the very next morning. So it was only improper by a matter of hours, really. That she was attempting to reason with her own conscience was proof enough that she clearly knew better!

  He rose abruptly and walked away from her, putting nearly the whole expanse of the room between him. When he turned back to her, his jaw had tightened, the muscle working there as he placed his hands on his hips. Eventually, he tipped his head back on a heavy sigh as if asking for some sort of celestial guidance. “I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you… but there is more than one kind of danger.”

  “Such as being ravished like a heroine in a gothic novel?” she asked. “Is that the kind of danger you mean, Val?”

  The muscle in his jaw ticked faster and he raised his head to look at her once more. His eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire, a passion, she had not yet seen from him as he stared at her intently. “That is one sort. What do you know about ravishment, Lilly?”

  “Only what you’ve shown me thus far. Which is not nearly as much as I’d like,” she answered breathlessly. “But you could always enlighten me further.”

  “Do not play games with me. I’m not some young pup to be led around by his nose… or anything else,” he replied.

  That sounded vaguely naughty to her though she didn’t precisely understand it. “In the drawing room, you said that a man liked to purchase pretty things for the women in his life.”

  “I did. And it’s true enough,” he said. “That velvet is rather fetching on you.”

  “And how many women are you currently providing fripperies and frivolities for?” she asked. The moment the question escaped her, she hated herself for asking it. It was weak and desperate. Needy. It was all the things she’d vowed never to be and that she despised.

  “Are you asking if I have a mistress, Lillian?”

  “It’s a pertinent question on the eve of our marriage, don’t you think? I know you said you would not have them after, but you were gone all day… and, well, I wondered if perhaps you were making your goodbyes.”

  He shook his head, his lips turning upward in a tight smile. “As to my whereabouts today, I was looking into some of Elsworth’s business contacts and, sadly, came up short of any truly useful information. In regards to your other question, about my mistresses or the lack thereof… now is certainly a better time to ask than after the wedding, I suppose. To answer your question, I do not currently have a mistress. I did have one until recently but we had parted ways before I made your acquaintance. And I’ve no plans to take another.”

  “Until we decide we no longer desire one another’s company and embark upon our separate lives? Or just until you’re bored enough with me to look elsewhere?”

  “I could promise you fidelity. I have already, in fact. But you’ve no faith in men, and your lack of it, based on your experience, is well-founded. The truth is, Lillian, I never imagined myself getting married… not for quite some time at any rate. My grandmother has effectively tied my hands on that score.”

  “I understand that marriage to me is not a choice—”

  “I never said that,” he interrupted her. “I had until the end of the year. I could easily have taken myself off to Almack’s, picked out some meek and overly-bred society miss who’d never challenge me, who would never break a rule, and proceed to have exactly the kind of marriage every other member of society has. But I never wanted a wife I would simply tolerate. Or who would tolerate me.”

  “I rather think the point is that you didn’t want a wife, at all,” she retorted.

  “You’re wrong,” he said. “I wanted a wife, Lillian. I just didn’t want any wife. And I knew from the moment I saw you in the park, your bare toes in the grass when it was far too cold for such a thing, that you were different… that no matter how far I go or how much I look, there will never be another you.”

  Her heart fluttered in her chest and her breath rushed from her lungs at those words. It wasn’t love. He hadn’t offered her love. And the truth is they didn’t know one another well enough for love. But it seemed they certainly knew one another well enough for like… and perhaps for a bit of lust. “Do you think perhaps you could ravish me just a little bit? I am here, after all, and we were interrupted in the park yesterday morning, and in the garden yesterday evening, I might have panicked a little bit. But I think I rather liked what you were doing then.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  She’d done him in. Completely. Entirely. She’d robbed him of sense, of speech, and of will. Because there was nothing he wanted more in life than to give her precisely what she asked for. “I think I might be able to manage that.”

  She blinked at him in surprise, as if his answer had been unexpected. “Oh, well, that was… how does one typically begin the whole ravishment process? Should I move to the bed?”

  Christ above. If he went any harder, his breeches would do him permanent injury. “Not if the goal is only a little bit of ravishment.”

  “What then?”

  Val closed the distance between them until he was standing next to her chair, looking down at her lovely, upturned face and the thick braid of dark hair that cascaded over her shoulder to rest against the velvet of her wrapper. God above, she was beautiful, he thought. Perfect, even.

  “Give me your hand,” he said.

  When she reached out, he took her hand in his. Her skin was soft and delicate, the bones of her hands felt fragile in his much larger and stronger one. But there was a strength in her, a boldness, that left him awed by her. Closing his hand about hers, he pulled her up to standing. She fell against him, the softness of her breasts crushed against his.

  Val lowered his head, claiming her lips. Somehow, he held himself in check and didn’t just consume her as his own desires demanded. He savored the kiss, noting her response. Every hitch of her breath, every sigh, when her hands clenched on his shoulders, or her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt—all of it was catalogued and stored for future reference.

  Turning them slightly, he settled onto the chair and pulled her down so that she was draped across his lap. Then he reached for the ties of her wrapper, tugging them until the garment gaped wide and he could slip his hand inside. Only the sheerest linen remained between his palm and her naked flesh. He settled his hand at the curve of her waist, feeling the gentle flare of her hip below. Then, as he pulled his lips from hers and began to kiss the delicate line of her jaw, the soft skin of her neck just below her ear, his hand drifted upward. He felt her breath catch as he skimmed it over her ribs and then she let out a shuddering sigh as he cupped the fullness of her breast in his palm.

  The feel of her burned him like a brand—the softness of that perfect mound in sharp contrast to the taut peak that he yearned to taste. With that goal uppermost in his mind, he pushed her wrapper off her shoulders entirely. The sheer linen of her nightrail laid over the lush curves of her body like a veil. While he could not see her fully, just enough was revealed to torment him.

  Unable to resist
the sweet temptation any longer, he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to one linen-draped nipple. Then he closed his lips over it and laved the turgid bud with his tongue.

  A soft gasp escaped her and her head dropped back even as her fingers slid into his hair and held him close. As if he had any intention of going anywhere. Never in all his life had anything tasted as sweet.

  With her back bowed over the arm of the chair, her head back and the lushness of her breasts on perfect display, it was still not enough. So he reached for the hem of her gown and slid his hand beneath it, skating over the soft skin of her thigh, then moving inward. When he brushed the dark curls at the apex of her thighs, she gasped again.

  “Part your thighs for me, Lillian,” he said. “If you truly want to know what ravishment feels like.”

  She did, just enough that he could slips his hand between them. But as he caressed her, touching her with gentleness that was hard won, she opened to him completely. Only then did he part the soft folds of her sex and gently stroke that small bud that would bring her pleasure.

  “Tell me, Lillian, have you touched yourself this way?”

  The gasp that escaped her was both shock and pleasure. “I can’t… why would you ask me that?”

  He grinned, then dipped his head to press a kiss to her other breast, neglected for too long. When he felt it had been suitably compensated, he replied, “It’s all right if you have… every woman is different. Some like a light and gentle touch, the barest hint of pressure. Other women like a firmer touch. Fast, slow, firm or soft… I only ask so that you can tell me what it is that you like.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never… I didn’t even know I could feel this way,” she admitted breathlessly.

  God, but he ached for her. “Then we’ll discover what you like together.”

  Val took her lips once more, claiming them as much from his own desire as the need to muffle any sound she made as he explored her intimately. He learned soon enough the touches that made her squirm, the ones that made her tense, and the ones that made her shudder. And even though it caused him an agony of need, he refused to hurry. Until she was clinging to him, gasping for breath, and her whole body trembling in his arms, only then did he push her over the edge.

  *

  Her body was on fire. She was burning up from the inside out. And she was his entirely. She wanted to plead with him, to beg for something she couldn’t name. Regardless, she was straining toward something, some ephemeral thing that hovered just out of her reach. And then his touch became more insistent. His fingers moved over her flesh in a way that heightened the impossible tension inside her.

  “Let go, my sweet Lillian,” he whispered against her ear, and then his teeth scraped along the side of her neck just below her ear.

  She broke, shattering into a million pieces as a feeling unlike anything she’d ever known consumed her. Wave after wave, she shuddered in his arms, clinging to him as he stroked her with a gentleness that made her want to weep. All the while, he pressed soft kisses to her cheek, her neck.

  “Is that enough ravishment for you?” he asked with a wicked grin.

  “Is there more?” she asked.

  His grin faded, replaced by a look of hunger that might have frightened her before. But now she only yearned to know where else he could take her.

  “Are you trying to kill me, Lillian? Because if you keep saying such things, I will die of the agony of wanting you.”

  “I don’t want that,” she said, pulling herself up until they were face to face. His hand was still between her thighs, still tracing delicate circles on her skin that made her shiver.

  “You are remarkable,” he said.

  “Wanton and reckless. Wicked, I think you said earlier,” she replied.

  “I was wrong. Magical, yes. Wicked, I think not.”

  “Wanton then,” she said.

  “God, I hope so.”

  She kissed him, pressing her lips to his and nipping at the fullness of his lower one just as he had done to her. His answering groan told her precisely how much he’d liked it.

  “Do you think I could ravish you just a little?” she asked in a teasing and coquettish tone that was rather a surprise to them both.

  He dropped his forehead to hers and let out a shaking breath. “You don’t know what you ask.”

  “No,” she admitted. “I don’t. But I clearly want to.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t. I want to, but I only have so much control, Lilly. And we have tested it sorely. If I let you touch me…”

  “I know the particulars of what is to happen on our wedding night… in the vague sense, at least. I know that our bodies will be joined. But the thing you did just now, bringing me such pleasure with only the touch of your hand—can’t I do that for you?”

  She heard the breath rush out of him, felt the shudder that racked him. Then he closed his hand over her wrist and pulled her hand lower, sliding it between them until she could feel a hard ridge beneath her palm. He pressed her hand there, closing it around him. Then he groaned, a primal and animalistic sound that made her feel powerful. Just as abruptly, he pulled her hand away and somehow, even with her seated on his lap, managed to create distance between them. He was obviously torn between what he wanted to do and what he thought he should do.

  “Show me how to touch you,” she urged. “How to make you feel what I did.”

  “I don’t think either one of us is quite ready for that,” he said, his expression taking on a pained appearance. “It’s time for you, Lillian, to go back to your room while I still have the strength to let you.”

  “But I want—”

  “Tomorrow,” he said, and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Tomorrow.”

  “You’re certain?” she asked. “There’s nothing I can say to persuade you?”

  A strangled laugh escaped him. “I’m sure there is. And God help me when you discover it.”

  She wasn’t quite sure how it happened but, suddenly, her wrapper was back on her and he was tying it with an efficiency that set her mind to wondering about his familiarity with women’s clothing. Then he lifted her to her feet, pressed her walking stick into her hand and unceremoniously shoved her out the door. But as she stood there in the hallway, she heard the strangest sound and could feel the reverberation through the door. “Are you hitting your head?”

  “Yes,” came his muffled reply. “I am. If I’m lucky, I’ll render myself unconscious. And while I’m doing so, I’m cursing both you and my own nobility with every strike. Go to bed, Lillian. Heaven help us both if you do not.”

  Even with her disappointment at having their very intriguing and scandalous exchange halted, she couldn’t help but smile. He truly wanted her, just as she wanted him. They might be marrying in haste, but perhaps they wouldn’t have cause to regret it.

  Walking away from Val’s chamber, she headed in the direction of her newly-appointed accommodations. As she paused in front of the door, a shiver raced through her. It was not of the pleasant variety. Glancing back down the corridor, she saw Elsworth emerge from the shadows near Val’s room. He gave her a mocking bow and began to move toward her.

  Lilly didn’t hesitate any longer. She opened the door, all but threw herself inside and then turned the key in the lock. For added measure, she pulled a chair over and placed it beneath the door knob. It was a good thing as she heard the metallic snick of the key being inserted into the lock on the other side. Where had he gotten a key to her room? From the butler? From somewhere else in the house? Had he stolen it from his grandmother or the housekeeper? She didn’t know. But as the door knob rattled, she vowed not to be some helpless victim. Should he get inside, she’d give him the fight of his life.

  She lifted the walking stick high and brandished it like a club. The elaborate silver handle turned in her palm and with a sharp click, the handle separated from the shaft to reveal the gleaming metal of a blade.

  “And he doesn’t wish to be called a spy,”
she muttered, freeing the blade completely. It was, to her mind, a far better weapon as it was one she certainly knew how to use. Effie had insisted that the lot of them have fencing lessons and she was never more grateful to her forward-thinking friend and mentor.

  The door pushed inward but only by an inch or so. The chair did its job, halting its progress. If he attempted to force it open, the resulting destruction and ruckus would bring everyone in the house running.

  “Aren’t you a smart little mouse?” he whispered through the crack. His words were slurred and he was obviously deep in his cups.

  “What is it you want?” she demanded.

  “Only to sample whatever delights it is that have blinded my cousin to your grasping, social climbing ways. Tell me, Lillian, did you learn those tricks from your whore of a mother? Or is that something else that your Miss Darrow provides instruction in?”

  Approaching the door cautiously, Lilly kept the blade out of his sight. But as she neared it, she could see him peering in at her. It wasn’t just that he had overimbibed. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. There was also a sallowness to his complexion and deep hollows beneath his eyes. He was clearly foxed. Completely and utterly foxed, but not just foxed. She’d seen enough people on the streets of London who’d succumbed to opium to know that he’d been sampling that deadly flower. Even through that narrow crack in the door, she could smell the brandy and smoke on him. He shoved at the door again and, without hesitation, she slipped the blade through the opening, slicing his forearm.

  With a cry, he stumbled backward, clutching the wound with his hand. “Bitch!”

  Lilly stepped forward, pressing her face to that small opening and peering out at him. “Return to your chamber, Mr. Somers, and I won’t have to tell anyone about your unwelcome visit.”

  He looked up at her then, pure hatred and venom in his gaze. “Tell anyone about this, and the whole world will know you were servicing my cousin on the eve of your wedding.”

  With that, he rose and stumbled away, still clutching his forearm and cursing her under his breath.