But Lysandra didn’t react in any way to the implied emotion in his voice. “That isn’t true.”
He stared. Was she tutoring him now? “What?”
“A mistress’s duty is to provide comfort that a gentleman does not acquire elsewhere,” she said softly. “Physical comfort, yes. Making love is certainly a great part of what my role will be with whatever man I end up with. But you cannot tell me that is my only role. If it is, then a gentleman could just as easily hire a light skirt for the night. That would be far less expensive and have far less potential for long-term complications.”
He frowned. Damn if she wasn’t right. A fact that frustrated him even further.
“Lysandra,” he said on a sigh.
She shook her head. “I may be inexperienced, but I’m not a fool.”
He paced away, running a hand through his hair before he looked at her again. Her new gown was wrinkled, yes, and her hair mussed from sex, and she had never been more beautiful. A temptation he could never fully surrender to.
Perhaps his brother was correct that he had entered into this affair as some kind of punishment. Except when he touched her, it felt like a reward.
“Lysandra,” he whispered. “A mistress’s duty is to offer her protector the arrangement he desires. You are right that for most that will involve some kind of…emotional connection. For me, it cannot. I am asking you to be in my bed for pleasure and on my arm for companionship during this brief time we share. Beyond that, I can do no more. If you need training on the emotional aspects of being a mistress, you’ll have to ask someone else.”
She looked at him and to his horror, pity lit up in her eyes. Pity and understanding, like she had just broken a code of some kind.
“Very well,” she said without breaking her stare. “I will honor your request.”
He nodded, though this victory felt somehow hollow. But no. It was what he wanted, needed. He straightened his shoulders.
“Did Madame Bertrande say when your new gowns will be ready?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.
She turned her face, but not before he saw guilt there. Guilt he didn’t understand.
“My gown will be ready tomorrow,” she said without looking at him.
Andrew tilted his head in confusion. “Your first gown, good. What about the rest?”
She swallowed. “There aren’t any others.”
“What?” he asked, the frustration he felt just below the surface surging again. “I made it clear to that woman that you needed a new wardrobe. Honestly, if she cannot make the time after the extra money I paid—”
“Andrew,” Lysandra interrupted as she grasped his arm. “It isn’t her fault. I-I told her only to make me one other dress.”
Andrew stopped and stared at her. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“I only need a gown to replace the older one that was torn,” she explained, her voice small. She released his arm and paced away. “Any more is far too extravagant a purchase.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. This training was far more complicated than he had ever expected.
“Lysandra, I thought we discussed this. The money is in the account for this purpose.”
“You said it was there for any purpose,” she argued, continuing to stare at the flames. “That it was my money. I couldn’t justify spending it on gowns.”
He stared at her. Her back was trembling as she looked at the fire.
“Did you spend the money on something else?” he asked, tempering his tone.
She hesitated for a moment and then nodded once.
He reached for her, but stopped himself. If he touched her, she might recoil. And he very much wanted to know the answer to his next question.
“What did you spend it on?”
She stiffened and then turned to face him. “Nothing immoral, I assure you.”
He held her gaze. “What did you spend it on?”
She swallowed. “My mother,” she whispered. “I had to help her or else…”
Andrew stepped back. She had mentioned her mother the first night they made love, citing her as a reason for her decision to pursue this life. He hadn’t pressed her then, there were too many other issues to resolve, and to be honest he hadn’t taken her all that seriously. But now…
“I think it’s time we talked a bit about your family, Lysandra,” he said, taking a seat in front of the fire.
She spun on him. “You refuse to speak to me about anything personal and yet you demand I do the same?”
He pursed his lips. She wasn’t wrong. “The difference is that I can actually help you, Lysandra.”
She shook her head. “No, you can’t.”
“I have other ways of finding out the truth,” he said with a shrug. “If you don’t want to tell me yourself.”
She folded her arms. “You would do that? Spy on me?”
He nodded. “Yes, and so will any other man who becomes your protector.”
Lysandra sucked in a breath and took a step back. “What do you mean?”
“There have been men who were very powerful who have been dragged through the mud thanks to bad mistresses or mistresses with some kind of secret. The relationship may not be as permanent as that of a wife, but it can be just as damning. But you are changing the subject. I want to know about your family.” He held her gaze. “Please.”
Lysandra paced away from the fire, away from him, to the window that overlooked the dark street below. She was quiet for a long time, but Andrew could see by the way that her shoulders slumped that she would tell him what he needed to know. So he didn’t push her, as much as his instinct was to demand.
“My father was a good man,” she said, looking at him over her shoulder. “I want to make that clear. He loved us. He was a merchant, but not one of the richest. And he wanted that. He wanted more, more, always more. He bought anything he could to provide the image of a prosperous man, all the while he made bad investment after bad investment and sunk deeper and deeper into debt. Of course my mother and I knew nothing of this until he dropped dead of an apoplexy when I was seventeen.”
Andrew watched her. Her shoulders trembled, but her voice was strong. She was such an odd and alluring combination of fragility and strength.
“How did you find out what he had been doing?” he asked when she was silent for a long time.
She shook her head. “When the creditors came. When they began taking our things, when our servants began to leave and claim they hadn’t been paid in weeks, months. When we lost our home. It took a few years for everything to fall apart, but little by little, our lives were chipped away to nothing and we were on the street.”
“Did you have no family who could help you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Most on my father’s side were in little better position than we were. That whole family was never able to handle itself. And my mother had married my father against her family’s wishes. Most hadn’t spoken to her in years. The only people who would take her in were my cousins. So I took a position in a Society household as a ladies maid and she went to live with them. I sent half my wages each month to cover her expenses and care and for a while I thought we would survive.”
“Half your wages?” Andrew repeated in disbelief. “Your cousins charged you for her care?”
She shrugged. “At first it was a reasonable amount, but each month the rate seemed to increase. And then I was let go and now…now he wants more. So much more.”
She shivered, and Andrew jolted to his feet as her expression grew sickened. “You?”
Her silence and the way she turned her face made clear the answer to his question. He fisted his hands at his sides.
“Bastard,” he spat.
“In more ways than one. I’ve seen…” She stopped and for the first time her voice broke and tears filled her eyes. “I’ve seen bruises on my mother’s arms. I fear he may be abusing her. That’s why I had to give him more money. To keep her safe.”
Andrew spun on
his heel and walked to the fire where she had been standing a few moments before. He drew in several long breaths, trying to calm himself before he spoke again, but his rage boiled and bubbled within him.
This woman had lived a hellish last few years. So had he, but he had a father and a brother who cared for him. And he had money and privilege. He never had to think about the issues that plagued every waking moment of Lysandra’s life. She was utterly alone in her pain and her fears.
Or she had been. But not anymore.
“Lysandra,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“Why should you?” she asked. “Andrew, my duty as mistress is to make your life more interesting, more passionate. It isn’t to tell you sad stories.”
“My job as protector is to make sure you have few sad stories,” he countered.
They looked at each other, separated by the room’s distance. And yet he felt remarkably close to her now that he knew something of the woman she was and how she had become that woman.
“It is good to say these things aloud,” Lysandra finally admitted.
He nodded. He could well imagine it might be after years of suffering in silence.
“So now you know my secret,” Lysandra said. “I’m sorry I didn’t spend the money in the way you wished me to.”
He waved his hand. “It was your money to spend as you liked.”
Of course he would quickly remedy her decision, but that was not a discussion for now. For now he just wanted to touch her. To comfort her.
He reached out a hand toward her. She smiled as she closed the distance between them and took it. He stared at their intertwined fingers for a moment before he shook his head. This connection was exactly what he was trying to avoid.
Without warning, he tugged her hand. She stumbled against his chest and he dropped his mouth to hers in a passionate kiss. That was all he could do to break the spell between them. Sex was what they shared. Nothing more.
“Let’s go to your chamber,” he said. “And continue your training.”
Lysandra drew back, examining his face for a moment so long that Andrew shifted with discomfort, but then she nodded, took his hand and led him from the parlor and up to her room.
Lysandra shivered as she stepped from the last of her clothes and stared at Andrew. He too had undressed and was standing before her bed, watching her. She thrilled at the idea that they would make love again, but there was also a nagging sensation of trouble in her mind.
Sex had always been the one thing that bound them, but tonight she felt Andrew pull away from her. Use sex as a way to separate himself, not mold himself to her.
And yet she couldn’t resist the draw of passion that was a constant force when she was near this man.
He motioned her forward, his eyes burning into her as she took each step closer. She found herself sashaying her hips a bit more, lifting her breasts, all for his pleasure. This man brought out something utterly wicked in her.
“What will you teach me tonight, Andrew?” she asked as she pressed her body to his and lifted her lips for a searing kiss.
He drove his tongue into her, stroking over and over like it was his cock buried inside of her. She moaned against the assault, clinging to him as her knees went weak and her body wet.
He stared down at her in the firelight, his eyes dark with desire.
“You may not be ready yet for all I have to teach,” he murmured.
She laughed. “If I’m not ready now, when will I be?” She lifted on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Andrew, if you want something from me that will give you pleasure, then show me. I want to learn.”
He pushed her toward the bed and lowered her against the pillows. “If I do something you don’t want, tell me to stop.”
She felt her eyes go wide. What did he have in mind that would require such a precursor? But as she stared up at him, so intense in his focus on her, she couldn’t help but believe that he would not do anything to hurt her. What he had in mind was pleasure, not pain.
“I-I trust you,” she said, the words difficult to find after so many years of being disappointed by men she was meant to trust. But they were true about this man. He might be gruff, but he was not cruel. He was honorable.
His expression turned to one of disbelief, pain. He so rarely showed her any emotion beyond desire and she reveled in the moments where he did. Probably more than she should.
“I won’t betray your trust,” he said softly.
He pressed his lips to hers, this time gently, and slowly glided his mouth down her throat. She relaxed into the touch. It was becoming familiar, and she anticipated all the pleasure that would come when he sucked her nipple or kissed her intimately.
He did just that, swirling his tongue around her nipple in slow, languid licks and nips. She shivered as sensations so powerful and focused that they made her weak echoed through her body. How could his touch at her breast resonate so loudly at her pussy? How could his kiss make her legs shake and her sheath clench? It was amazing.
He drifted lower, brushing his rough cheek against the smooth skin of her belly and teasing a trail with his tongue even lower. She parted her legs as invitation and he nuzzled her pussy gently before he stroked his tongue along the wet, heated entrance.
“So sweet,” he murmured against her body. His words reverberated against her heated flesh and she arched helplessly as he used his thumbs to open her and began to lick and suck in earnest. He was driving her toward release, that was obvious. Even more obvious was that she couldn’t fight that drive, nor did she wish to do so.
She thrashed against the pillows, fisting the coverlet and twisting as pleasure built, built and then exploded in a crescendo that put the night’s earlier opera to shame.
He continued to lick her through her release until the tremors of her body had eased and finally subsided, then he kissed her inner thigh.
“Now roll over,” he said softly.
She leaned up on her elbows, panting as she stared at him in question. Roll over?
Her thoughts turned to the time she’d spent at Vivien’s house. She had watched the major take Annalisa from behind. It had been an animalistic display, but the other woman seemed to enjoy it.
She shifted to her stomach and peeked at him over her shoulder. “Like this?”
“Arch your back. So I can see you,” he explained as he put a hand beneath her hips and moved her into position so that her backside was raised and her head resting on the pillow, supported by her arms.
Lysandra blushed. She was so exposed in this position. She had been on display for him before, of course, but now it felt even more so.
“I know you like when I lick you here,” he said, smoothing his fingers over her still-damp sex.
She jolted as sensation that had just faded lurched back into focus. “Yes,” she gasped.
He rubbed his fingers in a gentle, circular fashion, wetting them with her juices. She arched back toward him, pushing into them so they slipped inside of her a little farther.
“Indeed you do,” he mused with laughter in his voice.
He slipped his fingers free and slipped them higher until he circled the rosette of her bottom with them.
Lysandra gasped at this new taboo and lurched away from him out of pure instinct.
“What—?” she began.
He stared at her, patient as she looked at him over her shoulder, trembling.
“When I first kissed you where you now so enjoy my tongue, was that not foreign?” he asked.
She nodded. She had been shocked by what he did, frightened even. But the rewards for the act had been great indeed, and now she dreamed of his mouth on her.
“This is foreign to you too. But it will feel good. I promise you, I will make sure of it,” he whispered as he caught her hips and dragged her closer.
She trembled as she put herself back in the position he had showed her and closed her eyes as he pressed his wet fingers back against her bottom. Now that the shock had f
aded, she had to admit that this foreign touch was not unpleasant. His fingers were warm at her entrance, gentle as he stroked the tiny hole in little circles.
She gasped despite herself as he pressed harder and a sudden, unexpected jolt of pleasure rocked her. It was different than when she orgasmed, but just as powerful.
“Very nice,” he practically purred as he pressed harder, letting the tip of his finger enter that forbidden channel.
Lysandra shivered, pressing her face into the pillow and squeezing her eyes shut as she focused merely on sensation. His touch on her skin, then inside her inch by inch, to the first knuckle of his finger, then the second.
“How does it feel?” he asked, his voice tense.
She turned her head to the side. “Full. A—a little pain, but still…good, somehow.”
“Dancing on the edge of pain almost always feels good,” he said. “Some people take it much further, though I doubt Vivien would ever arrange for you to match with someone with such proclivities. Not until you were far more experienced, that is.”
Lysandra’s eyes went wide. Pain as pleasure? Even more pain than this tingling sensation at her backside? How could that be? And yet the thought of it made her body even wetter.
She turned her face back into the pillow to keep her reaction from Andrew. It seemed indecent to like this touch so much.
But she jerked her head up almost as quickly as she pressed it to the pillow when she felt the head of his cock slide against her entrance even as he pushed his finger deeper into her bottom.
“Andrew,” she gasped.
“Shhh,” he said softly. “Some men put their cock into the place where my finger is, but I don’t think you’re ready. Although it is so tight and hot that it makes me want to spend just thinking of it. I’ll settle for filling you in every way. Like this.”
Lysandra gasped as he drove his cock deep within her. With his finger inside her too, she felt desperately full and aching with pleasure and pain mixed at just the right consistency.
“I’ll go slowly,” he groaned. “As long as I can. Tell me to stop if I hurt you.”
She bit her lip, ready for more. Aching for more, though she didn’t dare ask for it. She might not be an innocent in any way anymore, but she wasn’t bold enough to demand what she desired. Not this.
An Introduction to Pleasure: Mistress Matchmaker, Book 1 Page 12