Now it was his father’s turn to jump to his feet, anger and frustration plain in his eyes. “I’ve been patient throughout this foolishness, but it is clear you are not capable of rational thought. I demand you end this.”
Andrew shook his head. “No,” he repeated, as clear and calm as he could be under the jarring circumstances. “And now I will have to ask you to leave, Father, as this conversation is pointless and will lead to nothing constructive.”
The earl stared, mouth dropped open. Andrew might have laughed had the circumstances been different, for he had never seen his father shocked into silence before. Certainly, he had never performed that feat.
Slowly, his father rose and offered a stiff bow. “This conversation is not over, Callis,” he said, his tone cool and not at all reflective of any strong emotions. “I will not see you destroyed again.”
Then his father turned and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. Andrew flinched but didn’t follow the earl. He stayed in his seat, staring at the empty glass in front of him.
In the thirty years he had been on this earth, Andrew had never defied his father so directly. Even in the years he ran wild, he had checked himself when his father suggested he do so. He respected the earl too much to question his unquestionable authority.
But now he had done so. And over a woman who Andrew supposedly only intended to keep around a few weeks more at the most. More baffling, even to him, was that he could have told his father that. The earl might not have agreed with his tutoring of Lysandra, it might not have changed his mind about her motives, but his father was a reasonable man. Andrew had no doubt that if he had been told that the affair was always meant to be limited, he would have accepted that and backed away from the subject.
But Andrew hadn’t confessed that. He hadn’t even hinted at it. And the reasons why he hadn’t… Well, he didn’t want to consider them overly long. They made him ponder far too much. Question far too much.
That was one thing he could ill afford to do when it came to an affair that was supposed to be about nothing but sin, yet had transformed to something more despite his best intentions.
Lysandra lay in her bed, a book drooping from her fingers as her eyes fluttered shut and then popped back open. She had been lying here for almost an hour, trying to find the sleep that seemed to elude her thanks to her tangled thoughts and heated memories, and it finally was about to come.
She was ready to snuff out her candle and try to find slumber for the fourth time that night when there was a knock on her chamber door. She sat bolt upright, awake in an instant as she glanced at the clock beside her candle. It was one in the morning. Far too late for any interruption that didn’t mean something terrible had happened.
She threw back the coverlet and rushed to the door, throwing it open to whatever servant had been sent up here to tell her the news of accident or death. But to her surprise, it was Andrew standing on the other side. A very haggard Andrew, who smelled faintly of bourbon.
“Andrew?” she asked in confusion and then blinked. “Is my mother all right?”
He stared at her and then nodded. “Yes.”
She went weak, grabbing for the doorjamb with one shaking hand. “Thank God. I thought…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. My mother came into my room in the middle of the night when my father died.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come so late.”
He weaved a little and she stepped back. “Come in.”
After a fraction of hesitation, he did so, stepping into her chamber and looking around as if he’d never seen it before. His eyes were bleary from whatever he’d been drinking and they reflected more emotion than he had ever allowed himself to share. There was no mistaking the upset that surrounded him like a cloud. Or the anger.
Lysandra flinched. The thoughts that had been keeping her awake for two nights straight were of her actions in Andrew’s carriage after they had settled her mother in her new home. She had been bold, too bold. She had used her body as a weapon in a war between them.
Was he here because of that? Angry because of what she had done and how she had behaved in her own anger and frustration?
He looked at her closely. “I’m sorry.”
“You already said that,” she whispered as she motioned to a chair. “Here, sit before you fall over. How much have you had to drink, Andrew?”
He ignored her request and her question. “No, Lysandra. Not sorry about coming here so late. I’m—I’m sorry about how I’ve treated you.”
She blinked and sat down hard in the chair she had been offering him. This was the last thing she had expected.
“Why—why would you apologize?” she asked, examining his face. It was lined with pain he normally kept in check. Pain that went far deeper than this apology directed at her.
He shifted, the alcohol not stealing all his normal hesitation after all. Then he said, “I have not done…this…been close to a woman, for a long time. I forget how to do it. And my discomfort sometimes makes me blunt. I know I am confusing. And I’m sorry.”
Once he had said the words, he sat down in the chair opposite hers with a thunk and stared at her. She moved toward him, sinking to her knees and reaching up to cup his face.
“You are drunk, so I don’t know if you’ll remember this tomorrow,” she said softly. “But Andrew, since you met me, you have been a patient tutor. And a friend to me. You helped move my mother to safety, you forced me to accept gifts I can never repay. If my duty is to give you what you need, then you do not need to apologize. It is I who have not met my part of the bargain.”
He blinked and her words hung between them for a long moment before he whispered, “I don’t know what I need.”
She stroked his cheek. There was every chance that he would reject her when she said her next words. That he would crush her hopes. But she said them anyway.
“Tonight I think you need to be taken care of. Comfort. Will you allow that?”
Chapter Eighteen
Lysandra held her breath, waiting for Andrew to respond to her question, her plea to allow her to help.
He swallowed hard, then nodded, and her heart swelled both with relief and tender feelings. She leaned up on her knees, drawing his face to hers, and kissed him. He tilted his head to grant greater access and let out a shivering sigh that moved through her as deeply and powerfully as any time he’d ever touched her intimately.
Their tongues touched, gently at first, probing and tasting like it was the first time they kissed. But as Lysandra’s body began to react to the kiss, she lost some control over it. Her mouth moved more fervently, she tasted Andrew more deeply as she clung to his arms and lifted herself closer, closer.
He groaned against her lips and his fingers tightened against the arms of the chair. She drew back. Even in an inebriated state, he clung to an attempt to hold back. To keep her at arm’s length.
And tonight that would not do. She pushed to her feet and held out a hand. He stared at it for a moment before he took her offer and let her pull him to his feet. She backed toward the bed and when her thighs hit the high edge, she pulled him closer. She reversed their positions so that his back was to the mattress and then gently shoved.
Andrew sat down without any argument and stared at her. It was only then that she realized what he must see. The fire was right behind her and in her thin shift, the light passed through, revealing the outline of her body beneath.
“Do you like to look at me?” she whispered, lifting her arms and arching her back slightly.
He nodded, silent, but his eyes spoke volumes. He devoured her with his stare, his hands trembling as he clenched them on the bed. When he looked at her that way, he made her feel beautiful. Desirable.
Wicked.
She slipped her fingers beneath the thin straps of her night rail and slowly peeled the fabric away. She took her time, showing him only an inch of flesh at a time. He leaned forward, staring, his eyes growing wide as the fabric fell away
from her breasts to bunch at her waist. She shimmied her hips and the gown crumpled at her feet.
“Jesus,” he breathed, almost reverent as he reached for her. He cupped her hips and pulled her closer. She waited for him to take over, to sweep her away despite her attempts to comfort him with her touch. Instead, he looked up at her, then rested his cheek on her bare belly.
She stroked his hair gently as she stared down at him. Something had happened since their last encounter. Something troubled him. And she knew only one way to ease his pain. Make him forget.
She pressed her hands into his shoulders and urged him back against the bed. He lay down without resistance, but drew her over him. Her hair, only loosely bound during her preparations for bed, fell from its confines and cascaded over and between their bodies. She pushed it aside and leaned over him for another deep kiss.
As their mouths moved against each other, Lysandra began to undress Andrew. His cravat was already gone, so his shirt was easily removed with a few flicks of her wrist. She peeled the expensive fabric away and leaned back for a good look at him.
She had admired him before, but had never really been in control enough or daring enough to truly explore all the beauty of his form. He was muscular, far more so than the average gentleman she had seen. There was nothing soft or pampered about him. She reached out and traced the muscles of his chest, letting her nail drag across his nipple.
He let out a hiss and jerked into a sitting position. He shrugged out of his shirt, cupped the back of her neck and kissed her hard and hot. She arched her back, brushing her own hard nipples against the rough hair that peppered his chest. The rough texture made her hiss out her breath as she broke their kiss once more to begin working on his trousers. He toed off his boots as she unfastened one button after the other, ready and waiting for the hard cock beneath. It sprang free, already fully ready for her.
She smiled. What a difference a few days made. She had gone from nervous and uncertain of what to call his cock, let alone what to do with it, to eager and ready to suck, stroke and let that same cock fill her in any way. She leaned over him and her hair fell around her face once more, brushing the head of his member. He tensed, sucking in a great gasp of breath.
She jerked her gaze to his and then smiled. She tilted her head, letting her hair brush back and forth over him. His breath hissed in and out and he squeezed his eyes shut as pleasure softened his angular face.
Power surged through her. Oh yes. She could make him forget his troubles.
She leaned over him and caught his cock in her hand. She stroked him once, twice, watching how he swelled even harder at her touch. She wanted to feel him everywhere. To mold herself to him.
With a smile, she began to crawl up his body. Her breast rubbed his penis, and he grunted out pleasure that made her stop. Here was an interesting discovery.
She rubbed her nipple against the length of him a second time, reveling in how the touch of skin on velvety skin sent a wave of pleasure jolting through her body and had him gripping the bedsheets for purchase as he moaned. She repeated the action, sliding her breasts against him in a smooth, rhythmic motion. He squeezed his eyes shut with a muffled curse, then reached down to press her breasts together as he shifted to slide his erection through the valley between them.
Lysandra looked down and darted out her tongue to lick the head of his cock as it plunged out between her breasts, once, twice, three times.
Andrew groaned and then released her breasts, grabbing for her wrists to yank her over top of him.
“I’ll spray everywhere if I keep doing that,” he panted. “And I want you over me, around me, when that happens.”
Lysandra shivered as she spread her legs and maneuvered herself into position over him. Her pussy was slick with anticipation and pleasure as she glided him against the entrance to her body in a few readying strokes. He lifted his hips and half his length disappeared within her, stretching her deliciously as she arched her back against a wave of pleasure. She shifted and took the rest of his length inside of her, then held still as she utterly enjoyed the feel of their two bodies merged as one aroused entity.
She leaned back against her arms and watched his face as she began to ride him in long, slow stokes. She stroked against him, rubbing her pelvis in small circles and gasping as her clit pulsed and throbbed in reaction.
He opened his eyes and stared, so she gave him the best show she could, arching her back so her breasts were on display, biting her lip as she tried to hold back the mounting pleasure that started between her legs and spread like flame to the rest of her body. Her orgasm built with every smooth stroke of her hips, and she slowed down to hold off the explosion as long as she could. She wanted to drag out the pleasure tonight. To make them both pant and sweat and beg.
But pleasure mobbed her, crushing her will and her plans, making her ride ever harder, ever faster. She gasped as the first spasms hit, and careened forward to crush her mouth to his. She sucked his tongue as she came, jerking her hips forward and back with no finesse, no control, nothing but pure ecstasy guiding her heated movements.
“Fuck!” Andrew bellowed and in an instant, he flipped her on her back and drove into her so hard and so fast that the orgasm that had just begun to fade doubled in intensity, until she screamed, until she wept with sweet release.
Andrew strained, his neck tightening as he dug his fingers into her hips. He was probably hurting her, bruising her tender flesh, but at that moment he had no control over his actions. His cock was in control and it beat out one drumbeat of an order:
Claim. Take. Mine.
Pleasure overtook him, and he poured hot seed deep within her clenching sheath. He collapsed on top of her, panting with exertion and utter pleasure. Spent.
She shifted beneath him to wrap her arms around him. When he tried to move, she held him close, smoothing her fingers down his sweaty back.
“I’ll crush you,” he whispered, fearful to speak at full voice in the dark, as if he might break the spell created by their erotic coupling.
She looked up at him, dark blue eyes shining in the candlelight. “I like your weight.”
He stared at her for a moment, her hair tangled around her face, her cheeks flushed. He had never seen another woman so beautiful in all his life. She could stand toe-to-toe in her night rail with any supposed Diamond of the First Water and win the battle of beauty.
He kissed her once and then rolled to his side, moving her with him so that her head rested against his shoulder. She pressed a hand to his chest and began to trace a pattern on the muscles there.
It had been some time, he couldn’t have said how long, before she spoke again. “Why?”
He blinked down at her. “Why what?”
“When you came here, you said you hadn’t been with a woman in a long time. Why?”
He closed his eyes briefly. He’d still been tipsy when he arrived. Liquor had loosened his tongue before passion sobered him. Once again, he had said too much. But now that it was out there, he couldn’t exactly take it back, especially since he had no desire to push her away and leave. Not tonight.
“I was once a…” He hesitated as he tried to think of a description. “…a different man. I was wild. I was a rake.”
She smiled, but there was no mocking in the expression, even when she said, “Vivien said that to me once. But you are so somber now, it is hard for me to picture you as a rogue. Though the image I do have is most interesting.” She tilted her head. “What changed?”
“I got married,” he said, his tone flat and emotionless, although his mind was anything but. On the contrary, it was a tangled mass of thoughts he normally tried to suppress.
She continued to stare at him, her expression unreadable, though he could well imagine her thoughts. He never spoke of his wife; she had to be curious.
“The fact that they are married stops few men from pursuing their pleasure, it seems,” she said softly.
Andrew sent her a side-glance, wonder
ing if she was thinking of the unwanted advances of Lord Culpepper, a married man of the utmost respectability. At the very least, he hoped she did not compare him to that bastard.
“I loved her,” he found himself admitting, perhaps for the first time to anyone but Rebecca herself. “I changed for her. When she died… I didn’t know what kind of man to be.”
There was a long moment of quiet and he held his breath. This was the point where most people would remind him that Rebecca had been gone for far past the usual mourning period and suggest he fuck a courtesan or marry a chit ten years his junior and move on with the life everyone expected him to lead. His grief, his continued struggle, made them all uncomfortable and they wanted it to stop.
But Lysandra simply touched his cheek. “She has only been gone a few years, yes?”
He nodded but did not speak. He didn’t trust himself to do so.
She smiled. “I can understand that it would take a long time to recover from such a loss. To re-establish yourself as a man, as a person.”
He drew back at that reaction. No one else had ever put it so succinctly. Even his brother, who gave him the most leeway in his grief, had never been able to fully understand his reaction and was forever trying to gently prod him toward a return to his “normal” life.
“You are the only one who thinks so,” he said softly.
He shook his head, thinking of his father that afternoon. The old man would have his way by one means or another if they remained together. He would find a way to take this affair from Andrew in the name of his “own good” since Andrew wouldn’t surrender Lysandra willingly.
Suddenly, he sat up on his elbow and looked at her as a thought struck him. “Lysandra, we should go to the country.”
She drew back at his sudden change of tone and subject. “The country?”
He nodded, excitement for this notion building with every word he spoke.
An Introduction to Pleasure: Mistress Matchmaker, Book 1 Page 15