She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and it was obvious that the very idea troubled him.
“I think it mostly has to do with which female servants think you have a nice backside,” she teased gently. “And I’m certain the answer is all of them.”
His eyes went wide with shock and for a moment Lysandra thought she had gone too far in her joking. But then he burst out laughing.
“I never would have expected you to be so cheeky, my dear,” he said as he wiped his eyes. “I think I like this side of you that comes out in the countryside. But I must know one thing.”
She tilted her head. “Anything.”
He arched a brow. “Oh, I’ll follow up on that later, but my question for now is, what side of the backside issue do you fall on?”
She slipped her arm free from his and looked around at his bottom as if to judge its worth.
“I likely know the backside in question a bit better than the servants do.” She locked eyes with him. “Don’t I? There aren’t any chambermaids waiting to scratch my eyes out are there?”
He shook his head. “Most definitely not.”
She sighed in mock relief. “Excellent. Well, if I were to be invited into the discussions belowstairs I would say that the backside in question is very fine, indeed.”
“My relief is palpable,” he said with another laugh that warmed her to her very core. Then he caught her hand and drew her against his chest. “Though at this particular moment, your opinion is the only one that matters to me. Perhaps you would care to explore the issue further?”
“Here?” she asked, surprised at his ardor.
He nodded.
She looked around. They had crested a small hill and were now walking along a laughing brook. She could not see the road, nor the house. They were utterly secluded.
She was reminded of the wicked feeling of watching Annalisa and her major at Vivien’s home. Except this time, there was the chance that she would be the one being watched. An unexpected thrill worked through her at the idea.
She lifted on her tiptoes and kissed Andrew as her reply. Immediately his arms tightened around her waist, his hands drifted until he found her backside and lifted her against him. She felt his cock, half-hard already, nudging at her stomach, and shivered with the knowledge that he would soon be inside of her.
Without speaking, they began to undress each other, pausing only to exchange kisses as more and more skin was exposed. Finally, he stood before her, utterly naked, and she only in her thin chemise. She looked around herself nervously a second time. The idea of this was thrilling, but…
“No one will see us,” Andrew reassured her. He reached down for his jacket and laid it out on the grass so that the silk-lined interior would be a bed for them, then he pulled her against him and lowered her to the ground.
“The sunlight on your skin,” he growled as he opened her legs and laid his hand there, just resting it to tease, not stroking yet. “We should do this every afternoon.”
She laughed, though it was slightly shrill from nervousness and high emotion. “What if it rains?”
“Then I shall lick every bit of moisture from your skin,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly against her throat. “I should practice.”
He pressed his mouth to her throat and began to suck there, nibbling at her flesh as he glided lower, lower. She arched as he crested over her breasts, hesitating to lick each one through the silky chemise. Feeling his heat through the wet fabric only made her body ache all the more. Once her nipples were hard against the damp silk, he moved lower, pushing her chemise up to reveal her sex.
He opened her legs wider and looked at her pussy.
“Sometimes I wake up thinking I taste you on my tongue,” he said, stroking a finger along the slick entrance. “I dream of making you come over and over, until you beg for more, for less.”
She jolted as he leaned down and blew a gust of hot air against her trembling sex. Her clit throbbed, aching for more. More she knew was coming. Except that wasn’t enough. She wanted to receive the gift of his mouth, his tongue, his fingers. But she wanted to give one in return, as well.
“H-have you ever seen the wallpaper in Vivien’s parlor?” she gasped as he licked her once, twice.
He lifted his head and looked at her. “Oh yes. Those dirty little pictures she had designed into an innocent red wallpaper. What about it?”
“There is one where the image is of two people…pleasuring each other with their mouths. At the same time,” she said with a dark blush. “I want that. Now.”
He let out a low sound of possessive pleasure deep in his chest and then tugged her to a sitting position.
“The best way for us to achieve that,” he said with a wicked smile. “Is for you to straddle my mouth while you suck me.”
He lay down on the makeshift blanket she had abandoned and pulled her down for a kiss. She could taste her own earthy essence on his tongue and it sent wet desire and heat to her already-soaking pussy.
He caught her hips and helped her to turn so that her sex hovered over his mouth and she stared down at his rock-hard cock. She licked her lips before she took him in hand and stroked him.
He was right. With the natural sunlight on their skin, she could see everything so differently. The shadows moved, the light glistened over the bubbling water that was the soundtrack to their passion.
All thoughts cleared her mind as he opened her outer lips and began to lick her in earnest. She arched her back, thrusting her hips helplessly against his tongue as pleasure built deep within her loins. Her vision blurred and she gasped and moaned at the feel of him beneath her, inside of her, piercing her with his wicked tongue.
But she had her own duties to perform. She stared at his hard cock and lowered her mouth to it, just rubbing it against her closed lips and reveling in the velvety steel of it. He hissed out a breath against her sex, and she quivered as the steamy air filled her. But he didn’t hesitate long, he returned to tasting and teasing her.
She drew him between her lips, licking just the head of his cock with a few teasing darts of her tongue. When he moaned against her a second time, she went to work in earnest. She drew him in as far as she could take him and swirled her tongue around the length of him. He bucked beneath her and his mouth began to work harder in response.
Lysandra took the unspoken challenge, and they each quickened their pace. She pumped her mouth over him in long, languid strokes, using her tongue to increase his pleasure each time she took him deep within her throat. And he sucked her clit, adding two fingers to her aching slit. It was a race now, who would come first? Who would win by making the other explode with pleasure?
Lysandra knew she was losing the war. Almost from the first moment Andrew pressed his lips to her sex, she had been on the edge of orgasm. Her entire sheath quivered each time he stroked his tongue against it. And her clit was already pulsing, making her dizzy with the impending wave of pleasure ready to break on her shore.
When it did, she arched her back, her cries muffled as she continued to work his shaft with her tongue. He groaned beneath her, and the hot saltiness of his seed flooded her mouth at the same moment that her hips jerked out of control against him. He continued to lick her long after his own pleasure had ended and her orgasm went on, dragged out by his talented tongue and lips until she collapsed, weak, against his thigh.
He shifted, lifting her and maneuvering her so that she lay against his chest. They panted in the silence for a long while, for there was nothing to say. Nothing to describe what they had done out in the sun-kissed lawns. Lysandra only knew it had been perfect.
But it seemed everything about this affair was perfect. Except that very soon it would be over.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lysandra pulled her wrap a bit tighter around her shoulders and stepped into yet another long hallway. After supper Andrew had been called to meet with his estate manager about the goings-on since he had been in London. He had told her to
look around the house, and that was exactly what she was doing.
The estate was as beautiful inside the walls of its mansion as it was out. Each room enchanted her more. From the pretty yet comfortable parlors to a massive library built for a bibliophile, to a music room with a grand piano worthy of the finest musician, which Lysandra was most definitely not.
Down the corridor, she passed more rooms for gathering. There was a tall, ornately carved door at the end that piqued her interest. It was heavy and took effort to push open into what she had thought was another room, but was instead another long hall. But this one was lit by dozens of glowing lamps. The walls were covered with portraits.
“Oh,” she murmured. “That family gallery.”
She had heard of such things when she was in service of Lord and Lady Culpepper. Some of the servants had talked about the gallery her former master had kept at his country estate. Apparently there were some terribly ugly members of his family, ones the upper level servants giggled about when the topic came up below stairs.
Andrew’s family, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have an ugly member in the bunch. Lysandra moved down the hallway slowly, looking at each portrait. His most handsome features were reflected on the faces of his ancestors. His nose on one man, his full lips on a lady. They were stern portraits, of course. It seemed that was the rage. But there were moments where she saw a flash of kindness in a man’s eyes or the hint of a smile on a lady’s face.
She rather liked his family history. The older paintings often included children or dogs or in one instance a very large, fluffy black-and-white cat perched on the back of a velvet settee behind a lady posed in a stiff green gown with a huge collar. The artist had captured a twinkle in her eyes, despite her posture.
She smiled at the image and continued. Now she was getting closer to the more modern pictures. There was one of a family, and she stopped to draw in a breath. The man and woman were not familiar to her, but the two boys in the picture, standing beside each other, were most definitely Sam and Andrew.
She stared at this image reflective of Andrew’s youth. He had a mischievous expression, like he knew some kind of secret. Not an unpleasant one, but something silly or frivolous that his serious parents might not approve of. There was none of the hint of sadness he carried with him now.
Of course, she knew why. Something terrible had happened to him in the interim. Something had changed him.
She shivered and moved on, but the next portrait on the wall did nothing to clear her mind. It was of a woman. She didn’t look like the other women in the family portraits. Her black hair was done up in a fancy style, and her eyes were a stunning shade of blue that almost seemed unreal, it was so bright and vibrant.
And then there was her gown. Lysandra gasped. It was a wedding gown. Could this be…?
Her gaze moved to the next portrait, and her guess was confirmed. The same woman sat on a chair. Andrew stood behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder while her opposite hand covered his.
This was the woman who had changed Andrew’s life forever. Whose death had changed his life forever. The woman Lysandra had wondered over and even secretly been jealous of since she first learned of Andrew’s existence.
This was Rebecca Callis.
She leaned in closer to the image of the bride on her wedding day. Rebecca had been a beautiful woman, there was no discounting that. She had high cheekbones and fine features that seemed to be carved from the most delicate porcelain.
“Rebecca…” Lysandra breathed, just to hear her name out loud.
“Yes.”
Lysandra spun at the sharp female voice that interrupted her very personal reverie. A tall, thin woman stood at the entrance to the hallway. She wore a heavy dark blue gown, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun away from her face. Her expression was one of sadness as she stared at the same portrait that had so fascinated Lysandra.
“I didn’t know you had come in,” Lysandra said, hand on her pounding heart.
The other woman glanced at her “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I sometimes come in just to look at her ladyship’s picture.”
“I see,” Lysandra said softly.
With another brief glance at Rebecca’s portrait, the woman smiled at her. “I’m Hester Eversley. I was personal maid to Lady Callis.”
“Oh. Oh.” Lysandra shifted uncomfortably.
Here she stood, the temporary lover of the master of this house, with the former maid of his wife. A woman who, by all rights, should have moved on to another post after the lady’s death.
Hester smiled at her silence. “You must wonder why I’m still here. Everyone does. Lord Callis kept me on. Shifted my duties to other matters.”
Lysandra stepped forward. “Oh no. It isn’t that. I’m certain you are a most important member of the household. I would never question why someone was here or not.”
The last thing she wanted was for a hoity-toity attitude to follow her belowstairs. That was how one’s soup got spit in.
“Thank you,” Hester said.
They turned and silently looked at Rebecca’s picture together.
“She was lovely,” Lysandra said softly.
“Yes. Beautiful,” Hester agreed with a sigh. “Both inside and out.”
Lysandra glanced at her from the corner of her eye. This was a most rare opportunity. She had questions about Rebecca, ones that Andrew would certainly never answer, he had made that abundantly clear. But Hester had known Rebecca very well. And she might be able to offer some insight into the dead woman…and that, in turn, offered insight into Andrew.
“Can you—” Lysandra broke off, well aware of how suspicious her question might sound. “Can you tell me more about her?”
Hester kept her gaze on the portrait for a long moment and then her dark eyes moved to Lysandra with caution.
“I realize it must seem an odd question given our…” Lysandra sighed. There was no use pretending the servants didn’t know exactly what she was. “…our situation. But there is so much implied about Lady Callis and so little said. I cannot help but be curious since she is clearly such a big influence on Lord Callis.”
“Indeed she is.” Hester shook her head sadly. “Perhaps too much of one after all these years.”
Lysandra wrinkled her brow, for she didn’t understand that statement. Hester didn’t explain, though, she only kept speaking.
“She was the daughter of a duke, but I never saw her put on airs like some of their ilk. She loved her family. I’ve never seen a lady so thrilled that she would soon be a mother.”
Lysandra sucked in a breath and stared once more at the image of Rebecca. A mother?
“Hester.”
Both women turned to find Andrew standing at the entrance to the gallery. He was half in shadow, but Lysandra could see his jaw was set and his hands were clenched at his sides. But his voice was calm and even kind.
“You may go,” he said.
Hester lowered her head as she walked away from Lysandra. At the door, she paused to look at Andrew. He reached out to pat her shoulder in a silent expression of support, then she left them alone.
Lysandra stayed silent as Andrew moved toward her. He took his time, looking up at each portrait as he passed. He seemed to be in no hurry to reach Lysandra, to discuss what had been said.
She stared at him and finally stepped forward where he would not.
“Andrew,” she whispered. “A child?”
He stopped moving, though he continued staring at a picture of a man who was probably his father. Slowly, he turned his steady, emotionless gaze on her.
“I want to make this very clear to you, Lysandra,” he said softly. “I brought you here to escape this very type of intrusion. My wife and…”
He stopped and for a moment his entire face transformed with a grief so powerful that it broke Lysandra’s heart. In that fraction of a moment she saw all his loss, all his anguish, all his guilt, and then it was gone. Replaced by his normal calm an
d cool expression.
“The subject is closed,” he said quietly. Then he reached out and took her hand. “Please.”
She stood still, pondering her options as she looked at their intertwined fingers. She could push him, but what right did she have? She was a lover, not a love. Doing so would likely only result in her being sent home. Or she could let the subject rest, as he asked. That answer was uncomfortable and unpleasant, but wasn’t it his right to keep his secrets from his mistress?
“Very well,” she finally said.
“Now—” He lifted her hand to his lips. “I have finished with my work for the evening and I find myself very tired after this long day. You have two choices. You can retire to your own chamber or…”
He drew a breath like what he was about to say was difficult.
“You could join me in my bedroom. For the remainder of your stay.”
Lysandra stared at him. Though he had come to her bed and stayed for hours before, he had never spent a night with her. The idea of waking in his arms was a bewitching one.
She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Your bed sounds warmer and more comfortable.” She kissed him. “If I am welcome there, that is my choice.”
“Then follow me,” he said against her lips. “We have much training still to be done.”
Andrew felt many things as he stepped into his bedchamber with Lysandra at his side. There was excitement since he had not shared this bed for many years. There was guilt because the last woman who had slept here had been his wife. But the overwhelming feeling he experienced was a lack of control.
Lysandra and the questions she had posed to Hester had unearthed memories and feelings he had long squashed. Thoughts of his wife and unborn child that he kept buried deep inside. He hadn’t wanted Lysandra to know about them. Except he had brought her here, which almost guaranteed she would find out about his past.
He shook his head as she looked around the chamber. He wanted control back. And he knew one way to get it that could also be called “training”.
An Introduction to Pleasure: Mistress Matchmaker, Book 1 Page 17