Temptress in Training

by Susan Gee Heino

“Careful, Miss Darshaw, or I’m likely to assume your words constitute a proposition.”

  His eyes were dark with desire. She shuddered again and wished she could have blamed it on fear or disinclination. It was neither. It was eager, raw anticipation.

  “Of course it was a proposition, my lord,” she said, after just enough pause to steady herself. “I’m inviting you to join me. In bed.”

  It sounded preposterously bold, yet he retained his place in his chair. Was he refusing her? Again?

  His voice was painfully calm when he spoke. “I have no desire whatsoever to take you up on that offer, Miss Darshaw.”

  Oh, but this was tragic! He did not want her after all. She was mortified. The man would rather sleep in a chair than entertain himself with her. Oh, she could just wither up and die right now.

  But then a smoldering smile touched his lips and he continued.

  “Unless, of course, you understand that I’ve no intention of sharing your bed and behaving in a gentlemanly fashion. If you let me anywhere near you tonight, Miss Darshaw, I promise you sleep will be the very last thing either of us care about.”

  Oh, thank heavens. He did want her! Perhaps she could continue living, after all.

  “I’ve never yet seen you behave in a gentlemanly fashion, my lord,” she said, casually adjusting the covers around her although she knew her hands trembled. “Why on earth should you think I’d expect that now?”

  He was out of his chair and looming over her in a heartbeat. Goodness, what had she done? His very eyes were devouring her, making her weak, and he’d not so much as laid a finger on her. What in heaven’s name would happen when he did?

  She could hardly wait to find out.

  It would seem she did not have to. Long before she was ready for it, Lindley swooped down on her. His whole being overpowered her, overwhelmed her in sensation. She could feel the strength of his will, taste the salty sweetness of his lips, quiver under the touch of his hands, and sense the surge of desire in her own soul she’d tried for so long to deny.

  She wanted this man to do whatever he would with her tonight. Papa was just an excuse—his salvation really had nothing to do with what she’d offered Lindley. She had no choice but to admit that to herself now.

  No choice, she realized, because her body was reacting in force to everything Lindley was doing. His hands slid over her skin; her hands raked desperately over his. His mouth covered hers and compelled her to moan with the urgency and ecstasy that just this much union produced within her. Her lips sought to consume a bit of him for herself. He pressed her into the soft bedding, and she clung to him, pulling him closer and hardly noticing that the room began to spin as her body begged for the breath she’d forgotten to take.

  He pushed the covers back from her and his rough palm stroked the nearly naked flesh at her thigh. Oh heavens, how had she gone so many years without feeling such things? She arched herself into him, nipping at his lips, his chin, his neck. If she could have inhaled the man she supposed she would have, but her body was telling her there were far more efficient ways of bringing him quite fully inside her being.

  She reached for the fastenings at his trousers. Thank heavens instinct was so strong on these matters. Perhaps moments like this would be more awkward for a properly raised miss, but she’d spent the last several years in Madame’s brothel. She may not have been privy to the details of human congress, but her mind had certainly understood the basics long enough for her to have subconsciously formulated her plan of attack.

  And indeed, she did have a plan for Lindley. She planned to get him naked. Oddly, though, he didn’t seem quite as enthusiastic about her plan as she felt.

  “What is it, my lord?” she asked when he pushed slightly away from her.

  He was looming over her, just inches separating them. They felt like miles.

  “You intend to put some effort into this, I see,” he said.

  “You would rather have me lie back and contemplate the laundry?”

  She wasn’t at all certain what he was about, but he smiled. “I would rather have you enjoy yourself, Miss Darshaw.”

  “As I would like for you to enjoy yourself, my lord.”

  “Then we’ll need to dispense with all this ‘my-lording’ and ‘Miss-Darshawing.’ I should think at least we should consider ourselves on a first-name basis by now.”

  She wasn’t at all pleased with this unwelcome shift from indescribable bliss to banal conversation. What the devil was the man blithering on about? And how on earth could he expect her to call him by his first name?

  “You seem unconvinced, Miss Darshaw,” he said, then dipped his head to kiss her softly on the throat.

  Ah, yes, that was far better than conversation. She murmured something by way of encouragement, so his kiss continued. He shifted his weight onto one elbow and used his free hand to find the delicate silk edging of her costume, sliding his finger along it with just enough pressure to allow her breasts to spill out. Not that they’d been particularly contained. She’d fabricated the garment so that the stays would provide a tidy shelf to prop her bosoms up into what, she assumed, would be the most enticing—and tenuous—position with just the slightest slip of silk to cover them. Based on Lindley’s reaction, she’d well accomplished that enticement goal.

  Her bosoms thanked her. She sighed as the air hit them fully, causing her nipples to pucker. The sigh quickly turned to something more like a moan when Lindley’s lips trailed from her neck down to a tingling peak.

  Clearly her sounds and her arching provided the man more encouragement. He continued his oral worship of her nipple while at the same time he sent that blessedly free hand down to pass tenderly over her belly and then slide down to where the silk cords made a netlike pattern at her thigh. The sensation of his hand skimming over the mesh, brushing against her skin, was quite dizzying.

  And of course there was no silk over that very sensitive place just at the juncture between her legs. He continued to let his fingers wander over her thigh, creeping slowly until they came dangerously close to that private area where no one had ever been. She squeaked when he brushed her there so gently she almost thought she had imagined it.

  “If you are not ready at this point to send me back to my chair, then you simply must allow that we use first names, Miss Darshaw.”

  She tried to answer but couldn’t seem to find any breath. Lamely, she shook her head.

  “No?” he said. “But you do seem to enjoy this, my dear.”

  At “this” the man had the nerve to actually touch her. There. And yes, oh yes, she did enjoy it. Still, she could not speak, so all she could do was to shake her head.

  He stopped touching her altogether. “Then I will go back to my chair.”

  “No!” By God, she found her voice at that. She grabbed his arm. “Stay. Please.”

  “Are you certain that’s what you want, Sophie?” he asked, pushing back the strand of hair that had flopped in front of her face in her rush to keep him from leaving.

  “It is, my lord,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Then you must play by the rules, my dear. First names.”

  “But I cannot!”

  “Then I’m afraid it’s the chair for me.”

  “No, please. I want you to…to…well, I want you.”

  She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She was blushing. Heavens, what a thing for her to admit to him! Yet, she could hardly take it back. Besides, it was true. Lindley could certainly not have ignored the fact that she’d been pawing at him with a fervor that matched his own.

  “And I am incredibly glad to hear it,” he said, leaning in to kiss her lips once more.

  He tasted like every dream she’d ever held—and more. He tasted like all the things she had ever wanted and yet been denied, like something she would regret for a long, long time, yet she had no idea of giving him up just yet. The time for leaving would come soon enough. Right now, she let herself sink into his kiss and melt into his arms. />
  “Sophie,” he said in a voice full of air and of passion.

  “My lord,” she replied the same way.

  Now he pulled away again. In fact, his hands left her so quickly she fairly dropped back onto the bed.

  “Damn it, we’ve moved beyond my bloody title!”

  “But I…”

  “When I call you by your first name, you are to return the favor,” he explained as if she were an ignorant child.

  She rather felt like one. “I know, but I simply cannot!”

  “Why? Because you can’t forget that you’re the daughter of a criminal, some little nobody who spent the last four years of her life in a bloody brothel? Do you believe I’m so full of myself that I don’t care who’s moaning under me in my bed? Or is it more? Perhaps you refuse to call me by my name because this is nothing more than your way of keeping me occupied while your father puts more and more miles between us. Perhaps you would find it easier to keep hating me if you refused to speak my name aloud in the throes of passion. Is that it, Sophie?”

  “No! Truly, my lord, it isn’t any of that. It’s simply that…Er, there will be throes?”

  “Of course there will be throes! Can you doubt that already?”

  “Well, you know, of course, that women do talk to one another, and I did live in a brothel. It’s just that my understanding is that these so-called throes are, er, optional.”

  “You mean nonexistent.”

  “Well, the gentlemen seem to experience them.”

  “Of course they do. They’re bloody pigs who go there to use those girls for their own pleasure and not care one jot whether it’s pleasurable for them.”

  “Er, you seemed to show up there quite frequently yourself, my lord.”

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that. His expression became hard and unreadable when she did. Drat, but she really, truly should not have mentioned such things. It was more than a little distressing to let herself think of Lindley spending time with any of the more sophisticated, competent ladies in Madame’s employ.

  “And have you ever heard any of Madame’s ladies complaining after time spent with me?” he asked after a pause.

  She thought for a moment. Actually, she could not precisely recall any of the ladies mentioning anything of their time spent with Lindley. She was not even aware which of Madame’s lucky women had been afforded such a treat. Clearly those who had never saw reason to complain about it.

  “No, my lord. I have not.”

  He smiled at her. “Then you, my dear, have nothing to worry about tonight, do you?”

  Oh yes, she most certainly did! She’d already discovered how remarkably easy it was to lose herself in this man’s attentions. The night was still young and she was already beyond hope of regaining control over her emotions—or her behavior—where Lindley was concerned. Indeed, she had much to worry about.

  “I’m not worried, my lord,” she lied.

  “Then say my name.”

  “I can’t!”

  He touched her face. “Why not, Sophie? Is it so very hard to see me as a man and not simply as a title?”

  She would have answered him but he was kissing her again, searching her soul as his lips commanded hers. Once again, she was lost. She ran her fingers through his thick hair, dark as night and cut in the height of fashion. His shoulders were broad and firm. She moved her hands to grasp his coat, holding him as if he might disappear.

  His kissing and caressing went on until she found herself breathless and aching for more. For a heartbeat she was aware of her position, the shameless way she arched herself against him and let all her sensitive parts be put out plainly on display. Normally she would have been self-conscious or appalled to find herself this way, but with Lindley touching her here and nuzzling her there, she found she could only wish he were as scantily clad as she was. Once again she reached for the trouser fastenings. This time he assisted, tugging at his shirt to release it from his trousers, loosening his cravat until it slipped off.

  “Your coat, my lord,” she said, trying to help him with it.

  The cut was so precise, so expertly done that it was no small feat for Lindley to slide his muscular arms from the sleeves. He did though, and when he pulled the shirt up over his head to reveal a torso that belonged more on a Greek god than an English gentleman, Sophie found herself completely at a loss for words. Yes, oh yes, she had much to worry about tonight.

  Rather, she had much to worry about tomorrow when all this was in her past and Lindley’s kisses and chiseled body were only a memory she might pull out on long, lonely nights full of fond regret and aching solitude. For now, however, this chiseled body was right here in front of her and, by heavens, she was going to take full advantage of that.

  “You’re smiling, Miss Darshaw.”

  “I thought we were onto first names now, my lord.”

  She realized what she’d said after she said it and cringed, waiting for him to demand she take her own advice. He did not, however, but merely laughed.

  “Indeed we are, Sophie, and I’m determined we are to become better acquainted yet.”

  Yes, she thought she might like that. She forced her eyes to leave his wonderful body and focus on his equally wonderful face. The man was perfect, and there was even an unexpected kindness showing in his eyes that helped ease the missish nervousness she still had lingering in the back of her mind. Madame was right; Lindley did know what he was about and he would make this encounter more than merely endurable. Sophie would have to remember to give her former mistress a huge thank-you for encouraging her to disgrace herself this way.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lindley was content to take a moment or two just to gaze. Sophie was lying before him on the bed, her warm, rounded breasts exposed like two perfect pearls and her eyes glittering with passion. She was gazing at him, too. He saw the approval in her eyes as she studied him, took in his shoulders and his chest and anything else she chose to stare at. If his trousers had come off she’d have had a hell of a lot more to look at, too. He’d been hard and ready for her since the moment he left that blasted chair.

  But now her eyes met his and he knew she was as ready as he was. It irked him that she would still refuse to call him by name, but he supposed he’d find a way around it. A mutually agreeable way. He’d make her call him by name. Indeed, the way the girl fairly panted for his touch and arched her delicious body toward his as he leaned in to hold her, he doubted he’d have to work very hard to get the response he wanted. She was more than willing; she was eager.

  Which of course hinted that this was not her first foray into the world of sexual pleasures. He found himself somewhat annoyed by that but reminded himself that he should not be surprised. She’d not lived the protected life of a gently bred lady. She’d had to do what she could to get by, to grasp what bits of happiness she could when she had the opportunity. Apparently she’d grasped some before he’d come along. He should be thankful that she knew what was to come and looked forward to him with desire and excitement rather than virginal fear and trepidation.

  Still, he would certainly do what he could to ensure she would always remember him as superior to any others.

  He moved to her and began by kissing her between the breasts. Clearly she found this acceptable, so he continued, paying due respects first to one lovely breast and then to the other. She murmured and writhed all the while his fingers ran over her body, touching her and stroking her, enjoying learning their way around her. The tangled wisps of honey-colored hair at the juncture of her legs teased him, and he only hoped he’d be able to keep himself in control long enough to assure she would long think back to this night as the most enjoyable hours of her life.

  She reached again for his trousers, but he put her off once more. At this point, he felt it might be better for both of them if he remained in them a bit longer. For far too many months he’d focused solely on his duty to justice. This impatient young woman was such a delightful change in pace for him th
at he half feared he would embarrass himself if he wasn’t somewhat careful. Clearly, she had an even more profound effect on his person than he’d expected. He couldn’t say he didn’t like it, but he had to admit he wasn’t entirely pleased with this desperate—and juvenile—need to impress her.

  At the same time, however, he sure as hell was going to enjoy himself with this female. Whatever it was she did to him, he knew she was not the only one who would leave this bed with fond memories. When morning finally came and they were forced back into their lives, he suspected he’d be doing so with an impertinent smile on his face.

  Reveling in the scent of her and the softness of her skin, he trailed his kisses down to that delicate navel. She was ticklish and giggled a bit as he paused there, then continued his exploration. He listened as her breath caught when he brushed the curling wisps of hair, then let one finger gently stroke the soft folds beneath. He moved lower so he could kiss her there, just above the most sensitive spot.

  A slight tremor rolled over her body, and he felt the blood pound in his veins. She would respond to him easily, and he would certainly respond to her. He teased her with more caressing and tormented himself with more kisses. He wanted to taste her, to sample all of her, but he needed to take his time. They had all night, and he was determined to go slowly for her.

  She was breathing in jagged little gasps, twisting her body to be more accessible to him. He was grateful for her efforts. The more she reacted to her desire, the more it stoked his own. He’d wanted her badly before; now the wanting blazed nearly beyond his control.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said, dragging his ministrations away from her nether regions and reaching to coil that loose strand of blond hair at her slender neck around his fingers. “Eudora was a fool to let you leave her employ.”

  Her only reply was a sigh. Then another gasp. Then a moan. His hand had gone back to her tender folds, and she was rocking against him, so close to her climax that he could almost feel it with her.

  Damn it, he needed to feel it with her. Hardly skipping a beat, he undid his trousers. He’d hoped to take longer for her, to think more of her pleasure than his own, but his desire had gone far beyond wanting at this point. He needed to plunge himself into her and feel her around him, to ride the passion as she did. He needed her to become his.