A Chance to Dream

by Lynne Connolly

  Fury lanced through Orlando, though he wasn’t sure if it was the thought of Daniel committing adultery or Violetta making love with anyone but him. His voice rose to an angry roar, the first time he had raised his voice for years. “By encouraging Daniel to commit adultery?”

  Violetta shrugged. “Why not? Many people do, and many people are happier for it.”

  “How dare you?” He took a stride closer to her, and saw her flinch. She recovered her poise almost immediately but he felt a savage satisfaction in producing a response. “You will not do this. I forbid it! I never expected such insensitivity from you, never!”

  “Why not?” Her voice rose a little, too, and there was a definite tremor in the last word. “I’m only a whore, after all. He might offer me a better house than you did!”

  So that was it. His insensitivity that morning. Not in giving her the house, but in not making clear why he was giving it to her. Still, he could not blame himself for what followed after. She had done that and he would not back down now. Violetta had gone too far with Daniel this morning, and he didn’t feel like explaining or apologizing to her now. “Perhaps he might. And perhaps, if you had a conscience at all, you might regret forcing a breach between husband and wife!”

  “As I understand it, there’s a breach already.”

  “Not as impassable as the one you want to erect.”

  She shrugged again, an insouciant gesture that infuriated him. “It happens all the time. It is not my fault there is a breach.” She lifted her gaze, waiting for him to meet her eyes. He did. What had he to fear? Drowning in a violet deeper than the night? “You made me a certain kind of offer this morning. Unfortunately, I was tempted to accept.” She waited, tilted her head slightly to one side. “What? You didn’t guess? You could have taken me on the floor and I probably wouldn’t have objected. That was why I had to get out.” Her voice was louder now, and tears ran down her face unchecked. He was still angry enough to be glad of it, but each word drove through him, past his rage to somewhere deep within. “I had to think. I came to a decision.” She stopped.

  “Well?” He couldn’t believe she had stopped there.

  “If I’m to take up my mother’s profession, which is whore, whichever way you say it, I will not do it except on my own terms. I will have more than one lover at a time, and I will see them when I wish, not when they command. I will live where I please. I will set the terms, if I am to sell what is dearest to me—my body.”

  He stared at her in profound silence. He could not think what to say. He had brought her to this? “I never meant that.” His voice lowered. His anger was seeping away from him, replaced by sorrow, entering him as swiftly as his anger left.

  “You may not have meant it, but it’s time I faced reality.” She stood, heedless of the book she swept onto the floor and took a few steps away from him. “I wanted an independent life, on my own, but I have to admit a few things to myself.”

  “You do?” He had to know. He knew—knew they would travel together, but not how far, or for how long. Perhaps their time had already passed, and the weeks just gone were all they would ever have. With a new clarity he realized it had always been up to her. It was her decision. He kept perfectly still.

  “I—I want and even need certain things. I don’t know if it is better never to know them or to indulge myself now.” She turned away from him, lowering her chin. “I don’t know.”

  He moved up behind her and gently, so softly, put his hands on her shoulders, expecting every moment she would shake him off. Under the silky cloth he felt her warmth. It was the most seductive thing he could ever remember. He didn’t take his hands away, as he knew he should. This had gone on too long. It had to be resolved before he went mad or he drove her mad.

  “Violetta. Turn around.”

  She froze. For a moment he thought she would throw him out, but then, slowly, she turned so she faced him. It seemed out of time. They stared at each other, each knowing what would come.

  With a murmured, “Violetta,” he lowered his head and set his lips on hers.

  He had kissed her before, but there would be more tonight. Much more. Orlando didn’t let himself think about that yet; if he did he might disgrace himself. He wanted her more than he could remember wanting any woman before, so much he felt like a schoolboy again.

  But he was not a schoolboy. He vowed to put all the expertise at his command to bring her as much joy as possible, if she let him.

  Her lips felt hot beneath his. They met as though they belonged together, and then he felt her hands lightly at his waist. He put his arms around her, gently, and drew her closer, bringing her into his domain.

  Although he knew what she said, what she wanted to do and perhaps already had done, Orlando felt Violetta to be the most precious thing he had touched. It was something born of instinct. He kissed her, concentrating on the feeling, the delicious pleasure when her lips opened under his.

  She responded, caressing his tongue with hers when he entered her mouth, tasted her. Sweeter every time. He could have kissed her all night, except for the anticipation surging through his body. He allowed himself to savour her, and felt her body against his. So small, so soft.

  “Come.” He whispered the word, and stepped back, taking her hand in his.

  Violetta regarded him carefully. “Yes. Perhaps if we do this I’ll find some peace.”

  “I hope not. At least not for a while.” He was pleased to hear his voice was quite firm, though he wasn’t quite sure how that had happened.

  He drew her out of the room, first making sure no servant lurked in the corridor outside.

  “Why do we have to go to your room?” she hissed, sounding like a conspirator more than a lover.

  “Perdita will be coming home soon. I don’t want to disturb her.”

  “Oh.”

  There were no more sounds until they were in his room and the door safely closed behind them. Just to be sure, Orlando turned the key in the lock. Then he leaned against it and carried on where they’d left off in her room, holding her close.

  She sank into him so beautifully, felt so good he doubted he would ever tire of her. “I made you a promise.” He held her, but didn’t attempt to caress her or kiss her. Not yet. “I said I wouldn’t seduce you, or take you unwillingly.”

  “I’m not unwilling.”

  “But you’re not sure, are you? I can tell. Will you hate me for this?”

  She shook her head. “Never.”

  “That’s enough for me.” Unable to wait any longer he bent and kissed her again. He let his hands roam over her back, so slim, so supple. She in turn held him tightly, pressed closer. She gave in. She was his, for tonight at least. Tomorrow could take care of itself.

  She leaned into him, stretched to reach him. She flinched and drew back.

  “What is it?” His voice had deepened and lowered, intimacy without realizing it.

  She gave a shaky laugh. “Your buttons.”

  His waistcoat buttons were encrusted with brilliants. He chuckled, feeling with the release of his anger and the subsequent rising of passion light-headed. “We can sort that out.” He undid all the buttons and removed the garment, tossing it aside as though it hadn’t cost a fortune. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t have mattered had he been as poor as when his father died. Nothing mattered except Violetta.

  She stepped back, regarding him critically. “You’re stronger than I thought.”

  “Not all strong men have muscles like football bladders. I’ve done my share of heavy lifting. Here, let me show you.”

  Before she could move he swept her up into his arms and carried her across the room. She mocked him with light laughter. “My, my, what a hero!”

  He looked down at her and laughed before he placed her on his bed. She bounced a little. “It always was too big for one,” he remarked, looking down at her, a tumble of blue silk. One of her legs was bared, showing delicate silk stockings and matching slippers of blue. Her neat braid was comi
ng loose, fluffing out about her face. He had never seen a woman more desirable, especially with the sweet flush of desire mantling her cheeks. “You look wonderful.”

  “I’d feel better if you were here instead of there.” Her voice, usually low, deepened to an inviting purr. Orlando made haste to loosen the jewelled buckles at his knee, so his breeches hung loose there, and kicked off his evening shoes. His hands went to his neckcloth.

  “Come here. Let me do that.”

  He needed no further invitation. He joined her on the high bed, climbing up the step and settling next to her. While she unfastened his neckcloth, carefully removing the ruby pin he wore and laying it aside, he discovered the front fastening hooks of her gown. It looked good on her, but she would look better without it.

  She did. Clad only in shift and stockings Violetta lay in the folds of her opened gown. He pulled his shirt off over his head and felt her touch him. The first time. Was there ever anything so wonderful as the first time? What would happen after tonight was anyone’s guess, except it would take a lot longer than one night for him to discover all of her. He would make a good start, bind her to him so securely she wouldn’t think of Daniel, or any other man for that matter, ever again.

  He freed his head from the shirt and dropped it somewhere, bending over her to kiss her again. He leaned over her, savouring her warmth but holding himself clear, until he curled one arm around her and rolled onto his side, taking her with him, mouths melded in a kiss so devouring it fed his desire like tinder. She participated in the kiss, no supplicant she, following his tongue with hers when he withdrew from her, exploring his mouth as eagerly as he’d explored hers. She tasted delicious.

  Violetta surprised herself as much as she surprised him. She was tired of fighting him, tired of fighting herself. She would take a lover, and the only one she wanted was Lord Blyth. Orlando. She had spent weeks too close to him, sharing the occasional kiss, trying to retain control of her wayward emotions but it was no good. She could only hope this madness passed in time. It was like an illness, consuming her, heating her. Perhaps this was the cure.

  She rolled over him, leaving her gown behind, then to the other side. It was a large bed indeed. He lifted his hand and cupped her breast through her shift, tracing the shape of it with his fingers until, at last, he touched her nipple. She threw her head back and gasped with shock, and he took advantage of her exposed throat to kiss it, running his tongue down the side in a thrilling sensation of heat and dampness. Her chemise was low cut, the drawstring only loosely tied, and when she felt the tug unfastening the bow, she shrugged, easing the fabric from her shoulders. She wanted to be naked for him, to give him pleasure and permission to do whatever he wanted with her.

  He lifted his head and his hands went down to the hem of her shift, rucked up to her thighs. She held her breath, staring at him. He lowered his eyes while he raised the hem, watching her flesh come to glowing life without the veiling of white linen. She sat up so he could lift it over her head. Then it was gone, and except for her stockings she was naked.

  He didn’t touch her. He sat back, his hands going to his waistband and watched her while he discarded the remaining items of his clothing. She watched him.

  Glorious. His skin, glowing with health and heat, gleamed in the light cast from the branch of candles set on the chest of drawers close to the bed. Another branch stood on a small table on the other side, so the bed was illuminated well. When he moved, fine muscles reacted, shifting under his skin, so she longed to touch them and feel the tension. His chest was almost hairless, beautiful, firm with underlying muscle.

  She lifted her hand to undo her garter, but he stopped her with a soft movement of his own. “Let me do that.” He took his time, unfastening and unrolling her white stockings, as though this were a wedding night, and they weren’t expected to appear again in public for some time, instead of a few stolen hours. They would have to be strangers to each other tomorrow, just as they always pretended to be. This time it would be harder to pretend.

  Violetta lay on her back and watched him finish undressing her, then, with a couple of sweeps of one arm, get rid of all their clothing onto the floor. She had time to examine his body, find the small scars from nameless accidents, the length of his well-muscled, long legs, liberally powdered with dark hair, and what lay above. What reared above. He was heavily aroused, and Violetta knew, from experience virgins didn’t ordinarily have, that he was magnificent. Conversation in her mother’s house had not always been as genteel as it was in the average lady’s household. She thought she knew what to expect but she was wrong.

  This was him, in all his hot, fleshy reality. Violetta wanted to touch it, but she didn’t dare. For all her knowledge, she didn’t know what to do next. She lay, vulnerably naked, and waited for him. He put one hand on her ankle. “Beautifully slender,” he murmured, and glanced up at her face. He lay next to her, his hand on her ankle, but touching her nowhere else. “I wondered. I knew you would be like this, elegant and graceful. You’re so lovely, Violetta, you take my breath.”

  “I couldn’t imagine what you would be like.” She reached out and touched his chest, only to draw her hand quickly back.

  His chuckle shook the bed under them. “Touch where you like. I hope you’ll not mind if I do the same.” He raised himself, and without lifting his hand from her body, came up to her. His hand swept the side of her body from ankle to breast, a slow smoothing that made her want to stretch and purr. He lay next to her again, and drew her close.

  It was almost too much, this touching. Their bodies came into close contact all the way down. His erection jutted into her stomach, her breasts pressed against his chest. Before she could catch her breath he kissed her, and took it away all over again. He opened her lips with his tongue and thrust his own inside, sweeping her mouth, stroking her tongue, teasing her, inviting her. She accepted, touching his tongue in return, and when he retreated, supporting her tongue on his, she entered his mouth.

  He made a sound, low in his throat, and rolled her on her back, pushing her thighs apart and settling between. His erection now touched her most intimate place, but he didn’t enter her. Instead he rubbed her, moving his body against hers in a swirling, deeply intimate way. Violetta was in uncharted country now. She knew what would happen, she had heard the ribald jokes and insinuations, but never had she heard anything like this. To be held, possessed, as though what she felt mattered, as though he wanted her response.

  As though she had spoken aloud he broke the kiss and murmured, “I’m a gentleman, Violetta. I’ll do my best to ensure your happiness before my own, but I’m not sure how long I can hold out this first time. Forgive me?”

  She was wet now, as she knew she should be, a response to the rubbing, caressing motion. He reached a hand down and guided his shaft to her entrance. Then stopped. “Look at me. Please. It’s important to me.”

  Violetta opened her eyes dazedly and stared into his deep blue ones. He was open to her as never before. There was nothing between them. He watched her as she watched him. She felt him stretch her, and she raised her knees in reaction, cradling his body in hers. He stayed at her entrance, moving slightly until she felt her body soften and ease. Then he plunged inside her.

  Violetta came off the bed, but not in ecstasy. He stopped, completely still, deep inside her. His eyes displayed his shock. “Dear God! Violetta, Violetta, why didn’t you tell me?”

  She gasped, unable to get her breath. He held her close, giving her comfort for what he had just done and waited until she relaxed back onto the bed again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have done that if I’d known.”

  “What made you think I wasn’t a virgin?”

  He gave a short laugh. She felt it all the way through her. He was still hard inside her. She moved, only for him to follow, not allowing her to escape him. “Wait. Don’t move. It’s best we’re still for a moment.” He kissed her forehead, holding her close, his breath hot on her cheek.

&n
bsp; He moved gently within her. To her surprise he moved easily. He fit so tightly inside her she thought he might be stuck, but it seemed not. He withdrew a little then pushed gently back in. “What does that feel like?”

  “Better.” She smiled at him. “Good.” She relaxed beneath him, let her legs fall apart.

  “Wonderful. It feels wonderful.” He moved a little further out, driving back with a gentle insistence that made her realize he was holding back. “You’re made for me.”

  She let him get away with that remark. She was in no case to argue with him now. He kissed her again, and the intimacy was almost too much. Violetta closed her eyes and felt. Felt his body pressed against hers, all the way down. Felt his body inside hers, above and below, building warmth even deeper inside.

  The warmth grew, filling her with a fiery heat, and without thinking she arched her back, pressing her shoulders into the bed and tilting her hips up to take more. His murmured, “Yes, that’s it, push,” assured and encouraged her. She pushed and held herself steady while his thrusts increased, withdrawing further, thrusting deeper. Eventually their bodies collided with a wet slap of flesh, meeting and separating.

  Arms braced either side of her head he arched up, his upper body straining away from her, his every effort to reach further inside her, to build the tension now making Violetta clench her teeth. She heard his exclamation, didn’t hear what was said because he took her higher until she spun out of control. Her cry came from somewhere deep inside her, the same place that suddenly seemed to erupt, taking her whole body into a twisting, roaring sheet of flame.

  He held her down, gave one last, grunting push and joined her, his voice mingling with hers, then collapsed on her, managing to fall to one side, so he didn’t completely squash her. They lay together, panting, getting their breath back until he rolled, his arms around her.

  Violetta felt herself drifting, cuddled close to him. “Sleep, love,” he murmured. “Rest. I’ll wake you in time.”