He wanted to press her to agree. He opened his mouth to do so. He also wanted her to decide to go, because it was what she wanted.
Damn it, when had he ever been so confused?
Chapter Nine
Avery had never enjoyed going to the theatre as much as he had this evening. Fortunately, he’d won the use of the box at the tables the previous night, something he’d deliberately set out to do. Not that he was going to mention that to Carrie, who had been delightful company. She didn’t chatter during the performance, but instead watched and listened intently. In fact, she rarely chattered about anything. Something he really liked about her. Something else.
He gazed at her sitting opposite him in the carriage. There were a great many things he liked about Carrie Greystoke. If he hadn’t sworn off marriage altogether, she was just the sort of woman he might have liked for a wife.
He recalled, with discomfort, the note he had received earlier in the day. A request from his father that he visit. When he had asked his brother what it might be about, Bart had looked grim. ‘He’s heard about your widow.’
‘She is not my anything.’ Even if he wished she was. A cold sensation had filled the pit of his stomach. ‘Is the old fellow getting worse?’
Bart had sighed. ‘Not really, but he did have a letter from a distant relative earlier in the week. Seems you’ve been seen all over the place with this woman.’
He gritted his teeth. And the gossips would have a field day with this evening’s outing. He was going to have to bring his association with Carrie to a close before he ruined her reputation instead of helping her business.
‘Is something wrong?’ Carrie asked.
Damn. He’d let his thoughts show on his face. Since when did he let down his guard around one of his ladies? But that was the whole point. Carrie was not one of his ladies. She was different. Better. More important somehow.
‘I had a bit of bad news today.’
‘Oh, I am sorry to hear it.’
‘I am sorry to let it spoil our evening. I don’t have to ask if you enjoyed the play, I could see from your face during the performance that you did.’
‘Mrs Siddons was really quite wonderful, I must say. She lived up to her reputation.’ A lantern on the street caught her smiling and he tried to capture that expression in his mind. A memory to treasure. Bah, what nonsense.
‘I have never been to the theatre before. I enjoyed it immensely, though I suppose it is terribly gauche of me to say so.’
‘Not at all. It delights me that you are pleased.’
She laughed as if she did not quite believe him, but that the compliment was welcome all the same.
‘I mean it,’ he said, moving from his side of the carriage to sit beside her.
The atmosphere in the carriage seemed to change. It grew warmer and crackled with tension. The attraction between them had not diminished in the slightest. Indeed, it seemed to have flourished.
He took her gloved hand in his, stroking the cotton-covered palm with his thumb.
A little sound like a quick indrawn breath reached his ears. He smiled. ‘You like that.’
‘I do.’ She sounded shy, her voice trembling a little.
‘Palms are very sensitive, right here,’ he said, circling his thumb in the centre of her palm slowly. ‘Even with two layers of fabric between us.’
She let out a shaky breath. ‘Apparently so.’ She did not pull away. He took it as a sign that he should continue.
He shifted towards her, bringing his other hand up to cup her cheek and jaw, turning her face towards him. ‘You look stunning tonight.’
Her laugh sounded embarrassed. ‘It is kind of you to say so.’
He frowned. ‘I mean it, Carrie. You drew a great many eyes.’
‘I have Marguerite’s creation to blame for that.’
‘Not at all. It simply did you justice.’
‘You are such a flirt.’ The pleasure in her voice lightened his heart. While she clearly did not believe his compliment, it had nevertheless pleased her femininity. Somehow, he would convince her, he was speaking the truth. He dipped his head towards her.
She put a tentative hand on his shoulder, not pushing him away, but not encouraging him closer, either.
Good heavens, his bold widow was also shy. The idea made him smile. And since Carrie seemed incapable of subterfuge, he was positive it was a genuine emotion. When was the last time he had actually flirted with a truly shy woman? He did not think he ever had.
He lowered his head, his mouth coming closer to hers, hovering where he could feel her rapid breaths on his cheek and mouth. He could feel the warmth rising up from her body, as if she was blushing.
He moved his hand so his fingers curled around her nape, but his thumb pushed gently upwards on her chin. ‘Carrie, if you do not want me to kiss you, you had better say so now.’
She swallowed. ‘I do.’
He stilled. Shook off the strange sensation that those two little words had given him and chuckled. To his own ears it sounded a little forced, but fortunately she did not seem to notice.
‘I do want you to kiss me,’ she said. The longing in her voice was shocking.
What was a gentleman to do except satisfy a lady’s wishes?
He started with the briefest brush across her lips, felt them part under the gentle fleeting pressure. The pulse below her ear thrummed beneath his fingers. She was not lying when she said she wanted him to kiss her.
How nice when a woman, no matter how shy, knew what she wanted and told a man. A great asset to lovemaking. His body hardened.
The strength of his reaction startled him for a moment. Oh, he had no trouble getting aroused by a beautiful woman, but it was early in the game. He certainly did not want to rush her because he lacked control.
He brushed her lips again and felt her breathing quicken and she shifted, turning towards him, giving him better access, leaning into him. A completely unconscious gesture of interest.
He pressed his lips to hers, feeling their soft plushness give beneath his mouth. He savoured their ripe fullness, nuzzling gently. A small sigh escaped her and she relaxed into him. He raised his head, gazing down at her, unable to see her expression in the darkness inside the carriage.
He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. The magnificent plumpness of her bosom pressed against his chest. Once more he took her lips, tenderly moving his mouth against hers, until he felt her soften, a slight yielding of her body to his touch.
She was not a woman to easily give up control. She had an inner strength he could not help but admire.
He stroked the seam of her lips with his tongue.
A little promise of the taste of things to come.
* * *
Carrie couldn’t actually believe she was kissing a man in a carriage, as bold as brass. Until Avery had come into her life, the only kiss she had ever received in her life had been a peck on the cheek or a fleeting brush of lips on the back of her hand by some overbold friend of her father’s.
Her husband had not even done that. His salutation on the day of their wedding had been to the air beside her cheek.
This was extraordinarily delicious. Naughty, too. Her insides tightened at the thought of the wickedness of sitting in a carriage kissing a single gentleman. A man she had no intention of marrying, but had every intention of taking to her bed. Hopefully.
His tongue played along her lips, sending shivers down her spine and making her squirm on the seat at the tightness deep within her. A pleasurable but somehow irritating sensation that made her seek something more. She gave herself up to the storm of desire running though her veins and leaned into him, slipping her hands around his neck and into his hair. Her gloves foiled her need to feel the silkiness of his hair and the warmth of his skin, but she was too entranced by the glorious feel
ing of his mouth on hers to break the contact and remove them.
She could scarcely breathe for the pounding of her heart in her chest as if it had grown too large to be contained within the space behind her ribs. This was not what she had expected to feel while being kissed. Not at all. It felt wonderful, but somehow not quite enough. The tips of her fingers tingled as if they needed the sensation of touch. Heat raced along her veins. It was as if someone had stoked a furnace deep inside her.
His tongue swept inside her mouth.
Her body went up in flames. She gasped with the shock of it.
He broke the kiss. ‘Are you all right?’
An unsteady breath gave her the power of speech. ‘I—I should think so.’
He chuckled huskily. ‘We are almost at your street.’
Oh, no! This lovely deliciousness was going to come to an end far too soon. ‘Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?’
Inside she groaned. Men didn’t want cups of tea. They wanted wine or spirit.
‘I would love a cup of tea.’
Why, when he said it with that growl in his voice, did he make it sound like so much more than tea? She shivered.
He gently withdrew his arm from around her as the carriage slowed and stopped. He jumped down and helped her out. ‘No need to wait,’ he called up to the coachman.
A little thrill curled up in her stomach. Excitement mingled with fear. What if it was really only tea he wanted? Why on earth would she think so after that kiss? He seemed to enjoy it as much as she had and they were already into the second of their agreed-upon two weeks.
The porter let them in without comment, though he did give her a rather narrowed-eye stare. No doubt he was reporting on her movements to Mr Thrumby. Dash it. She was a widow. If she wanted to discreetly entertain a gentleman caller, it was no one’s business but her own.
She let them in to her apartment, removed her shawl and gloves, but when she went to fill the kettle he caught her around the waist and turned her to face him.
His expression held hunger and heat.
The slow burn in her veins flared to life in the face of such desire. She gasped.
‘Hush,’ he said softly, cradling her in his arms. ‘Do not worry. I won’t do anything you don’t wish to do.’
She realised her spine was as stiff as a board. So stupid. She relaxed against him, forcing fear to the back of her mind. This was what she wanted. Had asked for. She trailed her palm down his cheek, felt the faint haze of stubble graze her palm. Prickles ran across her shoulders and down her spine.
Fear rose up once more to hold her in thrall. Fear of rejection. Of humiliation. ‘So,’ she said softly, bravely, ‘have you decided where this attraction between us leads?’ She winced. Why could she not sound flirtatious and sweet instead of blunt and matter of fact.
He grinned at her. He was one of the few men she did have to look up at. Her insides melted. Not only because he was so very handsome, but because he made her feel small and feminine. And the warmth in his eyes bolstered her confidence.
‘I think we both know where this is leading,’ he said, his voice a low deep murmur full of sensual undertones. He hooked a chair leg with his foot to bring it clear of the table and sat down, bringing her with him to perch on his knee. ‘Now, where were we when we were so rudely interrupted?’
On our way to heaven, a voice inside her whispered. A foolish voice, but one she could not ignore, none the less. She yielded to the pressure of his arms enfolding her in his embrace and relaxed against him. She gazed up into his face and returned his smile. His gaze fixed on her mouth.
Yes, she wanted to say.
He needed no encouragement, or verbal permission. The next moment his mouth covered hers and was teasing and wooing with pliant expertise until she thought she might die of the pleasure. Her extremities tingled, her heart pounded loud in her ears and low in her belly her muscles tightened, causing pleasurable little thrills to ripple along her veins through her body.
When his tongue stroked the seam of her mouth, she parted her lips. And when he explored her mouth with gentle touches, what had gone before seemed innocuous, innocent. This was a sensual wickedness that set her body on fire.
* * *
Avery couldn’t recall when he had enjoyed kissing a woman more. Carrie seemed so untutored, almost innocent in her hesitant enthusiasm. He could not quite put his finger on what made her so tantalising, but the desire to make love to her was beyond anything he had ever experienced. The fact that he was sitting on a chair with her delicious derrière squirming in his lap was not helping his control.
He broke the kiss and took a breath.
She stilled, gazing at him with concern in her eyes. The heat of lust was not making it easy to process what her expression meant, but instinctively he sensed she needed reassurance. He smiled at her and ran one hand down her arm and stroked her back. ‘You kiss divinely, my sweet. I am almost undone.’
Worry changed to confusion. She swallowed. ‘Should I make tea?’
He swallowed a laugh and managed a gentle smile instead. ‘Tea is not going to ease my predicament.’
The blank stare left him wondering what sort of pillock her husband must have been. Was he one of those chaps who did his duty as fast as possible and left his wife unfulfilled and in the dark, figuratively and literally? If so, it was no bad thing the fellow had gone off to meet his maker.
She stared. ‘Is something wrong?’
Damn. His thoughts must be showing on his face again. He stroked the shell of her ear with a fingertip and down her jawline to rest at the tip of her determined little chin. He traced her lips. ‘Nothing could possibly be wrong, apart from my need to catch my breath for a moment.’ To regain a little control, for surely she could feel how hard he was beneath her luscious bottom.
She took a couple of quick breaths. ‘Oh, yes.’
Her lips were so plump. How would they feel on his pulsing shaft? And...that was not helping in the least. Sensual she might be, and bold, but those sorts of intimacies would have to wait until later in their relationship. If there was a later. Occasionally, he had the sense she was not quite as bold as she had originally made out. If it turned out she was having second thoughts about wanting him to be her lover, he would have to find a way make a graceful exit. Ultimately, it was her decision.
‘Let down your hair for me, love.’
Her eyes widened. ‘My hair?’
‘Mmm... I love your hair down around your shoulders. It makes you look even more desirable.’ And wanton. He’d been hard pressed to leave the other night when she looked as if she’d just risen from her bed after a good tumbling. He’d wanted to be the one to make her look that way.
He spread his legs wider apart, which put her more firmly on to his crotch, but would also balance her while he began the task of pulling pins from her hair. With both of them at it, it did not take long for the beautiful mass of wild curls to fall down around her shoulders. He sifted his fingers through the silky strands and massaged her scalp.
Eyes closed, she sighed with pleasure. ‘That feels so good.’
‘I don’t know how you ladies can stand all that ironmongery in your head.’
She opened one eye and looked at him askance. ‘Fashion before comfort. Besides, who wants to see a woman going around with a bird’s nest on her head?’
I do. ‘It looks lovely like this.’
She didn’t look convinced.
So he kissed her. Immediately, she melted into him, kissing him back. This time her little tongue licked at his and he withdrew it slowly, giving her time to follow where it led. His groin tightened unbearably when she began a slow exploration of the inside of his mouth. The pleasurable pain of it had him lifting his hips, seeking friction against that plump little bottom that was moving to a gentle rhythm in his lap.
She wanted
him just as much as he desired her.
He let her take charge of the kiss, responding to her touches, to her little sounds of pleasure and shifts of her body, bringing her closer, stroking her hair back from her face, touching her everywhere.
The bed in the alcove behind the so-discreet curtain called with a siren’s song. As did her passion, the sighs and moans deep in her throat. He had thought perhaps to wait to fulfil his part of the bargain, to draw it out a little longer, for both their sakes, but now he found he could not, would not. It would not be fair to either of them.
Would it?
He pushed aside the question asked by his conscience, and, with her clinging to him, he rose to his feet.
‘Oh,’ she murmured, clinging tighter, then once again looking uncertain. She slid down his body to her feet and pulled back. That would not do.
With fingers that were skilled from lots of practice, he began unlacing her gown. ‘We should make you a little more comfortable,’ he said. ‘You seem to be having trouble breathing. Perhaps your stays are too tight?’
She nodded, though she looked none too sure.
He eased the gown over her shoulders. Thank heavens for the fashion for tiny bodices and low necklines. A little push and it slipped down her arms and fell to the floor. She stepped out of it and he shoved it aside with his foot. He took her by the forearms and took a step back, letting his gaze wander over her lovely hourglass shape beneath her shift and stays. Her legs were long and, while not slender, they were beautifully proportioned and lightly muscled.
He smiled at her. ‘My word, you are lovely. Now it is time for those stays. Turn around, sweetheart.’
Her breath gave a little hitch and she turned her back towards him. He leaned forward, peering around that gorgeous mass of hair to see her face. He feared he might have been too forward, but the expression on her face said otherwise. There was a dreamy distant look on her face and in her eyes.
A cold fist clutched at his heart. She looked as if she was recalling something from her past. Perhaps her husband? Perhaps the man hadn’t been a completely idiot after all. He quelled the urge to ask. If she was thinking of her dead husband, he absolutely did not want to know. He undid the bow at the bottom of her stays and swiftly pulled the tapes free of the holes. The garment fell free and he tossed it aside.
A Lord for the Wallflower Widow Page 14