The Mistress' House

by Leigh Michaels

  All right, he told himself. Think like a seasoned campaigner here.

  Delay—that was the battle plan. Fall back, regroup, and attack along a different front—one that she didn’t expect. If she thought he was going to help her, then at least she wouldn’t be looking around for some other man to do so, and she’d be safe for exactly as long as she believed that Julian simply needed time to make arrangements for her lessons. For exactly as long as her patience with him lasted.

  His own patience was nonexistent. Right now, his body urged. Right here. He squashed the thought.

  If she persisted in her plan and insisted on him carrying through—well, he’d deal with that when the time came. And if in the meantime she came to her senses and changed her mind… Then he would have done her a very large favor, and he could walk away with his honor unscathed.

  He hoped she would come to her senses. Really he did.

  He tried to ignore the sourness in his mouth. Telling lies—even to himself—left an aftertaste.

  “Very well,” he said. “There are some practical aspects to consider, of course. I’ll have to think about where we can go to be completely alone and uninterrupted. Lessons like this take time, and privacy.”

  The Red Dragon, perhaps? He wondered if she had a horse. He certainly couldn’t borrow a lady’s mount from Thorne’s stable without prompting far too many questions. And she’d need to have a complaisant groom or a maid who might accompany her without immediately reporting to whomever was supposed to be safeguarding her…

  No, he reminded himself. You’re not really planning this. You’re only pretending to.

  Just getting her out of the house unnoticed would require more strategy than some of the battles he’d fought. Damn, arranging a tryst with a virgin was a whole lot more of a challenge than he’d encountered in any of his previous affairs…

  She stood up, and—his attention still focused on the assignation he was not going to be arranging—Julian came automatically to his feet. Without a word, she reached for his hand.

  She led him across the garden, behind the azalea bush and beyond the huge old elm tree, and through a small wicker gate into a garden barely the size of a pocket handkerchief. No wonder, he thought—half dazed—that she preferred Thorne’s garden to her own.

  Her fingers were small and cold, and he folded his hand protectively around hers. He didn’t begin to recover his senses until they reached the back of the house and she led him into the shadowed entranceway. “Are you completely moonstruck?” he asked. “You can’t carry on an intrigue in your own house.”

  “Why not? You said we needed privacy and time. We can have both right here.”

  “But…”

  “The butler is very old and quite deaf, and the maids sleep in the attic. How do you think I manage to walk in the garden every night at this hour? No one will know.” She raised her chin and looked him directly in the eye. “You were going to put me off, weren’t you? Pretend that you were making arrangements and then come back in a few days to tell me you hadn’t been able to find a place that was private enough and I’d have to wait longer.”

  He could hardly deny it when she’d hit squarely on the truth. “Only for your own good,” he muttered.

  Her eyes flashed. “Why will no one believe I know exactly what I want?”

  “Because you haven’t any idea what you’re getting yourself into, that’s why!”

  “So show me,” she challenged.

  Julian gulped. All right, his body said eagerly. Let’s do what the lady wants.

  “You promised me.”

  “I didn’t.” He had implied, perhaps. He had let her believe what she wanted to, certainly. But promised? Hardly.

  “And if you don’t keep your word, I… I shall think you a coward, Major Hampton!”

  Julian almost smiled. He’d have knocked down a man who called him that, but when the accusation came from a very young woman who was clearly willing to use any weapon that came to hand—no, he wasn’t about to take it personally.

  She had pushed the door open, and somehow he’d crossed the threshold. Now how had she managed that?

  “And what about your chaperone?” All he needed was a prim old lady poking her nose into her charge’s bedroom to check on her in the middle of the night—and, upon finding him there, screaming the roof off. Yes, that was something to remember whenever his body threatened to take charge. Not only would there truly be hell to pay, but the Old Man would never speak to him again.

  On the other hand, if the Old Man disowned him, at least he wouldn’t have to marry the shrew…

  “No chaperone. The housekeeper believes that I retire early each night to read.”

  “She’s a trusting sort, I see. What are you supposedly reading? Sermons?”

  She gave him an elfin grin. “As a matter of fact, yes. Each day I move the page marker—just in case someone checks.”

  “What about your uncle?”

  Her gaze shifted a little, and after a moment she said, “He doesn’t live here.”

  He wondered what she was hiding. But while he’d been distracted, she’d pulled him through the kitchen and up the back stairs. What was wrong with him?

  Not a thing, his body said. Except this infernal delay.

  Just then she pushed open a door, leading him into a cozy sitting room and on across it to a bedroom where a candle guttered on a bedside table and the fire had burned down to embers.

  Even in the dim light he could not fail to recognize the riches that filled the room—heavy green velvet draperies held back with gold cords and tassels, and white silk bed curtains drifting down from a canopy above a graceful four-poster bed that was big enough for pleasure. Only then did he realize that he’d expected a schoolgirl’s room, not a high-class bordello.

  “You have the right surroundings for lessons, that’s sure,” he said dryly.

  She looked around as if she’d never seen the place before. “At first, this room made me feel like a princess. But now I think it’s much more than that. It makes me feel like a mistress.” She unfastened her cloak. “What should I do first?”

  She was trembling a bit, he noticed. From eagerness or fear? He was afraid that he knew which it was. Now that he was actually in her bedroom, and she believed it was too late to change her mind…

  It is too late, his body shrieked. It’s much too late, my dear. Come here this instant and make love with me.

  “You’re shaking,” he said. “Are you afraid?”

  “I’m shivering. It was cold in the garden—that’s all.” She laid the cloak aside and came closer.

  For the first time, he could see her without the all-enveloping velvet cloak. She was just as small and fine-boned as he had expected, slender and delicate. He thought he could probably span her waist with his hands, and the idea of this woman submitting to some clumsy oaf—to the kind of man who believed that buying a woman a diamond bracelet would purchase any liberties he cared to exercise—made him feel ill. She could so easily be damaged by careless hands…

  “Moment of truth,” Julian said. His voice felt raspy, and he gritted his teeth for a moment before he could go on. But he was a man of honor…

  Of course you are, his body jeered. That explains why you’re in her bedroom.

  “I can go back downstairs right now, and no one will ever know I was here.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “You promised. And if you don’t make love to me right now, I’ll seduce a footman by tomorrow.” She sounded quite sincere.

  Julian swallowed hard. How, exactly, had he lost control of the situation? How had he gone from planning how to protect her to being blackmailed into making love with her? A footman, for the love of God…

  If she’d said she would turn to another gentleman if Julian refused her, he wouldn’t have been nearly so concerned. She wasn’t likely to run across any man but him walking in Thorne’s garden late at night. In fact, Julian would make certain of it—even if he had to sle
ep in the grape arbor every night. And for a young woman to get outside her home and meet up with a gentleman long enough to seduce him would be much more difficult during the day; someone would be keeping a very close eye on her.

  But a footman… Damnation. The moment he left her, she could ring her bell to wake up one of the menservants—and the deed would be done by midnight. So much for his plans to give her time to reconsider…

  Stop yammering and get on with it, his body urged.

  She came closer. “Should I kiss you?” She didn’t wait for an answer but rested her hands lightly on his shoulders and let her lips brush his. Indeed she was chilly to the touch; the cold out in the garden had filtered deep inside her… but the same could not be said of him. The innocent touch of her mouth—her lips closed and almost firm—was enough to heat his blood.

  He cupped her face in his hands and flicked his tongue against the corner of her mouth, capturing the drop of grape juice that had tantalized him in the garden.

  She drew a quick breath and let her head fall back against his shoulder. The feel of her in his arms—slim and fragile and trusting—set him on fire. He was beyond thought, beyond guilt, beyond remorse for what he was about to do…

  It’s about time, his body whispered.

  “Open your mouth,” he murmured, and when she did, he let his tongue slowly invade. Her eyes widened in surprise and then drifted shut. He thought about counting her long, silky eyelashes—because the exercise might take his mind off what he wanted to do right now. Perhaps he could slow himself down and extend his self-control.

  Oh, God, what have you got yourself into? One inexpert kiss, and he had turned into a rutting stag, barely able to keep himself from ripping her clothes off and having her right then and there.

  Speaking of clumsy oafs, he was rapidly turning into the prize. Julian took a deep breath and held her just an inch away from him.

  Her eyelids fluttered. “Did I do it wrong?”

  “No.” His voice was rough. “What’s your name?”

  “Does it matter? My father called me Georgie, sometimes.”

  Her father called her Georgie. Her father, Julian thought, and wanted to swear. Was the girl trying to sound naïve? Mentioning the man who—if he were still alive and could see what Julian was doing right now—would slice him up with the nearest carving knife was hardly the way to stimulate a lover…

  Her innocent comment should have cooled his ardor right down to the freezing point, but just then Georgie snuggled closer and kissed him, and oh God, she was an apt pupil—for this time her lips were soft and warm and mobile, and her tongue slipped shyly into his mouth and toyed with his…

  His fingers were clumsy as he unfastened her dress and let it drop to the floor and then stepped back to look at her. Her chemise was pure white and so dainty that he could see straight through it—but somehow the shadowed curves were even more arousing than if she had been naked.

  He had been right; she was perfectly made—but so delicate that a man could break her with a careless touch.

  Julian took a deep breath and struggled for control. Her breasts were just the right size to fill his palms, and the nipples swelled to his touch, sending painful darts of desire to his groin. Her legs were so endlessly long that he felt light-headed at the thought of them wrapped around him, pulling him close. And her scent… He could smell eagerness on her, and his own lust multiplied.

  He stripped off his coat, ripped his cravat loose, and almost tore his shirt. He maintained enough presence of mind to set his boots down carefully rather than tossing them aside, for a loud thump might bring someone to investigate. But that was almost the last coherent thought he had.

  She watched as he undressed, her face alive with interest, her eyes widening at her first view of him as he stepped out of his breeches. Only then did he remove her chemise and lift her onto the bed.

  She wasn’t chilly anymore. Her skin was flushed with warmth, her breasts taut against his chest. He settled himself over her, and she wrapped her legs around him as if instinctively trying to draw him inside her.

  “Not yet,” he whispered, and kissed her. He slipped a hand between them, his finger mimicking the thrusts of his tongue against hers. She urged him closer, and he wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her—but she wasn’t ready yet; she couldn’t be, not so quickly.

  He had to stop—had to shift his attention elsewhere for a while. She whimpered when he withdrew his hand, and Julian clenched his jaw and set about exploring the safer bits of her body.

  The trouble was that no part of Georgie was any less sensual. The curve of her hip, the lushness of her breasts, the angle of her collarbone, the satin of her skin, the enticing hollow of her navel… He caught her hand as she cupped her palm over his jaw, and he kissed each perfect fingertip. He nuzzled her throat and found that she had a ticklish triangle directly under her right ear. He wound ringlets of her hair around his fingers, and traced her lips and the arch of her eyebrow with the tip of his tongue.

  And when he finally dared to slip his hand between her legs again, she was wet and slick and hot… so ready for him that the mere thought of sliding deep inside her was almost enough to drive him past reason.

  He shifted until he was poised over her, nudging the head of his shaft between her legs, inching into her, holding himself with rigid control to keep from going too fast. But soon he could feel her maidenhead, and there was no going back. He could not stop—and he was honest enough not to pretend, even to himself, that he might.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “This is going to hurt a little.” He thrust firmly past her barrier and caught her squeak of protest with his lips. With his teeth gritted, he stayed still, letting her accustom herself to the feel of him inside her, and only when he felt her ease a little did he start to move.

  He slid slowly in and out once, waiting for her response. She began to move with him, raising her hips to welcome him. Each thrust was a little stronger than the last, and with each, she drew him just a little deeper. He lost track of himself; he’d had no idea he could last so long, but Georgie’s pleasure was what mattered, not his own. When at last he felt her muscles start to quiver, he slowed once more, stroking her carefully, timing himself to her rhythm, and watching as her eyes filled with wary wonder. His own desire was sublimated in the need to satisfy her, to make her first experience a wonder she would always remember. He would wait until she was ready…

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Let yourself go. It won’t hurt anymore, I promise.” When ultimately she tensed around him, he was poised, and with a long, deep, intense thrust he took her over the edge, caught her cry of satisfaction with his lips, and followed her into the maelstrom.

  ***

  Despite what Julian had told her, that last frenzy of feeling had hurt—it had been so intense that her teeth ached, and her body felt as if it would never stop trembling. Not that the feeling hadn’t been worth the pain: Georgiana had never felt anything like the wave of well-being that swept over her in the aftermath as her breathing slowly returned to normal. She lay quite still for a while, basking in the satisfaction. She could feel Julian’s heart still pounding against her breast, but eventually it also slowed to something like a regular rhythm.

  She smiled and raised a hand—slowly, because the action seemed to take a lot of strength—to pat his cheek. “Lesson One. That did work out nicely. I knew you would be a great deal of help, Julian.”

  He frowned as if she’d done something wrong. “Don’t go thinking you know it all, Georgie. Not all lovemaking is like that.”

  “Oh, I know there must be an immense amount to learn,” she assured him. “And I’m quite ready to…”

  He raised himself away from her.

  “Julian?” she said.

  “Dammit, Georgie. Being a mistress is nothing for you to aspire to.”

  She surveyed him thoughtfully. “You thought that would make me change my mind?”

  He gave a ruefu
l laugh. “Obviously a miscalculation.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “It was awfully nice, in fact. I know I need more lessons. I mean, I didn’t really do anything this time. Aren’t mistresses supposed to… I mean…”

  “Take an active and energetic role.”

  “Exactly. You need to show me how.” Of course, he would do so, she told herself. He’d agreed to tutor her, hadn’t he? Why was she feeling unaccountably frightened that he might not carry through with his promise?

  “Later, perhaps.”

  “But… You are going to teach me, aren’t you?”

  “I suppose if I don’t, you’ll call on the footman?” He sighed. “The truth is, you might feel ready for a second lesson, my dear Georgie, but I am not.” He kissed her softly, nuzzled her breast, and pulled away from her. As if he couldn’t bear to move any farther, he sagged back against the pillows with one arm draped casually across her.

  Not quite certain whether to believe him, Georgiana turned onto her side and curled up, one hand propping up her face so she could inspect him. He lay with his eyes closed. His arm felt heavy over her waist; every muscle must be relaxed, she thought, for he hadn’t weighed nearly that much earlier even though his entire body had been on top of her. Her gaze wandered down the length of him. Yes, definitely he’d relaxed… or else she’d done something wrong.

  His breathing was slow and heavy, as if he was asleep. She reached out a gentle fingertip and prodded his penis.

  “That,” he said without opening his eyes, “will be covered in Lesson Two—in due time. How to stir a man when he’s reluctant or tired.”

  Due time, again. How tired she was of men telling her to wait until due time. “That would be a most useful thing to know,” Georgiana agreed, “because if a mistress is to be truly desirable, she mustn’t always wait for the gentleman to come to her. She must make him want her. Then he’ll be more likely to give her diamonds and houses and…”

  “Georgie, where do you get your information about the proper behavior of mistresses?”