The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  Ellen felt a bit put out that everyone had been in on the joke except her, and felt guilty for accepting the gifts, but as Ash said, it was for luck.

  "And it could be worse," Clifford said with a laugh. "Students make merry at Holi by dumping people in tubs full of water, or having buckets of water being dumped on them! We’ll probably even see boys and girls giving mudbaths to their friends wherever water has collected on the ground."

  "Oh dear. Not very good for a white gown, is it," Ellen said with a frown.

  Her former brother in law shrugged one shoulder. "It’s only once a year, and a little dirt never harmed anyone."

  "In fact, Charlotte was telling me she hadn’t quite finished with her dandia for the festival tomorrow, so Ellen is going to help her now. Vanessa, you don’t mind doing the honours at the coffee pot, do you?" Ash said suddenly.

  The auburn-haired woman blinked but got the hint. "Er, no, not at all." She immediately moved into place.

  Thomas was so engaged in a discussion about Randall’s maiden speech in the House of Lords and how he had progressed since then, he did not notice anything amiss.

  Ash got Charlotte and Ellen out into the hall without any further ado.

  "I can’t think why I feel so faint. It comes and goes," the Duchess admitted quietly.

  "Another baby?" Ash guessed.

  She looked surprised, then shrugged one shoulder. "It's possible, but surely not. I mean, it’s too soon to tell for me to feel so odd," Charlotte sighed.

  "I don’t know. Jasmine Marshall knew the instant she conceived."

  "It’s never happened before like this."

  "Come up and rest. And I insist on carrying you. Stay in bed tomorrow. You don’t need to worry about being the perfect hostess."

  She patted his cheek. "Thank you, Ash, you’re a good lad."

  "Less of the lad, thanks. I’m only a few years younger than you."

  He lifted her and brought her to the master suite without further ado.

  Ellen helped her disrobe and get into bed while Ash waited outside.

  When she had finished and said good night, Ash took her by the arm and led her to her room. "I know this is probably the most gross impertinence, but may I kiss your neck again?"

  She pulled him inside the door to her chamber by way of reply, and would have pulled him to her had he not kept her at arm’s length.

  "We’re treading on thin ice here. Seeing you sparkling like your new jewels has me so heated I can’t—"

  She removed the lace insert at the front of her dress which had skimmed the edge of her jaw. "Do it, please. And with you facing me."

  With infinite care, he kissed and nuzzled his way down her neck until she was gasping, her fists balled into the skirt of her gown as he gently moved them back down to her sides so she could not touch him in a provocative way.

  "You are so lovely. Roses and honey and a bit of spice. Your neck, throat, the tops of your breasts," he murmured, working his way down.

  "Oh, Ash—"

  A footstep outside brought him back to reality, and he yanked open the door. It was only a servant going into the Duchess’ room in response to her ring, but it made Ash acutely aware of his straining manhood and the danger it posed to both of them.

  "I’m sorry. I should never—"

  He could see she was quivering on the edge of release, however, and brought his hand up to stroke her cheek before brushing her lips lightly with his thumb, and pushing it into her mouth.

  The penetration above was enough to delight her below, and with a groan she clung to her belly and climaxed.

  He held her softly to his side until the throes subsided, and with a gentle kiss on her brow told her, "Stay here and splash your face with cold water. Then join us for coffee if you’re able."

  It took her nearly twenty minutes to calm down after the cataclysmic event. Even then she was not sure she could face her friends. She was certain her wanton release was written all over her face.

  When she entered the drawing room, however, no one looked at her, not even Ash, and so she sat down to play cards with her cousin and Michael and Bryony Avenel.

  She tried to engage the object of her romantic interest in conversation, but the Duke and Randall were discussing politics once more and she had no chance to speak with him privately.

  All too soon the evening was over, and Ash was leading her to her door once more.

  "I’m sorry if you were upset—"

  "No, not upset. It’s just so, so powerful."

  "And there is so much more. Of the festival to enjoy," he added as Randall and his wife Isolde strolled passed, smiled, and said good night.

  "Tomorrow are more family festivities, and the dancing and races on the third and fourth days."

  "Thank you for bringing me. It’s been, well, a revelation."

  "I’m glad. For me too. Dream of me?" he whispered, his breath like a caress on her cheek.

  But before Ellen could reply, he had gone.

  Dream of him? As if she could dream of anything else...

  Chapter Fifteen

  For the second day of Holi known as Puno, the revellers at the Duke's London townhouse lit a huge fire in the drawing room, laid down sheets and sprinkled the colours on each other for blessings.

  They had an indoor picnic and all sorts of games with the children, from egg and spoon races to mock horse races, with the men as the fractious stallions and the children as the jockeys.

  At one point Michael and Randall even took their wives for a gallop, but Charlotte cried off when Thomas attempted to follow suit.

  Ellen blushed so much that Ash decided being under her or between her legs in any way was going to be just too tempting for him to resist.

  They had callers to the house and paid a couple of visits as well to some of Ash's distant cousins’ houses. She had to admit she was enthralled with the lovely women, the gorgeous clothes. They all looked at her with unabashed curiosity, for she truly was a blooming English rose, a marked contrast to their own dark beauty.

  Ash was unfailingly polite to every woman he met, not flirtatious that Ellen could see. Still, it pained her to have so many women looked at him with obvious intent. Some of them were much older, their eyes full of sultry promise.

  But Ash kept to Ellen’s side, and even sat with her at supper at the home of one of his special friends, Eknath, who had studied dance and the white Tantra with him, and was also planning to be a healer, though of the traditional Ayurvedic rather than the Western variety of doctor.

  Ellen listened to their conversation, contributing little, but learning more and more about the man she was sure she was never going to be able to live without. Every day brought them closer, though with the increasing intellectual intimacy was the prospect of the physical one as well.

  But to Ellen’s way of thinking, a genteel girl did not simply go up to a man and ask. Or tiddle him. So her frustration grew.

  Some of it was alleviated in bed at night as she fantasised about his kisses moving lower to cover her delicate nipples, which crested to attention just thinking about it. Or his hard thumbs caressing them...

  The third day of the festival, Ellen felt so keyed up that even fondling herself in the night, morning and during her soak in the tub did nothing to decrease her need.

  Was there something wrong with her? Was she ill? She had gone from not even knowing what desire was, to this raging torrent of sensation which the lightest touch of his fingers evoked, and which her own hands could do little to alleviate. One vision of Ash kissing her in the way so many had tried before was enough to flood her with yearnings she could scarce put a name to.

  A quiet day catching up on correspondence and dressing early to go down to the East End in time for the dancing and bonfires did nothing to ease her pangs. She had had no chance to be alone with Ash, and so any opportunity she might have had for dalliance was lost.

  By the time Ellen saw Ash in the early evening, she was almost ready to devour h
im, so strong was her eagerness to be with him romantically.

  He was stunningly handsome in a pair of loose-fitting trousers and matching embroidered tunic in white on white, with a tiny bit of gold.

  "I got a new set this year," he said with a smile. "The last ones didn’t fit and were most disreputable looking. The top is the kurta , the bottom the pajama , and I have a jacket to go with it."

  "You look splendid. Like something from the children’s book of fairy tales."

  "And for you we have a sari of your very own."

  She stared and shook her head.. "Oh, no, I couldn’t. I would have no idea what to do with it."

  "Mother made it for you, so I’m afraid you really must," he said with a twitch of his lips.

  "But how on earth do I put it on? It’s so long. Why, it must be six yards of muslin."

  "Would you like to wait for the ladies, or will you trust me?"

  She smiled pertly. "I’ve been told the danger is in men wanting to undress me. Am I now supposed to fear you dressing me?"

  "I might touch you by accident. Around this part of you," he said, putting his hands on his waist. "And here," he added, indicating her shoulder.

  "I think I’m prepared to risk it. After all, women are touched there when we dance."

  His golden eyes glowed. "Very well, take one end and drape it around you from left to right. Grasp the corner and a handful of the material and tie it into a knot at your waist. I’ll hold the rest of it."

  "Like this?"

  "Very good. Now I’m going to take one turn around you to wrap it."

  When Ash came back to the front of her he said, "Nearly the whole of this long portion is then gathered together and pleated in about five-inch pleats. Fan out your fingers like so and gather them." He did it in reverse, and then handed the fabric to her.

  She dropped it, but they laughed happily and he began again patiently.

  Eswara observed them from the doorway. There was no doubt about it. Her son was smitten. Head over heels if the way he was looking at her now was any indication.

  She debated on whether or not to go in to help, but decided to let them have their fun. It was harmless enough. As Ellen had said, what did she have to fear from being dressed?

  "You aren’t going to pleat this all. We need to leave about four feet. There, now we tuck all these bunched pleats into the band formed by the knot and the part we wrapped around you. Tuck it in slightly to the left of your navel, and make sure they’re turned towards the left. Good, like so."

  His hands brushed hers and against her body a couple of times. She could feel that wonderful giddy sensation again which the lightest touch of his hands evoked.

  "What about this part?" she asked, indicating the remaining four feet.

  "It goes under your right arm and over your left shoulder to fall to about the level of your knees and drape over your arm. You can wear it on your head, like so. Even your face." He held up a small gold brooch. "This last part is called the pallav . If you wish to stop it from slipping down, might I suggest using this brooch?"

  "Thank you. Could you please help put it on?"

  "Yes, of course." He fixed it to her slightly puffed sleeve, and backed away a few steps. "Now, come toward me and let’s see how well we did. Mother taught me in the past, but as I’ve said, I’m not accustomed to dressing or undressing ladies. Apart from my baby sister, of course."

  She blushed and walked forward and enjoyed the sweeping sensation as she went. She experimented with the pallav as well, liking the feel of the soft fabric around her neck and face.

  "Come look in the mirror out in the hall," he encouraged.

  Martin and Eswara, outside the door observing them unseen, now entered so as to not be caught spying. "My, don’t you look fine, cousin."

  "Yes, Ellen, very lovely indeed."

  "Thank you so much, Mrs. Jerome. It is too kind."

  "Please, do call me Eswara. You call my husband Martin, after all."

  Ash had taken her hand, and now led her to the pierglass.

  Her eyes widened as she took in her reflection swathed in white with pink edges. "Oh my, I look so exotic." She did not dared add that they looked like the perfect couple in their Indian clothes, for all he was so dark-haired, and she so fair.

  He laughed. "You think this is exotic? Wait until you see all the fine silks saris shot through with gold and silver thread and so on for the brides. Even more lovely than the finest evening gowns the Society ladies wear."

  "Yet I’ve never seen your mother dress in such a way before tonight." She looked over at Eswara's sari with a twinge of envy, for she looked so lovely and natural in it, while Ellen felt she was just playing a childish game of dress up.

  "It depends upon how much one wishes to cultivate one’s differences."

  "But your outfit looks far more comfortable than the traditional evening garb with the starched shirts and cravats and so on."

  "So it is. But many women might take umbrage at being asked to dance by a man garbed in so, er, unrestrained a manner."

  She blushed. "Surely you are wearing drawers! And the trousers the shirt and the jacket, and the shawl. That is more than the bucks of the Ton wear, and it’s certainly no so form-fitting as their clothes."

  "We shall start a new trend then. The next ball we go to, I shall wear one of my kurtas if you wear one of Mother’s saris. I know just the one for you. It's a lovely peacock blue with gold and sapphires to go with your eyes."

  She thought he meant they were paste copies of the jewels, and so thought nothing of it. She had no idea that Eswara was a gem merchant as well, and the stones and gold thread would be genuine.

  She just enjoyed the freedom of feeling as though she were foreign and alluring, and someone other than plain Ellen Jerome from Millcote, Somerset.

  "Are we all ready to go?" the Duke of Ellesmere asked, coming down garbed all in white just as Ash and the other men were.

  Ash looked down at Ellen and lifted from the side table an elegant wool crepe rectangle heavily embroidered with white and pink swirls.

  "Your final touch, a dupatta . It can be a bit chilly this time of year."

  "Thank you so much. It’s lovely."

  "Lovely." He smiled down at her. "So all set. Let's go."

  The street festival was in full flow when they had the carriage set them down at the crossroads. It reminded Ellen of the carnivals and circuses she had enjoyed as a child the rare times they had come to Somerset.

  Ash handed out all their colours and water supplies, and they immediately joined the throng.

  "The children can sometimes get a bit carried away. If you get squirted or hit with a water bladder, just keep your eyes closed," he warned. "I wouldn’t want you to end up with an eye full of dye."

  "I’ll be careful, I promise."

  She took his proferred arm, and almost hugged it to her. He could feel the lush curves of her breasts and longed to run his hands up and down the silk, to unravel her sari and...

  His heated thoughts made him blush profusely. He was glad of the darkness and coolness of the carriage to simmer him down and disguise his arousal, but now they were out in the open, he would have to be cautious.

  Ellen had had the same problem when they got out of the carriage at the crossroads and he took her hand to make sure they did not get separated in the crowd.

  She had never held hands with anyone without gloves before, or at least not since she had been a child. The electric connection she had experienced with Ash when he had first tried to massage her hands was here now in full force.

  It only got worse as he brought her to a group of powerful young men who were dancing with their kurtas off, wearing nothing but their pajamas.

  "Hindu dance has a number of requirements," he explained as she watched. "Abhinaya is a Sanskrit term meaning performance to the audience. The main aspects of dance, the four-fold abhinayas , are Angika , expression through body, Vachika , expression through speech, Aharya , express
ion through ornaments, and Satvika , expression through the refinement of the soul. There are different styles as well, from the acrobatic to the sensual."

  "You mean you dance like that?" Ellen said in awe.

  He nodded. "Well, I try to. I got a bit out of practice when I was ill, but it’s good exercise. Would you like to see—"

  "Oh, um, I don’t know."

  "I’m not ashamed to take my kurta off in front of you. Will you hold it and my jacket for me, and watch the dance without being so shy and shocked?"