ToLoveaLady

by Cynthia Sterling

  “That will come soon enough.” Madame pushed back her chair. “Are you finished with your meal? Did you enjoy it?”

  He pushed his plate away. “Yes. It was delicious.” The wine had been exceptional also. He must have consumed half a bottle and had reached that state of euphoria that precedes true intoxication.

  Madame extended her hand. “May we ask one last favor of you, my lord?”

  He smiled. She really was an enchanting woman. “Anything, Madame. I am at your service.”

  “There is a chest of drawers upstairs that needs to be moved. But it is too heavy for us to manage ourselves. If you would be so kind?”

  Move furniture? They had plied him with steak and wine in order to get him to move furniture? He chuckled. “I’d be happy to help.”

  He followed her up the stairs, down a long hall to a room at the end. “The chest is in here.” She unlocked the door with a key that hung from a ring at her waist. “If you could just move it over next to the door to the adjoining room.” She went and stood by that door.

  The chest was large, but not as heavy as he expected. With a minimum of grunting, he managed to maneuver it across the rug and over against the opposite wall.

  “Perfecto!” Madame clapped her hands and beamed at him. “Thank you so much. Now, there is just one other thing.”

  One hand still on the chest, he faced her. “And what is that?”

  “Only this, my lord.”

  To his astonishment, she strode into the hallway and shut the door firmly behind her. He heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. “Stop!” He hurtled across the room and threw himself against the door. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Trust me, my lord. Tomorrow you will thank me.”

  “I’ll thank you to stop this nonsense and let me out right now!” he bellowed, but already her footsteps were retreating down the hall.

  He tried the door again, but the lock was new and held firmly. The door too was solid, refusing to budge when he once more threw himself against it. He sagged against the doorframe, frustration and confusion filling his mind in equal measure. What was the meaning of such treatment from a woman who had only moments before been a congenial hostess? Did she mean to hold him for ransom, or for other, more nefarious purposes?

  “Charles? Is that you?”

  He thought at first he was hearing things. The voice that addressed him sounded so much like Cecily. He scanned the room. He was alone. Unless she was hiding beneath the bed. . .

  Before he could reach the bed to look under it, the voice came again. “Charles, it is you! I can see through the keyhole. I’m right next door.”

  He hurried to the door between the two rooms and pulled it open. Cecily tumbled into his arms.

  But she was not the Cecily he was accustomed to seeing. This version wore a wine velvet dress that was more adornment than concealment for her body. And when had Cecily grown so voluptuous? he thought, staring down at the ivory mounds of her breasts almost spilling into his hand. His fingers convulsed against the velvet, aching to touch her more intimately. “Charles, what are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing.” Reluctantly, he set her from him. Her hair was loose around her bare shoulders, her cheeks flushed, eyes dark. She looked like a woman ready for a lover, or perhaps one who had just left a lover’s bed. A sickening thought slammed into his gut. The note Madame had sent — something about Cecily. Had her friendship with the prostitutes gone so far she’d decided to become one of them? He touched her shoulder, her flesh cool against his warmth. “Why are you wearing this dress? I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I!” She clutched the skirt of the gown and looked down at it. “I came to have tea with Madame and Fifi and Estelle, and afterwards, Estelle asked me to help her measure the hem in a dress. I put the dress on and she went down to get pins, and the next thing I knew, I was locked in that little room.” Relief flooded her face as she looked up. “But now you’re here and we can go home.”

  He shook his head, trying not to let his own relief show. Of course, that had been panic talking, to think that Cecily would ever consider such behavior. “Madame invited me to dinner, then asked me to help her move that chest. Now I’m locked in, too.”

  “But why?” Cecily stared at the door. “Why would they imprison us this way?”

  “I don’t know.” He pulled Cecily close once more, wanting to comfort her. “But she said I’d thank her in the morning.”

  “Then they mean to leave us here all night.” She laid her head on his shoulder and he smoothed his hand down her back. He felt the bones of her corset beneath the velvet, and then, the unaccustomed softness of her bottom, with no padded bustle or layers of petticoats to disguise its exquisite shape. His response was immediate and obvious. A gentleman would have stepped back and attempted to preserve both his modesty and that of the lady with him, but Charles was no gentleman tonight, and he was beginning to see Cecily as more than a lady.

  She raised her head to look at him, and his attention focused on her lips, soft and inviting. . .

  “What should we do?” she asked softly.

  A half-dozen answers flashed through his mind. They could call for help, or attempt to climb out the window, or sit up all night talking about anything and nothing. Or they could yield to the temptation that had grown between them each day, a temptation he had grown weary of fighting.

  “I think I should kiss you,” he murmured, and then did so, gently at first, then with more passion as she leaned into him, her hands clutching at his collar, drawing him closer still.

  She smelled of roses, and sunshine, and musky velvet. He caressed the fabric of the dress and thought of the greater softness of her bare skin. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman, yet some shard of sanity still prevailed, reminding him this was no woman of the streets for him to take at his pleasure. This was Cecily, a lady, his betrothed, who deserved to be approached as such.

  Marshaling his weak will, he set her from him. “I think you should go back in the other room,” he said.

  She was still breathing heavily, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes dark with desire. He shut his eyes against the sight, while every fiber of his being screamed to draw her to him once more.

  “No, Charles.”

  “Go to the other room,” he repeated, fists clenched at his sides. “And lock the door.”

  “No.” He opened his eyes as her arms slipped around him again. She shaped her body to his, and looked into his eyes. “I don’t want us to run away from each other any more.”

  She kissed him again, a soft caress of her mouth against his own. Her tongue flickered across his lips, teasing, inviting.

  Defenses crumbling, he surrendered, drawing her to him, pressing hungrily against her, making sure she felt the strength of his arousal. He wanted no doubts about what she was asking of him.

  She responded with a sigh, and writhed against him, not with the practiced movement of a seductress, but with the innocence of one trying to ease an ache in the only way available. Yes, she was ready for him, but he’d have to go slow. He’d cut off his hand before he’d hurt her.

  He kissed her again, a deep, lingering caress. The finest wine had never tasted so sweet, the most expensive satin had never been so soft. He lingered over her mouth, memorizing each curve and dip of her lips, reluctant to leave the delight of her kisses. But his desire drove him onward, seeking more. As they savored the taste of each other, he brought one hand up to her breast. He shaped his palm to her soft curves, then grazed the pebbled tip with his fingers.

  With a rush of breath, she drew back. He jerked his hand away and steeled himself for cries of indignation. Instead, she surprised him by grabbing both his hands and placing them firmly on her breasts. “I’ve been wanting you to touch me there,” she whispered, a blush sweeping up her neck and across her cheeks.

  “I can do better than that.” Slowly, carefully, he undi
d the buttons down the front of her dress, then folded back the fabric to reveal the swell of her breasts over the top of her satin corset. Deftly, he unfastened the laces, and peeled the corset away, leaving only her shift, the darkened tips of her breasts showing through the fine lawn.

  She started to peel the shift away as well, but he stopped her, and bent to suckle each breast in turn through the fabric, so that both the fabric and his tongue abraded the sensitive tips. She gasped and thrust against him, clutching at his back. Her desperate cries served to urge him on. He began to unfasten the rest of her garments, while she fumbled for the buttons of his shirt.

  “Shhh. There’ll be time enough for that later,” he soothed, pushing her hands away.

  Her undid the last fastening on her skirt, and shoved it to her ankles. She was left standing before him in damp shift, stockings and drawers, a delectable sight indeed.

  “What are you staring at?” She folded her arms over her chest.

  He took her hands and drew them to him. “Only the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

  They kissed again, and he allowed himself the luxury of exploring the feel of her: the smooth set of her shoulders, the straight line of her spine, the gentle swell of her hips and the firm curve of her bottom.

  She broke the kiss and looked up at him, a coy expression on her face. “Why am I the only one with my clothes off?”

  He gave her a look of mock offense. “You wish me naked, madam?”

  She giggled and nodded.

  He stripped off his clothing in record time, pausing at his undergarments to grin at her, but not stopping there. In a matter of seconds he was standing before her naked. “As you see, there can be no doubts about my feelings,” he said, looking down and smiling.

  She covered her mouth with her hand and stared. “I. . . I never imagined. . . “She shook her head, eyes wide with apprehension.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.” He rushed to gather her close once more. “Come. Let’s get the rest of these things off you and we’ll lie down on the bed.”

  He helped her out of her underclothes, then she followed him to the bed and stretched out beside him. He was being so gentle; she wanted to tell him not to be. She wanted to tell him to move faster, to touch her more. She wanted to stop waiting for whatever came next. She wanted. . . she wanted. . . she wanted. . . .

  She didn’t know what she wanted. Except that she didn’t want him to stop touching her. She closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of his hands exploring her body. He stroked her breasts, her back, her thighs, sending tremors of anticipation through her. Anticipation of what, she didn’t know. Only that if Charles was there, it would be all right. It would be good.

  He smoothed his palm down her stomach, around her thighs, then back to cover her mound. She pushed against him, seeking relief from the tension building within her. “Shhh,” he murmured again, and kissed her temples. “I’ll give you what you want soon.”

  She gasped as he began stroking her with one finger, a gentle, seductive rhythm that sent waves of sensation spiraling through her. She panted and moaned, ashamed to be losing control this way, but unable to stop herself.

  He began to suckle her breasts once more, driving her to new heights of distraction. “Oh Charles!” she gasped, the ache in her building. “Help me.”

  “Soon,” he whispered, and then his fingers dipped inside her, his thumb still stroking. . . stroking.

  Ever fiber in her tensed, then a quaking spasm shook her, waves of joyous release rocketing through her. “Oh, Charles!” she cried again, but this time it was a cry of delight.

  He slipped his hand from her and she opened her eyes to protest, but saw that he had positioned herself over her. “This might hurt, but only for a moment,” he said, then entered her, hesitating only a moment before plunging all the way in.

  She gasped at the sudden, sharp pain, and her eyes clouded with tears. After so much pleasure, now this –

  “Shhh. Shhh. It’s all right.” He cradled her to him, lavishing her with kisses and rocking her back and forth. “I’m sorry. I don’t know any other way to get past that bit, but it’s only for the first time, I promise.”

  After a moment, the ache began to subside. “Better now?” he asked.

  She nodded. In fact, she was beginning to feel very good indeed.

  He began to move, slowly at first, then with more assurance. Rocking back and forth, in and almost out. But never quite. Always maintaining the connection between them. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the rhythm, and the anticipation that once more began to build within her.

  Deuces, but she was sweet! Charles closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the force of sensation that battered at him. He didn’t want to go off too soon, but he’d been fighting this desire for her so long, imagining what it would be like. The reality was almost too much to bear.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and began to move in rhythm with him. Hands on her hips, he guided her. She was an apt pupil all right. Thank God all those years of schooling in ladylike behavior hadn’t taken this away from her.

  That was his last coherent thought as rising passion overwhelmed his senses. Heart pounding, lungs straining for breath, he gave himself up to the feelings that coursed through him. When he reached his climax at last, he cried out, with triumph, fulfillment, elation.

  They lay together afterwards, silent, too spent to speak. His hand stroked her side, over and over in a soothing rhythm while she slept. He looked down on her still-flushed face and tousled hair, and felt fear mixed with his joy. A moment ago, when he’d watched her convulse with pleasure beneath his hand, he’d wondered what he’d done to deserve such a gift. Now he wondered what price he’d have to pay to keep her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cecily awoke to the sound of distant shouts and running feet. She opened her eyes to an unfamiliar room, moonlight streaming through an open window, a gauzy canopy overhead. Then she heard Charles, breathing beside her, and remembered where she was, and why. A smile spread across her lips as a giddy happiness raced through her. Who would have thought that a simple invitation to tea could lead to such bliss?

  Seconds later, pounding jolted the door to the room. Charles groaned and opened his eyes. The pounding continued. “What in blazes!” He raised up on his elbows and glared at the door.

  “Get up!” Estelle called from the hallway. “Hurry! The sheriff and some men are here and they mean to make trouble!”

  They heard the key turn in the lock, followed by footsteps running away. Charles turned to Cecily. “We’d better do as she says.”

  She nodded, and started to sit up, but he pulled her close and kissed her cheek. “I might have thought this night was a dream, if not for you here now,” he said softly.

  She nodded, suddenly too shy to speak. Simple words seemed inadequate for the weighty feelings in her heart. “Where are your clothes?” he asked. “I’ll bring them to you.”

  She sat up then, and gathered the blankets around her. Charles seemed unconcerned about his own nakedness, and stood in the middle of the room, moonlight limning his perfect form. She caught her breath, dazzled by the sight, and he had to ask her again before she could gather her thoughts. “My clothes?” She shook her head. “Estelle took them, I suppose. When she locked me in. All I have is that.” She nodded to the velvet dress, which lay in a heap, with her underclothes, on the floor.

  “You’ll have to wear that, then.” He brought the garments to her, then began to dress himself. Cecily did the best she could, but tightening the corset was beyond her.

  Seeing her distress, Charles came over to her. “Here, let me help.” He took the laces in hand and began to fasten them.

  “You act as if you’ve done this before,” she teased.

  “Hmmm. Once or twice. But never to one as special as you.”

  A thrill raced through her at his words, and she hugged her arms across her body as if to keep the feeling to herself. I
t pleased her that he’d called her special — not beautiful or refined, or any of the words others had used before to describe her.

  He helped her into the velvet gown, and fastened it at the back. Then she sat to don stockings and boots while he finished his own toilet.

  “My hair must look a mess,” she said, combing her fingers through the unruly strands.

  “You look fine.” He smiled and put his hands on her shoulders. “Besides, if I have my way about it, no one will see you before you’re safely back at the ranch in your own quarters.”

  “How will you manage that, if Sheriff Grady and his men are downstairs?”

  He looked around the room, and spotted the hat rack in the corner. He chose a straw bonnet with a black lace veil. “Here, put this on.”

  She did the best she could without a mirror, the veil falling around her shoulders, obscuring her face, and much of her vision. “You’ll have to lead me by the hand,” she said, laughing.

  He had no time to answer, as the door burst open and Sheriff Grady rushed in, followed by a tearful Estelle. Charles stepped in front of Cecily to shield her. “Worthington!” The sheriff drew up short in front of them. “I might have known you’d be in on this.”

  “In on what, Sheriff?”

  Grady tried, unsuccessfully, to see behind Charles’s back. Charles blocked every move, while Cecily attempted to make herself as small as possible. Grady looked at the rumpled bed, then back to Charles. “As if you didn’t know. And you an engaged man, too.” He took a step back and gave Charles a considering look. “I just wonder what Lady Thorndale would think if she could see you now.”

  Cecily pressed her face against Charles’ back and bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. She’d like to tell the sheriff that Lady Thorndale was quite impressed with Charles’s performance, both before and after they were so rudely interrupted.

  “Are you threatening blackmail, Sheriff?” The rumble of Charles’s voice vibrated through her.