Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman

by Lorraine Heath

  “And my buttons?”

  “I would like to unfasten them, but if you’re feeling shy the nightdress can remain.”

  “Why do you want to do this?”

  “Because you’ve been treated poorly by me … and others. I want to apologize and words will not suffice.”

  “You are the only man I have been with through the night. I can’t imagine what you might have in mind that does not involve passion.”

  “Oh, there will be passion. There will be passion aplenty. You will have the power to stop me at any moment.”

  “How?”

  “Simply say ‘no more.’ ”

  She watched him for the longest, her breathing uneven. He couldn’t deny that his invitation was prompted by a hope that seeing her in the throes of passion would help him to find one of his lost memories. And if it did not, well, there would still be pleasure in it for him. He enjoyed giving a woman pleasure as much as he appreciated receiving it.

  “Trust me, Mercy, and I shall give you a sleep-filled night such as you’ve never known.”

  She didn’t remember nodding her consent. She knew she’d not been able to form the words to give it. But somehow, he must have read her acquiescence because he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

  Feeling his uneven gait, realizing that his leg was not as healed as he claimed, she protested his carting her, but he’d have none of it. He was determined to give her all his attention.

  He laid her on the bed with a gentleness that almost made her weep. He brushed his lips over hers, so sweetly. She lifted up for more, only to be greeted by his soft chuckle as he turned away from her and began to go through the room, dimming lamps, extinguishing candles.

  She wondered how he’d known that the request had been hovering on the tip of her tongue. She’d never been truly intimate with a man. In truth, she didn’t know if she could be. The brutes had hurt her, and while Stephen had consoled and comforted her, he’d not bedded her.

  He’d been a perfect gentleman. He’d shown her gentleness.

  Her greatest fear was that if he did take her to wife, she’d be unable to carry out her wifely duties. Even for him.

  And while she fought not to reveal it, she was quite literally terrified.

  Not of him, but of the act itself.

  By the time he returned to her side, her hands were aching from how tightly she’d interlaced her fingers over her stomach. He placed his hand over hers, and she quivered.

  “I cannot have given you the pleasure you deserved for you to be dreading it so now,” he said quietly.

  “One night—”

  “I know. One night, more than a year ago. Still, it should have been such that you would desire it again.”

  “I do not wish to be with child again before I am wed.”

  “If that is your fear, then relax, Mercy. Nothing I do tonight will get you with child.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Is the possibility not required for pleasure?”

  “If that is what I left you to believe, then I was a dog.”

  “No … I … no, you were wonderful.” She didn’t want him to doubt his ability, nor to realize that they’d not shared their bodies. She was floundering in a well of deception, but to reveal everything now might cause her to lose John. How would he ever trust her?

  He took her hands, separated them, and placed them on the pillow, one on each side of her head.

  The only light in the room came from the fire. She found solace in the near darkness. His face was ensconced in shadows, yet she could still see the rough planes that emerged into the light with his movements. Shadows had provided comfort as well that long-ago night, and she’d welcomed them, hidden in them.

  “I want to touch you everywhere,” he said quietly, and her body tightened with the raspy promise in his voice. “The nightdress will be a hindrance. I’ll leave it if you wish, but your enjoyment will be greater if you’ll wear only the darkness.”

  “It’s not completely dark.”

  “Dark enough.”

  She licked her lips, nodded. “Very well. As you wish.”

  “No, sweetheart. It’s what you wish.”

  She nodded again. He reached for her button. She grabbed his wrist, tightening her fingers around it. “I trust you not to hurt me.”

  “Did I hurt you before?”

  “No, but … I feel more vulnerable now.”

  “Because I don’t remember you?”

  “Because I’ve withstood humiliation.”

  “What passes here tonight will go no further.” The bed dipped as he stretched out beside her. “Let me pleasure you, Mercy.”

  He wasn’t asking permission, as she’d already granted it. He was simply reaffirming his intent. Before she could say a word, he was kissing her. All her doubts, all her worries were absorbed by the sweep of his tongue through her mouth. Her fingers found their way to his hair and she was glad he’d unclamped them earlier, set them free so they could go where they would.

  She felt his fingers combing through her hair, and she imagined it longer, wished it longer. For him, she would grow it to her waist, past her waist.

  His mouth left hers to rain light kisses over her face, so many that she wished she counted, because she suspected he was kissing each freckle. Only how could he see them in the dark—unless he’d memorized their location? Perhaps he had. He’d studied her often enough, intensely enough.

  Just as she’d studied him in Scutari. In spite of his fair hair, his skin had been bronzed. It was not quite as dark now, no doubt because he was not outside as much. But she suspected with his leg healed, he would be riding over the hills. The sun would again paint a golden glow over him, so much more attractive than the freckles it bestowed on her.

  He trailed his mouth along her chin, her throat, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever it touched. His hand left her hair to skim along her arm, up and down, up and down. She could feel the warmth through the cloth.

  What would it hurt, she wondered, to simply ease out of the sleeve so she might have skin upon skin?

  As though he’d read her mind, she suddenly found her arm free of the confining nightdress and his rough palm was sending delicious sensations over her skin, her shoulder, her collarbone, her breast—

  Her eyes flew open to be greeted by the deep shadows of the night. She could barely make out the silhouette of his lowered head, so how was it that he was able to so unerringly touch her, never clumsy, each movement as smooth as though he’d practiced a thousand times?

  She didn’t want to think of the other women he’d known. They’d taught him well or perhaps it was truly as they said: Practice makes perfect. She could not find fault with his past when it ensured now that she found such enjoyment.

  She felt the air brush against her skin, her nipples puckering with the gentle teasing. She realized he had somehow managed, without her noticing, to work her nightdress down to her waist. It would be completely lowered before too long.

  What was the point in fighting the inevitable? He was correct. The night was the only clothing she needed.

  “Remove it,” she rasped, surprised by her rapid breathing, the hoarseness of her voice, as though she’d screamed out his name a thousand times.

  Before she drew in her next breath, her nightdress was gone, discarded. She heard it whispering as it settled on the floor. Gathering her own courage, she tugged on his shirtsleeve. “And this.”

  His dark chuckle, chafing with desire, echoed his satisfaction. She felt the brush of the cloth over her skin as he pulled the shirt over his head and it joined her nightdress.

  It increased her pleasure to be able to touch him so, to feel the fiery silkiness of his skin beneath her fingers. She dared go no further than his waist. She knew to do so would be to invite an even greater intimacy. She was not certain she was prepared for that.

  Although she couldn’t deny that she was enjoying immensely the way her body thrummed, strained, and begged for whatever rele
ase he might offer her.

  Every nerve ending seemed so alive. Her heart pumped furiously, energy crackled around her. She could not fathom when all was said and done that she would do as he promised—sleep soundly. She suspected she’d don her clothes and go racing through the gardens.

  He cradled her breast and all thoughts of gardens skittered away. Her body reacted forcefully, curling toward him, wanting him near. She felt as though she had no say in the matter. It wanted what it wanted, and it wanted whatever he would give her.

  Tension stretched from her head to her toes. He flicked his thumb over the tightened nipple. She felt heated dew gather between her legs. His tongue replaced his thumb, swirling slowly, provocatively …

  She moaned low, a sound that she knew came from her only because she felt the vibration in her throat. He closed his mouth over her nipple, suckled … and she sighed.

  Stars danced before her eyes as though he’d opened the windows and allowed in the night sky. His hands moved over her, doing deliciously wicked things to her flesh. A bounty of sensations flooded her, and she didn’t know how she could possibly contain them all.

  She was aware of his shifting, wedging himself between her thighs. His heated breath caused moisture to form on her stomach. He licked at her, his tongue circled her navel. Dipped inside. Tickled. Not the sort to make her laugh, but the kind that made her entire body smile.

  Rapture hovered, whispered delicious promises. She wished she’d ordered him to leave candles burning so she could see him more clearly, but perhaps it was the darkness that added to the allure, that allowed her to relax enough to enjoy what he was doing to her. With light, not only would she see him, but he would see her: every blush that she was certain rolled into her face as he eased farther down.

  He blew against the soft curls that hid her womanhood. She jerked, dug her fingers into his scalp. “Stephen?”

  “Shh. Sweetheart. The best is yet to come.”

  “This is decadent.”

  “Of course it is. Did you expect anything less from me?”

  He didn’t wait for her to respond, but returned to his wicked endeavors. He lightly kissed the juncture where hip met thigh. First one side and then the other. Passion swirled through her with unrelenting heat.

  He slipped his hands beneath her bottom and lifted. “Bend your knees, sweetheart, put your heels on my back.”

  It would open her up to him more … She didn’t know if she could, if she dared—

  “Mercy, do you want me to stop?”

  Her body was strung as tight as a bow. It wanted a release she didn’t understand. It begged, yearned for more. If she said yes, he would leave her with this unquenched desire.

  “No.”

  “Then do as I ask.”

  His voice was rough, as though he suffered for what he could not have. Was it painful for him to give and not receive?

  “Do you hurt?”

  “Don’t worry about me, love. Tonight is for you.”

  Love. Did he mean it? Sweetheart. Was it a word he used with all his ladies? She wanted to ask him, but wasn’t certain she wanted the answer. What did it matter? He used them with her now.

  She did as he bade, then held her breath in anticipation. The first stroke of his tongue caused her breath to heave out in a rush. Squeezing her thighs against his shoulders, she released a low moan. Never had she felt anything quite so exquisite.

  But he was not nearly done. He continued to stroke, to suckle, to kiss, to delve deeply, to use his tongue in ways she’d not even considered a tongue could be used. The sensations mounted with each touch, each velvety caress.

  One of his hands left her bottom and reached up to toy with her breast. The sensations intensified. She squirmed and his low laughter added to the sensations, carrying her even higher.

  She’d never felt anything like this, had not known it was possible. Surely, she would expire before he was done. Perhaps that was his intent. To kill her with his attentions. She’d certainly sleep well then—for all eternity.

  Her back arched high and her hands were pressed to his head, holding him near. It was as though she no longer had control of her own body. He was the master of it, enticing it to do his bidding.

  She wanted to scream. Perhaps she should. Then everything building within her might find its release.

  She wanted to hold on to the sensations. To never let them go. Because he’d given them to her. She wanted to treasure them forever.

  She wanted to tell him to remove his trousers, to give her the freedom to touch him as he touched her.

  Desire surged through her. Passion rose to exalted heights. Pleasure erupted—

  She cried out, thrashed about as though she were captured by another nightmare.

  “Oh, God, oh, God!” Her body tightened, unfurled, and catapulted her into a realm of exquisite bliss.

  When she returned, it was to find herself gasping and Stephen hovering over her. Even though he was outlined in shadows, his satisfaction was evident.

  “Did I not give you that before?”

  Why had he asked? She would not lie to him. He hadn’t but only because they’d done nothing of this magnitude. But if he realized that he’d never made love to her, he’d realize that she’d not given birth to John. He’d have no reason to marry her, and she’d have no guarantee of remaining in John’s life.

  So she said nothing at all.

  “Shame on me,” he finally muttered, before lying down beside her and taking her in the circle of his arms, guiding her face into the nook of his shoulder. “Sleep now, Mercy. Sleep to your heart’s content. I’ll guard you against all nightmares.”

  And she believed him.

  Chapter 10

  Mercy awoke feeling both lethargic and rejuvenated. It was a confusing combination. How could she be both at the same time? But she was. She felt as though she’d slept for a century.

  Slowly, she realized that she wasn’t alone. Her head rested half on a strong, sturdy arm and half on a pillow. Her hair was being gently tucked behind one ear, over and over, the touch as light as fairies dancing over petals. One of her legs was nestled between both of his, her sole rubbing his trouser-covered calf without any thought from her prompting it. She halfway wished she’d given him leave to remove all his clothes, wished she hadn’t slipped on her nightdress.

  Warily, she lifted her eyes to find him watching her with a mixture of amusement and—dare she believe it?—yearning. Memories of the late hours of the night and all he’d done to her came rushing back with a vengeance. Heat scorched her like molten metal. Her nerve endings tingled with want.

  She’d been more decadent—he’d been more decadent—than she’d ever thought two people could possibly be. She felt a surge of guilt that all the pleasure experienced had been hers, but he’d seemed content with it. And she’d learned that she could, in fact, tolerate such intimacy. When it came from him at least.

  “Hello, there.” His voice was rough from sleep, and to her shame and relief, it sent desire sweeping through her. Shame because she wanted again what he’d delivered, relief because she wanted it again. What a conglomeration of emotions. She would not risk pregnancy without a husband.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  Lifting up slightly, he looked back at the clock on the mantel. “Looks to be half past two.”

  She could see sunlight peering through at the edges of the draperies. Stunned, she asked, “In the afternoon?”

  Grinning, he leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. “I told you I had the power to hold the nightmares at bay.”

  “I’ve never slept this long. It must have been more than twelve hours.”

  “Well, you needed it.” He started to skim his hand down her side and she latched on to his wrist to still his actions. His eyes challenged her.

  “We can’t continue—” She eased up slightly for a better view. “What happened to your eye?”

  A bruise, dark blue at the corner of his eye, that ligh
tened as it spread down to his cheek, appeared painful.

  “You struck me.” He apparently awoke in good humor, finding everything funny, as his mouth curled up.

  “What? No?” She remembered thrashing about during the throes of passion, but—

  “During your nightmare,” he continued, and once again combed her hair back as though he was fascinated with it.

  “God, I’m so sorry. It seems I’m forever apologizing to you.”

  “And Jeanette, too.”

  Groaning, she hoped Jeanette was as understanding as he. “To think you risked further injury by staying with me.”

  “It was no hardship.”

  Not for him or for her. But still it had been a deplorable bit of behavior, when she was a guest. “If your family learns of our … indiscretions … it will no doubt lower their opinion of me.”

  “With their history, I doubt it.”

  “My opinion of me is lowered. I should have had the strength to resist.”

  “You did. I wanted much more. You must have known that.”

  “And next time you may very well have it. Is that the sort of woman you want as a mother for your son?”

  “Would you want a husband who can’t remember the past two years of his life?”

  “If he is you? Yes.”

  Stephen headed to his brother’s library after dressing himself for the day. He’d been reluctant to leave Mercy. He’d been wrong, yet once again. It wasn’t her eyes, her smile, her spirit, or her body that had so enticed him. It had been her passion. He had little doubt that comforting her in Scutari had ignited it and he’d been helpless to extinguish the blaze. It had needed to run its own course. And while it appeared that running its course had been a disservice to her—he’d never placed his own pleasure before a woman’s—it had resulted in her giving birth to his child. He couldn’t deny that any longer. Or what he owed her.

  This afternoon, he’d wanted to stay in bed with her and have an opportunity to explore her passions further and discover—or rediscover—all the pleasures she had to offer. But he had other more urgent matters that required his immediate attention. Again, another first for him because always before, nothing had been more important than pleasure.