"I could be your mother," she finally protested, although that wasn't the truth.
He chuckled and nibbled at her ear, sending a delicious shiver racing down her spine. "I don't think of you as my mam." He paused and looked into her eyes again. "Not in a single way."
She swallowed audibly. "Well, then. That's good, I suppose." She frowned. Why had she uttered those inviting words?
It's very good." He rubbed his nose against hers. "Are you warm enough, now?"
She pushed ineffectively at him. "Yes, quite, so now you can – you can get off me. It's late and time I made my way back to the manor." She heard herself stumbling for words, the confusion and conflict in her voice
"Oh, I don't think so. I'm not quite finished with you." He pulled one corner of the blanket aside and insinuated his hand beneath it. She felt the gentle caress of his fingers against her hip.
"Oh, don't – you can't – you shouldn't – "
"I will. I can. I should," he replied. He placed his wide palm on top of her clothing directly over the mound between her thighs. How had he found the exact spot so unerringly? The warmth immediately suffused her body, the pressure and weight almost medicinal.
"You still suffer from your cramps, do you not?"
She nodded, never taking her eyes from him as his hands and fingers cupped her through the layers of her clothing. He increased the pressure and somehow the comfort ratcheted upward to pleasure.
"Oh," she heard herself say softly as from a distance. "Oh, my."
"Indeed," he replied and stroked her firmly beneath the blanket, through her clothing, under the pale afternoon sun.
Chapter 7
The first thing Chastity did when she returned to the manor was order a very full, very warm bath filled with her most pleasant scent. Marianne looked askance at her when she returned from the gardens and sent George to bring back the items she'd left there, but said nothing.
Asking the maid not to disturb her for at least half an hour, Chastity lay back in the bath, relaxed gradually under the fragrant and steamy water. Her hair was piled on the top of her head and she felt tendrils dampen and stick to her forehead and the back of her neck.
She felt wonderful.
In fact, she felt considerably better after having left Thomas. Her cramps were nearly gone. What magic had he woven merely with the weight of his body on hers – the heat and the heaviness of it.
She soaped up, enjoyed the slippery slide of her fingers over her hot flesh, the curves and contours of her body. She knew she was a beautiful woman, even at her age. Why, then, had she allowed marriage to Charring diminish her opinion of herself? One afternoon with Thomas had restored her respect.
One dangerous afternoon with Thomas, she reminded herself with a tiny shake of her head. She must not be foolish in this exploratory dalliance. She was a lady, he a stable master. Moreover, she was married, and he a young – not so very young, her wicked imagination contradicted – unschooled and untitled man.
Oddly enough, Thomas did not sound unschooled or untitled. With her he spoke and behaved as a gentleman. Some of the time, she reminded herself.
Underneath his rough exterior he often seemed like a gentleman to her.
She slid her fingers lower and thought of Thomas – his broad shoulders, the rough scrape of his beard on her cheek, the tickle of his breath at her ear. Her other hand grazed her nipple. She felt ... swollen, both inside and out and an overwhelming desire to be filled.
"Surely the water's cold by now, m'lady?" Marianne entered hurriedly with a large towel to dry her off.
Chastity stepped from the bath as the maid stirred up the fire and added another log to the fire. Marianne returned with her clean night clothes and helped her address her womanly needs.
"Are you feeling better today, m'lady?"
Chastity smiled at the young girl. Her maid had been with her since she'd wed the Baron. She was fresh-faced and eager to please, a congenial young woman, but Chastity sometimes wished for an older woman in whom she could confide. Surely she knew much more of life's vagaries and vicissitudes than the twenty-year-old ladies maid.
"I'll bring you another warm cloth, if you wish, m'lady," Marianne offered.
"No, thank you. I'm quite sleepy now." She yawned hugely and crawled into bed.
Her dreams were wildly erotic.
Each new scenario placed her and Thomas in the gardens engaged in more and more compromising situations. She tossed restlessly, fighting to gain consciousness, but falling back under the spell of each new scene, each new conversation, each new arrangement of their bodies on the thick blankets covering the grass.
She awoke with a gasp, her heart thundering in her chest, her skin clammy. Between her thighs, a thick pulsation throbbed. She grabbed herself there until it ceased.
The sheen of guilt lay heavy on her conscience as feeling subsided and she lay back down. Even though, she told herself, she had in actuality done nothing wrong.
She almost believed her own admonitions.
She reached for a glass of water at the same moment she hear a click at her chamber door. Marianne slept in the adjoining maid's room, the door slightly ajar so she could hear if her mistress needed her. Was the girl wandering about?
Another click and then a slow swing of her bedroom door opening widely and a dark shadow emerging cautiously. She held her breath. The shadow took substance, and she knew from the shape and breadth of it that it was not her husband.
What audacity had made Thomas creep into her bed chamber? Was he mad?
She sat upright, alerting him that she was awake. In the dim light from the moon shining through the window, she saw him raise a hand and place a finger over his lips, although he spoke not a word. She watched him move easily and quietly for such a large man over to the door leading to Marianne's room. Chastity heard the quiet snore of the girl who was clearly fast asleep. He closed the door and placed the wooden chair from the corner beneath the latch.
Clearly Thomas had a great deal of practice sneaking into ladies' bedchambers and assuring his presence would not easily be found out! Probably scores of women had watched him engage in the same activity. Her cheeks flushed hotly.
She would not be one of his many ... amours.
"M'lady?" he whispered as he walked closer to the large canopied bed. "Lady Chastity?" She realized he could not see that clearly in the dark and wondered briefly how he'd manage to determine where her chamber was located, how he'd gained ingress with all the footmen and servants about.
"What in heaven's name are you doing here, Thomas?" she asked more loudly than she'd intended.
"Shh," he admonished. "You don't want to be wakin' pretty Marianne."
She heard the Irish lilt return to his voice, a disguise she now realized, that he used when he didn't want anyone to understand what lay beneath the façade of the stable master.
"I've come to see if you're feeling better." He sat easily on the edge of the bed, impudent man! "And if I could help ... ease your discomfort a bit more."
"You must be insane," she protested. "If someone found you here, if Marianne should waken, if – "
"Shh, m'lady," he whispered again. "If wishes were fishes and all that."
And he touched his mouth lightly to hers, the velvet touch of it warm and tender and infinitely comforting.
After a long moment she pulled away. "You should not be here. It's too dangerous."
"Perhaps the danger of it makes the getting of it all the more enticing," he muttered as he kissed her again, this time more demanding, more insistent.
She could not breathe, could not halt the wild battering of her heart inside her chest. She could do nothing but wrap her arms around his neck and pull him toward her on the silken sheets.
Chapter 8
Suddenly Chastity jerked back, jumped from the bed, pulled the covers against her chest. "I don't want this. I don't want you here." She nodded vaguely toward the door. "You must go."
Thomas walked arou
nd the bed posts, his eyes drilling her with such intensity that the trembling increased in her knees until she felt she'd fall to the carpet without support. She reached blindly for the bed post. She and Thomas stood mere feet apart, staring with grim determination at one another like opponents on a battlefield.
"If you truly want me to leave," Thomas began trilling the r's in his words with a soft Irish lilt, "if you truly don't want me here –in your private bed chamber with the maid mere feet away from us – " He grinned broadly. "Then I'll go."
He inched closer. "But I don't think that's what you want, m'lady – Chastity – " He amended with a wry smile. "I dinna think that's what you want at all."
She couldn't think, couldn't scream. She couldn't do any one of the half dozen things that would bring a bevy of servants to her aid.
"I think you need a bit of persuasion," Thomas said reflectively. He pulled the braces off his shoulders, slowly, deliberately, one at a time. They dangled at his sides like the tails of lost kites. "A bit of ... enticement, as it were."
He unbuttoned the few buttons at his neck and drew the worn cotton shirt over his head. It dropped carelessly to the floor. He wore an undershirt that covered almost nothing of his broad chest, browned by the sun. Dark hair curled up from beneath the neck to the sturdy column of his throat. She saw now that dark hair covered his forearms and underarms.
Charring was nearly hairless, she remembered irrelevantly, and she found the ... foliage of Thomas' body almost erotic.
He crossed his arms across his chest and took a combative stance. "Shall I continue?" He used the gentleman's voice, now. "Shall I remove further garments, my lady, or have you seen quite enough?"
He certainly didn't sound like a callow youth, she thought churlishly.
He nodded. "I'll take silence for assent."
Tantalizingly, he opened each button of his trousers, slowly wriggled his hips, and allowed them to fall to his feet. Chastity noticed his feet were unshod. He must have removed his shoes before he entered the room.
She narrowed her eyes and stared hard at his stocking feet. "What a clever sneak you are, Thomas." The words gave her courage. She released the bed post and allowed the covers to fall from her clenched fist. She was covered with her nightgown of fine lawn, but she felt her nipples tightened and push against the bodice of the transparent material.
"Yes," he murmured, and she heard a rough hitch to his voice that was not there before. "I'm a terrible sneak." He hooked his thumbs beneath his undershirt. "And a terrible profligate." He pulled the garment over his head and discarded it. "And a terribly persistent seducer."
The beauty of his body took her breath away. She inhaled the look of him, the span of shoulders, the muscled arms, the tight ribcage. He looked like a Michelangelo statue cast in bronze. Smooth, but rough. Satiny, but rippled.
"Do you like what you see?" His voice was soft, taunting. "Would you like more?"
The word erupted unbidden from her lax mouth. "Yes."
He slipped his fingers beneath his drawers and pulled them slowly down, down. First the flat, smooth abdomen, then the narrow furrow of hair that trailed from navel to – yes, to there – the thick patch of hair surrounding him. That part of him, that so very male part of him sprang forth like a rhinoceros ready to impale its prey.
She gasped aloud. She'd never seen Charring's anatomy – not thighs nor chest nor – she allowed herself to think the word: penis.
"It's no so verra frightening, is it, m'lady?"
"It – it's a bit – overwhelming."
Thomas frowned. "But you've lain with your husband. Surely ... " He let the question trail off while she fumbled for an answer, her heart thundering like a herd of wild horses.
She straightened her spine. "I'm not a virgin if that is what you imply, Thomas," she said sternly. "I am, after all, a married woman – of some age, I might add." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "You might want to reconsider your plan of – of seducing a woman of my years. You – you might find me – wanting."
"Ah, no, m'lady." Thomas stepped closer. "You're like a wine fine that grows richer with the passing years."
She nearly snorted. "Flattery, Thomas? How droll of you."
"'Tisn't flattery if it's the truth, m'lady – Chastity," he added on a whisper as his hand reached out to tuck a wayward tendril of hair behind her ear.
She quivered.
"I've bed many women. Ay, I won't lie about that." He took another step closer and then another until she felt his breath on her face, wanted to close her eyes, but didn't dare.
"But I've always preferred the ... more seasoned ladies." He sounded as though he were choosing his words with care.
"And why is that?"
He lifted one brawny shoulder in a Gallic gesture and made her think very much of knights and ladies and deeds of daring. "They likely know what they're doing," he finally replied. "And they don't weep overmuch."
"Weep? Weep? You choose a bedmate because she doesn't cry?"
He smiled toothily and she felt like a mouse caught in a trap. "Well, perhaps she might weep from joy, but not from regret."
"You have a high opinion of yourself."
Thomas took another step closer and now she felt his chest against her breasts, the firm jutting of him again her belly. Delicious, distracting shivers ran down her spine, and the intimate place between her legs seemed to gush with wetness.
She pulled her dignity around her like a cloak. "Is that why you chose me?" she whispered after a moment. "Because I – I'm seasoned?"
He took a step backward and she immediately felt the loss of his warmth, his large hot body. He looked away quickly, but not before she saw a wave of what might've been regret pass over his features.
"No, no." He sighed deeply and looked back at her. "I fear I'm going to very much regret this liaison with you, my lady. Married you may be, but I'd wager a great deal that you are not very experienced."
Chapter 9
Thomas stepped toward Chastity, ran his hands from her shoulders to her wrists. "Tell me to go and I will."
"Go." She bit her bottom lip. "Don't – don't go."
"There'll be no regrets later?"
"Stay."
Never taking his eyes from her face, Thomas thumbed open the buttons of her gown until he reached her hips. He spread the fabric apart to feast his eyes upon her breasts. They were full and firm with small pink nipples and no stretch marks. She looked as fresh as a young virgin.
He cupped one breast, teased the nipple with his thumb and watched her close those violently blue eyes. "You like that."
She moaned.
His tongue followed his thumb as he licked her nipple, gently at first then rougher.
She groaned.
Using his teeth, he nipped at her, then took as much of the luscious breast into his mouth as he could and sucked – slow and sensually, then harder with each draw. She panted, moaned, writhed as his hands held her hips firmly against his cock. He came up for air. "You like that?"
"Yes, oh yes."
"More?"
"Harder." She urged his head downward, clutched her fingers tightly in his hair, and threw back her long, white throat.
And Thomas set about the challenge of making Lady Chastity come from his very thorough assault on her breasts. And such splendid breasts they were, he felt he might release himself prematurely, right here, right now on her very lovely belly.
"Talk to me," he encouraged, "as he laved her, teased her, worshipped her with his lips, mouth, and tongue. "Tell me what it feels like, what you want."
"I – I can't," she panted, her breath growing more labored by the second.
"Tell me," he demanded, nipping a bit harder at her nipple.
"Oh, God, yes. It's – heavenly. Intense. More, I want more. Harder, much, much harder."
He continued his work for long moments while she writhed against him, ground her hips into his loins, seeking for his cock, he knew. Christ, he wanted nothing more than t
o take her, pound himself into her until she screamed with mad pleasure.
But he held himself back. This first time was for her. Thomas wanted to blot out the memory of any other sexual experience she'd had. When she climaxed he wanted her to think of no one but himself.
"I'm going to make you come hard and fast without even touching your cunny," he whispered in her ear. "Come for me now."
He set to work with his tongue plucking one nipple, his thumb lightly squeezing the other, and the long fingers of his other hand dipping into the cleft of her buttocks as she undulated against his very sensitive dick.
He felt her body tense, knew the sensations were gathering, the painful pleasure ready to rip her apart. "Yes, it's there, almost there," he whispered against her nipple. "Reach the peak, my darling."
With his last hard tug on her, he felt her fly apart, felt the seismic pulsing of her cunt against his hip as the orgasm ripped through her. He moved his mouth to hers and plundered her with his teeth and tongue as her climax gripped her for long moments.
When she collapsed against him, sweat beading on her brow and between her breasts, he knew instinctively it was the first time she'd been brought to the brink of sexual destruction.
#
Chastity felt boneless. As if she'd melted into a quivering mass of muscles without any structure to hold her body together. She'd simply, she thought – shattered.
Without a word, Thomas lifted her, carried her to the bed and lay her down on the cool sheets. He slipped the gown down her hips. She lifted them and shimmied it to her feet. Then he simply stared at her, his eyes following the lines of her damp body from feet to breasts.
"Christ, you make me horny." He bent to remove his stockings. "You're so – juicy, so fuckable."
He sat on the edge of the bed, traced his forefinger down the cleavage between her breast, circled to her navel, and continued to the curly hair of her mound. His dick jutted against his lower belly, still thick and powerful.
"More?" he asked as he pierced her with eyes that glittered with anticipation. "Shall we go again?" He glanced down at his stiff manhood. "As you can see, I've not nearly finished."
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