“Forget the past. Forget all those years. It’s time to start afresh.”
“I should like to, Hadrian, but I think I’m…broken somehow.”
“Nonsense. You weren’t broken last night, and you’re not now. Think of it, my darling. If there had been no war, and we had met at…oh, a ball, and danced together and fallen in love, and if we’d married in due course, and this was our wedding night, what would you do?”
“Give myself to you gladly,” she said at once.
“Without fear?”
“Anxiety, perhaps…but not much.” She would have been an appropriate bride for him, a well-bred girl with no stains on her soul. What a beautiful, impossible vision, but she wouldn’t let herself weep. “I expect I would have been joyful, most of all.”
“And you would trust me, as the one with more experience, to guide you—would you not?”
“Oh, Hadrian, of course I would,” she said, her voice trembling.
He cocked his head to one side and eyed her, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. He stood. “Wait here, my delectable worrier. I’ll be back straightaway.”
Thank God he’d taken her trembling for anxiety, rather than sorrow for all that might have been but now could never be.
He returned a few minutes later with a decanter of brandy and two goblets.
“Surely you’re not planning on getting me drunk,” Lettice said, still shakily.
“No, because then you might forget what had happened between us, and we would have to start all over again.” He poured a small amount in each goblet and passed one to her.
He raised his. “To a joyful deflowering, my love!”
She managed a tremulous smile, whispered, “Joyful,” and sipped the brandy.
“Now,” he said, “think of yourself as my new bride. We have just wed, and to the sound of the well-wishes of our friends, we have proceeded to the bedchamber.”
“But Hadrian, lovely as that sounds, it’s not real.”
“It’s as close as it possibly can be,” he said.
That was true. With her ruined reputation, she could never be his wife in truth—and he was the closest she would ever get to a husband. She loved him so very much… He might never marry, and even if he did, perhaps she could be his mistress until then.
So be it.
The instant she put her goblet down, he swept her off her feet. “Are you ticklish?”
“No!” she cried.
He laughed and tossed her onto the bed. Within seconds she was giggling and squirming under his hands.
“Liar,” he said, gathering her close and kissing her.
“Nobody has tried to tickle me for years,” she said, still laughing.
“Spies and traitors must be boring creatures.” He shucked his banyan and lay down, his head on the pillow, hands behind his head, watching her from under heavy-lidded eyes. “I wonder what you would enjoy most of all.”
She tried not to stare at his rampant cock. “We have all night to find out,” she said, a pulse beginning to beat in her nether regions.
“I know you like kissing me,” he said.
She smiled and leaned in, her lips parting automatically. He played and teased, and she teased back, nipping and licking, tongues tangling, and when Hadrian’s tongue slid into her mouth, she pushed playfully back. If this was what being a man’s mistress felt like, it wasn’t so very bad.
“Straddle me,” he said, his voice soft and low.
She opened her eyes, caught the heat in his, and desire coursed through her.
“You’re my wife now,” Hadrian teased. “Shouldn’t you obey me?”
She put one hand on either side of his torso. “Perhaps I need convincing.”
His strong hands dwelt briefly on her waist, then roamed to her hips, took hold of the nightdress and moved it up past her waist. His long fingers caressed the backs of her thighs, sending shivers of desire to her core. And she was wet, like yesterday.
Gently, he squeezed her bottom. He separated the cheeks of her bum slightly. One finger slipped into her core from behind, playing with her wetness, spreading it. His hand slid between her thighs, parting them.
Then, as before, “Straddle me,” he said.
“Is that a command?”
With one swift movement, he raised her, parting her legs with his knee, and set her astride him. “Sit on my cock,” he growled. “Nothing more—just sit on it.”
She lowered herself slowly atop him, and he groaned—a low, animal sound that sent golden thrills dancing to her core. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, curled into a faint smile.
A thrill of ecstasy ran through her. “Oh, Hadrian.” Love was so very good.
He moved his hips lazily beneath her, and his cock rubbed against her private parts, inflaming her. Her nether lips parted over the long shaft. She rocked against him, watching his face. Oh, he enjoyed this—he glowed with pleasure, and an answering happiness rose and swelled within her.
He lifted the nightdress, and she raised her arms to help him remove it. He tossed it aside and took her breasts in his hands. “My darling wife,” he whispered. “My lovely one.” The heat of his palms travelled from her nipples to her core. Her core pulsed and throbbed against his cock. She yearned to be filled.
“Now raise your hips a little.” He took hold of his cock and guided it to her opening, rubbing the head of it against the sweet spot he had played so skillfully last night. The head of his cock lodged at her core—and then stopped.
“We’ll have to take it slowly,” he said, grunting to position himself. “You’re very tight.”
Dismay swamped her. “Because I’m afraid? I wasn’t feeling afraid. But if I am, I must conquer my fear.” She gritted her teeth and braced herself. “I have to do this now.”
He gripped her hips, stopping her cold. “No, it’s because you’ve never done it before,” he said.
~ * ~
“You’re not afraid anymore,” Hadrian said. “You want this as you’ve never wanted anything in your life.” He hoped he knew what he was talking about.
Lettice certainly didn’t know what she was doing. If he’d had any doubts about her utter lack of experience, he didn’t now. She would have bent his cock permanently if he hadn’t stopped her from ramming herself down on it.
He rolled her over and settled himself between her legs. “Let me do this part,” he said. “Once you’ve opened and stretched a bit, we’ll put you back on top.”
“You like it when I’m on top?”
“I like it any way, sweetheart, but yes, I want you to ride me.” He felt her quiver with desire, and kissed her again and again, all the while playing her with his fingers. She was wet and ready. She squirmed under his hand, her hips moving now of their own volition. Good. She panted and writhed beneath him, good again, but he refused to bring her to completion with his hand—at least, not yet.
He removed his fingers, and she moaned.
He rubbed her with his cock, continuing the stimulation, and she squirmed some more. He positioned his cock at her opening and pushed. Very slightly, she gave way. Her eyes were tight shut. He kissed her again, withdrew a fraction of an inch, and pushed again.
Damnation, she was tight. Unbelievably so. He’d never deflowered a virgin before, so maybe this was usual…or maybe she was still too afraid, even if she didn’t realize it.
He gazed down at her, at her closed eyes and sweet, determined mouth. “My darling, adorable Lettice.” He kissed her and pushed again. He propped himself on one hand, played with her nub, and pushed again. He nipped her lip. She shuddered and opened a tiny bit more. He licked her ear, and she moaned. Slowly, achingly slowly, she opened to him.
After what seemed like forever, he gave one final push and buried himself to the hilt. Oh, God. Heaven. He closed his eyes for a brief, thankful second, then raised his head.
Tears welled from her closed eyes.
~ * ~
Oh, how she loved him—but she must
n’t say so. For him to say that she loved him was one thing—for her to agree was another entirely. She was his mistress, nothing more, and with that she would be content.
“Lettice?” said Hadrian. “I’m sorry, darling. I’ll pull out.”
“No, don’t!” She clamped her legs around him to keep him where he belonged. “Oh, please, please stay.” She took his face between her hands and kissed him.
“You’re sure?” His voice shook.
“Oh, yes.” She wriggled beneath him, trying to get closer, if that were possible. To feel every inch of his skin on hers. “Oh, yes.”
“Thank God for that,” Hadrian said, panting. “It would have killed me to stop now.” With a thumb, he wiped the tears from her eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, yes. Oh, Hadrian.” Her voice caught on a tiny sob. “I’m so glad I waited for you.”
“Me, too. Hold tight. We’re going to turn.” He rolled them both over, still joined, and once again she was on top. His cock almost slipped out–but not quite. Slowly, he filled her with his shaft once again.
Lazily, he began to move beneath her. She braced herself on her hands and moved in time with his thrusts, savoring every nuance of pleasure on his beloved face. His movements quickened, his pleasure feeding hers, his hands hot on her breasts and bottom, until she gave up and flew to pieces, pulsing as he shuddered inside her.
She lay atop him, utterly sated, as the pulsing gradually slowed. “That was…astonishing.” She truly had missed something wonderful all those years—and yet, not really, because there was only one man for her, and that man was Hadrian Oakenhurst.
“I love you,” Hadrian said, kissing her hard. It was sweet of him to say so, but she knew he didn’t really mean it, or at least not in any permanent way. He was just a man who’d had a good time in bed. She sighed, content regardless, and slid down beside him, tucking her head on his shoulder.
After a minute, she said, “How soon can we do it again?” For those little flames of desire were curling up in her belly again.
He chuckled. “We need some sleep if we’re to get to the church bright and early.”
“Church?” she murmured. “It’s not Sunday.”
“For our wedding, of course.” He rolled to his side and grinned triumphantly down at her. “Didn’t you guess? I went to London for a special license. We shall be married tomorrow.”
Her mind reeled. Her heart began to thud. “No. No, Hadrian.” He couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t really mean to wed her. She pushed away from him.
His smile faded. “Why not, sweetheart?” He followed, reaching for her.
She put up her hands to fend him off and slid off the bed. “Don’t be foolish! We’re not really engaged to marry.”
“I was under the impression that we were,” he said, his eyes grave, his lips tight. He dropped his hand.
“No, it’s a pretense so I can stay a few more days.” She grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around herself, but it didn’t stop her from shaking. “You told your mother that so I could stay.”
“Yes, that’s why I told only my mother.” He stood. “If you hadn’t been obliged to stay, I would have informed both my parents and taken you away to London to marry there.” He paused, naked and yet stern. “Except that it seems there is no engagement.”
“How can there be? As I told you, the very idea of our marriage is absurd. Your mother is trying hard to be kind to me, but I can tell she’s unhappy. She has been sad and preoccupied all day.”
“That has nothing to do with us. It’s because she is thinking of leaving my father.”
“Leaving him?” That was unthinkable. “Why?”
“Because of his attempts to further ruin you. He confessed it all to her this morning, and she isn’t speaking to him, as you may have noticed.”
Lettice nodded, although she’d been too absorbed in her own troubles to notice anything. “Yes, but surely she won’t just—just leave him because of me.”
“Lettice, he went beyond what she could tolerate. He not only intended to destroy what was left of your reputation, but he had the gall to try to use her as a witness.”
“Oh,” Lettice said. “When he brought her to my room last night.”
“She is heartbroken at the thought of leaving, but his conniving was the last straw—for me as well. I had already decided to leave Staves—if you recall, I offered to drive you to London–but when you had to stay, I remained to protect you.”
“I thought–” It didn’t matter that she’d thought.
“And then I fell in love with you,” he said. How could he stand there, completely nude and yet so dignified? “I wouldn’t have told my mother that I intended to marry you if I didn’t mean it. I thought you understood.”
She shook her head.
“I told her you are the woman I want to make my wife, and she gave me her blessing.”
So Lady Staves really meant what she’d said about love, and it being as simple as that. A glorious vision of marriage to Hadrian swept over Lettice. This was what she had always longed for…
Joy rushed like a river into her heart, but she forced herself to dam it up. “Hadrian, my reputation is unacceptable. I could not bear to bring you down to my level.”
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I thought perhaps you had fallen in love with me, too.”
“Of course I have. How could I not? But Hadrian, you’re infatuated. That’s all it is.”
“No,” Hadrian said. “I’ve been infatuated before. This is entirely different.” He frowned. “Is the money aspect worrying you? I’m not completely dependent upon my father, you know. I received a small annuity from a maternal uncle. We should be able to get by, and if we feel purse-pinched, I shall find work as a secretary to some government official or other—perhaps someone my father particularly dislikes.”
She couldn’t even drum up a snicker. Yearning tugged at her. She twisted her hands together, torn between love and commonsense.
Commonsense must prevail. “Be reasonable, Hadrian. Think of the scandal.”
“I am thinking of it. What better punishment for my father? He’ll be mortified, and I have a strong feeling he’ll be forced to support our marriage, which will upset him even more.”
“Why would he support it?”
“Because whoever forced him to invite you here will give him no choice. But let’s not talk about my father. What matters is that I love you and you love me.”
“Yes, but it’s not that simple. I don’t care about your father’s feelings, but what about yours? You’ll be mocked in the broadsheets for weeks. My dreadful reputation…”
“Will be repaired, in due time, by my pristine one,” he said.
“Perhaps,” she said, still unsure. “You’re too good for me.”
“Dear heart,” he said, “if you want me to go raking about for a while to prove that I’m as bad as the next man, I shall.”
She bit her lip. “This is serious! Don’t try to make me laugh.”
“But before I tarnish my own reputation unnecessarily, think a little about what your mistress, or whatever you call her, said. Why would she want you to restore your reputation, if not so you could marry?”
“She knows I would like to marry, but sending me here had nothing to do with you. She merely said association with the Oakenhursts would… would…” Oh, God. No, impossible. The mistress couldn’t have known what would happen…but hope and relief surged into Lettice’s heart nevertheless.
“Precisely,” Hadrian said. “And marriage is the closest possible association.” The tenderness of his smile turned her heart over. “I realize now that I was most remiss. I assumed you understood, but I didn’t ask you properly before.” He knelt before her. “Beloved Lettice, my heart is yours. Will you marry me?”
She placed her hands in his. “Yes, Hadrian,” she said at last. “Yes, I will.”
Back in bed, she cuddled up against him, and soon he slept. She dozed a little, but she was
far too excited to sleep. Against all expectation, her girlhood dreams had at last come true.
Speaking of dreams…
She sat up, opened the bed curtains, and lit a candle so she could gaze upon her husband-to-be. She pulled back the coverlet to drink her fill of his male beauty, recalling the sensations of skin against skin, of his hard cock inside her, of…
Oh, to hell with getting enough sleep. She’d been born with the ability to arouse through dreams. What was the point of such a gift if she didn’t use it?
She closed her eyes and concentrated, growing the desire within her. She fed it with the fuel of love, felt it curl and sizzle and flare, hot and perfect. She exulted in her power, let it fly, and woke her beloved with a dream.
~ * ~
I hope you enjoyed The Reluctant Seductress. The sequel will be published in late 2016 in the anthology A Very Wicked Christmas Anthology. In it, Sir Colwyn North will get his comeuppance for a life of wickedness—but in a good way.
In the meantime, if you like a little magic (or maybe a lot) with your history, why not try Lady of the Flames? (It’s part of a loosely connected multi-author series, but it was written to work as a standalone as well.)
About Barbara Monajem
Winner of the Holt Medallion, Maggie, Daphne du Maurier, Reviewer’s Choice and Epic awards, Barbara Monajem wrote her first story at eight years old about apple tree gnomes. She published a middle-grade fantasy when her children were young, then moved on to paranormal mysteries and Regency romances with intrepid heroines and long-suffering heroes (or vice versa).
Barbara loves to cook, especially soups, and is an avid reader. There are only two items on her bucket list: to make asparagus pudding (because it’s too weird to resist) and succeed at knitting socks. She’ll manage the first but doubts she’ll ever accomplish the second. This is not a bid for immortality but merely the dismal truth. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia with an ever-shifting population of relatives, friends, and feline strays.
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