Was his chest hairy also? She undid the button at the shirt opening and slid her hand under the white fabric, over his shoulders, halfway afraid that he would find her too bold.
Instead, it seemed to inflame him more. He bent his head to her breast, suckling her through the thin chemise, making her wet there, also. The heat, the wet—steam should be rising around them. She wanted to be closer, needed to be closer.
She hitched herself up and the movement made him gasp.
All of her froze. “My lord?”
He rested his head on her breast. His dark locks tickled her nose and she could feel his silent chuckle. And then there was the scent of him, the same manly smell that had permeated the robe he’d put around her.
“My lord?”
He lifted his head, propping his chin on her breast the way her best hound used to do. Only the dog’s look had been imploring. This look was wicked.
She let out a breath. “You’re fine, I see.”
“And you, my lady?”
His grin stirred something in her, though she couldn’t name what it was. She wanted more. She wanted something.
She wanted to see him. That was it.
Let him be shocked. She was no fine lady, and anyway, he was stuck with her.
She tugged at his shirttails. “Take this off.”
“Yes, my lady.” He put his hands up and leaned back while she pulled and yanked until the long tail of his shirt came out and she whipped it over his head.
“The cuffs,” he said, his voice muffled by fabric.
She tried finding the fastenings, and in utter frustration, ripped the fabric apart, pulled it the rest of the way off him and threw it aside.
Her breath hitched. He was not some soft lord. Muscles rippled from wide shoulders to a tapered flat waist, and in fact, he was hairy. She touched the dark hair, tracing it down the center of him to the top of his fall.
She dare not go further.
“What now, my lady?” he asked, the gleam in his eye belying the ease of his question.
“You’ve trousers left, and, and probably smalls and stockings. And boots.” She jumped off him and knelt. Her chemise was plastered to her breasts but she didn’t care. If she was to be practically naked, let him be the first to shed everything. His boots must come first. She grabbed one, twisting and pulling. “You’ve a fine bootmaker also.”
She fell back with the first boot and caught herself on the floor, her skirt riding up, making her gasp. “My stockings are gone.”
He sent her that lazy smile again. “Yes. I removed them while you were busy kissing me.”
A furious heat overtook her. She grabbed his other boot and yanked hard. “Am I being too forward, sir?”
“It’s not possible for you to be too forward with me.”
This boot came off more easily, and she went to work on his stockings, eyeing that bulge again sideways.
Curiosity had always bedeviled her. She’d seen men’s parts, when they didn’t know she was looking, but never a hard member.
If it were not possible for her to be too forward...
“Stand now, sir, and let’s have the trousers off.”
His steady gaze locked into hers sending heated shivers through her, as though her skin would melt away, leaving her bare to the bones for eyes that saw deeply, and everything.
“You wish to see me.” He stood, still watching her, and went to work unfastening his fall. “And I wish to see you. But we shall grant your wishes first.” His fall came undone and he pushed the fabric to his hips and stopped. “Will you promise to remove your chemise?”
Her eyes must be popping with sympathy for that great hidden beast he had straining to spring out.
Heavens. Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps she should blow out the lights, get into bed and ruck up her skirts. Even if she couldn’t see, this great well of feeling in her would still carry on, and she’d not see the beastly thing enter her. She’d not fear the pain so much, and thus it would hurt less. She’d not squeal like a mare being mounted.
Before she could stop him, Bakeley had her in his arms. “Close your eyes, Sirena.”
“Why?” She breathed the word into his shoulder.
“So I may strip off my trousers.”
“You could blow out the lamp.”
“But then I would not see you.”
He meant to see her naked, but for her to not see him. She pushed away and propped her hands on her hips. “I’ll not close them.”
His lips twisted in a grin, and as he stripped, his member sprang out at her.
God’s bones, how was she to manage that?
He scooped her up and carried her to the bed, flopping her down none too gently and crawling up to kneel next to her. She could not take her eyes off him, even as he stretched out next to her and propped his head upon his hand.
He trailed a finger across her breasts, sending ripples through her. “Has anyone explained to you how this works?”
“Of course I know how it works. I grew up in the country. I’ve seen horses, cows, dogs, chickens—”
“Humans are a bit different.”
“Yes, of course.” She had no idea what he was talking about.
“Do you know how we’re different?” His hand had made its way down to her belly, where he was swirling circles. Another river of heat rushed through her privates.
She sighed. “We’re in a bed lying down.”
His fingers inched further down and touched the pleasure spot, the one she was not supposed to touch but sometimes did. “Yes, we’ll do this lying down tonight.”
He’d moved a bit further, pulling the thin muslin tight. Pleasure permeated the thin barrier and shot through her.
“This is so wicked,” she said.
“No. Nothing is wicked that brings pleasure between husband and wife.” He insinuated a hand between her legs, his fingertips exploring the entrance to her womb, still through the fabric barrier. He hooked his other arm beneath her head and dropped tickling kisses on her neck. “You are so wet,” he said.
“I’m sorry—”
His firm kiss stopped her talking, and it was just as well for the way his palm pressed against her pleasure spot, and his fingers found her entrance, and lips and tongue worked over her, she couldn’t think. Sorry she was if the wetness annoyed him, but surely it was his fault. Or—perhaps he didn’t mind it.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.
She didn’t feel her skirts come up, didn’t realize he had raised them until she felt something enter her. She swept a hand over him, down his arm. He still lay facing her, his member rubbing hard against her side.
“That’s my finger,” he said against her ear. “Am I hurting you?”
His palm flattened and pleasure sparked through her. “No."
His fingers started a rhythm, and her hips danced along with them, completely out of her control, pushing, pushing against an ache that wasn’t human, only animal. She’d seen this with stallions but never the mares.
“Yes, love.” He kissed her cheek. “That’s it.” His tongue found her ear. “Come, Sirena. Come, my love.”
She turned to him, gripped his neck, and writhed against him. It was…there was… something…and something and…
Pleasure exploded in her, sweeping through her. She keened with the feel of it and held herself against him while it settled.
“That’s my girl,” he grunted, and pushed her legs apart.
He was going to enter her. She braced her feet and grabbed a fistful of the sheets.
“Don’t be afraid.”
“It hurts, they say.”
“It will hurt less now that you’ve had pleasure.”
His words were as taut as the sinews of his neck and the frown of his face. He needed release, and now she understood what that meant.
Her heart did a flip and she bit her lip. He’d taken the time to show her. She could be generous. She could be brave.
The ti
p of him entered her, gently pulled away and went in again more deeply. There was no pain yet, only tightness and more pleasure. She squeezed her eyes shut.
He pushed again and she felt a twinge.
“Sorry, love.”
Another push and pain pricked her, making her gasp.
“Just once more.” He thrust again and stopped inside her, his tight breath rasping beside her ear.
“’Twas not so bad,” she whispered.
He lifted his head and looked at her, braced on his elbows, jaw hard, muscles quivering. Below they were tight, locked, with him buried completely. Two were becoming one.
She was reminded of the hounds when they were breeding. “Are we stuck?” she joked.
He blinked and then a glittery grin lit his face, and she understood. He was being gentlemanly.
Pleasure sparked in her again, making her giddy. “’Twas no more than a pinch, Bakeley. You may proceed.”
He reached back for her foot. “Will you put your legs around me?”
She locked her feet upon his back and squeezed her inner muscles, surprised at the pleasure that rippled inside her.
“You clever girl.” He pulled away and thrust back in and, oh...
It was happening again, joy coming with each thrust, driving that aching need, building it up inside her until the frantic fire consumed them both. She exploded, and then he must have reached his own release, because she felt him pulsing inside the very heart of her.
He propped himself above her again, kissed her soundly, and rolled onto his back.
She hugged the arm he’d hooked around her. “Well. That was very enjoyable.”
His soft chuckle tickled her ear. “Are you sore?”
She tightened her inner muscles again and felt a new twinge of desire, and a tiny bit of soreness. “I’m fine. When will we be doing this again?”
He opened his eyes. He wasn’t smiling now, but the way his hand moved at her waist, she did not think he was feeling irritation. “Very soon.”
That flicker of pleasure within her jumped a little higher. He still watched her through heavy lidded eyes, but as she gazed at him, she saw them slipping lower.
He was completely spent. Getting her to the altar had been his driving purpose for the last two days. And the devil of it was it hadn’t even been necessary to hide from Shaldon, who seemed to be happy they were married.
As her new spouse sank into sleep, she watched him and wondered if he would regret this hasty marriage. Tonight he didn’t, of course. He’d been plenty satisfied, and satisfied that she was satisfied. In the long run, though, would coupling with an unworthy Irish lady be enough for him?
When his soft snore smoothed into a steady rhythm, she eased herself out from under his arm. The lamp still burned, as did the fire, yet it was chilly in this seldom used home. She covered him and found his robe, pulling it and all its manly scent around her, and settling herself before the fire.
Shaldon was looking for Donegal, the man the boys had been taking her to meet. But the boys were Shaldon’s lackeys. So perhaps the men who attacked them on the dock were Donegal’s lackeys. And why would Shaldon think Donegal would have aught to do with her now that she was his daughter-in-law?
And he wanted her to call him Father. It defied all sense. It made her head hurt.
Her stomach grumbled so loudly she thought Bakeley might awaken. She filled a plate and began to eat, going through all the facts again.
“You did say we would do this very soon,” Sirena said the next morning.
Bakeley propped himself on his elbow and watched a dark beauty spot on her breast move with her breathing. He’d managed to get her fully naked this morning.
“Bakeley. James. Are you listening?”
He touched a finger to the spot and she inhaled sharply.
He’d won the marital sweepstakes. Her passion was worth any sized dowry.
“Yes. Did I say that?”
“Last night. I asked you when we would do this again and you said very soon, but I’d no idea I’d wake up to you prodding me with that great beast of yours.” She smiled while she teased him. “We’ll do this every morning then?”
Her breasts seemed to swell under his palm. “That would be quite acceptable.”
“Shall we share a bedchamber? My parents didn’t. Did yours?”
He sighed at the mention of Shaldon. “Most of the time my father was gone.”
She pondered that. “You saw him on holidays?”
“He was gone, Sirena, for years. We went years without seeing him. He came home for good a few years ago.”
She pushed his hand away and sat up. “And now he wants to know his sons.”
“Yes.”
“And to manage them.”
“That also.”
She bent her knees and tucked her arms around them, letting her breasts rest on her legs, no longer shy, it seemed. “Are we to live at Shaldon House, then?”
He couldn’t help groaning. They were on to business already.
“Do you want to?”
She pinched at a clump of the sheet where the tiniest spots of blood were drying to brown. In an older time, they’d be hanging that sheet out of the window, as the proof that his bride had been innocent, and that any subsequent issue would be his.
“I don’t know what to think. I’m not afraid to work. I know even here I’ll have the responsibility of this house, won’t I? I don’t want to interfere in Perry’s domain, yet I’d be happy to help her and learn from her until such time as you become Shaldon.” She lay back and turned on her side, propping herself up and mirroring his posture. “I want some freedom to come and go. I don’t want to feel I’m in a prison. At home, the last few years, I helped a great deal with the horse breeding. Keeping the records, yes, but also helping with the exercise and training. Even the grooming at times. I’m not afraid of hard work.”
His heart filled with the memory of her dressed in her sagging trousers.
She’d not be grooming horses at any of their properties.
“We’ve a proper mews at Shaldon House. And I’ve brought up a sweet gelding that Perry doesn’t ride often enough.”
She kissed his nose. “Not that wild one you were riding the other morning?”
“No.”
“May I see him?”
"Yes.” She might see him, but he wouldn’t allow her to ride him. Which might be a tetchy subject.
“And perhaps,” he said quickly, “you should have a tour of the house. There’s a lovely chamber near mine. And then you may decide.”
She flipped onto her back. “We’d have separate rooms there.” The idea seemed to displease her.
“Only when you’re out of temper with me.”
She turned her head and her eyes were thoughtful. “What does he mean to do with me, do you think? How does he plan to find this Donegal?”
Ah, Donegal. She’d dodged the bait to tease him back, and now they were on to the next business. “What do you know about him?”
“I asked the O’Brians to find out anything they could about the survivors of the ship my brother left on, and they said Donegal would have information.” She frowned. “If they worked for your father, he fed them that information.”
“It’s possible.”
“But, no, Walter said he spoke to the man. I don’t think he would lie about that.”
“Did he describe him?”
“Yes. A big man with sandy hair and a rough beard, very hard, from a lifetime at sea, and cagey, Walter said, about my brother. He said he’d talk to me for a price.”
“And how would this man have information?” he mused. “He was on the ship himself, or he rescued the survivors, or—”
“Or he shared a grog with someone who’d heard the story and told the tale.” She sighed. “It does seem a stretch, and rather foolhardy.”
He pulled her close. “Don’t lose hope. You’re married to a wealthy man with good connections for uncovering secrets and solving my
steries.”
Her gentle kiss surprised him. She pulled away, rubbed her palm along his cheek, and smiled.
God, but she roused him. He rolled her over and began to kiss her thoroughly.
A loud rapping at the door resounded.
“Bakeley.” A male voice boomed, not Windle’s. “Bakeley, it’s urgent. Do tell me you’ve heard me so I don't have to burst in on you.”
Damnation. “Wait,” he shouted.
Sirena, in all of her lovely nakedness, jumped out of bed with him.
“That’s my brother, Charley.” He threw her his banyan, but she tossed it back and ran to a trunk on the floor, rummaging through it and pulling on her own robe.
He waited for her to knot the tie and then opened the door a crack.
Charley’s hair stood out in wild patches and his neck cloth was so poorly tied it had come undone.
“Bink has been attacked on the road to Little Norwick.”
“What happened?” Sirena hovered near his shoulder.
Charley averted his eyes. As well he should.
“Father says—er, asks, that you come quickly.”
“Is he injured?” Sirena asked.
“Only minor injuries, the message said.”
“And the men with him?” Bakeley asked, because he knew she wondered.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll be along directly. Have them saddle my horse.”
“I’ve a carriage waiting.”
“Fine.” He shut the door.
Sirena was already at her chest, pulling out clothes. “I’m coming with you.”
He began to dress. There was no point to arguing. If he had to leave and go north, she would be safer with his father and his sister.
Chapter 16
Later that day, Sirena crossed the threshold into the most magnificent bedchamber she’d ever seen.
“This will be yours.” Perry linked arms with her. “It’s a bit outdated, not having been redecorated since the last century, but the housekeeper keeps it fresh. It is our grandest suite, even comparing it to Father’s. What do you think?”
The fawn-colored brocades all but glittered in the rosy light of early afternoon. It was all opposite to her room at home in Glenmorrow, where truly she had never got out of the nursery.
The Viscount's Seduction: A Regency Romance (Sons of the Spy Lord Book 2) Page 14