Mistress of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  “I am not playing games.” She leaned in, once again bringing with her the tantalizing scent of cinnamon. “Now. I vow to be patient, as clearly you are a bit overwhelmed by everything I am telling you. And I expected as much. But at least be rational. Dance with me.”

  He hesitated, still trying to make sense of everything. “I am not interested in dancing. At all.”

  “If you refuse to dance with me, Edmund, I’ll be forced to draw attention.” She leveled a serious gaze at him. “Don’t think I won’t. I can always think of something to entertain the masses. Although I will admit that the French are a bit more difficult to please.”

  Edmund glanced toward those around him and decided against his better judgment to give himself the pleasure of holding her. Just in case she really did feel what she said she was feeling. “One dance.”

  She held out her gloved hand for him to take as if she were the one leading them. “Splendid. The waltz is about to commence.”

  A waltz? Edmund blew out a breath, brought his hand beneath the warmth of her gloved hand, and guided her toward the dance floor. All he needed was to have her proclaiming her love and draping herself against him. The damn French were no doubt putting her up to this.

  When they positioned themselves amidst the other couples, Edmund took her into his arms. She glanced up at him and grinned, her entire face beaming as if she was genuinely happy to be with him. Was it possible that…? No.

  “You have quite the grip,” she commented, as they whisked across the waxed floor. “Do you mind loosening it? Just a bit?”

  “Sorry,” he confessed. Though he loosened his hold on her hand, he made it a point to draw her closer, trying to savor this splendid, bittersweet moment of having her soft, warm body against his.

  A flush crept into her cheeks as they swept across the dance floor. “Edmund?”

  “Hm?” He was trying to count his steps to further distract himself from noticing how beautiful she really was.

  “Do you really love me?”

  The question almost made him trip and he had to remind himself he was waltzing. She asked him the question like a child asked for a piece of cake—pleadingly.

  He supposed there was no denying the obvious. Though he did not know why it mattered. “Yes,” he muttered, his eyes now focusing on the small delicate feathers that were arranged in her hair. He had been so distracted, he hadn’t noticed them earlier. He wondered what was softer. Her hair or the feathers.

  “I apologize. For everything. Hawksford overstepped his bounds after what you said about his sister. You see, he and I earlier reached this godawful agreement. He wanted Lady Chartwell and I wanted you. But then you were horridly foxed and you said things you shouldn’t have and he was horridly foxed and said things that were totally untrue so as to defend his sister’s honor. And that, of course, is putting it mildly.”

  Edmund caught his breath and continued to stare down at her. That was Hawksford’s sister? Of course he would be defending her honor. Did that mean…“So you and Hawksford never…that is…he never actually…” He couldn’t even force himself to say it, he was so disgusted.

  She heatedly looked up at him. “Perish the thought. Of course we never did. I love you, Edmund, and I am here tonight to announce it publicly so that you fully understand that I have no intention of ever hiding what I feel for you anymore.”

  Edmund jerked them to a complete stop as shock overtook his body. A dancing couple waltzed straight into them, jarring him and Maybelle and breaking their embrace.

  “Hell, Rutherford,” Caldwell cried, scrambling to resume his stiff position with his partner. “Learn how to dance!”

  Edmund froze and looked around, noting not only Caldwell was dancing among them, but also Brayton, Hawksford, and Banfield. Even his mother.

  What the devil was going on?

  “Edmund?” Maybelle blinked up at him, and then glanced around, a baffled expression on her face. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

  Knowing all of London was watching, he did the only thing there was left to do. Claim her along with the rest of an explanation. He grabbed her gloved hand, led her off the dance floor, and did not pause until they had reached the far end of the wall.

  Edmund felt his pulse thundering inside his ears, still in disbelief of everything that was happening. He kissed her gloved hand and whispered down at her, “Meet me.”

  Her expression vividly perked as she lowered her voice in a conspiratory manner. “Where?”

  He released her hand, cleared his throat, and thought of the best way they could meet without drawing too much attention. Which was going to be difficult regardless. “By the staircase.”

  The orchestra finished and a set of trumpets suddenly sounded, announcing a presentation was going to be given by the host. The bloody French loved attention, didn’t they? People around them slowly made their way toward the far end of the ballroom to better hear the host, whose voice was barely carrying.

  “Now is our chance,” he whispered.

  He then turned and walked away. He still couldn’t believe any of it. How could he? But either way, he knew that if there was any chance that she did in fact feel the same way he did, he was going to damn well take it.

  Lesson Twenty-Four

  There is no such thing as a happy ending.After all, if something comes to an end, what sort of happiness can that bring?Let us talk, instead, of happy beginnings.—The School of GallantryWhen enough time had passed after Edmund had departed, Maybelle decided it was finally time to leave the ballroom. As casually as she could, she gathered her skirts and made her way through all the people who were heading in the opposite direction. Her heart still thundered in her ears with wild anticipation knowing that Edmund was waiting for her.

  There was so much she wanted to say to him. An entire evening could not even begin to explain it all. Maybelle paused near the far right side of the long marble staircase and stood in the silence of the high-ceilinged corridor. Only Edmund was nowhere in sight. She glanced around. Where was he? He said—

  “Pssst.”

  Maybelle frowned and turned to the sound at her left. Toward a thick arrangement of potted ferns set before a large, unfolded silk screen. “Edmund?” she ventured.

  “Yes. Get in here. Before anyone sees you.”

  Her eyes widened as she quickly approached, refusing to believe that Edmund was actually hiding somewhere back there. “Edmund, you are not actually sitting in the ferns, are you?” She laughed at the thought and leaned every which way to find him. She had truly corrupted the man!

  “I’m behind the screen,” he snapped. “Now come here.”

  Maybelle made a face and straightened. “You are being utterly ridiculous.”

  “Do you know me to be utterly ridiculous?” he growled out, sounding as if he were losing patience. “Now come in before someone sees you speaking to the ferns and commits you to an asylum.”

  Maybelle wanted to join him. Desperately. But the reality was her gown was not going to all fit behind the small space of that screen. Not without knocking it over. And she’d already knocked over plenty of everything these past few weeks, thank you very much.

  She placed her gloved hands on her hips. “Edmund, I cannot possibly fit in there with this dress. For heaven’s sake, why not come out here? All of London already knows that you and I are well—”

  Edmund’s gloved hand reached out, grabbed her by the wrist, and yanked her straight through the ferns and behind the screen. Maybelle skidded across the marble floor as she stumbled to a halt just behind the silk screen. Not being able to keep her balance against the weight of her skirts, she grabbed hold of Edmund’s muscled arm and together they fell back and hit the wall behind them.

  Edmund’s arms tightened around her as he held her in place. He chuckled and whispered down at her, “Why do you have to always make things more difficult than they actually are?”

  “Oh, I make everything diffi
cult?”

  He grinned. “I did not mean for you to fall.”

  Maybelle shifted as best she could against him, enjoying their close quarters just beneath the staircase.

  Their eyes met and Maybelle felt as if her heart was going to burst. Without breaking their heated gaze, Edmund turned her and gently repositioned her into the far corner of the wall, draping his hard body against hers. But instead of kissing her, he closed his eyes for a long moment and appeared to be struggling with something.

  The tingling in the pit of her stomach refused to be quelled. This was it. She could feel it. And she was ready. More than ready for the adventure of taking him on as her husband for the rest of her life. Come what may. It was simply a matter of whether he was prepared to take her on for the rest of his.

  Edmund tried to calm his whirling thoughts, readying himself for the consequences of admitting how he felt. Better to say it and regret it than never say it and regret it had never been said. Or something of that nature.

  He opened his eyes and met that soft, blue gaze that seemed to plead with him to acknowledge how he felt.

  “Maybelle,” he murmured, lowering his head and nuzzling the top of her smooth forehead. “There is so much I want to say. I cannot believe that I thought the worst of you.”

  Her blue eyes searched his face. “All I want is for you to repeat what you did that one night. The night you told me you loved me. I was not given an opportunity to respond to it properly.”

  Seeing her looking up at him pleadingly, Edmund knew exactly what she wanted to hear. And he had no trouble saying it. “I love you.”

  Strangely, it felt different saying it this time. For one, he was sober. But the look on her face was no longer one of fear or confusion, as it had been that night, but that of softness and acceptance.

  “And I love you, too, Edmund,” she whispered, standing up on her slippered toes and kissing his chin. “I am so sorry it took me so long to say it.”

  She sighed and slowly closed her eyes. “There is so much I want to tell you. About me. About how I grew up. My father was the one who scared me away from ever wanting to marry. It sounds quite silly, I know, but it was real to me at the time. For even though my mother died giving birth to me, my father talked about her all the time. As if she still existed. As if she was going to walk back through the door.”

  She shook her head, a large tear slipping down the left side of her smooth cheek.

  His strong, never-yielding Maybelle. Crying. It stabbed at his gut, not to mention his heart. He swallowed hard and gently brushed away the trail of wetness. “Please,” he whispered. “Do not cry. I hate it.”

  She opened her eyes, blinked back her remaining tears, and forced herself to shakily smile up at him. “I want you to understand me in the same way you allowed me to understand you. Up until my father’s death, Edmund, he made me wash and iron my mother’s clothes. He bought her ribbons that matched her eyes and would set them upon her grave. Everything he ever did, everything he ever talked about, was for her. And I swore on the day when he was lying on his deathbed, clutching her lock of hair, that I would never hand over my heart to anyone in the way he had handed over his heart to my mother. But you made me realize, Edmund, that one extreme cannot incur another. And so here I finally am. Yours.”

  Hearing her words, her story, and knowing what she had suffered and lived through, overwhelmed him in a way he hadn’t been overwhelmed since his father’s death.

  He leaned his hand against the wall and moved closer to her, wanting to feel her love. And wanting her to feel his.

  Her slender arm wrapped around his waist. She sniffed and closed her eyes, tilting her head back. Ever so slowly, her full lips lifted upwards. Waiting.

  Edmund let his hands slide to her slim waist and deliberately observed her in a moment he’d never forget for the rest of his days. The way her blond curls framed her face. The way her smooth skin glistened under two small trails of tears. The way her eyes were still closed, her blond, wet lashes shadowing her lower lids.

  Yes. This woman, this incredible woman, was his duchess. Knowing she was expecting a kiss, he decided to surprise her with something else. Dipping his head toward the curve of her neck, he slid the tip of his tongue down the length of its softness. She let out a small sigh and leaned back against the wall, stretching her neck out for him.

  He slid his tongue farther and farther down until he reached that alluring soft dip between her breasts, which she had been taunting him with all night. Pausing for a moment, he grabbed the front of her silk and lace bodice and pulled it down gently. He nudged her breasts out from her corset and brought them both into full view. The pressure of his cock began to build, demanding release.

  Maybelle stiffened against him as her eyes fluttered open. “Edmund,” she whispered intently, her hands suddenly coming between him and her exposed breasts. She glanced over his shoulder. “Here? Behind a screen in the ferns? What if—”

  “Let them find us,” he murmured, leaning toward her. “I am done pleasing everyone else.”

  He then brought her hands away from her breasts, and lowered his mouth to her left nipple. He gently sucked on it, savoring the soft, salty texture as his hand drifted toward her other breast. His fingers brushed her nipple lightly until it was taut.

  A quiet sigh escaped her as her hands wandered across his body, as if searching for skin to touch.

  “Remove your cravat,” she whispered.

  He pulled away from her for a moment, did away with his gloves, and hastily undid his cravat, pulling his collar away from his neck. He grinned down at her and leaned back toward her, draping himself against her. “Now what?”

  A gleam overtook her blue eyes. She grabbed hold of his vest and ripped it as she watched him, spraying buttons everywhere. They tinkered to the floor. “You said to do that anytime I wanted to.”

  “So I did,” he growled out, glancing down at the mess she’d made. “What else do you have planned for me?”

  Her smooth gloved fingertips slid in beneath his shirt and, slowly, she dipped them toward his collarbone and toward the front of his chest. The sensation of her fluttering fingertips overwhelmed his body and Edmund knew there would be no controlling his appetite for her.

  He grabbed two handfuls of her silk, yellow skirts and shoved them up past her thighs. He held them out of his way, his erection now bulging painfully against his trousers.

  He ran his hands up her smooth stockings and searched for the one thing second to his love for her. Her core.

  He slipped his fingers into her wet, warm folds. He shifted his jaw and closed his eyes, jealous of his own fingers. His thumb circled her nub as two of his fingers remained deep within her. He received a generous moan that made him want to thrust himself into her then and there.

  “Yes,” he hoarsely said, opening his eyes to watch her move against his hand. “Show me how much you enjoy this. How much you enjoy me.”

  She moved her hips against him. He quickened his wet thumb against her nub to heighten her pleasure and her breathing turned to pants.

  Edmund withdrew his fingers and leaned away, momentarily bringing a gap between them. He hastily undid his trousers and yanked his undergarments out of the way until his shaft was finally free.

  He heavily leaned into her body, wanting her very soul to become a part of him, grabbed hold of her thighs, then wrapped her legs around his waist. He propped her back up high against the wall, making sure she was just below the height of the silk screen that shielded them.

  “I have been dying for you,” he hoarsely confided in her ear, wanting her to know again.

  “Not as much as I have been dying for you,” she softly replied.

  Edmund’s fingers dug into her thighs. He adjusted her to the height he needed to enter her and thrust deep into her core.

  He didn’t know what he enjoyed most at that moment. Hearing her bite back a soft moan or feeling his shaft harden al
l the more as her tight wetness surrounded him.

  He gritted his teeth and knew that his body was demanding he ride her hard. He slammed into her repeatedly, his cock aching with each thrust. He watched with half-closed eyes as her large breasts bobbed before him. Their frantic movement showed every time he thrust into her. He couldn’t stop and simply drove her and himself toward the brink of bodily madness.

  “Wrap your legs tighter around me,” he quietly insisted, his hands gripping her buttocks. “I want all of you.”

  She obeyed, wrapping her legs so tightly around his waist, he slid in deep. Deep enough to feel the wall of her womb against the head of his cock. Not once did he stop thrusting into her wetness. Her core tightened as she panted more and more heavily.