She swayed tipsily above him in nothing but a thin chemise. With both hands, she leaned on his broad shoulders for support while he stroked her hips and buttocks. Thanks to her, there was no pain in his left shoulder only pleasure. Her heart-shaped bottom fit his hands perfectly. Slowly, he brought her body to his lips and kissed the tender flesh between her thighs through the veil of her light chemise. He breathed the scent of her arousal. Pressing further, he almost tasted her. Impatiently, he slid the cotton up to reveal her dewy curls and dipped his tongue to savor her.
Oh, the taste of her, he groaned, slick as butter and as delicate as tears! Whoosh! His fiery blood incinerated any scruples he had regarding virgins. He was about to break his Eleventh Commandment. He was hard as a post and straining at his buckskin breeches, yet he managed to stand up and hold her tight against his aroused body. If this shocked her, if she pulled away, he would try to understand and try to let her go.
She leaned against him.
He tilted her face up and regarded the woman who had realigned the longitude and latitude of his life.
Then he kissed her.
He feasted on her lips gratefully, sucking at her full lower lip till she moaned into his mouth. When he broke the kiss and gasped for air, she kissed him back less shyly. Her hands sifted through the hair at the nape of his neck. Her fingernails left a tingling trail over his scalp that spread to the roots of his hair everywhere. His entire body seemed to burst into awareness at her caress. Oh, how he loved her hands!
He pulled her hard against his hips, grinding against her, lifting her off her feet. He relished her every sweet, breathless response. He felt shudder after shudder in her body as he pressed himself hard between her legs. Cupping her bottom in his hands, he felt her reticence ebb away as he ground against her. She clung to him, her slim arms snaked around his shoulders, holding him close. She melted and he rejoiced.
“Your Grace,” she sighed.
He chuckled, “My name is Jem, nymph, say it.” He kissed her to underscore his point.
“As you wish, Your Grace,” she teased, “Jem.”
“Just. Jem.” He kissed her hard twice for emphasis.
“Jem, Your Grace.”
“Just my given name,” he growled and kissed her again with his rigid erection throbbing against her. “Or I’ll punish you.”
“If this is how you punish me, you only encourage me to err, Your Grace.”
“Jem.” He kissed her more fiercely. He bore down, and when she sighed, he slipped inside her sweet mouth and teased her tongue with bold strokes.
Tentatively, she sucked on his tongue’s tip and nearly buckled his knees. When their lips finally parted, she sighed, “You kiss splendidly, Your Grace.”
“Only half as well as you, love,” he said. “And it’s Jem. Jem.” He cradled the back of her head in one large hand and kissed her with a loud lip smack before pulling back to look at her.
She smiled with passion-drugged eyes. “Then you must call me Prudence.”
“With pleasure,” he said and sprinkled kisses over her face before letting her slide down his aroused body till her feet touched the floor. Putting a few inches space between them, he reached for the gathered neckline of her chemise.
“May I, Prudence?”
“Yes, Jem.”
He untied the last ribbon and in one motion slipped the chemise off her shoulders.
“By God, you are so, so very lovely.” He drank in the sight of her creamy skin, her pouty, rose-tipped breasts, her sleek waist, the pleasing flare of her hips and her slim legs.
He swept her up into his arms, carried her to the bed and placed her down gently, repeating, “Prudence.” The fluttering, over-exercised organ in his chest battered his ribs as he yanked off his boots and tugged the linen shirt over his head. Buttons pinged to the floor in his haste. With shaking hands, he undid his breeches and bent over to push them down his hips. Not once did he take his eyes from her as he stripped away his clothes.
When he straightened, she gasped. “Oh, my lord!”
“No, proper address would be ‘Your Grace,’” he corrected with a grin. “But I much prefer you use my given name.”
He stood naked in the candlelight and her eyes goggled.
“Oh dear,” she said.
“Admiring your handiwork?” She looked up to meet his gaze, confused. He clarified, “Your witty tattoo.”
“I hadn’t noticed. I was much too distracted.”
“Distracted,” he purred, prowling toward the bed. His cock reacted to her like a stout compass needle pointing toward Prudence, his true north.
“Jem, I-I cannot possibly, er, accommodate you.”
“You flatter me but I promise, we’ll manage nicely,” Ainsworth grinned like a boy at mischief.
Prudence watched him approach from under the covers. His erection swayed with each step, his heavy sac hung pendulous between his thighs. His cock preened under her avid gaze. His veined shaft thickened, its foreskin receded and the head swelled. She stared transfixed as if his virility fascinated her, which made his member strive harder to impress.
“May I?” She asked. He knelt on the bed within reach and fought to stay still as her fingers touched his cock tentatively. She couldn’t hope to close her fingers around his shaft but she could and did stroke its silken skin. He moaned softly as she investigated.
God bless a woman with scientific inclinations!
At her innocent touch, exploring his length and girth, exhilaration crackled through him. She brushed its weeping slit with a finger and he shuddered with exquisite pleasure. She laughed in breathy, low gusts staring at his manhood in the candlelight. Had it been anyone else, Ainsworth would have been offended, but Prudence’s breathy delight in turn delighted him.
“Stay, love! Any more of your examination and our evening will end before it begins.” He lifted her hands away and pressed a quick kiss on each.
For the first time, he lifted the counterpane and slid naked between cool linen sheets to join her. Gently, he gathered her to him. The feel of her cool, smooth skin rushed through his nerves to swamp his brain and flood his groin with greater need.
He held her face between his hands and kissed her with more urgency. He tasted and teased her neck, her jaw and her soft, soft lips until they parted for him. The rhythm and motion of each stroke of his tongue was an intimation of what was to come. She moaned as he palmed her breast, loving its tender weight. Slowly, he tormented its taut tip with gentle fingers. Nibbling his way down her neck, he drew the tight bud into his mouth and tongued and suckled it until her body arched against his in response. At his leisure, he attended to her other breast and its gathered peak.
“Do you want this, nymph? Are you sure?”
“Yes, Jem.” She kissed him and whispered, “I want you.”
He shifted himself to move between her legs. He held himself above her on heavily corded arms. His arousal nestled snug at the apex of her legs, throbbing amid the tickle of her curls. With the subtlest flex of his hips he delved between her warm, slick folds. And like a flint striking true, the contact sparked a flame that grew between them. She opened against him, seeking ever more pressure, more heat, and more slick friction. Closing her eyes, her body moved beneath him. Her breath came in pants and moans as he stroked against her, stoking their fire with each caress. He gently, gently began to push inside her.
She tensed, “Jem?”
“Yes, nymph?” He panted and pressed light kisses on her face. She would kill him one way or another, either with pleasure or frustration.
“Will it hurt?”
He paused in his attentions, “The first time, yes, I’m afraid so.”
“A great deal?”
“I hope not, Prudence. But you’re my first in a way, too.” The importance of her gift overwhelmed him. He hesitated just inside the hot, silken heaven of her rather than forge ahead as every instinct demanded.
She stroked his cheek and met his gaze. “Well then,
we’ll simply have to soldier on, won’t we?” Her shy smile banished his concern.
“By all means,” he chuckled and devoted himself to her pleasure. He struggled to keep from entering her in one rutting thrust. He began with infinite care and when he came to her maidenhead, she gasped at the pressure. Though it frayed his last nerve, he stopped to soothe her. He kissed her petal-soft cheeks, her brow, her eyelids, her nose, and lingered longer on her plush lips. He stroked her body with long, slow caresses until finally he felt her relax.
As they clung together, he withdrew and whispered, “I am sorry,” before surging in to the hilt. She cried out and clutched him tight. His pelvis pressed against hers, his erection fully sheathed inside her tight passage. Her body surrounded him, gripped him and nursed him, as if born for his lovemaking. And he never wanted to leave.
“I’m sorry, my love, so sorry,” he murmured. She opened her eyes and gave him a shy smile. He brushed strands of hair from her damp brow.
“I’m not sorry, Jem,” she said and sent his heart soaring. He could never have enough of Prudence Haversham, not in a lifetime, not in two lifetimes.
“Are you all right, nymph?”
“I think so,” she said and shifted her hips to be sure. He gasped aloud. “Oh, did that feel good, Jem?” She asked with a wicked, kittenish smile and did it again.
“Ohhh, sweet heaven, yesssss,” he hissed. She wriggled again and made him moan louder still.
Two could play that game.
He withdrew from her and flexed his hips, driving himself deep in one smooth thrust that left her gasping. Shifting one of her thighs higher on his waist, he drove in again. Deeper still. He slowly ground his hips against her. She moaned. Soon her hips rose to meet him. Together, they moved in perfect rhythm. Where they joined, her body came alive. She shuddered beneath him, spiraling up once again, as he felt himself near his climax. He thrust harder and faster to carry them both up, up higher still. They gazed at each other in the throes of ecstasy, their eyes enmeshed as intimately as their bodies.
A moment later, they tumbled together. He felt primal triumph as he pulsed deep inside her, filling her with his seed, claiming her. Mine, forever mine! Ainsworth kissed Prudence as he had never kissed another woman. For her kiss, he offered in exchange his heart and soul.
Afterward, they collapsed, laughing and whispering endearments, unable to sort their tangled legs.
Prudence Haversham was the picture of a well-loved woman. Her up-turned lips were swollen from his demanding kisses, her throat and breasts still dewy and flushed from release. Ainsworth kissed Prudence’s shoulder and luxuriated in her soft warmth. Her hair rippled in loose waves over the pillow they shared.
Looking deep into her enchanting eyes, he wondered if she understood: everything had changed.
Though his body begged for sleep, his mind raced. Even if they’d rather rashly — and gloriously — anticipated their wedding night, Ainsworth pledged himself to observe the strictest propriety henceforth. He didn’t resent doing things properly; he did it for the woman he loved and would marry.
Rolling on his side, he spooned her to his body. She snuggled against him and drowsed.
Marrying her was all he could think of. It wasn’t their sweaty, ecstatic coupling alone that resolved his ambivalence about wedlock. His susceptibility had developed subtly. Her unexpected irreverence, charm and gallant self-sufficiency got under his skin little by little until he could no longer envision a happy life without her. And then there was their sweaty, ecstatic coupling. Who knew a virgin could reduce a man of the world to quivering custard?
Put simply, Prudence Haversham left an impression on his heart as permanent as her tattoo. For the first time since his elevation to the title, Ainsworth looked forward to a life filled with love, laughter, passion and children. Many children. As many as she cared to give him. Prudence made his optimism possible, for which he loved her even more.
However.
Before he could propose to Prudence properly, he had to organize his affairs. To do that, he must hare off to London immediately as planned. Ainsworth ticked off errands in his head. First, though just a formality, he must meet the baronet and offer for her. Next, he would finalize the marriage settlement, find his mother’s sapphire ring and arrange to have banns read at the parish. Even he knew one must engage St. George’s well in advance. Then of course, there must be a wedding announcement for the Times. Thatcher and Smeeth could see to sorting the duchess’ chambers at Ainsworth House. But who ought to hire her personal servants? Would she wish to? And someone must take the hounds in hand. He would task the stableman’s boy with training the wretched dogs he managed to foist on the duke’s household. The beasts ought to know more than “sit,” “stay” and “find Cook.” Such a daunting project might even discourage the urchin from bringing ‘round strays number five and six. Sterling could help with the arrangements, but there was much the duke preferred to do himself. He relished having a trousseau sewn for her (he knew her lissome figure intimately enough now to have a few garments ready to surprise her for their wedding night). Ainsworth feared it would take an eternity to accomplish it all, not counting whatever matters he overlooked.
His Grace planned to lose no time; he vowed, by God, to have it done in a few weeks. A month at the outside.
Already, he envisioned her flustered, blushing face when he reappeared unannounced in Bath and proposed to her on bended knee. His grand surprise would be a memory they would cherish all their married days. It brought a lump to his throat.
Such sentimentality startled the duke; he had never demonstrated any treacle-y tendencies before. But then, a great many things had changed since he met Prudence Haversham.
He looked again at the woman in his arms. His cock stirred where it nestled against her bottom. She wriggled around to face him nose to nose with a wicked, encouraging little smile. He took greater pains to be gentle the second time they made love but it was every bit as earthshaking as the first time. Afterward, he was utterly exhausted, but rapturously so.
Still, he did not sleep. He pondered a new possibility. What if he proposed to her now? It would hardly be the surprise he hoped for but he would make up for it with a series of unexpected, romantic gestures (to be determined) that would delight her when he returned. Besides, who knew what foolishness newly debauched virgins were prone to? Truth be told, even after their lovemaking, the specter of encroaching naval captains troubled him. Prudence Haversham was his to have and to hold. This, he wanted to make absolutely clear to her.
However, his lust had already run riot twice. If she accepted him, he might never let her out of bed. He would take her repeatedly until one or both of them died of excessive sexual congress. A tragic but inevitable outcome, given how she made his sap rise. Not that it would be such a bad way to go.
No!
He. Would. Do. Things. Properly. Perfectly. For her sake. He could leave Smeeth in Bath to keep an eye out for that encroaching Captain Dorset.
Ainsworth’s resolve strengthened when she peeped at him over her shoulder.
Just to be absolutely certain she knew what was what, he told her flat out, “There’s no undoing what we’ve done, Prudence. I am well and truly caught.”
“Caught,” she repeated.
From her tone, he wondered if perhaps he should’ve chosen a different word, say, ‘captivated’ or ‘bewitched.’ Hell and damnation, he was a soldier not a poet and this was no time for semantics. So on he stumbled to underscore his point.
“Yes, well and truly.” He nuzzled her neck, “I’ll have no regrets about it either. None at all.” There, he said it. Couldn’t be plainer than that. He would not tolerate any missish virginal second thoughts. From this day forth, she was his, he was hers and that was that. They would marry and all the matrons in London would gnash their teeth when they heard he’d slipped through their cordon to find his perfect bride.
She still said nothing. Hmmm. “Promise me you won’t do anythin
g rash.”
“You needn’t worry, Your Grace, I understand…”
Thank God, she understood.
Ainsworth stopped listening after her initial reassurance. He failed to notice her use of his title or to correct her with a teasing kiss; he was too tired and too distracted by all he had to do before he returned to claim his beloved apothecary.
Still, he eyed her warily. Hang it all, he wanted a little more certainty before nodding off in a sated stupor. Perhaps she did, too.
“Prudence,” he murmured and waited for her to turn her head to look him. (No sense reassuring the back of a woman’s head after all.) She peeked over her shoulder, strangely solemn.
“Prudence,” he repeated then declared, “I’m going to marry you.” After years at war, Ainsworth was in the habit of giving orders and making statements of fact. This tendency did not serve him well at present in civilian life.
In response, she said the last thing he expected to hear after making mad, passionate, thorough love to her. She said wistfully, “No, you are not.”
“Don’t tease, nymph.” He said and gathered her to him to kiss her shoulder again.
He refrained from arguing further with her because it seemed indelicate to do so under the circumstances. To wit, they were naked, he was a gentleman, she a maiden he’d recently debauched, twice, et cetera. No doubt an upright female like Prudence found it difficult to adapt to deliriously satisfying, temporarily illicit sex. No bloody need to belabor the obvious. Loved her. They’d marry, he thought sleepily. Foregone conclusion. Must be nerves, a virgin’s overset sensibilities.
“Much to do. Early start,” he muttered mostly to himself as he drifted off. “Need sleep. You, too.”
His lusty exertions having finally caught up with him, Ainsworth fell fast asleep.
Chapter 21
In which there is an unfortunate case of ‘he said, she heard.’
Until Jem made love to her, Prudence assumed a man’s sexual impulses expressed themselves in an overpowering drive to rut. (Her only point of reference for this hypothesis involved livestock on Sir Oswald’s estate. The act she witnessed there was a strenuous, barely controlled pounding on the bull’s part. While the heifer’s stoic tolerance throughout did not raise one’s hopes.) Suffice it to say, nothing prepared her for the tumult of sensations that began with Jem coaxing her out of her gown and gained heart-stopping momentum as the night wore on.
The Duke's Tattoo: A Regency Romance of Love and Revenge, Though Not in That Order Page 16