So she watched, fascinated, enthralled, transported, feeling everything twice, what he did to her, and what she saw him do to the woman in the mirror, shifting to kneel between her legs so that she could see as he kissed her breasts, licked her nipples, circled them with his thumbs. In the mirror they were dark pink against the pearl-white of her breasts. Her eyes drifted shut with the pleasure of what he was doing, for he seemed to be connecting up every part of her body, every nerve and sensitive little spot, with his languorous caress.
‘Watch,’ he whispered. She watched as he kneeled before her, between her, lifting her leg, rubbing his face against the silk of her stocking, then kissing, her toes, her ankle, her calf, the back of her knee. His mouth burned hot through the sheer silk fabric. In the mirror, the other leg received similar attention. Her skirts pushed up. His hands under her bottom, tilting her to remove her pantalettes. In the mirror, her thighs were not white but cream. The skin on his face seemed stretched tighter. Slashes of colour on his cheekbones. Eyes dark, heavy, smouldering. Watching her. Giving her time to say stop, to call a halt. Watching her intently. The woman in the mirror smiled. A sleepy, sensual smile that could never belong to Caro. ‘I’m still watching,’ she said huskily.
He kissed her mouth, a brief, passionate kiss she missed for her eyes were closed. When she opened them, he was tilting her up again, his mouth on her thigh, the soft inner flesh of her thigh, first one then the other. Then his mouth was not on her thigh, but between her thighs, in the most intimate kiss imaginable.
She cried out, not in protest but in surprise. In the mirror there was a jumble of images. His head, her skirts, his hands on her legs. White flesh. Pink stockings. Feet curled into the coverlet. Hands, fingers, plucking at it. His mouth, his lips, his tongue, kissing, licking, making her squirm, making her tense, making her hot, then cold. Licking. Sucking. Kissing. His fingers inside her. Was it his fingers? She could not see. She did not care.
She closed her eyes and gave herself up to sensation. Slippery kisses. Languid licking. His mouth, his tongue teasing and tormenting her at her very core. Every part of her was focused, concentrated. A hand on her breast, her nipple tightening with unbearable pleasure. Tension. Heat. She cried out, arching her back and thrusting up against his mouth as her climax took her.
* * *
Sebastian’s heart was racing. His erection throbbed. In the mirror above, a man lay with a beautiful woman splayed over his chest. Her hair streamed over the gold counterpane. Caro opened her eyes, gave a little sigh and smiled at him, a sated, sensual smile that filled him with an absurd pride. ‘I have never been kissed like that before,’ she murmured.
‘I know.’
‘It made me wonder,’ she said, wriggling from his embrace and pushing him on to his back, ‘if a man can kiss a woman in such a way, then surely a woman can return the favour?’
He was so stunned, he could think of nothing to say for several seconds as she unfastened the buttons on his breeches.
‘Sebastian? Have I got it wrong? Would you not like me to...’
‘Like!’ His mouth had gone quite dry. His shaft was straining inside his breeches. ‘Caro, I can think of few things I would desire more, but...’
‘But this is not something a lady should be offering?’ She smiled, that newly wicked smile of hers that heated his blood. ‘Since I am no longer a lady but a wanton-in-waiting, and since you have been so very, very obliging as to introduce me to something I find so very, very pleasurable, I think it only fair that I offer to return the favour.’
As she spoke, she pulled his shirt free from his breeches, planting little nipping kisses on his belly, at the same time tugging at his breeches, easing them down his legs. His erection sprang free, jutting up, taut and engorged. It was ridiculous, but the way she looked at him, the tip of her tongue pink on her lips, her eyes wide, reaching out to trail one rosy-tipped finger along his length, it did strange things to his gut.
She was kneeling between his legs now. In the mirror he could see her, cupping him in one hand, the other circling his erection, her face intent, flushed, her glorious hair trailing over his thighs. He had never wanted something so much in his life as this, but he had to be sure. ‘Caro, you do not have to...’
‘Sebastian, believe me, I do.’ She leaned over him, and took him gently in her mouth and he surrendered all thoughts to feeling.
* * *
Sebastian dragged open his eyes. The sun had moved round. The light in the Queen’s Bedchamber was softly golden. His body felt leaden, utterly sated, glowing like the sunshine. What Caro had just done was hardly a new experience, but it felt like it. It was her very lack of experience that made it so, he realised. She had none of the practised art, the clever tricks to prolong and to induce, that the courtesan deployed. Her touch had been tentative, explorative, instinctive. Watching her in the mirror, he had seen the pleasure in her expression as she pleasured him, and that had only added to the experience. Just thinking about it was making him stir.
He had never felt like this. Except once. The memory made him uncomfortable. Seeing Caro in the mirror, draped over him, his arm almost protective around her, made him more uncomfortable still. He was about to carefully disentangle himself when Caro sat up, pushing her hair back from her eyes. ‘It’s late,’ she said.
She did not meet his gaze, but edged herself away from him and off the bed. That she seemed as dazed, as unsure of what to make of this encounter as he did should have been reassuring, but it merely set him on edge. He began to pull his clothes on, watching her as she trailed aimlessly around the room, pushing open the window to gaze out, picking up one of the discarded holland covers, folding it roughly then casting it back on to the floor. ‘You are regretting this,’ Sebastian said, pulling his boots on.
‘No. At least—are you?’
‘No.’ He smiled. ‘You have a hidden talent for wantonness. I had not expected—that.’
‘Do you think we have exorcised enough ghosts for you to open the house up now?’
‘Not if it means we won’t be doing this again.’ She flushed, but declined to answer. Was she regretting it despite her denial? ‘I was only teasing,’ Sebastian said.
‘I know. It’s not that. I am still married, Sebastian. We cannot ignore that fact for ever.’
‘I am perfectly well aware of that.’
‘I am much restored. You have given me exactly what I needed here, sanctuary, and I will be eternally grateful to you, but it’s time I stood on my own two feet.’
‘You’re going to confront your husband?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Contact your family, then?’
‘No. I’m not ready to face them yet either.’
‘So, you are going to stand on your own two feet how, exactly?’
‘I don’t know, but I can’t stay here indefinitely. Besides, you will want to be getting on with your own life, now that the ghosts are banished.’
‘Caro, of course you cannot remain here for ever, but you are not ready to leave yet. Until you can come to some sort of terms with your husband, you are still married. That—that man, he has the right to do with you as he wishes. He can bed you. He can beat you. He can slander you and he can cut you off from your family.’ His hands formed into fists, quickly unfurled. ‘I have not the right to defend you, but I can keep you safe here until you are more capable of defending yourself. To leave here without any sort of plan, without even the confidence to have discussed matters with your family—it would be foolish, especially since there is no urgent need for you to go. It is not as if I am anxious to evict you.’
He waited while she pursed her lips, thinking over his words, trying not to think about how much he would miss her. He had been perfectly content without her, hadn’t he? And while it was true he hadn’t laughed in a while, it was also true that he didn’t really s
eek company. Sebastian pulled on his other boot and got to his feet. ‘Whatever you decide, I am damned if I will simply stand back and watch as you fall back into the clutches of that man who calls himself your husband.’
She sighed, shrugging her shoulders as if to be rid of whatever doubts were plaguing her. ‘You are quite right,’ she said with a resigned smile, ‘I need to think it through properly. It is too important, it would be wrong to act hastily. But act I must.’
Sebastian nodded. ‘Good. The timing of your leaving is a decision best left to another day.’
Wandering over to the large armoire which took up most of one wall, she ran her fingers over the heavy carving distractedly. ‘Did you say you hid here, when you were a child? It is absolutely huge, do you think it would take me?’
As she pulled open the door, Sebastian had a horrible premonition. ‘No.’
‘You think I’m too big?’ She peered into the cupboard and began to climb in. ‘There’s something in the way.’
‘Caro...’
She emerged, holding a box. ‘What can this be?’
Sebastian said nothing. He had forgotten. How could he have forgotten?
‘A box of toys. And—oh, look at this, it’s a miniature. Who is it, Sebastian?’
He had no need to look at the portrait she held up. ‘It’s my mother,’ he said flatly.
Chapter Eight
‘A portrait of your mother! May I?’ Assuming Sebastian’s shrug indicated consent, Caro took the miniature over to the window to examine it in better light. Lady Ardhallow’s hair was a rich auburn tinted with flecks of gold. Her eyes were dark brown, almost chocolate-coloured. And her smile turned down at the corners in a way that hinted at both sensuality and melancholy. ‘You are very like her,’ she said to Sebastian, who was still standing motionless in front of the armoire. ‘I can understand why you kept those toys. I’ve still got the birthday gifts Mama gave me before she died. It is nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘Except my mother is not, to the best of my knowledge, dead.’
Caro’s jaw dropped. ‘Not dead,’ she repeated stupidly. ‘You mean she’s alive?’
‘Unless an imposter is claiming her jointure from the bank each quarter.’
Caro frowned, trying to recall what, if anything, she had heard of the mysterious countess. ‘I had always assumed—but you never mentioned her.’
‘Why should I, she is nothing to me, she may as well be dead as far as I am concerned.’
‘Sebastian!’ Caro dropped on to the floor beside the box, carefully turning out the contents. A spinning top. A set of lead toy soldiers. A shabby little stuffed dog. A carved wooden pony and cart. All showed signs of wear and tear. All had obviously been well used and well loved. She remembered a peg doll she had had, every bit as shabby as this stuffed dog. Peggy, she had called it, and had been devastated when the cloth had worn so thin that not even Celia’s clever stitching could fix her. Celia had made her a new doll, but it hadn’t been the same, because it had been Mama who had made Peggy.
Sebastian was staring determinedly out of the window, his shoulders set, refusing to look at her—or the box. ‘My mother did not die, she left.’ He gave a heavy sigh and turned around. ‘She ran off when I was four years old. My father told me that she didn’t love me, didn’t love either of us. He told me she was never coming back. I didn’t believe him, didn’t believe any of it, until enough time had passed as to make it impossible for me to believe anything else and since then I have put her from my mind.’
‘You mean she just disappeared off the face of the earth? She didn’t write or visit?’
Sebastian laughed bitterly. ‘Oh, she made sure we knew her whereabouts. I told you, the one thing that has remained consistent is her claiming of her allowance.’
Caro scrambled to her feet. ‘You have never made any attempt to track her down, make contact with her?’
‘Why should I, when her years of silence speak volumes of her complete indifference towards me?’
‘But she is your mother.’ Caro clutched at her forehead. ‘I lost my mother when I was five years old, almost the same age as you were when yours ran away. I would give anything—anything—to be able to talk to her, to ask her questions, to know her. Good God, I even went to that ridiculous séance all those years ago in the vain hope that I might make contact, however brief, with her. Yet your mother is alive, she is living—where?’
‘Italy, I believe. Where she lives is irrelevant. The one place she does not live is here.’ He tapped the area over his heart. ‘She forfeited the right to that when she abandoned us so callously.’
‘But—but you do care. I saw the way you looked at those toys, as if you had seen a ghost.’
‘If I saw anything it was the ghost of my own, childish self, stupidly hoping against the odds. I was embarrassed by my gullibility.’
‘Dear heavens, Sebastian, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. You were a child. Of course you believed she would come back for you. Any child would. Of course it must have hurt, it must have been agony for you to finally realise that she was never coming back.’
‘You make too much of this. I admit it was upsetting at the time but I have been quite reconciled to it for many years.’
Beneath his tan, his face was pale. His mouth was set in a rigid line, the frown lines so deep that his brows almost met over his nose. She was not making too much of it, he was not making enough of it. ‘Aren’t you curious to know why she didn’t get in touch? Could your father have prevented her? After all, he was a very proud man and her leaving must have caused a deuce of a scandal. You were all he had left, it makes sense that he wouldn’t want to risk losing you too.’
Sebastian sighed heavily, and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Caro, it’s ancient history.’
‘So she is dead to you, just as she was to your father? I am surprised, I thought it pained you to walk in his shoes.’
‘You go too far.’
‘Your father died while you were abroad, with goodness knows how many questions left unanswered, how many matters left unsettled between you. I know you regret it, though you can’t bring yourself to admit it. Don’t make the same mistake twice. There is still time to remedy matters with your mother. I beg you, take the opportunity while you still can or you will have further cause for regret.’
‘Enough!’ he roared. ‘I have had more than a sufficient amount of your home-spun philosophy. You would do better to reflect on your own situation, my lady. There are ample matters for you to resolve in your own life without your involving yourself in mine. A mutually pleasurable afternoon in bed together doesn’t give you the right to dictate my actions.’
She felt the blood draining from her face. ‘I see. For you, that is all it was, a mere afternoon’s pleasure?’
‘What did it signify for you, if not that?’
A very good question, Caro realised with alarm. ‘I thought it was most educational,’ she said with a creditable attempt at carelessness, ‘and for that I must thank you. As to my interfering, rest assured, I have no desire whatsoever to embroil myself in your life, my lord. Apart from the fact that I am already married, you will understand it is very much a case of once bitten twice shy. My own affairs, as you rightly point out, are in dire need of attention. If you would inform Mrs Keith I will not require dinner this evening, I would appreciate it.’
He took a step towards her, then stopped. She made her way out of the Queen’s Bedchamber, closing the door swiftly behind her. Then she picked up her skirts and fled for the sanctuary of her bedchamber.
* * *
Caro slipped down the stairs and out of the side door as the clock above the stable yard struck six. The sun was only just rising, the sky a pale blue canvas streaked with pink. Almost exactly the same shade of the stockings she had been wearing yesterda
y.
She had barely slept. Making her way around the paddock, where the morning dew clung to her skirts, she entered the rose garden. The scent was heady, the large blooms at their extravagant best after the spell of hot August days. Kneeling down to sniff a particularly strong perfume, idly running her fingers over the velvety petals of a large crimson flower, Caro closed her eyes. Yesterday, in the Queen’s Bed, had been a revelation. It was not just what Sebastian had done to her, it was what she had discovered about herself. Seeing herself as a sensual being, that lush, passionate woman in the mirror, was—enlightening.
Only now did she realise the degree to which she had detached herself from her body. Making love to her husband had at first been pleasant enough. Never passionate, never more than mildly exciting, but she would not lie to herself, it had been—nice. Later, when the novelty had worn off, when it had become less and less likely that doing her marital duty was going to produce the much-desired heir, she had tried to recapture that pleasant feeling, to pretend to her husband and to herself, that it was still—nice. She had failed on both counts, and that failure had resulted in—well, that too was her own fault. Perhaps if she had been a better wife...
No, that was the old Caro who thought that way! She got to her feet and made for the other end of the rose garden, to the meadow which led to the boundary wall. If she had failed as a wife, then Sir Grahame had also failed as a husband. The simple fact was, she should not have married him. She had known from the start that she didn’t love him, and that night had proven to her that she no longer even cared for him. Not that she loved Sebastian. She’d been infatuated with him once, had thought that she could love him once, but she’d been in love with a dream. She hadn’t known the real man. She was only just beginning to know him now, and if ever there was a man she should run a hundred miles from, it was he.
Rumors That Ruined a Lady Page 15