by Lavinia Kent
“Then…”
Before he could say more she cut him off. “And then she died, then she left me. One moment I was turning cartwheels in the courtyard, dreaming of learning to tumble and spin all the way across the stones, and the next my mother was dead, lying flat on the pavement only feet away from me. Did you know that I was there? That I waved to her as she stood on the balcony eager to join our play? That I saw her face before she crashed down? I went from perfection to hell in less than a second.”
“I still do not understand why that should make you afraid of love. I would think it would make you treasure it more.” He rose up on an elbow and looked down at her.
Despite her lethargy she felt anger begin to simmer in her belly. Why did he need to understand? Why did he even want to? It was not his life. “Because she left me. She taught me how wonderful love was and then she took it away. And she took it away from my father too. Swanston thinks she killed herself. He doesn’t believe that she just fell from the balcony. He thinks she jumped. I heard him whisper it once. I’ve wondered for years, tried to remember every nuance of her face before she fell—or jumped. I remember seeing her, watching her smile as she tried to walk along the railing like a tightrope walker. We were all playing circus. She just wanted to join in, didn’t she? Could she really have jumped? Could she have left me deliberately? Could life have been so bad that I was not enough, that my father was not enough? Before her death some might have considered him odd, but it was a normal type of odd. He still kept the account books, took his seat in parliament, remembered to wash between playing in the stables and attending a ball. After her death he didn’t do anything. He went from being a father who cared to one who didn’t notice if I stood in front of him and screamed. He didn’t care about anything except that she was gone. She might have been the one who died, but I lost him too. And then Swanston went to school and he left me. He came back changed, cold and stern. I’ve never had a love that lasted. I am tired of the pain. I do not want any more. I want a good husband, whom I will care for and who will care for me. I do not want to love him and I do not want him to love me. Life is easier without love.”
Did she really believe that? She’d never consciously put it into thought before. And those thoughts about her mother’s death, mostly she refused to believe them, but now, now she wondered again. Had she not been enough? Had her mother chosen to die?
“I do not believe that. And I cannot believe that you do either.” Duldon shifted and she felt him lean above her on the bed. “Would you have given up those years with your mother? I do not believe she would have given them up either. I cannot believe you think she would ever have left you or your family on purpose. And I don’t think Swanston does either. He may have wondered, but I do not think he believes it. And your father? Do you think your father wishes he had never met her? Avoiding love doesn’t prevent tragedy, it only prevents love.”
If only she could believe that. “It also prevents pain. I think it is easier to live without something than it is to lose it.”
He lifted a hand and trailed it across her lips. Without thought she placed a quiet kiss upon it.
“I can understand why you believe that,” he said. “I might not even argue with it, but easier is not the same as better. Life is better with love. I never thought you were a woman to take the easy route. If anything you often seem to work to make things harder than they need to be.”
She turned her face from him, scared that he would see how his words affected her. No, she did not seek the easy—except in this. There were some things that were not worth risk. “And how would you know, about me or about love?” Was that anger that edged her voice? Were the feelings of all these years finally seeping out?
“We will not discuss how I know about you. You know very well that I have cared for you. I will not debate that. I used to think that I knew you better than you know yourself. Even after all these years I think I see to the true heart of you, Bliss. As for love, you might think that having grown up almost on my own, raised by a man who rarely thought beyond my physical needs, that I would not know love, but I have seen it. I have seen it and missed it. I do not want to live without it. I would rather not marry than have a tolerable marriage. It is why I have waited for you.” His hands slipped up about her face, a twist of his fingers and the blindfold fell loose for a second time, leaving him staring straight into her eyes.
Could he possibly be saying what she thought he was? No, he did not mean that he loved her. She did not know what he did mean, but she was sure he did not mean that. “I can understand the lack you felt as a child and why it makes you want more, but it does not change the way I feel.”
“I also saw my guardian fall in love with a woman who was not his wife. He was unhappy for years as a result and even after his death his actions still bring pain. I will not follow that path.”
“I am not asking you to.” She spoke firmly and was not sure whether she sought to reassure herself or Stephan.
“Are you not?” His question was quiet, but very, very firm.
She turned her head from him, seeking distraction. “What are the feathers for? I don’t believe you showed me.”
His chest expanded above her until it seemed to fill her entire field of vision. “Do you need so badly to avoid this conversation?” Resignation sounded in his tone.
She did not answer, but placed a single hand upon his chest.
He exhaled. “Very well.” He reached for the soft white feather and lifted it, trailing it across her shoulder. It felt like a thousand velvet kisses. She could barely feel it, and yet her whole body was aware of that softest of brushes. Her head lolled back as for a moment she did nothing but enjoy.
“You like that,” he said. “And this?”
He lifted the black feather with his other hand, and brushed it across the top of her breast. It was much more definite in feel than the white feather, not a scratch, but firm and thin. Her forehead drew together as she considered the sensation.
“You are not as sure about that one, but I have a feeling it will grow on you. Are you ready to start again?” Stephan asked.
“Can’t I use them on you?” Her mind filled with the image of trailing the soft white feather over the tight muscles of his chest, of letting it drift lower, of…
“Your face is so transparent, kitten.”
“Only with you. You always seem to be reading my mind.”
“Do you ever wonder why that is?”
She closed her mouth. No. She spent a great deal of time not thinking about such things.
“I cannot grant your boon when you are not honest with me.”
Her lips stayed tight.
He smiled, softly and with great patience. “Then what about another question? Are you prepared to trust me with more? It always comes back to trust between us.”
What would he ask? She knew it would not be easy. “I cannot promise to answer.”
“And I cannot promise to give over control.”
“Ask.” She stared at his chest, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Why are you so opposed to marriage? I have tried to understand, but have not found an answer. You are clearly not scared of the physical aspects. Are you scared of childbirth?”
That she had not expected. Her eyes darted up to his and then fell back when she caught the intensity behind his gaze. “No.”
“I need more than that.”
“I am not sure why you ask. And I would admit that I do not look forward to being with child, but neither do I fear it. I watched my mother’s discomfort with the condition and I cannot say I desire the same for myself, and I certainly fear the loss of a baby, but I do not fear childbirth itself. I am strong and my hips are wide—if you have not noticed.”
A low laugh, but his eyes did not reflect the humor. “Yes, I have noticed your hips. The way you walk no man could miss them.”
She smiled, wondering if the questions were over.
He reached out and took the
hand that rested on his chest. “And do you wish children?”
“Yes—although sometimes I fear the pain and loss that can come for either parent or child. I do remember how my mother mourned the babies that did not survive. I am not sure that I have such strength with in me.”
“I think you have more strength than you know, Bliss. And I also think you risk far more by not having children than by having them. You have so much love in you and it needs a place to go. Think of all the love your mother did have. Would her life have been better without it?”
“You know I cannot answer that. How can anyone ever know what another experiences?”
“You are trying to avoid answering. Do you think your mother would have been happier without love?”
Bliss shut her eyes, but against her will her mind swept back to her mother dancing on the lawn, her circle of children about her, her eyes lifting to stare across at the duke, the love apparent in their mingled gaze. It was one of the best memories of Bliss’s life, a moment that clearly marked how perfect life had been.
Would her mother have ever given that up? Chosen to leave it behind?
No.
The single word reverberated through her thoughts.
No.
Her mother would never have chosen to leave that behind. Her mother had clung to love and family with all she had, even in the darkest of moments.
“I want children and not just to have an heir,” Duldon’s words intruded on her thoughts. “I cannot imagine a marriage without them. Although if God chooses not to bless us, then…”
Us. They were back to discussing marriage, their marriage. Why did it always come back to that? Why could he not be happy with what they did have in this moment? “I have discussed this long enough. I cannot believe that my feelings will change.” Although deep down she was beginning to fear they were already changing. It was hard to remember that dancing circle and not wish it for herself, no matter what came after.
She pushed the thought away. That was not why she was here. She turned her lips into a pouting smile. “Don’t you wish to play anymore? You are wasting time with all this talk.”
He held her glance, his face solemn. “The time is coming when I will no longer be content with play. I want more.”
“Don’t sound so disgruntled.” She refused to allow a return to seriousness. “I am sure you would happier if you had allowed me time to play. I think you would be much more satisfied then.”
A deep laugh rumbled in his chest, this time truly genuine. “Yes, a straining cock does not put a man in the best of moods. And you are a demanding kitten. I will have to work hard to keep your claws sheathed.”
“I admit I’ve never been good at doing what is expected. I have never liked to wait for my dessert.” She licked her lips and smiled, trying to go back to where they had been before their conversation began.
She felt him give in as he lay back upon the bed. “You are lucky you never attended school. We were forced to line up every morning with our toes upon that mark. There was no room for changing the rules about.”
“I imagine that you were always the first one there, ready to follow orders.”
“You might be surprised.”
She perused his long form as it lay beside her in the bed, strong and so very naked, and so very aroused even after these moments of quiet. “I just might be. Are you going to grant me a feather?”
Chapter Twenty-two
Duldon spread his body across the bed, crossed his fingers behind his head, and stared down at Bliss. He might be willing to let her play, but there was a limit to how much control he was willing to give up. He would grant her a feather, or two, but he intended this game to proceed as he desired.
Bliss had revealed more to him than he had honestly expected and he knew he needed to give her a moment of retreat, a moment to find herself again. And he couldn’t say he minded letting her have her fun.
He rather expected that he’d find the experience quite satisfactory.
His Bliss had some natural talent, talent he had dreamed of, but not truly expected.
A tentative hand brushed across his abdomen and he glanced down at her. She grinned back, her seriousness and dark thoughts put away. She might still be a little shy, but vitality and life filled her. Her joy was rarely hidden.
“Black or white?” she asked.
“Definitely white to start,” he answered, smiling at her in return.
Lifting the drooping white feather, she let the strands play across his belly. His muscles tensed and rippled, but he made no other motion. She repeated the gesture, letting the tendrils trail farther down until they brushed against his dark blond curls. His cock jumped, straining for her touch.
He stared up at the mirror above, trying to calm his body, to maintain his control. It was a mistake. The mirror captured the perfect curve of her ass, the nipped-in waist, the hint of those areas he had so recently explored.
He closed his eyes—and was immediately lost in sensation as she swept the feather across him again, and then again. Blast, not seeing was worse than seeing. When the world was black all that was left was to feel. It was why he had blindfolded her.
He opened his eyes.
His fingers curled as he fought the urge to grab her hand and stop her. If she could withstand his teasing he could certainly withstand hers. And he would not beg, of that he was determined.
“I love watching how your skin moves, how you respond to each touch,” she said. “I never knew so much of the body was sensitive.”
Another brush of the feather, lower than the last.
“Yes, almost any part can be erotic if regarded as such.” He hoped his voice did not reveal the tight knots she was tying him in.
“I begin to wish I had let you play first.”
He wished he were playing with her now. He had known this would be torture, but not how far his limits would be stretched. He glanced back down at her.
“I do wonder what the feather feels like.” She met his gaze, and with slow, deliberate motions let the feather sweep across her own nipple. She bit her lip as the rosy peak played hide-and-seek between the barbs of the feather, the soft white down caressing her flesh. “I like it. I can pretend that it is your touch. It is very different than when I touch myself and feel with both my hands as well as my breast.” Her other hand rose and cupped the other breast, the fingers spreading to enfold the reddened nipple.
His hips rose at the sight. She didn’t even need to touch him and his body reacted as if her lips were upon him. The simple sight of her hand upon her breast was almost enough to send him over the edge. Sucking in a calming breath, he fought for his control. “Try the feather on my thighs. I think you will like the results.”
Her eyes widened, and her face lifted to him.
Did she understand the game they played, the subtle fight for mastery? He might be granting her the time to explore, but his rules still applied.
Bliss took the feather and ran it from knee to hip, her eyes dancing each time his muscles shook.
Yes, she did like that.
Moving the feather to the inner thigh, she bit down on her lip as his body responded in the expected manner. His nails bit into his palms as the tip of the feather brushed the base of his balls. His eyes would have rolled back in his skull if he had allowed them.
Moving her body over the sheets, Bliss moved to settle herself between his legs, her whole focus on his cock. Her eyes glittered and her lips parted. He could see the hunger within her and knew that no matter how great, it was only a fraction of that which rose in him. With studied concentration she took the firmer black feather and traced a line just at the base of his sack.
It took everything he had to keep up any pretense of relaxation. “Run the edge of the feather along my length. Yes, again.” His entire body was one tight muscle of want, the focus on that single fraction of skin where the feather ran. A drop of cum leaked from him and settled on the tip.
Bliss licked he
r lips, her focus tight, and leaned forward.
“No.” He said the word sharply, leaving no room for question. “I want your hands on me.”
She peered at him from under her lashes, questioning.
He was not used to explaining, but for Bliss he would. “It will be over too fast if your lips touch me. Even the thought of your hot, wet mouth has me ready to come in an instant.”
“And that is a problem?” Her voice rang with genuine curiosity.
“Yes, that is a problem.”
“But I want to see you come. I want to watch every second of it.”
He could grant her that. “Only if you do exactly as I say.”
—
Do exactly as he said? It always seemed to come back to that. Every time Bliss complied she could feel the pleasure that filled him—and therefore her—and yet he did not seem to object when she chose her own path. Well, perhaps he objected, but he enjoyed the fight. He was a contradiction, one she could not quite puzzle out.
Which led her to wonder…
“And what exactly would you like me to do, oh exalted master?” She tried to hide the laugh that lurked deep in her throat as she spoke the words.
“Why do you call me that?” His voice was suddenly hoarse, his body growing stiff beneath her touch.
“Master?”
“Yes.” He sounded more abrupt than she had ever heard him, even after he’d discovered her torn bodice.
“I thought it was cute.” Had he not heard the humor in her voice?
“Cute? You thought it was cute to call me master?”
She placed a hand on each of his thighs, letting the feathers fall to the bed. “Yes. I thought it was cute. Are we really going to have an argument because I made a joke? Surely you must realize that you are a rather bossy man.” She licked her lips and stared at him, daring him to comment.