Gooseflesh erupted on her skin and he felt arrogant satisfaction that he was responsible for it. She pleased him very much.
"Gavin. That feels very soothing."
"I'm glad," he said, before kissing her shoulder. "Now, roll onto your stomach, Jane, and I shall pacify you even more."
She hesitated only briefly before rolling over. His gaze skimmed along her back, to the indention that drew him above her buttocks. She was perfect there, he decided as he traced her bottom. He'd always been drawn to a good bottom and Jane Westbury had the most perfect heart-shaped derriere he'd ever seen. It seemed such a shame to cover it. So instead, he used the henna on the flat of her back and kissed her plump cheeks when he had finished. "I'm afraid I was unable to pay homage your bottom, Jane. It is simply far too perfect for words." With a final stroke of his hand on her cheek, he kissed her back then whispered into her ear. "Now, Jane, on your knees, facing me. Don't open your eyes, I will help you."
There was no awkwardness as she kneeled before him and when she tilted up her face, the candles bathed her skin in a golden glow. She took his breath. He started, feeling his chest burn and tighten. Something very strange happened, and he couldn't stop himself from clutching her face in his hands and lowering his mouth to hers. His kiss was slow and provocative. He slid his tongue between her lips and mimicked what his cock was straining to do to her. She moaned and he deepened it, but kept the pace slow and sensual. When her hands trailed down his belly, he pulled away, afraid he would not possess the self-control to stop before it was too late. Her whimper nearly undid his control, but he stayed his hands from reaching to cup her breasts, and instead he reached for the quill.
He circled her areole with the feathers and watched as the nipple hardened. His tongue burned to lave it, but he squelched the impulse, knowing that soon he would have her. He chose her left breast, the one with the charming freckle that never failed to capture his interest or imagination. "You have beautiful breasts, Jane, do you know that?" She shook her head and he smiled, watching the taut flesh tremble beneath the quill. "They're full and heavy and spill over my hand. I like that Jane, very much. When I am on top of you they rub against me and I'm reminded of your voluptuousness. When you're above me I can watch you and study the way you move. I like to watch you, Jane."
She sighed and tossed her head back and he set the quill to her. He tickled the length of her midriff before reaching his most treasured spot. His finger replaced the quill and he circled her navel with it. He adored her soft belly. Loved touching it and putting his mouth to it. He couldn't wait to feel the soft and welcoming length of her beneath him. He looked up at her, her face lovely and serene. The emotion coursing inside him was so foreign, so strong that his hand shook when he dipped the quill in the henna and placed it on her navel.
His strokes were slow, thoughtful, and he wrote with all the emotion he had inside him. It didn't matter that she would never understand. He knew, and that was all that mattered. He couldn't tell her what her silky belly did to him, what thoughts wandered through his mind as he caressed her with his fingers and his mouth. But he did allow himself to kiss her softly and nuzzle her for the briefest of seconds. He was so close to her, he could smell her scent, and he knew she was aroused, and God help him he had never been more eager to part a woman's thighs and drive into her than he was now.
Letting the quill slip from his hands, he placed his fingertips on her mons and let his lips skim over the silky hair. Her fingers bit into his shoulders and the huskiness he heard deep in her throat made him thicken so painfully that he was forced to take his cock in his hand and soothe the ache that was now unbearable.
Willingly she parted her thighs for him and he flicked his tongue to taste her arousal. "So bloody beautiful," he groaned. "Lay back, shundori," he growled. "I have to have all of you. I need you in my mouth and on my tongue."
"Gavin," she sighed, raking her fingers through his hair. "Is there nothing you haven't done?"
He looked up at her then, and brought her down to meet him. "There is," he said, trailing his hands down her back to cup her lush bottom.
"Tell me."
"I have never made love, Jane."
Her eyes flew open and he kissed her, laying her back on the pillows, he came down on top of her, his breath coming in short pants. "Show me what it is like, Jane. I need to know, I need to know what it is like with you. Love me, Jane," he said before claiming her mouth in a kiss he knew would destroy him.
Chapter Thirteen
The early morning light filtered through the bed curtains. Jane stretched and yawned and thought about the wondrous night she had spent in Gavin's arms.
He had made love to her so thoroughly throughout the night and throughout nearly every room in the house that it was a wonder she was even awake at all. She smiled sheepishly, remembering the things he had done to her and the scandalous and most deliciously wicked things he had said to her as he carried her up to his room.
"Gavin," she whispered, reaching for him. But he was not beside her. She sat up and brought the sheet around her. She searched the room and called out his name. There was no answer.
In a rush of panic, she pulled the sheet from the bed, wrapped it tightly around her and stepped onto the cool floor. There, on the table before the window sat a folded paper with her name written boldly across the front.
She reached for it, her fingers shaking so fiercely that she could hardly open it. Already her eyes blurred with tears, her mind already knew what her heart refused to acknowledge.
Dearest Jane,
I have never been good with words, nor have I any experience with good-byes. I hope that you will forgive me for writing this, but you must know that I thought this the only way to keep from hurting you with my clumsy tongue.
Good-bye, Jane. You haven't any need for more lessons. You never really needed them. You always possessed the qualities to attract a man. You only needed the confidence to let them shine through. You never needed me or anyone else to show you the way, Jane. It was there all along, waiting to break free of your chrysalis.
I will never forget watching you emerge from your shell. I will always remember how you looked when you became aware of your beauty, the image of your smile and parted lips will forever be etched in my mind.
Take care, Jane, and remember me once in a while when you're entertaining your admirers. Spare me a smile or two in the ballrooms and I will know that you have not forgotten me.
Good-bye, Jane.
It was signed simply, Gavin.
Fat, scalding tears burned a trail down her cheeks. Why, she wanted to scream. Why couldn't he love her? Why had he lulled her last night into believing that she meant something to him?
Raising her hand to swipe away the tears, she remembered for the first time what he had done to her. Grasping the sheet in her hand, she stalked to the cheval looking glass and lowered the sheet, baring the red designs on her body.
She had never seen anything like it. His marks weren't recognizable, at least to her eyes. She twisted to her side and let the sheet drop lower revealing the large patch on her lower back. It was covered with the same sort of design.
What had he done to her, and why had he done it if he intended to leave her before she awoke?
The door cracked opened and Jane covered herself, but not before the maid peeked around the corner. Her dark eyes widened before she lowered them and kept her gaze averted from her while she put a bowl of steaming water on the commode.
She was Indian, Jane knew. Perhaps she would know what these strange markings were and where the artist was hiding.
"Maya," she said, remembering the girl's name. "Where is his lordship?"
Maya's hands were clenched tightly before her, and Jane could not help but notice how her gold bangles tinkled together as her hands shook.
"He is not at home, my lady."
"Where has he gone?" she asked, her voice breaking on a sob. She looked away and hoped that Maya would see fit to ignore her obvio
us distress.
"To London."
Jane nodded and tried blink back the tears that fell uncontrollably from her eyes. She felt utterly wretched, like her heart had been ripped from her chest. She had never felt so miserable. Not even Archie leaving her for Arabella had made her feel this hopeless.
"Do not cry, my lady," Maya whispered. The servant's hands raked through her hair and smoothed it against her back. "He wouldn't want you to cry."
"How do you know?" she said through trembling lips.
"I know him very well and I know that he wouldn't want to see tears from you."
"He doesn't care." Jane pressed her fingers to her eyes. "He wouldn't have left if he did."
"You spill these tears for you, or for him?" she asked, as she picked up a brush and began stroking it through Jane's riotous curls.
"Both," she whispered before her breath hitched and made a tiny hiccup. She sniffled against the sheet and forced back a sob. "I'm crying because my heart is breaking. And my heart is breaking because of him--because I can't make him love me."
Maya's eyes met hers in the mirror and Jane felt the tears begin well again. "You can't?" she asked, before taking her hair and pushing it over her shoulder so that her curls lay against her breast. "Did he tell you about these?" Fingers pressed into her skin on her neck, and Maya reached for her wrist to examine it.
"No, he did not." Jane huffed.
"It is henna. Women of my culture wear it to make our bodies more attractive to men. Our men--Indian men," she corrected, "have a special attraction for hands and feet. It is one of the only things that they are not forbidden to see, so we decorate them to entice them."
"What do the designs mean?"
"Nothing, really," Maya shrugged. "We create our own, whatever we want. But he has not done it in the traditional way. He has put his English touch to this ancient tradition."
"What has he done, Maya?"
"Show me and I will tell you."
Jane lowered the sheet, revealing her breasts and her navel, making sure the cotton dipped low enough on her back for Maya to see.
"He has written you a letter."
Her mouth parted in shock as she met Maya's smile in the looking glass. "Read it to me."
"Show me how. Tell me where to begin."
Jane presented Maya with her wrist and the servant turned it to examine it closer. "He has written it in Sanskrit," she said, looking up from her dark lashes.
"He didn't want me to know."
"Perhaps," Maya smiled secretly. "Now then," she murmured. "This says, 'A moth seeking the flame.'" Jane frowned and looked at her wrist. "Where is the next one?" Maya asked.
Her neck. She remembered how he had kissed and tickled her shoulder. She recalled the feel of his face pressed into the hollow beneath her ear.
"Ah," Maya nodded, holding her hair away. "'A drop seeking the sea.'" Jane covered her breast with her hands and closed her eyes as Maya read the next one. "'My heart seeking yours.'"
She tried to say something, but Maya halted her. "Your back, my lady, that is next, I think." Jane swallowed hard and closed her eyes, waiting to hear what Gavin had written. "It is a poem that all Bengalis, perhaps all Indians treasure. It is by Rumi and it is the most beautiful of all his works."
"Tell me, Maya," she said unable to stand the suspense any longer.
Maya smiled and started to read. "From the moment you smiled at me I was yours. You captivated me so that I was constantly looking for you. How foolish of me to not know that lovers do not finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along." Maya met her gaze and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "He has fixed it to suit his needs, I see. How very English of him." She grinned.
Her heart was beating much too fast. Gavin had written that? What did this mean? Was he attracted to her? Did he desire her? Did he love her?
"And this," she asked impulsively, showing Maya her middle, "what has he said here?" Maya glanced at her naval then picked up the brush and resumed running it through her hair.
"I cannot tell you that," she said very softly. "He must be the one to tell you."
"But he won't," Jane cried. "I don't even know where he is."
"Why do you want to find him?"
Jane stepped back and blinked. She couldn't believe that Maya didn't understand the depths of her feelings. "Because I love him," she said as if she were talking to a simpleton. "I don't want to lose him. I have to tell him, Maya."
The servant smiled brightly and reached for her hand. "Come with me, bondhu, and I will show you what to do."
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, grasping the sheet tightly against her breasts.
Maya turned and held her finger to her lips. "To the room of feminine secrets."
"I've never heard of such a room," Jane said suspiciously.
"That is because you are English. But we will fix that," Maya grinned. "And I shall tell you all the secrets there are to know about getting the man of your dreams."
Chapter Fourteen
Gavin glanced around his opulent surroundings and took a sip of port. He had been away from Jane less than a day and here he was, finding himself supporting the wall at Lord Manwarring's masquerade. What a joke, he thought as he took another drink. The costumes were nothing short of scandalous and the masquerade nothing less than a pretext to host an orgy.
His lips curled in disgust, but whether it was due to the couple who were fondling each other on the stairs beside him or himself for being there, he hadn't yet decided.
The groans from the amorous woman on the stairs made him turn away. Unconsciously he compared the husky, almost overdone sounds to that of Jane's breathless pleas and entreaties. What was she doing now? he wondered. Was she with Winterbourne? Did he have his mouth and hands all over her? Was her body clamouring for Winterbourne as it had for him the night before?
Bloody madness! He growled, finishing his drink. What the devil was he thinking? He was in a room full of writhing women waiting for a tup. He only had to glance at one of them and he would find his breeches undone and an eager mouth swallowing him. But when he looked down between his parted thighs it would not be Jane's face he saw. It would be some harpy who meant nothing to him.
He should never have admitted a blessed thing to himself. What had he been about spouting off nonsense about making love? I've never made love, Jane. Show me.... What a fool he'd been.
"Where is your mask, darling?" a familiar voice cooed behind him. "Or was it your intention for me to find you this evening?"
He turned around and looked down into the masked face and the much displayed charms of Catriona Hamilton.
"Well," she said, pouting sulkily, "have you come to your senses? Have you realized that Plain Jane is not worth your time, or," she said huskily, pressing her breasts against him, "your precious energy?"
He tried to make himself reach for the sheer scrap of muslin that was supposed to be Catriona's toga. He tried to make himself bare her breasts and kiss her lips, but he couldn't.
"Now then," she purred, boldly stroking the front of his breeches. "Why don't you show me just how magnificent your stallion really is?"
She was so typical of the women he knew. She thought her boldness was making him hard and randy, but in fact it was only vulgar. Her beauty was gauche. There was nothing about her that was genuine.
A month ago he might not have even noticed, or cared for that matter, but tonight he did. Tonight he wouldn't be able to achieve an erection if had three women such as Catriona working on his member. There was only one woman who could satisfy his needs. And yet, he wasn't the right man for her needs.
"Come, Grayson, show me your sword and I'll give you something to sheathe it in." He looked away from her glittering eyes and pouting lips. "Perhaps you want to be someplace more private," she teased. "Perhaps you've got something very naughty in store for me. Is that it Grayson? You want me to be a naughty girl so that you may punish me?"
A ripple of murmurs suddenly eru
pted amongst the groans and moans that filled the ballroom. Looking away from Catriona, he searched the room for a sign of whatever had sparked the hushed excitement he heard.
A vision in jade green floated from the doorway into the room and his body reacted like it had not had release in months.
"Mmm, very nice," Catriona hummed. "You're certainly big enough, aren't you?"
He ignored her and her searching hand and studied the woman in the jade chiffon, dressed as though she had walked straight out of a Sultan's harem. He grinned. She certainly looked at home in a skirt that was slung low on her hips with a jewelled top that molded her breasts into perfect mounds. His mouth went dry as his gaze flickered up to hair that was left loose and flowing. The color of her hair was his favorite--honey brown.
"Come my lord," Catriona encouraged. "Let us not wait another minute."
His lady in jade scanned the room and he wished he were closer so that he could see her face clearer. Were her eyes outlined in kohl? Did she look as mysterious and forbidden behind her face veil as he had imagined she would?
His body tightened and he folded his arms across his chest to keep from running to her. He was not what she wanted. He was a half-breed, the son of a mother who had been a concubine. He had spent his life bent on revenge, not caring who he destroyed. He didn't deserve her. His mind knew that, but his heart, and his damnable cock had yet to register the fact.
Her eyes scanned the ballroom and his heart squeezed fiercely in his chest. Good God what was she doing here? Was she meeting Winterbourne? Was she meeting someone new? Would she even notice him? His heart hammered along and he felt prickles of perspiration trickle down his back.
"Grayson?" Catriona asked, as she followed his gaze. "Who is that?"
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" he said, scanning the jade lady's lovely and very scantily clad body.
"She looks like a Sultan's whore."
"Hmm." He grinned, not even bothering to look at Catriona. "I have a penchant for Sultan's whores. You will recall that my mother was one."
Tutoring Lady Jane Page 10