“How fortunate for me, then,” Damon said tightly beside her. He reached for Lady Claire’s hand and lifted it, looking into her eyes the whole time before he removed a pencil from his jacket. Damon wrote his name under the only other name occupying the card.
It did not escape Yvonne’s attention how her son’s hand lingered on the older sister’s wrist before he released it.
* * * *
Trying to keep her face slightly to the side so she could avoid the foul breath of her dance partner, Claire worried she was about to pass out. Along with her avoidance to breathe in his presence for fear of inhaling his stench, she held concern that her binding was cutting off any air that had managed to work its way into her lungs. Sir Gerald’s breath was revolting! A chamber pot would be more appealing. She could not imagine kissing this man. It made her feel ill just to ponder the action.
As the gavotte stopped, she resisted the urge to cheer, but she did not think she had the energy.
A shadow was suddenly cast over her as her partner stepped back and frowned. Turning, she was surprised to see Lord Belfort there before she recalled he had requested, in a manner of speaking, the next dance.
Sir Gerald shrank slightly under the lord’s harsh gaze, but for some reason it did not affect her in the same way. She did not fear him like the rest of the room did—and that included her friend, the Lady Margaret. Margaret had gasped in horror when Claire had informed her he had the second dance with her. She could not see what they feared. He seemed a little overbearing, but what man of power was not?
“My Lord,” she said, holding out her hands, which he took without hesitation.
He was warm to the touch and, when the music started, she was unsurprised at how surefooted he was as he guided her around the dance floor.
“You are a wonderful dancer,” she commented, thinking it was custom to talk to one’s dance partner. It was the only unchaperoned time they would have to get to know each other, and she found that, strangely, she did want to get to know this man. He intrigued her more than anyone else in the room.
Her hands felt dwarfed in his larger ones, a strange sensation for her, as she normally overshadowed those around her. Without thinking, she opened her palm from around his and he followed her lead, doing the same. His fingertips were coarse and in some way familiar, comforting. How peculiar.
“As are you,” he said, then added, ”my rose.”
Her gaze snapped up from their hands to his eyes, her own going wide. His rose?
As she looked into his face, she saw the knowledge. He was the man from the river, the man of her pleasure. The man who had given her the most powerful and wonderful gift in the world.
Her eyes flicked to his cravat. He wore a blue one, identical to the article she had hidden in her dresser. He started to caress her hand with his thumb, and the warmth which had built in her yesterday threatened to do the same tonight. Heat travelled from her core to the tips of her nipples. Oh, how she longed to lean into his embrace, feel the strength from his body warm her in the already stuffy room.
All of a sudden, she felt dizzy. Her eyes threatened to drift closed and her body appeared suddenly heavy.
His hands tightened on her own and around her waist. “Are you all right?” he asked, as if concerned.
“I can’t breathe,” she panted.
He gave a quick nod. “The balcony. Perhaps some fresh air would help?” he asked, already guiding her towards the open doors.
The cold air hit her hard, causing her to inhale some much-needed air as she leaned over the railing. He stood with her, her hands still clasped in his strong ones.
“What is wrong?” he asked.
She identified it then. His deep and husky voice. By the river, it had held more passion, while now it held concern, but she could tell it was the same voice.
“My stepmother insisted my waist be bound. It is hard to breathe.”
He recoiled slightly. “Bound?” He looked to her waist briefly. “Why?”
“To hide as much of me as possible,” she said with a sigh, as she closed her eyes and took another well-needed breath. Embarrassment swept over her as she admitted as much. How she longed for a person to love her without bounds and accept her for who she was. Would it ever happen? Doubtful. She took another breath. It was so much more pleasant out here in the fresh air. Claire wanted to remain here for the entire evening.
“There is not one part of you that should be hidden.”
She looked back to him—his voice carried a certain scorn to it. His voice matched his expression.
“Thank you, my Lord,” she said with honesty. “Especially coming from you, a man who has seen me at my worst, it means a great deal.”
“Your worst? I do not understand. I have never seen a woman more radiant than you.”
Tears sprang into her eyes, but she looked away, refusing to allow him to see how much his words meant to her. Even if he did not mean them and had simply said them to make her feel better, he could never know how much she would treasure them. Never before had a man spoken to her with so much esteem in his voice.
“Would you care to take a walk with me around the garden?” she asked.
He nodded without pause, holding out his arm to escort her.
As they descended the stairs, he supported her as she faltered on the bottom step of uneven stone, he moved his arm around her waist. Rather than retreat when she had righted herself, he continued to hold her, pulling her further into the warmth of his body.
Claire knew it was improper for her to be so close to a man, or to walk alone with one, but she did not care. Never had she felt this way towards another. Nevertheless, these feelings were still a mass of contradictions.
Few lanterns lit the trail through the grounds. Claire led them off the common path.
“Why did you leave yesterday?” she whispered as they walked.
She felt his gaze on her but did not raise hers to meet it.
“I felt it best to remain anonymous, given the nature of our encounter.”
Puzzled, she looked at nothing in particular in the distance. “If that is the case, why did you make yourself known to me tonight?”
Chapter Three
A very good question—one he was asking himself. Damon had not been able to control himself earlier, on the dance floor. It had felt natural to use the term of endearment, yet he barely knew Lady Claire. He did not know what her likes and dislikes were, but he knew how she tasted on his tongue. Her musky, honeyed scent, which had become more potent by the second as he had milked her pleasure. She was a bloom of the highest calibre, and one he longed to capture for all time. Nevertheless, the rose would wilt under his care. Nothing lasted forever, though he could not imagine her beauty ever fading.
“I did not plan to,” he admitted.
She looked up at him, her silver eyes seeing far more than he wanted them to. She captivated him, and he allowed his mind to be overruled by his desires. His body called out for hers with desperate need. The ever-present discomfort in his breeches was just an example of that need.
“Yet you did?” she asked in a soft undertone.
“Yes,” he confirmed and took her hands in his, putting a halt to their stroll through the gardens. He turned her to face him.
They stood beneath a large willow tree—its trunk and bulbous roots carved the terrain around them. She studied him in the moonlight, and still Damon could not imagine finding another woman who held his attention as she did.
“Do you regret me making myself known?” he asked.
Her gaze never wavered and he found it refreshing. Few were strong enough to hold his eye. Women feared him, while men respected him by maintaining a hearty distance. Damon did not mind this. He preferred his solitude.
She shook her head once. “No.”
“Do you regret what we did at the river?”
She tried to turn away then, but he gently pulled her hands back, forcing her to hold his gaze. She did not fear him, he
was sure of it. Instead, embarrassment covered her features.
“No, my Lord. I do not regret what you did. I enjoyed it. Though, I fear I did little to please you in return.”
Moving closer, Damon watched her intently as their bodies touched through the fabrics which clothed them. “You provided me with more pleasure in that moment than I could have thought possible.”
“I did not even touch you, my Lord. How could I have given you pleasure?”
“Damon,” he corrected. “My name is Damon.”
The thought of her lush lips calling his name wound him tighter. She had not known much of herself yesterday. Remembering how she had scratched his back and pulled at his hair, Damon wanted to prove to her that pleasure could be had simply by witnessing.
“Damon?” she whispered, drawing out the word as it rolled off her tongue.
He groaned, unable to help himself. “You did give me pleasure, my rose. I have never seen a more wondrous sight than I did as you experienced your peak.”
She smiled slightly and he knew if it had been lighter, he would have seen the blood rushing to her cheeks.
“I want to do it for you,” she whispered, her gaze not flinching. She raised her hands to his chest, where she flattened them before she guided a hand slowly and deliberately down his body.
Damon struggled to breathe. While he watched her eyes follow her hands’ movements, he didn’t miss how her tongue darted out as it ran longingly over her lips, as if she were eager for a taste of him.
He shook visibly now with his need for her, his need to come together fully with this woman. How could a woman, who was still a maiden, be so brazen and look at him without fear? Damon found it both fascinating and unnerving. His eyes closed of their own accord as her flingers slipped to the fabric of his breeches, sliding the buttons one at a time from the holes. The flap dropped, and Damon could not hold in the hiss of breath which left him as her surprisingly warm hand grasped his cock. She moved her fingers without hesitation, as if to explore every inch. It was a hearty combination of both heaven and hell.
“It is much bigger than I expected,” she murmured, sounding surprised, yet intrigued.
Damon’s head dipped back as he rested his spine against the trunk of the willow. He worried about his ability to stand if she continued her exploration.
Her palm surrounding his girth, she milked his shaft with slow and sure strokes, starting at his base and sliding towards the tip. As her fingers moved over his bulbous head, she caressed the crown with her thumb, finding a drop of moisture at its tip, which she milked from him. She explored the droplet as it pearled, rubbing it gently around his seam.
“D-did you use your mouth on me? You did, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he ground out, and watched her drop to her knees before him, her tongue darting out to capture the moisture she had been working moments ago.
Damon flinched, unable to contain himself. It was not a flinch of pain, merely a mixture of pleasure and shock as her warm, wet mouth glided over his throbbing shaft, her tongue paying particular attention to the head.
A groan verging on the sound of a lion’s call erupted from his lips. Oh, in his life he had never experienced such pleasure! She was a vixen and a goddess! He would have her! There was no question any longer in his mind.
“Damon?”
He froze at the same instant she did, her tongue stopping mid-caress. His mother’s voice was a quiet call, but he knew that while she was a distance away, she would not remain so for long.
Claire stood, her eyes wide as she looked worriedly in the direction of the voice. “Was that your mother?” she gasped, dusting off her dress while he fastened his breeches.
“Yes.”
“Oh, God! What if she had not called and spotted us?” she asked, appearing horrified, her hand covering her mouth.
Gently removing the hand and taking it in his, Damon pulled her close, claiming her lips with his own.
Appearing shocked for a second, the woman in his arms took only an instant before she melted into him, her body becoming pliant against his. She was not a skilled courtesan, Damon could tell that by the inexperienced movement of her tongue, but she had exceptional instincts. Instincts he planned to allow to flourish freely. He held no doubt in his mind now; he would find it a grand pleasure to enhance her skills and knowledge. She was definitely an eager scholar.
Claire worked her tongue across every surface of his mouth, as if to discover all she could. Damon liked the direction her instincts seemed to take. Passion ran deep within her veins, a passion he could not wait to allow free. Yet, would she welcome all of him?
As he pulled her into the hardness of his body, Claire melted like butter, moulding herself to him.
His tongue duelled with hers in a way she would never have dreamed exciting or in any way pleasurable, but it was. His strong arms encased her in warmth and as the kiss lengthened, his hold grew firmer. While one arm held her tightly to him, he smoothed his other hand down her spine and settled it over her bottom, feeling her curves before he hungrily urged her closer to him. She felt his man part pressing into her, its hardness still profound, and as he rubbed her against it, she was surprised at how much the action pleased her.
Claire had never thought of herself as shameless or a harlot, but she was starting to question herself now. She loved his hands on her and was shocked at how much pleasure she had gained during her exploration of him earlier.
The pulsing heat of his man part had been almost scalding. She had become fascinated at how smooth and silky it had felt in her hands, and how firm it had remained underneath. The noises of enjoyment he had emitted had sent her excitement into overdrive. The area where he had pleased her, only the day before, had grown damp with her own arousal. It was a fact she found rather startling, but at that moment she hadn’t cared. Well, not until she had heard his mother’s call.
Just as that thought penetrated her brain, a slight cough to her right captured Claire’s attention, making her freeze. Damon lifted his head sharply and pivoted her away from the person who had come upon them, shielding her with his body, her face buried in his chest.
“Damon, there is no need to hide her from your mother,” an amused woman’s voice said. “Though you should be thankful it was I who walked upon you, and not another.”
Damon tightened his arms around Claire before he took a deep breath. She could hear the rapid beat of his heart.
Claire took a moment to gather her wits and stepped out from his embrace. She was not a coward, and hiding behind this man and pretending ignorance was simply not in her nature. She was a lady and, regardless of what his mother thought, she would not cower or run away.
Stepping around Damon, refusing to meet his eyes, Claire forced her gaze towards his mother. The woman did not hold an expression of disgust or ill respect. In truth, she looked rather happy—overjoyed, in fact. How odd.
Damon turned and stood beside Claire. His overbearing presence shielded her, and for an instant she envisioned him protecting her from his mother, yet it appeared he did not need to.
“Darling, Lord Percival asked after you. The gentlemen are in the library taking brandy. Why do you not go to meet him, and Lady Claire and I will descend upon the ballroom in our own time?”
Damon did not move or comment until his mother narrowed her eyes at him.
“Do not give me that look, Damon,” she said firmly before softening her expression. “You should know no harm will come to her in my care.”
These words seemed to mollify him, and Damon turned to her. Claire looked up into his features as he took hold of her hand, where he laid a delicate kiss, nothing like they had just shared.
“Until we meet again, my rose,” he murmured with his head bent over her, a shadow hiding his face.
She wanted to see his expression, but there was no time before he dropped her hand and headed for the house. She watched his retreating figure until it rounded a corner, blocked from view by a larg
e jasmine hedge.
“Would you care to accompany me through your garden, my dear? Though it is dark, I would still like a tour. I do not feel like returning to the ballroom yet,” Lady Yvonne said. She came up beside Claire and linked their arms.
What must this woman think of her? While Claire was determined to prove she was not ashamed by what they had done, she still found herself embarrassed at being discovered. It was one thing for their dalliance to take place, but to be witnessed by the man’s mother left her feeling guilty, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise.
“Why is it you do not wish to return, my Lady?” Claire asked.
Lady Yvonne gave a genuine smile as she cast Claire a glance. “I would like you to call me Yvonne, and if you do not mind, I, in turn, would like to address you as Claire. I feel we are to become close, you and I.”
“I do not mind being addressed by my given name. I prefer it,” Claire said, then added, “however, though I am flattered, why do you believe you and I will become close? We have just met, after all, and then what you witnessed…”
Damon’s mother paused, gently tugging Claire to face her as she took both her hands, much like Damon had done before.
“It is because of what I witnessed I believe you and I will become close.”
Claire blinked at the woman’s words. “Pardon?”
His mother laughed and turned Claire back towards the path, threading her arm though Claire’s once more.
“I knew before we arrived tonight that someone who would be in attendance had captured my son’s eye, and I had thought it was your sister. I must admit, I am rather pleased it is not. While quite appealing to the eye, she appears without substance.” Lady Yvonne paused. “I hope you do not think me cruel for my honesty.”
“Not at all. I actually feel quite similar.” Although she would not have put it quite so delicately. “Though I assure you, your son has made me no promises.”
The Rose's Bloom Page 3