Felice—he thought of her by that name—let herself be ushered toward the house. Once inside Nash turned toward the hallway, where a lamp burned low, awaiting his return.
"Would you like to leave your cloak?" She shook her head.
"Your mask? Your dress?"
She laughed. "No, no and no, not here."
He slung his cloak over a chair. "Then after you, it's to the right at the top of the stairs." He lifted the lamp to show them the way.
Madame Felice nodded and gathered the hem of her cloak and dress up, which gave him a perfect view of pair of trim and shapely ankles.
"If you raise your skirts further, perhaps I could see your arse as well as your feet?" he said in a deep voice. "It would appeal to my baser instincts."
She took the first three steps and turned to look over her shoulder. "I wouldn't have though you were so jaded as to need titillating, My Lord."
"Minx." He couldn't help but admire her retort. "I don't need stimulating, but your arse does need tanning. I will take great pleasure in watching it turn the color of your lips."
Her lips parted and a soft sigh escaped. Her face suffused with color. "What?" She turned away and continued up the staircase. Nash noticed a little more of her legs were now visible, and then a quick flash of a garter. His lady was teasing. They would see just who teased whom before long. He took the stairs two at a time to catch her up, and then opened the bedroom door, to usher Madame Felice inside.
"We won't be disturbed until I ring," he said as he put the lamp down and lit another one. He wanted to see his lady in all her nakedness. "Now strip."
Would his crude and blunt demand appeal or repulse her?
She smiled and undid her cloak. "You will need to play ladies maid, My Lord. I didn't expect to undress without one."
That was something Nash could do. His cock protested that it was ignored and hardened to such a degree that he wanted to take it to hand and give himself some relief there. Instead, Nash stroked his lady's neck and rejoiced in her tiny erotic quiver as he began to undo a row of diminutive buttons, which stretched from the nape of her neck to the enticing cleft in her arse. The dress undone and in a swirl of silk at her feet, Nash began on the ties of her petticoat, pleased her body was such that she didn't need a corset. When he reached her chemise, Madame Felice shivered.
"I can finish. I feel distinctly underdressed here."
"The mask," he reminded her.
Her hand went to her face. "The mask stays," she said firmly. Nash decided it wasn't worth arguing over. He'd undo it later. Once she was in the throes of passion, she wouldn't realize what he was doing.
He bowed, and pressed a series of nipping kisses to the nape of her neck. She shuddered and moaned.
"My Lord … ah … that sends such feelings through me."
"Good. Take off your chemise and get into bed whilst I disrobe. Then I'll show you what other feelings I can give you." He'd never shrugged out of evening wear so fast, and even used a jack for his boots. By the time Felice had slipped her chemise off, and he'd had a brief glimpse of rounded thighs and a perfect globe of her arse, he was naked alongside her. "Wait," he said hoarsely. "I need to taste." Before she had a chance to ask what he meant, Nash held both her hands in one of his, bent his head and suckled each nipple in turn. Her keening cry was enough to make his juices gather at the tip of his engorged cock.
He lifted his head with reluctance. "On the bed, lie on your back and spread your legs for me. If you don't want this, now is the time to say so." He waited, his body tight with anxiety less she did say 'no more'. She didn't.
Instead she clambered onto the high mattress with elegance, and did as he asked. "What now?"
He threw a towel down to her side and followed her onto the bed. Then he knelt between her legs, and bent his head to her quim. "This." He licked the soft flesh between her nether lips. Felice arched up toward him. Her hands were tight in his hair, and she panted as he alternately sucked and nibbled. He moved his tongue to push into her channel. It opened to him like a flower in bloom, and she screamed and shook as her climax hit her. Nash held his arousal in check, licking and soothing until he felt she was sated. Then he lifted his head.
"I'm going to fuck you with my cock now. Are you ready? There will be a short pain, but it will soon be replaced with such pleasure as you will not imagine. You enjoyed my tongue. My prick will increase that pleasure tenfold." At least he hoped it would. To his knowledge Nash had never deflowered a virgin before. He felt both honored and apprehensive. It was a responsibility, and he wanted to do all that was right for his lady to enjoy herself.
"Do it, show me." Her voice was not much more than a whisper. "I need to feel you in me. I need to know what it should be like."
Pressure indeed. Nash grinned. If there was ever a reason why he was unsuited to be a cleric, this was it. He moved and gradually pushed his willing cock into her. His partner was having none of it. Even as he judged it time to enter further, she wrapped her arms around his back, legs, around his waist, lifted her hips, and pushed herself toward him.
His cock slid inside her, as smoothly as a knife entering butter. In the lamplight he saw her eyes widen and the sheen of perspiration on her skin became even more pronounced. He withdrew almost to the tip and thrust again. She gasped.
"More, I need more…"
Nash was too absorbed in watching her to reply. He used one arm to hold his body up and with the other rubbed the tiny nub between her nether lips. She began to shake harder and faster than before. The tremors increased and as she thrashed her head from side to side, Nash felt his climax fill him. He sped up his thrusts as Felice gripped his head, her fingers tight in his hair. She screamed and after one more forceful push, he withdrew to spill over the towel.
"Noooo," her disapproval went through him. Had it been so bad? He felt as if he had climbed mount Olympus and she wasn't happy?
"Why did you leave me?“ Her words were slurred. "I wanted to feel you shudder in me."
Nash rolled to the side of the bed where he hadn't left a sticky mess, and pulled her on top of him. Her mouth formed an 'O' but she said nothing. "I withdrew because I'm a gentleman, who would not wish to saddle you with a child," he told her. She paled.
"The first time? Do you not need to practice to create a child?"
He stroked her back in soft circles. "My seed are my seed, be they in you once or ten times. If the time is right, we make a child. If I spill outside your body, the risk is less. I want to protect you, to show you how important you are. This may have been the first time, but there will be many more." He knew in that instant he couldn't let her leave him.
She bit her lip. "Then I thank you." She lifted her head and looked around the room. Then she waved her hand toward the nearby table. "I meant to ask earlier, but I was somewhat preoccupied." The giggle she gave was full of lightness and yet still sensual and arousing. If Nash hadn't felt so spent, he'd be inside her once more. "That intrigues me. What is it?"
Nash looked in the direction she was pointing. Set on the table was a leather pouch, around seven inches long, and a mere one or so wide, with several bulging pockets. "An inking set. To mark skin."
"For people?"
He inclined his head. "Or animals. To show to whom they belong. You pierce the skin and add ink to where the puncture is. That leaves a permanent marking. My animals are valuable, and this way I can prove they are indeed mine. There will be no thought of disputed ownership." He knew he sounded grim, but he had been duped once, when he'd first set up his pack. It would never happen again.
Madame Felice knelt up and stretched over him to lift the leather pouch. Nash had left it there the night before to remind himself to take it back to Rutland with him.
"So can we use it? On us? To celebrate tonight? For even if it matters little to you, it has shown me what lovemaking should be. If I never feel like this again, then I'll have something to remind me." She looked so eager, his heart jumped. It had meant somethin
g more than a fuck to him as well.
"Why will this be the only time? We have other nights," he told her, and watched her eyes cloud over.
"But this is our first." Her gaze skittered away from his. "However, if you feel differently that is fine."
His decision made, Nash lifted her from him. "Stay there whilst I get what we need." He collected cloths and water, scissors and razor, in short shrift. "So where shall we mark? I thought here." He ruffled the curls that covered her quim. "As close to heaven as we can make it."
She nodded and sighed. "How beautiful. Will you mark yourself the same?"
He shook his head and she went ashen. "No, I won't mark myself. You'll do it for me. I will however do the shaving. I'm not sure how well you would operate a cut throat and strop, and I need my cock and balls to fill you again."
Her color returned and she giggled, even though her eyes were still shadowed by some indefinable sorrow. "Then who'll begin?"
"It's usually ladies first. Let me shave us both whilst you decide on the design." He cut her curls as short as he could. Her eyes widened as the cold steel skimmed over her skin. It seemed his lady was oh so receptive to that cold touch. If only he had some ice he could introduce her to many more sensations. Nash let the closed blades stroke her cleft, and laughed softly as she gasped and took a deep shuddering breath. It was with reluctance he put the scissors down and picked up the razor and strop and denuded a small circle of hair just above the entrance to her channel. He wanted to pin her under him, and tease every last inch of her with the chill of anticipation before showing her how heat and cold could work so well together.
Later.
She didn't move but watched him with wide eyes. Each scrape of the steel, each tiny piece of skin that showed under his blade, brought more tiny drops of perspiration to her skin. Her body had taken on a soft rosy sheen, her eyes cloudy with desire, and Nash wanted her with a need so fierce it took his breath away. Carefully he set the razor on the table and moved, to thrust his tongue between her lips. She met it with a determination to match his, and then to his delight, pinched one of his nipples. He had to force himself to move back.
"If we carry on no ink will be used, and you will be bare for nothing." Was that thin, reedy voice really his? He needed to get a grip on his emotions.
"Never for nothing, but I do wish to see it finished." She sounded as disturbed as he.
Nash ran his hands over his head. He needed to stop them shaking. Then once more he bent to his task. When he'd finished, she rubbed her hands over the area.
"It feels so different, in a very good way. Now you?"
"Now me." He set the razor to his groin, and looked at his cock. It was once more standing up and pre cum had leaked onto the head. "I may need some help here." He gestured toward his prick, which waved as if in acknowledgement of his interest. "To ensure I don't ah, nick it or any such thing."
Madame Felice rolled her eyes. Even with only tiny holes cut in the mask the gesture was obvious. "Like this do you mean?" She set her mouth to the head and licked the juices there. The delicate scrape of her tongue was spine tingling. Nash could hardly remember what he was supposed to be doing.
"Not if you want me to finish the inking," he managed to say.
She lifted her head, and his cock slipped out of her mouth with a tiny pop. "A pity, I was beginning to enjoy myself. Perhaps we will both be better satisfied if I just hold it," she paused. "For now."
"Perhaps. Please." He couldn't form any more words in a coherent form, as she took hold of his horn, and held it firmly with both hands.
"Concentrate, 'tis your turn to be prepared." She lifted one finger and waggled it at him. "Then we can both be rewarded."
Nash took a deep breath and steadied himself, before he set the razor to his skin once more and made short work of his removing his own hair. Satisfied, he set the cutthroat and strop back onto the table. "So what are we inking?"
"Two hearts entwined." She sniggered. "Ah so trite, but oh so true. You have made me realize I have one, and now I have shared it."
If he hadn't been entranced with her, that sentence would have done it. As it was an inferno of sensations filled him, and he vowed he would find out more about his lady. The words 'his lady' hit him. He knew they were true.
She touched his arm. His cock jerked and protested at the reduction in contact.
"I'm ready."
So was he and not just for a tattoo.
"Then try to relax." With careful precision he set the needle to her skin. Her fingers tightened on his cock, and she gasped and bit her lip but didn't move.
"It will sting," Nash warned her. "And I will need to break the skin many times." He inserted the ink into the tiny needle prick, and made several more before she had time to voice her thoughts. Her hands were tight, but not uncomfortable on him.
"It is a sweet sting, My Lord. It marks me as proud to be as one with you." Her softly spoken words filled him with a fierce heat. He needed her again. But not, he vowed, until they were both inked. Then to spare their marks he would show her how many other ways there were to make love.
Nash bent his head and applied himself to his task.
Chapter Two
"Felicity, do hurry up. Welland is waiting for us." Lady Judith Welland's voice was petulant. Felicity Oakley sighed. Church had seemed interminable. The building was chilly, the sermon was long and didn't hold her interest, and the hassock lumpy. Now she was outside in the fresh air she was in no hurry to exchange it for the stuffy house of her cousin, the tedious lectures, and subtle determination of Judith and her husband.
It was becoming ever more impossible not to demand to return to London every day. Not that it would do her any good. She felt as if her voice was unheard, and she herself invisible. Maybe she'd wake up and find she was back home in Yorkshire, with her horses and her dogs? It was so long since she'd been there. Her home seemed like a fond memory. Felicity's papa was adamant she could dally no longer. She needed to be out and about in the ton, even if technically she was seen to be on the shelf. It didn't matter how often she'd said she was happy single and in the country, he ignored her. Now her beloved mama had passed away, and their period of mourning over, he was determined she would take her place in society. So, even if her demand was met, was London the place she wanted to be anyway? As a considerable heiress, any outing there could be fraught with problems. Fortune hunters were considerably thick skinned, and her bluntness rolled over them. However, she didn't have the chance to find out whether London would suit her now. Her previous request had been met with a straightforward no, followed by, "Your fiancé will expect to see you here." It didn't matter how many times Felicity said she had no fiancé, both Judith and her husband ignored her. Her father had decreed she was engaged, therefore in their minds she was. Felicity was beginning to think there was no hope. Even the letter she had asked an obliging tweeny to take to the one person she thought might help her hadn't been answered. She took a deep breath, and skirted the grave of one Philomena Messingham, spinster of this parish and devoted daughter. Would that she could hope for the same on her own gravestone. It seemed to be the perfect state to live in.
"Lady Felicity, You have dropped your missal." An arm nudged Felicity and knocked the book out of her hands, before she had a chance to protest the speaker was mistaken. It bounced on the grave edge and landed opened on the grass that surrounded the stone. A tall, slim, blonde-headed girl a few years younger than Felicity bent down and picked the book up, just as Felicity did the same. They missed clashing heads by an inch and the girl giggled.
"Sorry. I didn't know what else to do."
"Felicity, come on." Judith's voice was shrill.
"Coming, I dropped my hymnal," Felicity called as the young girl took her arm.
"I have a friend," the girl said rapidly in an undertone. "She says be at the old cottage on the edge of The Lydd estate as soon after everyone has retired as you can. She got your letter. It'll be sorted. You're not
to worry." She raised her voice. "Here you are, my lady, it's not crushed." Before Felicity had a chance to answer the girl curtsied and walked away.
Felicity smiled to herself as she walked back onto the gravel path and across the churchyard to where her cousin stood, tapping her feet. She allowed herself to be helped into the carriage by her cousin's portly husband, and wondered for the umpteenth time how Judith could stand him. He oozed pomposity and that awful aura of 'I know best.' He made her skin crawl. Once they were settled, Lord Welland got in and the carriage set off.
"Now isn't it good to know next week your fiancé will be here?" he asked as the carriage drove toward his house. "Perfect timing."
"If you say so," Felicity replied in an even tone. She didn't bother to ask timing for what. She knew Lord Welland wouldn't reply. He was of the 'tell them nothing unless you choose to, answer no questions' school. Felicity realized she despised him for his petty behavior and idiosyncratic ideas. Apart from which, she had every hope of not being there to greet her erstwhile swain.
Welland muttered something under his breath, and Judith tutted. Felicity ignored them. With luck, she only had the day to get through. She would do it.
She did but at times Felicity had to bite her tongue. Why had she never realized how stupid Judith could seem? She might be a beauty, and expect the adulation of every man who appeared in her orbit, but she really had little between her ears. Or did she? Every so often a sharp or irascible comment to her by Welland made her eyes flash, and once Felicity was sure she saw her cousin stiffen. However, Judith said nothing, and just agreed with every diktat he threw in her direction. It was a problem to worry about later. For the time being Felicity had enough to be anxious over without adding Judith and her husband to her concerns. She replayed the meeting with the young girl in her mind. Who was she? Felicity knew she didn't know her. It had been by happy circumstance she had discovered a distant cousin on her mother's side was in the locality, but the young girl wasn't she.
She and Judith had been strolling toward the village when a gig approached them and slowed. If it hadn't been for the warning stare from the occupant Felicity would have blurted out a warm welcome. As it was Judith spoke amiably but warily to the lady who held the reins and introduced her to Felicity as Mrs. Whittering, the housekeeper at Lyddbrook Manor. Felicity had smiled and answered a few trite questions, until they had walked on. To her knowledge Margaret was no Mrs., and Felicity hadn't known she was a housekeeper. Surely she was only a few years senior to Felicity herself?
Nash's Niche (Behind Closed Doors) Page 2