by Jane Feather
He smiled and rose from his chair, uncoiling his long, lean body with a slow deliberation that reminded Prudence of an indolent lion preparing itself for a night’s hunting. The atmosphere in the room changed abruptly, no longer relaxed, but singing with that same dangerous tension of before. He leaned against the mantel, glass in hand, one foot resting on the fender, and looked at her.
“Prudence.” He spoke her name softly, thoughtfully, rolling the syllables around his tongue. His gray gaze was once again intent and intense. She resisted the urge to take off her glasses, knowing from experience that that gaze was too hot to hold without the defense of her lenses. She began to feel rather strange, light-headed almost. Her stomach felt as if it was floating. Whatever this was, it was not supposed to be happening.
She was impaled in her chair, her body pressed back against the overstuffed cushions by some invisible weight. Gideon moved away from the mantel. He took the few steps necessary to reach her. And yet still she sat unmoving, waiting. He leaned over, his hands braced on the arms of her chair. His face was very close to hers. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek, and could almost imagine that she felt the sparks that lit the gray eyes now fused with hers. She let her head fall back against the cushions behind her, exposing the column of her throat in a movement that expressed both abandonment and submission. A tiny sigh escaped her.
He kissed her. A very different kiss from the one he had first given her. The one he had first taken from her. The pressure of his mouth on hers was light, almost exploratory, and if she had wanted to turn her head aside, to push him away, she could have. But she didn’t. His tongue stroked across her lips, and then gently but with absolute deliberation pushed into the warm velvet of her mouth. His breath mingled with hers as his tongue slid delicately over her teeth, touched the inside of her cheeks, danced with her own. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, and she tasted hungrily of his tongue, drawing him farther within. Her body was in control now, her mind for once subservient to this unfamiliar but imperative need. She moved her hands up to clasp his head, and her tongue darted with swift serpentine movements between his lips, exploring his mouth as he’d explored hers.
It was only breathlessness that forced them apart, and Prudence finally let her hands fall into her lap, reluctant to lose the heady scent of his skin, the warm taste of his mouth. He smiled down at her, still keeping his hands braced on the arms of her chair.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “I dislike you intensely.”
“All the time or some of the time?” His face was still so close to hers, his breath rustled warm across her cheek.
“Some of the time . . . it would seem,” she added, sounding both puzzled and slightly indignant.
“Does it help if I tell you that the feeling is entirely mutual?” he asked, still smiling. “There are times when I dislike you every bit as intensely.”
“Then this isn’t supposed to happen.”
“The world is full of surprises. It would be a very boring place if it weren’t.” He moved closer and suddenly kissed the tip of her nose. “Don’t you agree?”
“I suppose I must,” she murmured. “But there are surprises and surprises, and this kind has no right to happen.”
“That bad, huh?” He kissed the corner of her mouth, a light butterfly touch of his lips. Both eyes and voice were now amused.
Prudence made a movement to straighten in the chair and instantly he stepped back, but without taking his eyes off her. She took off her glasses and blinked. “I don’t want things to become confused,” she said. “And it seems to me that this can only lead to a morass of confusion.”
He continued to look down at her, then he leaned forward and took the glasses from her hand. He said, “It doesn’t have to. I don’t see why lovers can’t also work together.”
Prudence blinked myopically at his now blurred expression. Without her glasses, matters looked rather different. The brisk, businesslike, highly focused, prudent Prudence Duncan existed behind those gold-rimmed lenses. Without them the world moved into softer focus and the hard realities of every day receded into a rather convenient mist.
When he reached down a hand to pull her to her feet, she offered no resistance. He put his hands on her shoulders and lightly kissed her eyelids. “Should we have dinner first?”
There was no mistaking his meaning and Prudence was not one to play coy games. She touched her tingling mouth with her fingertips. It happened sometimes, when the sensible, logical side of her nature was somehow driven out by rash instinct, and it was definitely happening now.
Slowly she took her glasses from him and returned them to her nose, testing. If when she could see straight her prudent nature once more gained the ascendancy, she would know this was all some kind of bad joke. But all that happened was that she could now see Gideon’s face clearly and it made not the slightest difference to what she wanted.
“Will the duck keep?” she asked.
Gideon nodded, his smile deepening. “Wait here,” he said, and left her in solitude.
Prudence took up her sherry glass and drank down the contents as she stood by the fire, gazing into the flames. Whatever this madness was, she had neither the will nor the inclination to stop it, and to hell with the consequences. But she jumped nevertheless at the sound of the door opening, even though she was expecting it. Her heart banged against her ribs as she turned away from the fire.
Gideon stood in the doorway, a small valise in one hand. His other he extended in invitation. She stepped across the room and took his hand. His fingers closed tight and warm over hers. “We’ll be more comfortable upstairs,” he said.
Prudence inclined her head in brief acknowledgment. She was no longer in control of anything, and for once in her life had no desire to be so. They walked up a shallow flight of stairs to a narrow, carpeted corridor. Gideon, still holding her hand, opened the first door they came to. It led into a bedroom, complete with four-poster bed, low beamed ceiling, and uneven oak floors. There was a fire in the grate and chintz curtains drawn across two small windows.
“How cozy,” Prudence murmured.
He looked sharply at her as if he suspected a sardonic edge to the description, but there was nothing in her expression to confirm the suspicion. He was beginning to feel uncharacteristically nervous. He’d made love to a goodly number of women, and never—apart from the first few times in his youth—felt any qualms as to his ability to please.
He realized he didn’t even know if Prudence was a virgin. Ordinarily he would assume that an unmarried woman of her birth and social position would have to be. But he was learning not to expect the ordinary when it came to the Honorable Prudence Duncan. He wondered whether to ask, and then decided he couldn’t manage the question with any aplomb at the moment, which in itself was an unusual problem. Asking difficult questions was his stock-in-trade, after all.
“No,” she said with a sudden smile. “I’m not. I’m not particularly experienced either, but I do have a pretty good idea of what’s what.”
He looked a little chagrined. “How did you guess?”
“It seemed an obvious thought you would have, and you were looking rather indecisive and uncomfortable.” She found that instant of vulnerability she had glimpsed on his face reassuring, drawing her closer to him. He was perhaps as uncertain, as unsure of himself and his instincts at this moment as she was. And she could only like him the better for it.
She walked to the fire and bent to warm her hands, although they weren’t in the least cold. The strange light-headed sensation grew ever more powerful and she began to wonder if perhaps she was dreaming and none of this was really happening. And then she felt his arms around her, his body hard against her back, and she knew it was no dream.
He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck, his hands tracing the swell of her breasts beneath her jacket. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, so that her breasts filled his palms.
“You have too many cloth
es on,” he murmured, moving his mouth to her ear as his fingers deftly unbuttoned her jacket, and as neatly drew it backwards off her shoulders. His fingers slid between the buttons of her cream silk blouse and explored the warm swell of her breasts through the thin chemise. He could feel her nipples hardening against the material. His tongue darted into the tight shell of her ear, and she squirmed with a tiny squeal. He laughed softly, his breath tickling her ear anew.
He unbuttoned her blouse, the tiny pearl fastenings flying apart, and he was no longer nervous, unsure of himself, and he could sense her own rising urgency for the touch of skin upon skin. The blouse fell to the floor with the jacket and he slipped his hands into the low neck of the chemise and held her breasts in his palms, surprised at how full they were. Her frame, elegant though she always looked, was thin and angular rather than shapely, but her breasts in his palms were round and smooth.
Prudence touched her tongue to her lips as her nipples grew harder and more erect under his circling thumbs. She was aware now of a clutch in her belly, a fullness in her loins, and with sudden urgency she placed her hands over his, pressing them against her breasts.
He turned her to face him with the same urgency and she began to fumble with the buttons at the waist of her long, pleated skirt. Impatiently he pushed aside her hands and did the job himself. She stepped out of the skirt and stood in her one undergarment, a combination of chemise and drawers of lacy, beribboned silk taffeta, gartered silk stockings, and buttoned kid shoes.
He put his hands at her waist, bunching the chemise, feeling her skin warm beneath the silk. It delighted him that she was wearing no corset of any kind. It made her body accessible in the most alluring fashion. There would be no ridges of whalebone etched onto her skin, and the body he felt was the same as the one he would feel when she was naked. He drew a deep, shuddering breath and removed her glasses, laying them carefully on the mantel. “You don’t mind?”
She shook her head; the mist softening her vision at the moment had nothing to do with myopia. Her own hands went to the buttons of his coat. “Hurry,” she whispered, her voice quivering with a surge of passionate need. “I have to see you . . . touch you.”
He helped her, shrugging out of the coat, pulling off his tie, the starched wing collar of his shirt, discarding his waistcoat and the shirt. She touched his nipples and caught her bottom lip between her teeth when they hardened instantly. “I didn’t know men’s did that.”
“We aim to please, madam,” he said, a husky note now in his quiet voice. He reached for the buttons of the chemise, opening it before drawing her against him so that their bare skin touched. It was Prudence’s turn to inhale with a little shudder of excitement as her sensitized breasts pressed against his chest. Her hands caressed his back, running down the clear line of his spine to the waist of his trousers.
He took the cue and stepped back an instant to unfasten his waistband and fly and push the striped trousers off his legs. “Oh, damn,” he muttered as they met the obstacle of his shoes. He fell back on the bed and Prudence, with a gurgle of laughter, unfastened his shiny black shoes and pulled off his socks with his trousers. The prosaic moment interrupted the intensity, and the brief instant when passion yielded to the mundane only intensified her anticipation.
He stayed stretched on the bed, wearing only a pair of long woolen drawers, and she gazed down at him, at the hard swell of his penis. She reached down and touched it. It jumped against her hand and she closed her fingers over the jutting bulge, feeling the throb of the veins through the wool.
“Take it out,” he whispered, his eyes now closed, his breath ragged.
Prudence sat on the bed and undid the buttons. She slid her hand into the opening and drew out his penis. It sprang up against her hand. With a little frown of concentration she explored the feel of it, reaching beneath to find his balls. She had never explored a man’s body in any detail before, outside the anatomical pictures in the pages of a medical encyclopedia or Greek statues in the British Museum. Her only previous experience of sex had been too quick for such intimacies. She enclosed his penis in her hand, experimented with tightening and loosening her grip. She heard Gideon groan and then he reached down, took her wrist, and removed her hand.
He took a deep breath, murmured, “Let’s take this slowly, sweetheart.” He sat up, still holding her hand.
“I was enjoying myself,” she said.
“So was I. But I’d like to share this first time.” He stood up and pushed the undergarment off his hips and kicked his feet free. “Your turn now.”
Prudence gazed at the long, lean length of him. For a man who spent his days studying law books and pontificating in a courtroom, he had a remarkably athletic body—muscled thighs, a flat belly, hard biceps. She put her hands on his narrow hips, running her thumbs over the sharp pelvic bones. A glow of excitement and pleasure spread through her. She slid her hands around to his backside, her fingers pressing hard into the taut flesh. “You have a beautiful body,” she murmured, lightly touching her tongue to his nipples. “You could have modeled for Michelangelo.”
Gideon looked startled. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“I think it is,” she said, grazing his nipples with the tips of her front teeth.
“Then I’m suitably complimented . . . I think.” He began to unpin her hair as her head remained bent against his chest. He tossed the pins in the direction of the dresser, heedless of those that missed and fell to the floor. He combed his fingers through the wavy russet mass as it fell to her shoulders and down her back. Then he cupped her face in his hands and tilted it up. He bent and kissed her eyes and said softly, “I need to see you now.”
She nodded and slid the opened chemise off her shoulders. It fell to her hips, and Gideon dropped to one knee, hooking his fingers into the tops of her drawers. He pulled them down slowly, inch by inch, his lips trailing kisses over her belly, over the creamy flesh of her thighs thus revealed. She stepped out of the puddle of taffeta and lace and lifted her feet as he removed her shoes, then unfastened her garters and peeled off her stockings.
Still kneeling, he ran his hands up the backs of her legs to clasp the soft cheeks of her bottom. “That feels good,” he murmured with a smile of satisfaction, kneading the silky roundness. He kissed the base of her belly, then slid his hands around to press apart her thighs.
Prudence quivered at the intimate exploration, the deep recesses of her body moistening, opening. She felt laid bare, more naked than she was, and she reveled in the feeling, her feet shifting on the wooden floor as she parted her thighs yet farther in mute encouragement as passion surged. She clasped his head, pressing it against her belly, her fingers raking through his hair. A wave of delight was building deep in her loins, swelling into a racing breaker. She bit down on her bottom lip, her fingers curling tightly in his hair as the wave crested and broke. She heard herself cry out. Her knees shook uncontrollably. Gideon stood up, holding her against him until she’d regained her balance.
“Oh,” was all she could manage to say. “Oh.”
He smiled down at her and kissed her damp forehead. “So passionate,” he said softly, turning her towards the bed, taking the opportunity to run his eyes hungrily down her back, narrow and elegant, the nip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the curve of her backside, the long, clean sweep of her thighs.
Prudence fell on the bed, rolling onto her back, opening her arms to him. She was filled with an urgent need to share this pleasure with him. He knelt above her and she raised her legs, curling them around to press her heels into his buttocks. “Come,” she demanded. “Now.”
“At your service, madam,” he said. “In just one second.” She watched as he slipped a rubber sheath over his penis. Vaguely she wondered if he always carried them with him, but it seemed an irrelevant thought as he slid within her still-pulsating body and she tightened her inner muscles around him, glorying in the feeling as he filled her, pressing deep within her.
He lo
oked down at her and she smiled up at him, her light green eyes alive with pleasure. “Don’t move, sweet,” he said. “I want to make this last, but I’m so close to the brink.”
“You call the tune,” she replied, stretching her arms way above her head in a gesture of abandonment that was so sensual, he inhaled sharply, clinging desperately to the last threads of self-control. He withdrew slowly, then as slowly sheathed himself within her again. She gasped, her eyes closing, her belly tightening as the wave began to build once more.
He withdrew again, closing his own eyes, holding himself on the very edge of her body, then with a soft cry he drove hard and deep to the very edge of her womb, and her body convulsed around him as his penis throbbed and pulsed within her.
He fell upon her with a groan, crushing her breasts so that she could feel the rapid beating of his heart, so close to her own. She clasped his sweat-slick back, lay still until her breathing slowed and her heartbeat returned to normal.
Gideon stirred and rolled off her. He lay on his back, one hand resting on her belly, the other flung above his head. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he murmured. “You are miraculous, Miss Duncan.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Sir Gideon,” she returned with an effort. “Now I really won’t die wondering.”
He turned his head slowly to look at her. “What does that mean?”
She merely smiled and closed her eyes. She certainly knew now what had been missing in the past. And although she would never have admitted it to herself before, she had been just a little envious of Constance, who obviously found nothing missing in the realms of passion with Max. The smile was still on her face when she plunged into a deep and dreamless sleep.
She awoke an hour later to the sound of soft voices coming from the doorway. Lazily she propped herself on one elbow and looked towards the door. Gideon, in a dressing gown, was talking to someone in the corridor outside. She flopped back on the pillows, realizing that without disturbing her sleep Gideon had managed to pull back the covers and somehow insert her between the sheets.